Dreams by Starlight

By Staci Stallings

Chapter 3

"Three sisters?" Camille asked Nick with an interested nod. "Wow. That must be tough to get bathroom time in the morning."

Nick shrugged next to her in the dim theatre seats. "My two older sisters are already gone, so it's not too bad."

"And your mom and dad?" Camille plowed through her list of carefully constructed questions.

"Dad's an architect. Mom stays home and takes care of us."

"Huh," Camille said with a smirk. "Tough gig."

"Hey." Nick frowned. "I'm easy to take care of. I make my own bed, wash my own clothes-when they get piled up too high on my floor, and I even cook once in awhile."

"Impressive," Camille said, thinking of the million meals she had cooked for her mom and her little sister, Daria, over the years. "I bet your girlfriend is thrilled."

Nick laughed and shook his head.

"No?" Camille asked in horror. "What is she insane?"

"Non-existent would be a better word for it," Nick said. "Drama and choir take up too much time to have a girlfriend."

"So you're not looking?"

"I'm not not looking. I'm just not looking."

"Okay," Camille said with a confused shake of her head. "So, what you're saying is if a girl like drops out of the sky onto your lap, then maybe you'd consider it?"

He laughed. "Yeah. Something like that."

"Good afternoon class," Mrs. Allen said, rolling the chalkboard out. "If you'll all gather down here, we'll go ahead and get started."

After class Lexie was waiting for them at the lockers, and the second they walked up, Camille thought again about the girl dropping from the sky. Nick might not have realized it yet, but one had done exactly that.

"Hi, Lexie," he said with a soft smile.

"Hi," she said as her almond gaze turned down. "How was drama?"

"Good," Nick said, but his voice faded out midway through the word.

Camille transferred her books in her locker as she fought to keep from laughing. Romeo and Juliet couldn't have been more love-struck. When she unburied her head from her locker, they were still standing there, neither saying anything but clearly that wasn't a problem.

"Well, Nick," Camille said, only semi-successful in her attempt to get his attention away from her friend. "I'll see you in class tomorrow?"

"Sure," Nick said, never even glancing at Camille. Then he shook his head and looked right at her. "Sure. Umm, I'd better go." He turned and quickly strode away from the lockers.

He was out of sight before Lexie turned to Camille. "Tell me everything."

"Just as each character has a beginning, middle, and end," Mrs. Allen said, tapping her chalk on her opposite hand. "So does the play itself. First the conflict is established, complications arise from that conflict-sometimes called rising action-followed by a climax, and then the denouement, or resolution. Each part is important to the action. Would someone like to take us through these steps using Jack and the Beanstalk?"

"The conflict is that Jack finds some magic beans that make a beanstalk, and he climbs it," Nick said without bothering to raise his hand.

"It's complicated by the fact that at the top, he finds a giant who wants to eat him," Mark said from in front of Camille. "The rising action would be the giant chasing Jack through the sky kingdom to the beanstalk. The climax would be him following Jack down."

"And the resolution," Camille said, somehow finding her voice, "would be when Jack chops the beanstalk down and kills the giant."

"Exactly," Mrs. Allen said. "Most of literature follows this pattern, and this is the pattern I want you to begin to see. Your next written assignment is to take the play 'Ghosts' by Henrick Ibsen and map the conflict, the rising action, the climax, and the resolution. 500 words. The paper is due Friday."

Camille wrote the assignment and the date down in her notebook carefully as Mrs. Allen rolled the blackboard away.

"Today we're going to work on establishing a voice. Come on up."

With great effort and trepidation Camille got to her feet and followed Nick up the stairs.

"I want you to choose a partner and have a seat on the floor."

Nick looked at Camille with a smile, and she smiled back, amazed that he hadn't gone running from the auditorium the first day when she'd almost cracked his head open.

"Now, I want you to choose a nursery rhyme, any one that you remember the entire thing." Mrs. Allen positioned herself in the middle of the stage and looked around at her students. "You got it? Good. I want you to tell your partner what it is."

"Little Boy Blue," Nick said without hesitation.

"Humpty Dumpty," Camille said not quite meeting Nick's steady gaze.

"Okay," Mrs. Allen said. "I want you to choose three types of voices-like angry, sad, fearful, indifferent, joyous, pleading. Got them?"

