“Okay.” I sit at the kitchen table, sucking down the last of my latte. Volunteering at the retirement home will be hard tonight, since my voice is tired from practicing so much this weekend. I go to the home during their Sunday dinners and sing jazz standards while one of the residents plays the piano. Thankfully, nobody pays much attention to me while I’m doing it.

Dad squints at his midair plant, his brow furrowing with concentration. One of the spiky leaves shakes, and then a brown spot near the tip slowly disappears. He turns his attention to me as the plant drifts away toward the kitchen window. “Kiddo, I know your mom asked you about this already, but if you want to take the SATs again in March, we can make that happen,” he says, sitting in the seat across from me. “No pressure. We don’t want you to feel like you shouldn’t take it just because it costs money.”

But it does cost money. Him reassuring me doesn’t make that fact any less true. I already paid for my MAT registration out of my savings, which I only got away with because I secretly registered myself and hoped Mom wouldn’t notice. So far she hasn’t.

“Your mom said that taking the SATs again could help you with the Brockton Scholarship application. We just want to make sure that you have every opportunity, okay?”

“Thanks, Dad,” I say. “But I don’t want to do it because I’m probably going to be super busy this semester.” Be a big girl, Shay. Spit it out. I take a small bite of cookie for fortitude. “I’m auditioning for the musical at school.”

His eyebrows shoot up, and he blinks too much. “You’re doing the musical?”

“Yeah.”

“But you . . .” He pauses. “Hate acting.”

I’m not a mind reader, but I’m pretty sure that wasn’t what he wanted to say originally. “You mean I’m bad, right?”

“You have many other talents, Shay,” he says tentatively. He runs a hand over his bald head.

“Oh my god, please just lie to me.”

“What’s this about a musical?” Mom walks into the kitchen, still wearing her sleep-rumpled work clothes. Dad rubs the small of her back when she joins us.

“You’re up already?” he asks.

She waves him off, keeping her attention on me. “I was only resting my eyes.” Dad snorts quietly at that.

“Mr. B asked me to audition for the spring musical,” I say hesitantly. I watch Mom closely for her reaction. This is going to be a big deviation from our plan, and it’ll be a lot harder if she’s not on board. “He heard my solo at the concert, and he really liked my singing,” I add. “He thinks I would be a good fit for the show.”