“We can’t do it anymore by ourselves, Mom. And I don’t want to ‘make it big.’ I just want to be normal, or my version of normal, anyway. I have friends now and I do go to school and yeah, I still sing sometimes, because I’ll always love music. But it’s when I want to, and it’s not for anyone but me.”

“I get it.”

“Do you?”

She looks at me. We have the same hazel eyes.

“Yes, I do. And I promise on our old beat-up truck, which is still alive and kicking, by the way, that I will not make you do another gig.”

“Swear on your favorite rhinestone jacket.”

“I’ll do you one better.” She puts her hand over her heart, and her red nails flash under the streetlight. “I swear on my heart.”

Something like hope rises with my next breath when she says, “Now tell me about your friends.”

I tell her about Well and Geneva and Tucker and Jacob. And I tell her about my A in English and Mrs. Nicky’s rumba and Dan’s crossword puzzles and Ginger’s terrible tomato juice.

When we walk back inside, I spot Well and wave, but before I can get to him, his dad steps in. He’s in a shiny shirt and jeans and smells like he’s been hit by a tidal wave of aftershave. “Maxwell didn’t tell me you were a singer,” he says, holding a card up between two fingers, so close to my face I have to take it or get stabbed in the eye. I study the card: WRIGHT MANAGEMENT is embossed on the front next to a giant gold music note. “Call me,” he barks. It sounds like an order. Behind him, Well rolls his eyes.

“Thank you, sir,” I say, sweet as apple pie. Mom, for once, is silent. When he walks away, she watches me throw the card in a trash can without a word.

“Brava,” Well says, and claps.

14 Auld Lang Syne

Ginger hung tinsel and twinkle lights from every sconce and light fixture in the house. And she cooked. Well… she heated up pigs in a blanket and mini quiches, her version of cooking.

It’s eleven forty-five p.m. Fifteen minutes to midnight on New Year’s Eve and everybody who’s anybody is here, meaning Ginger and Dan and Well and Geneva and Tucker and Jacob and Mom. Mom brought a cheesecake that she made from scratch in the kitchen of her new apartment. Who knew my mom could cook? She’s in the kitchen now, sitting on the counter and eating that cheesecake right off the serving platter with Ginger. We all played Scrabble until Dan had to take a time-out after Jacob played “xu” for twenty-seven points. I tried Jenga with Geneva, but it was a little too stressful. Currently, I’m trying not to fall asleep in the corner of the sofa.