Camille nodded as she shifted her weight first one way and then the other trying to find a comfortable position on the hardwood floor.

"I want one partner to choose a voice," Mrs. Allen said.

Nick looked at Camille as a silent conversation passed between them. 'I'll take it,' his gaze finally said. "Sad."

"Now," Mrs. Allen said, "I want the other partner to say the rhyme that you chose in the voice your partner has chosen for you."

Instantly Camille's fear shield flew into her eyes, and she wished someone would yell fire so she didn't have to do this.

"You may begin," Mrs. Allen said.

With one, small shift Nick focused his complete attention on Camille, a move, which sent her gaze looking for a safe place to rest. She looked at him and attempted a smile, which never quite made it to her face, and then she relocated her gaze to the hardwood floor.

"Umm, Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall," she said softly. "Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. All the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put Humpty Dumpty back together again."

After a moment the murmurs of nursery rhymes around her stopped.

"Now, partners, I want you to give your partner feedback. How could they improve on their performance?"

Camille sighed and closed her eyes against the humiliation already rising in her chest. That was without a doubt the worst performance of Humpty Dumpty ever uttered. After several moments when Nick had said nothing, she opened her eyes and found him smiling at her.

"I think you can do better," he said, and his eyes were soft and gentle. "Why don't you try it again?"

"Okay," Camille squeaked out. "Sad, right?"

Nick nodded, and she forced herself to concentrate on the rhyme as she started over. It took three times before Nick finally decided her version was sad enough. With a sigh of relief, she chose a voice for him and watched in fascination as Little Boy Blue suddenly became a raging, angry storm at her command and then a gentle, lilting lullaby in the next breath. After two more renditions, she attempted Humpty Dumpty again, first in a fearful voice and then in a happy one, and both were better than the sad one had been earlier.

When the bell rang, Nick vaulted to his feet and offered her a hand up, which she accepted. Once on her feet she readjusted her glasses, twisted her hair over her shoulder, and then made her way off the stage thanking anyone listening for the blessing of having Nick by her side.

"Don't forget to read 'Ghosts,'" Mrs. Allen called from the stage.

They were all the way to the door before Camille remembered her mission for Lexie. "So, Nick, how's choir?"

"Great," he said, obviously happy that she remembered. "We're working on Beethoven's Choral Fantasia right now."

"Oh?" Camille said, genuinely interested. "What part do you sing?"

"Baritone."

"How long have you been into singing and performing?"

"Since I was little. I've been in a few community plays. Nothing major."

"And you've been in all the plays here at school. Right?"

"Yeah, but that's just one a year." He shrugged. "And I've never had more than a few lines in anything."

Camille nodded as they approached the lockers. "Did you know that Lexie used to take ballet?"

"Ballet?" Nick said just as they got in earshot of Lexie. "Really?"

Lexie's eyes widened to U.F.O. size as she stared at Camille in horror.

"Yeah, she was good, too," Camille said, nodding.

"So, why'd you quit?" Nick asked Lexie, and Camille knew she had ceased to be visible again.

It was kind of fun in an odd sort of way. She could watch them dance around each other, and neither one ever noticed she was watching. It was unusual to see Lexie so totally bowled over. Tongue-tied had never been a word to describe Lexie-she had an opinion about everything. But although her opinion of Nick was obvious, she couldn't seem to get three words strung together to save her life.

"Don't know," Lexie said, leaning against the lockers. "I guess I outgrew it."

"She took tap for awhile, too," Camille said from the depths of her locker, and when she turned, the U.F.O.s had developed knives. "You'll have to see her tap sometime. She's really good."

"Yeah." Nick's soft smile returned. "I'll have to."

Camille pulled her over-stuffed backpack out of the locker and then grabbed her books. "Well..."

Nick looked at Camille and seemed to remember where he was again. "Umm, I'd better let you two go. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Sure," Camille said.

He turned and walked away down the hall.

"Are you completely insane?" Lexie asked when he had disappeared around a corner.

With an exasperated sigh, Camille shook her head and walked away from the lockers.

"What did that mean?" Lexie asked angrily as she followed her friend down the hall.

"It means, why don't you just talk to him?" Camille pushed through the double doors. "You like him. So talk to him. Why is that so hard?"

