“Fine, Jonathan. You want to know the real reason I need to go to this competition—besides winning the money for Mom, that is?”
Jonathan makes another sharp snip. “If it will explain why you’d break your deal with your mother over some silly teen idol contest.”
“Mrs. Arlington, the cashier at the music shop on Main, who gave me this flyer, said that there would be talent scouts from SUU, the University of Utah, and other colleges at the competition,” I tell him, knowing this tactic may very well backfire. College is another one of those topics my mother and I don’t see eye to eye on.
“Daphne, you and your mother will discuss this when you’re older.…”
“Yeah, right. Mom’s big plan for my postgraduation future probably involves me getting some online associate’s degree in business management, and then inheriting the flower shop from her. But I’ve got bigger dreams than making corsages for other girls to wear to dances and wrapping up ‘I’m sorry’ flowers for every doghouse-ditching guy who comes into this place. I graduate in less than two years and I want to go to college. A real college.”
Assuming Jonathan is right about my voice and I can manage to land a scholarship somewhere—anywhere—that is.
Getting a scholarship was step number two on my “prove to the world I can become a music star all on my own” master plan. (Step one being two hours of self-imposed music practice a day, no matter my homework load.)
“Opportunities like this competition don’t exactly come this close to Ellis very often. But if I can’t even get fifty miles away from here for one evening, how am I ever going to convince Mom to let me go away for school?”
Jonathan puts down his scissors. “Your mother has her reasons for wanting to protect you.”
“Which are what? Her own paranoia that the outside world is some big, bad place? What does she think is going to happen to me ‘out there’ anyway? Is she afraid I’m going to sneak off with some guy and get pregnant, just like she did? Or is she more afraid that once I step foot outside town, I’m never coming back? Does she think I’ll abandon her, just like my father?”
Jonathan’s lips pull into a tight, thin frown and I know I’ve struck on something. A remorseful tone wafts off him as he sighs.
Truth is, I don’t know how to make it work. How do I go after my dreams and not end up leaving her in the red dust of southern Utah because she refuses to budge from this spot? “I love my mom, but someday I am going to have to leave. I need to know what else is out there in the world. I need to know if I can make it on my own.”
“Daphne. I know you can make it on your own—but this is a conversation you should have with your mother. Later when …”
“Later will be too late.” I place my hand over his large fingers before he can distract himself with cutting ribbons again. “Please, Jonathan. Let me go tonight—”
The shop’s bell interrupts me once more, only this time it’s much louder, like someone has opened the front door in a hurry. I wonder if Indie has sent another customer running.
But instead, a few seconds later, Indie comes bounding into the back room. Or at least she tries to before hitting the barricade of balloons.
“Hol-y amaze balls, Daph-ne,” she says, jumping up to see me over the balloons. “You will never guess who is in the shop—like, never, ever in a mil-lion freak-ing years!”
When Indie gets excited, she talks in short, staccato notes and acts like she’s had five espressos in the last half hour, even though Mom says she’s supposed to be on a strictly stimulant-free diet. I’m not sure where Mom got this information, nor where she found Indie. Despite being on a limited budget—because she flat-out refuses to accept any child support from “that man”—my mother has a tendency to bring home strays. Of both the animal and human variety. Most of her person rescues stay only long enough to collect their first paycheck, but others become part of the family and never leave. Like Uncle Jonathan, who’s been with us for so long, I can’t remember when my day wasn’t greeted by one of his Technicolor aprons, and CeCe, who’d practically become my sister since my mom brought her to the shop five and a half years ago, looking like a drowned rat—CeCe, that is, not my mom. I still am not sure where Indie is going to fit into the mix.
“Come on. You have to see him!” she says when I don’t follow her.