I’m starting to think that saving up for my exit strategy to LA to live with my dad might not be worth the torture of staying here for an entire year. But at least I have the summer to recharge. To retreat into the bookshop and my photography.

“Josephine?”

And I may have something else—this is the other thing, right here.

Please let me have this.

Pulling out my earbuds, I jog across the corridor to the journalism classroom to meet a bespectacled middle-aged teacher with a shiny bald crown, Mr. Phillips. He’s in charge of the Beauty High yearbook and the school paper. More importantly, his wife works at a regional magazine that’s published right here in Beauty—Coast Life. New England travel, food, lifestyle … that sort of thing. And it’s his wife’s job that interested me most, because where there’s a magazine, there’s photography. And where’s there’s photography, there are internships.

The summer internship at Coast Life is a good one.

“Miss Saint-Martin. See you made it through junior year.” Mr. Phillips smiles as he adjusts round, gold-rimmed eyeglasses that are, style wise, somewhere between John Lennon and Harry Potter. “Got any big plans this summer?”

I always have plans.

“Working at the Nook part-time,” I tell him, anxious for him to give me the news.

“Sounds fun. And what about your photography? Will you be taking more pictures of signs around Beauty for your portfolio?”

“Always on the lookout for a good sign. They’re humanity’s communications, and I’m just the messenger with the camera.”

“Love that,” he says.

Is he making small talk to let me down easy, or to withhold the good news longer? I can’t tell, but it’s making me nervous. Mr. Phillips is nice and one of the few teachers I actually don’t mind here. But the truth is, I need his help if I’m ever going to make it to Los Angeles next year.

The problem is that my famous father is famous for a reason, and he’s notoriously tough. I need to prove to him that I have what it takes. See, I know I can take pictures. I’m mostly self-taught—my dad’s given me pointers—but I’ve got a good eye, and I’ve taken thousands and thousands of photos over the years. I develop my own film, old-school style, in a darkroom. I’ve even got an online funding account—Photo Funder—a photography donation fan site on which I post exclusive photos for paid anonymous subscribers. Most months, it only brings in around a hundred bucks, and I’m pretty sure the majority of my subscribers are Mom’s friends and my grandmother. Not enough to prove to my father that I’m worthy.