"I talked to him," Lexie said as she hugged her books to her chest.

"'I don't know' is not talking," Camille said as they walked down to the bus stop.

"Well, you're not helping matters." One side of Lexie's face dropped into a frown. "Why would you go and tell him about ballet-and tap? That was like a million years ago."

"He's in the choir and drama. I figured it could give you something in common."

"Yeah? Well, he probably thinks I'm an idiot now."

"He doesn't think you're an idiot," Camille said with a laugh as they climbed onto the bus.

"Well, just do me a favor, and stay out of it."

"Stay out of it? What happened to 'I want you to find out everything you can about him'?"

"About him. Not about me! Jeez, Cami, sometimes you can be so dumb."

Camille's gaze narrowed at the seat in front of her as her heart turned over inside her chest. She was just trying to help. It wasn't her fault they were both acting like deer caught in headlights. "Fine."

Immediately Lexie slumped in the seat next to her. "I'm sorry."

"No," Camille said, and the anger had switched sides of the seat. "It's okay. I mean if you want me to butt out, I will."

"I don't want you to butt out," Lexie said, and her tone was now more pleading than angry.

"Well, it certainly sounded like you do," Camille said as the bus rolled to her stop, and she stood.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" Lexie asked, but Camille just dismounted the stairs and walked away.

You're so dumb, Cami. You never understand anything. Jeez. You should've just kept your nose out of it. Her anger at getting stepped on for trying to help bubbled to the surface as she unlocked the door to her apartment, and immediately she saw the disaster area her sister had created waiting for her.

"What am I, the maid?" Camille yelled to the back bedroom as she threw her own backpack to the floor. With a swipe she picked up a handful of debris from the floor. "Daria! Hey! Get out here! I'm not your maid!"

After a long moment Daria appeared, sleep-tousled in her nightshirt and slippers. "Why are you yelling?"

Camille stopped in mid-rant. "What happened to you?"

"I got sick this morning at school." Daria plopped her slender frame on the couch between the box of Kleenex and the abandoned pillow, which she promptly fell over on.

"Have you been here by yourself all day?" Camille said, softening instantly as she knelt to examine the pixy-headed ten-year-old.

"Uh-huh," Daria said, and even that small amount of movement clearly sapped her remaining energy.

Camille put a gentle hand on the little forehead and shook her head. "Fever. Have you taken your temperature?"

The little mouth turned down in a frown.

"'Course not. Just a second." Camille pushed up from the couch, went down the hall to the bathroom, and grabbed the thermometer. "What time did you come home?"

"About ten." Daria accepted the thermometer. "The teacher called Mom."

"That's okay. Don't talk," Camille said, smoothing out the blonde curls. She waited a minute, then pulled the thermometer out, and looked at it in the sunshine. "102. Yep. You're sick." She moved the Kleenex box and pulled Daria's feet onto the couch. "Can I get you something? How about some Sprite?"

The little curls went up and down slowly.

Camille went into the kitchen. "Have you eaten anything today?"

"A peanut butter sandwich, but I threw that up."

With the Sprite in hand, Camille returned and sat on the little couch. "Here. Does chicken noodle soup sound good?"

Daria took a small drink and shrugged. Camille put her head down in frustration. Mom should've called me. What is she thinking leaving Daria home by herself like that?

It was nearly seven o'clock when Brenda Cordell trudged through the door and found her two daughters huddled on the couch. Her eldest was busy fee-fie-foeing her way through Jack in the Beanstalk.

"How's my baby girl?" Brenda asked, kneeling in front of them to check on Daria.

"Fine, Mommy," Daria said, and the happiness barely tinged the sick sound in her voice.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that." Brenda gave her daughter a quick hug before she stood. "Something smells wonderful."

"Camille made me chicken soup," Daria said.

"I'll bet that was good on a sour tummy."

Daria nodded as her mother walked off down the hallway. Camille sat for one more second and then resumed the story.

"You should've called me," Camille hissed across the table so Daria wouldn't hear from her room.

"You were in school," Brenda said as she looked through the classified ads. "Besides she wasn't that sick."

Camille grimaced and fought to keep her voice under control. "She had a 102 fever when I got home. I call that sick."

