And deep down, quitting would feel too much like proving Zayne right. Not about me being talentless, or incapable of getting into Underwood, like he implied at our first rehearsal, but about me being perfect for the role I was selected for.
About me being cold and heartless, just like Catherine Earnshaw.
Chapter Six
Dad makes it home in time to serve dinner. This is a rarity, considering he works two jobs. I can’t blame him though. He’s basically forced to shoulder the costs of our household all alone. Mom’s medical bills combined with Fallbrook’s tuition is practically the amount of a second mortgage.
Sometimes I feel guilty that he works so hard, but I couldn’t stop him if I tried. When we lost Mom’s income, he had to make the tough decision to stop homeschooling me and Beau so he could reenter the workforce. But because my brother and I were ahead academically, he wouldn’t send Beau anywhere but his advanced, private middle school, and he wouldn’t send me anywhere but Fallbrook. Even if it meant him working nonstop and hardly seeing us.
“You don’t have to waste money on sending me to a fancy prep school, Dad,” I remember telling him.
But he just shook his head, determined. “An education is never a waste of money.”
As soon as I got accepted, his role in my life shifted from warm and fun homeschool teacher to overworked TSA employee and food delivery driver. For him to make the same high salary mom did as a firefighter, he had to take the jobs in Boston. Iknow he misses our massive, sprawling colonial in Stockbridge, because sometimes, I can practically feel how unsatisfied he is by our modern but overpriced townhome in the heart of the city.
He works so hard, all to make sure Beau and I have the same privileged life we had when Mom was still here.
It’s part of the reason I’m so determined not to let him down. Going to an Ivy League college is the dream I said I wanted, after all, no matter how young and naive I was when I announced it to my family. The least I can do is stick to my word, even if doing so makes me feel like a bird with clipped wings.
I give him a kiss on the cheek before I sit down at the table. When we’re done saying grace, I ask, “How was work?”
He hands me a plate of green beans and half-burned meatloaf. “I’m just happy to be home.”
“I wish Mom could come home,” Beau murmurs.
My dad pats his shoulder before sitting down at the table himself, plate in hand. “Me too.” His shoulders sag. “But she’s doing the responsible thing. She’s getting better so she can keep being the mom you know and love.”
Beau uses his fork to carve patterns in his meatloaf. “I just don’t see why she couldn’t get better from home.”
“Addiction is ugly, son. And withdrawals are physical proof of it.”
I take a bite, chewing slowly through the solemn silence at the table. “I got the lead role in the school play.”
He removes his glasses so he can look at me. “You pulling my leg?”
I laugh. “No. I swear.”
“Whoever cast you should get their head checked,” Beau teases.
“Shut up.”
“I’m real proud of you, Bardot.” Dad tries to bite his smile back. “I’m going to have to see this play.”
“Don’t worry,” I say, more to myself than to either of them. “I’m sure you will. Along with everyone else.” My stomach swims at the thought.
The next day goes according to plan: I don’t fail my calculus quiz, I take diligent notes in Bible class, Carlton and I make it through lunch without talking about Zayne Silverman, and I fall asleep in history.
When school ends, Carlton walks with me to rehearsal. The rest of our group is already there, waiting in a seated circle on the floor. “Hi guys,” I say as we approach them.
“Hey, Dot.” Rue waves a paper in her hand. “Mr. Saltzman is making us learn some weird choreography.”
“Really?” I glance at the paper she’s holding.
“Well, not you,” she amends, “or even Zayne. But the rest of us, yeah.”
“What about me?” Carlton grabs the paper out of Rue’s hand. “And what is this, anyway?”
She shrugs. “The written form of the choreography. We’re supposed to be wuthering on the heights, as trees or something.”
