That was why she’d applied to ValleyStart. Because with hard work and maybe a Pulse internship, maybe, just maybe, it might lead to a job that would make college unnecessary and mean her parents wouldn’t have to worry that every seat in the theater wasn’t filled. That she wouldn’t have to worry. The theater was as much her home as the actual house she grew up in. She loved it, same as her parents did.

Delia tried to give her dad a thumbs-up, but her hand trembled too much, and she lowered her arm to her side. She inhaled a deep breath and focused on her mom, trying to call up the first line that followed the end of the song. She couldn’t. Her mind was as empty as her bank account. Spots flickered in front of Delia’s eyes, and she couldn’t take in enough oxygen. The theater was suddenly a thousand degrees, and sweat broke out on her neck and forehead. Still, she pleaded with her dingy white sneaker to lift off the ground.

“I got this, babe,” Cassie said, putting a hand on Delia’s forearm.

The dizziness clouding Delia’s head began to recede, but her heart still knocked against her chest like Smudge’s tail on the hardwood floor when she came home. “But do you know it?”

“What I don’t know, I’ll wing.”

Claire Meyer’s perfect pitch strung out the last notes of her song, and Cassie kicked off her clunky work boots and walked onstage barefoot.

Delia watched the furrow on her mother’s brow ease and the gentle tip of her head as she quickly assessed the situation. Then Delia went back to work, adjusting the lights to mask her dad’s set change, all the while hearing Cassie and her mom banter like mother and daughter—both of them improvising as they found their groove.

If she sprouted them out of her back, Delia still wouldn’t be able to “wing” anything.

“How am I even related to her?” Delia whispered.

“Through your mind, your heart, and your pretty little mug.” Jeffrey Meyer pushed aside Delia’s corkscrew bangs—a shade darker and, in Delia’s mind, muddier than her mom’s golden blonde strands—and kissed his daughter on the forehead. “Excellent work on the lights as always.”

“Yeah, I’m a whiz backstage.” She flicked her finger up and down in the air, miming her movements on the manual lighting board. They had saved up to buy a digital this year, but then ValleyStart happened and the money went to it. “How will you ever train someone to replace me?”

“We won’t be able to. You are irreplaceable.”

Delia knew a normal teenager should roll her eyes at corny dad behavior. Delia was happy to never play that role.

“Sorry I couldn’t . . .” She pointed to Cassie onstage with her mom. “I wanted to. I just . . .”

“No apologies.”