"Look, I'm doing the best I can. What do you want from me?" her mother asked in annoyance.

On solid legs Camille stood from the table. "Nothing. I don't want anything from you."

Chapter 4

"So, where were you yesterday?" Nick asked as he slid into his seat next to Camille in the auditorium on Wednesday.

"I was sick," Camille lied just as she had done to the school secretary when she had called in the day before.

"Well, I'm glad it wasn't fatal."

"Nope, just a 48-hour bug," Camille said with a shrug. "No big deal."

"48? But . . ." Nick began as he looked at Camille in confusion.

"That's the bell, people," Mrs. Allen said from the front as she sat down center stage. "Today we're going to talk about an on-going assignment for the semester. You will be using your knowledge of the stage to critique plays that are performed in the area. There are performances of 'Oklahoma' on Friday, Saturday and Sunday at the Mance Theatre. I've got the information here."

She handed a stack of bright yellow paper to Keane in the front row. "There will of course be performances by other groups throughout the semester, and I'll try to let you know about them. But it's up to you to get to at least two of them. I want a 500-word paper critiquing each play based on what we have learned thus far in class. Are there any questions?"

No hands went up.

"Good." Mrs. Allen pulled herself up off the stage. "Today we're going to talk a little bit about how intuitive acting is. By that I mean how much you already know about how a character or characters would relate in a given scenario. I'd like-let's see-Ariana and Nick to come up here."

Camille shrank farther in her seat as Nick crossed in front of her. She was sure to her core that the teacher would never call on her to come up in front of the class, but she did not want to take any chances.

"Okay." Mrs. Allen pulled her two actors to the center so they faced each other. "Nick, I want you to play Ariana's father. She has been dating someone that you do not approve of, and you have come to confront her about it. You are in her bedroom in your house." She narrowed her eyes at Nick. "You got it?"

With one motion he nodded as his face went hard, and Mrs. Allen backed away.

"I said, 'Answer me'!" Nick shouted, jolting Camille out of her seat and riveting her eyes to the stage. "Were you out with him last night or not?"

Ariana's porcelain jaw line shifted as she crossed her arms. "I'm sixteen years old. I don't have to listen to you."

"Well, I'm your father, and you're going to listen to me!"

"Why? You never listen to me," Ariana said, standing toe-to-toe with Nick, facing him down even though she was several inches shorter than he. "I love him, and if you can't see that, then maybe it would be better if I just left."

"Great," Mrs. Allen said with a clap. "You see. Instant conflict from the simplest of directions." She swung two chairs onto the stage and positioned them facing each other. "Now, I want you to do the same scene only this time you are in the middle of a fancy restaurant."

Nick and Ariana sat down and put their stage faces on as Camille watched in fascination.

"You may begin," Mrs. Allen said.

"I forbid you to see him," Nick whispered over the invisible menu that he held, his voice carrying effortlessly to the back row.

"I'm sixteen," Ariana hissed back as she leaned across the non-existent table that suddenly appeared very real. "I can see whomever I want."

"Well, I'm your father." Nick laid the menu in front of him, obviously straining to control his voice. "And you will do as I say."

Ariana's face widened in disbelief and then narrowed in utter hate. "Make me."

"Very, very good." Mrs. Allen resumed her place on the stage. "You may take your seats again."

Camille's gaze was glued to Nick as he stood, smoothed out his jeans, and descended the stairs.

"When you look at a character, you will know how to play that part," Mrs. Allen said as Nick sat back down by Camille. "You will know it down here." She laid both hands on her stomach. "After you do all your background work, then you have to simply trust your gut. That's what being a good actor is about."

"That was unbelievable," Camille said quickly gathering her things and following Nick out of the auditorium.

"You thought so?" he asked as he pushed the door open and held it for her.

"Are you kidding me? I'd never be able to do that. Just get up there-no lines, no rehearsal and make it sound that good?"

"Sometimes it's easier with no lines. You get to play it the way you feel it instead of trying to play somebody else's vision of how it should be."

She let that statement wind through her. "I never thought of it like that." She pushed her feet down the hall still contemplating his words. "You know you should write plays yourself. I mean you really seem to understand it."

Nick shrugged. "I've written a few-mostly for class and stuff, but they're not very good."

