Chapter 72

***Levi.***

***Philadelphia,***

***September 30th,***

***Twenty Years earlier***

"Alright students. You can see that in this sculpture, *the little dancer,* Degas' use of real elements, gave it some reality. You see the essence of life that Degas always loved to portray in his works."

Mr Crat described as he took us on a tour of the European Art gallery in the Philadelphia art museum.

I ignored the man's words and focused my 15-year-old mind on the sweet, innocent 14-year-old dancer that was sculptured by Degas. His only sculpture anyway*. I think I prefer his paintings to this sculpture*, I concluded.

"What you doing?" The familiar drawl of my friend, Albert Bethel, came. *Friend*, for sake of a better term. Albert wasn't close to anyone. Not even his family. *I think I am the closest he's ever been with a person*.

"The girl is so pretty." I exhaled. "It's like am seeing her mind. I wonder if she had a boy our age that liked her." I turned to Albert, who equally watched the piece.

Albert shrugged, nonchalantly. "I think you are the only friend I've got that knows his Degas." Albert winked at me.

"I'm the only real friend you've got, prick face." I teased. Both of us silently giggling, so we wouldn't attract Mr Crat.

"You know; I am going to have my own dancer one day. A sweet girl, who would be entirely mine. She wouldn't belong to anyone else." I emotionally intoned, staring at the girl.

Wanting to hold her hand. I loved the color of the sculpture. The chocolate hue. The color of my favorite dessert.

"Yeah. You'd have one, if my father would come here now and apologize for all those years he left me here in Philadelphia with his sister and not with him." Albert snidely remarked.

I turned to Albert, feeling sorry for him.

He lived here in Philadelphia, since he was six. Never going home. His father deliberately severed all ties with him. And his mother at the time it occurred, had been too soft hearted to fight.

She died soon after Albert was brought here.

"Am sorry dude." I tapped his shoulder. He shrugged me off and moved away, joining the others, who were looking at a painting.

I lingered longer, watching that sculpture. My resolve firm that I'd one day have my own dancer.

***Monday, a week later.***

I sat in the school dining room and ate silently, while my friends all talked animatedly around me.

I was caught in the middle of their argument. They all had a bet that Albert wouldn't ask a girl in the girls' school, Caprice as a date for the school's annual fall dance in three weeks. I knew Albert would pull it off. But they argued against it. Albert was unsociable. Most times, he sat among the boys, only when he was certain I was around.

"Hey dude, you've been awfully quiet." Abel, another one of my friends threw at me.

I looked up from my food. Albert nodded his head at me, a brow raised in concern. I shook my head. I couldn't tell them that my dad was falling into debts and it worried my mum.

I got another call from her, yesterday evening, informing me of the number of letters to that effect she found hidden in dad's office drawer.

Telling my friends would mean I was heading to poverty lane. And that could never happen to me, because I was a Ruthford.

Born into a very reputable family, actually one of America's wealthiest and renowned families, I was highly famous. I walked the streets and all eyes turned to me, media following me, just to get a story. That was the reason I was sent to school here.

St Damian's Private Boarding School for boys, Philadelphia, was just an escape route my parents had chosen to hide me from the public. At least with it, I was sure to have a normal childhood with kids my age.

The school, reputable, enrolled only kids from the wealthiest families. Kids whose parents always contributed handsomely to it's development.

A school that always assessed the bank statements of the parents. It was going to be chaos, if they knew our current situation.

"Hey Ruthford, who are you taking to the fall dance?" Mike asked, playfully.

Everyone at the table turned curious stares to me. I hadn't even thought about that. These days, I was as nervous as shit, thinking about the crisis at home.

"ErrMeghan" I remarked, coolly.

Meghan would be willing to go. She was the hottest girl in the girls' school nearby.

My friends all cheered. Their heartiness mildly easing me. I needed to give Meghan a call later, to remind her.

Tall, very mature for my age, I was termed one of the most handsome students in school. My green eyes my weapon and charm with the ladies. One look at them and they weakened. So Meghan would feel honored to have me as her date for the dance.

After losing my virginity to one of dad's secretaries on my fourteenth birthday, last year, I was on fire. Every girl had become my canvas to paint all the colors of sin.

Both schools welcomed only rich and respectable students. All born with golden spoons, we had no care in the world but our name. Maintaining high standards, which we were born into.

We couldn't become poor. That was definitely out of the question.

If we did, I'd lose my face before these guys and the media.

Pasting a fake smile, I listened to the others. Drinking, dancing, girls, sex; was all going to be memorable activities for the dance. I only hoped dad sorted this shit soon. Because the last thing I needed was an emotional wreckage, now that my grades were in perfect synchrony for better chances after high school.

Dad said Harvard. Mum and I said MIT. I'd just let life after high school play out.