"Really? I'd love to read one sometime." Camille walked up to her locker, and her easy conversation suddenly hardened. "Hey, Lex."

Camille had done her level best to avoid her friend all day long-going so far as to carry her entire backpack around the whole day, but now there was no where to hide.

"Hey, Lexie," Nick said, leaning a shoulder against Lexie's locker.

Lexie's gaze went from Nick to Camille and back again. Camille on the other hand was doing everything she could to make herself truly invisible.

"So, how's Economics?" Nick nodded at Lexie's book.

"Fine," Lexie said before she smiled the most normal smile Camille had seen from her in Nick's presence. "It's a lot of reading though."

"You don't like to read?"

"Oh, no," Lexie said in mortification. "I like to. I just don't read very fast. I get kind of behind sometimes."

"Oh, like Camille," Nick said, indicating the three-ton backpack and full stack of books Camille pulled out of her locker.

"I wish." Lexie sighed. "She could read every one of those books tonight if she wanted."

A confused look crossed Nick's face, and then he focused his attention back on Lexie and smiled. "Well, if you ever need any help reading, I'm not too bad at it."

There's an understatement, Camille thought as she slammed her locker and turned down the hallway. "I'll see you two tomorrow."

Instantly Lexie peeled her gaze from Nick's face. "Wait. I'm coming with you. I'll see you later, Nick."

"Yeah," he said with a small wave. "See ya."

They walked down the hall, out the door, and all the way onto the bus stop without a word.

"So, are you going to talk to me or not?" Lexie finally asked.

"I thought you were mad at me," Camille said in her best stage voice.

"I'm not mad at you. I just..."

"Just what? Wanted me to butt out? Well, I did." Camille stomped up the bus steps. "You should be happy."

"Come on, Cami. When I said that, I didn't mean I didn't want you in my life."

"Yeah, well, that's what it sounded like to me."

Lexie exhaled in frustration. "Look, I appreciate you trying to find out about him for me-I just wasn't expecting you to inform him about me. That's all."

"All I told him was that you used to dance. I don't think that's a crime."

"It's not," Lexie said. "It's just that when he's around... I don't know. I feel all tingly, and it's like everything about me is all wrong, and I want it to be right, but I don't know how to do that."

"Just relax," Camille said as though she'd had years of practice in the guy department. "He's a nice guy, and he likes you."

Lexie's eyes widened. "You think so?"

"Hello. Where've you been?" Camille said with a laugh.

The bus rolled up to Camille's stop.

"So, can I come home with you tonight?" Lexie asked, her gaze following Camille out of the seat.

Instantly Camille shook her head. "Daria's been sick. I'd hate for you to catch anything."

"Is that where you were yesterday?"

"Yep," Camille said, hoisting her backpack to her shoulder. "Playing Mommy again as usual. See ya."

* * *

"Come on, Lex, it'll be fun," Camille said, giving Lexie her best puppy dog eyes.

"A musical?" Lexie wrinkled her nose over the manager's surprise on her cafeteria tray. "I don't know."

"Nick might be there," Camille said, hoping that would tip the scales and her friend would agree to go; however, she immediately regretted it when Lexie's eyes widened in fear. "But he might not, too."

Lexie twirled the corn with her fork. "He might?"

"I could ask him," Camille said and then reversed course at the look of sheer terror on Lexie's face. "Or not."

"Okay, I'll go," Lexie finally said slowly, "but do not ask him if he's going. You got that? I don't want to look like I'm chasing him or anything."

"Even though you are."

Defensive petulance etched on Lexie's face. "I am not."

Camille shook her head. One thing was for sure-she would never understand Lexie's complete aversion to the topic of Nick McGee. "Fine. I won't ask him."

"So, Camille," Nick said as he slid into the auditorium seat next to her, "are you going to the play this weekend?"

"Yeah, I'll probably go tomorrow night," Camille said as she dug in her backpack, trying to sound as if she hadn't been rehearsing this conversation for the passed two hours.

"Really? Cool. I was thinking about going then, too." The toothy smile was back. "So, do you want to meet there or something? I mean if you want to..."

"That sounds like fun," Camille said with a hidden smile. "What time do you want to meet?"

"In the lobby at seven?"

"I'll be there."

* * *

"Hey, Camille!" Nick called through the crush of the crowd.

She waved at him and grabbed Lexie's hand before her friend had a chance to run.

"What did you do?" Lexie hissed in Camille's ear as she was dragged through the crowd. "I told you not to ask him."

"I didn't," Camille said smoothly. "He asked me."

"Cami!"

"Hi, Nick," Camille said and saw his eyes widen in surprise when he caught sight of her shadow.

Nick's gaze went placid. "Hey, Lexie."

"Hey," Lexie said, and Camille sighed. This was going to be a very long night.

They found their seats in the mid-sized theatre, and Camille expertly slipped passed Lexie into the row, leaving Nick to follow Lexie in.

"So, Lexie, I didn't know you liked musicals," Nick said after they had gotten situated.

"I don't," Lexie said and looked at Camille with knives in her eyes. "I came for moral support."

Nick looked passed Lexie to Camille. "Oh?"

"Yeah," Lexie said, her courage returning only because she was focused solely on Camille. "As freaked out as she was about being in drama, I was afraid she might rent the tape or something just to get out of getting near a stage."

Embarrassment flooded over her as Camille sank into her seat, avoiding both gazes. Why hadn't she thought of simply renting the tape?

"She was freaked out about drama?" Nick asked in confusion. "Why?"

"Are you kidding? It's Camille," Lexie said with a laugh. "She'd much rather have her nose in a book than actually have to talk to someone."

"Huh," Nick said, taking that information in. "So, I guess you two have been friends a long time then?"

"Since second grade," Lexie said, still determinedly focusing on Camille. "And she's just as hopeless now as she was back then."

Camille wanted to protest, but it stopped at the top of her throat.

"Hopeless, huh? Like what?"

And then, much to Camille's horror, Lexie launched into a detailed account of every embarrassing thing that Camille had ever done. A list which she was sure could have continued well passed midnight except that the lights dimmed and the curtain went up cutting into the litany.

Deftly she put her notebook on her lap and pulled the pen from her ear. If she could just concentrate on taking notes and the fact that this was an assignment from school, she might be able to outrun the fact that in every situation she was nothing more than a temporary humorous diversion for everyone else.

Camille wasn't at all sure how it had happened, but sometime in the middle of the three-hour performance, Lexie and Nick had made a genuine connection. By the time the three of them walked out, he was holding Lexie's hand, and no one would ever have guessed they hadn't been able to say four intelligent words to each other in the last three weeks.

"How about we stop somewhere for a soda?" Nick asked as they pushed through the theatre doors into the city-lit darkness outside.

"Sure," Lexie said, accepting for both of them before Camille had a chance to complain about the headache that was pounding through her brain.

Realizing that arguing would take too much energy, she shrugged.

"Great," Nick said, and his smile lit his eyes. He led them through the darkening streets to his not-new-but-nice car. With a flourish he opened the passenger door, and Camille crawled passed the seat into the back. At least in the back, she could truly be invisible.

Somehow she had stumbled into the middle of a date she didn't know was happening until she was there. It was like someone had turned a light bulb on in both of her companions' brains at the same time. They were both talking-most of the time simultaneously-laughing like old friends and generally having the times of their lives. Camille was content to listen, so long as the conversation had nothing to do with her.

It didn't matter though because neither of the other two participants noticed she was there either. They talked; she listened until well passed 11:30 when Nick finally looked at his watch and sighed.

"I hate to say this, but I'd really better be getting home." He stood and offered Lexie a hand up. "Would you like a ride home?"

She smiled, seeing nothing other than him. "Sure."

Lexie guided Nick to Camille's house first and then waved as they left Camille out at the curb to her apartment. As Camille unlocked her door and then watched them drive off, she knew that life with Lexie would never be the same again.

* * *

"I didn't say it was a great performance," Jaylon said as he and Ariana sat on either side of the booth at Sal's place on Saturday night after 'Oklahoma.'

"Are you kidding? Tara was so flat, you could've run a truck over her tone." Ariana took a small sip of her soda and set the glass down a bit harder than need be. "I mean who in their right mind would cast her as the lead in anything?"

"Tara's okay," Jaylon said with a shrug. Their castmate from two years before hadn't 'made it big,' but Jaylon knew she was happy where she was. "She's still learning."

Ariana shook her head in annoyance. "Always the optimist."

Defensiveness sprang to his chest, but he beat it back. "What's wrong with that?"

"In this business?" she asked with a snort. "You'll get killed. That's what. So, have you sent your application for Julliard in yet?"

His gaze dropped to the table as his hand dropped the French fry in his hand. "I'll get to it."

"Get to it?" She narrowed her dark eyes in disbelief. "We're not talking about taking out the garbage, Jaylon. We're talking about Julliard."

"I know what we're talking about," he said as the heat rose in him. "I said, 'I'll get to it.'"

After a moment she backed off. "Well, you better get to it soon, or I may just have to go without you."

Jaylon's jaw locked unconsciously. Maybe you will.

"Cartoons again?" Camille asked as she walked out into the living room and saw Daria sprawled in front of the television on Saturday morning.

"Mom said I could," Daria said with only the slightest glance over her shoulder.

"Of course she did," Camille said under her breath. She went into the kitchen and rummaged for a bowl and some cereal. "You eat breakfast yet?"

"Yeah, I had a Twinkie."

"A Twinkie?" Camille asked, looking back out into the living room.

"Yeah, Mom..."

"...said I could," Camille finished for her and then shook her head and replaced the cereal. "How about I make us some eggs?"

"'K," Daria said.

Jaylon steeled his nerves as he sat at the formal dining table, forking through the brunch his stepmother had prepared Sunday afternoon.

"I got the stuff from Julliard," he said as non-threateningly as possible, but without looking, he saw his father's fork drop a full inch.

"I thought we'd already discussed this," Russ Quinn said, and his voice was like stone.

"No." Jaylon looked up into the steel blue eyes but instantly lost his courage. "You discussed it. We never have."

Russ looked over at his wife, which sent her into a panic.

"Do we really have to talk about this now?" Marianne Quinn asked as the crystal glass fell from her perfectly applied lipstick. "I thought maybe just once we could enjoy a nice, quiet meal together."

But Jaylon had come this far, and he had let it go too many times in the past. "And when are we supposed to talk about it? When they stop accepting applications? When I've missed my chance?"

"Don't talk to your mother like that," Russ said as the vein over his pressed shirt collar pulsated. "We can talk about this later."

"Later," Jaylon said, the anger and frustration crashed through his voice even though his decibel level remained fixed. "A nice way of saying never."

His father's fork clattered to the table, jolting the other two table occupants. "I can't eat like this. It gives me indigestion." He stood and threw his napkin to the table.

"Where are you going?" Marianne asked, her gaze following him to the doorway.

"Out."

Neither Jaylon nor his stepmother moved until the door slammed behind his father, and his footsteps faded out.

"Why do you have to do that?" Marianne asked with a click of her teeth. Her perfectly hair-sprayed red helmet followed the turning of her head. "You know that's going to upset him."

Jaylon exhaled, fighting not to shift his anger with his father onto her. "I'm eighteen. He can't tell me what to do anymore."

"He loves you, and he wants what's best for you."

"No, he wants what's best for him. He wants me to be like him, but I'm not. I'm not like him. I never have been, and I never will be." Jaylon stood from the table.

"Where are you going?"

"Out."

The Z28 streaked through the streets until the buildings disappeared in Jaylon's rearview mirror. He knew exactly where he was going. He had been there many times just like today-running to get away from his father. If he could just be reasonable for two seconds, I could explain how hard I've worked for this, but he's never listened, and he never will.

The houses had turned to fields and trees and then to rolling cliffs by the time his attention shifted from the history of fights back into the car. He slowed the car and turned off the main highway onto a side road. He drove a few minutes before he saw the single tree towering in the distance. Drawn to it, he drove as close as he could get and then parked, got out, and walked to the edge of the slope that had been cut many years before by the small creek running somewhere below the trees and brush that surrounded it.

He flopped to the grass at the base of the sprawling oak tree and squeezed his eyes closed against the pain in his chest. Somehow he had to find a way to follow his dream. Life without it seemed too bleak to even contemplate.

"Lord," he said, opening his eyes and gazing through the branches above him to the sunlight beyond, "please, I'm asking You. Help me find a way to make him understand."