Page 8 of Dream On

Mom says grudges are for simpleminded people, but my sister disagrees. She says grudges hold power when you have no other leverage.

I’m not sure yet whose side I’m on.

I flop back in the chair and blow a piece of hair out of my eyes. “Well, since I’m not competing against him, his money is irrelevant. Besides, it feels like it’s my time. I’ve worked really hard.”

Joplin glances at me as she pulls serving bowls from the cabinet. “I’ve never seen you this dedicated. All you do is practice.” Humming under her breath, she scoops stew into shallow bowls. “Is Natalie auditioning?”

“Yes. Everyone is saying it’s between her and me.”

“She can’t sing as well as you can.”

“She’s actually pretty good.”

Last year, my voice, talent, and dedication didn’t hold a candle to Natalie Marks and her esteemed reputation—honor roll, cheer captain, homecoming queen. That high school rendition ofBeauty and the Beastwill forever be a crushing disappointment. I figured if I lost the role, it would go to a senior, the ones who usually snag the lead parts. So when it went to a fellow junior, I was only that much more determined to earn it this year.

I can still see the look in my sister’s eyes as she watched my reaction from afar when I raced over to the bulletin posting with a swiftly beating heart and raw hope blooming in my chest.

She witnessed my shell shock, my disbelief. The way the color drained from my cheeks and the sparkle dimmed in my eyes.

Belle: Natalie Marks

It was a debilitating blow. The director at the time had told me I wasbornfor the stage, born for that fairy-tale role.

But Natalie was popular and wealthy.

And I was just the nobody choir girl with holes in her shoes.

Mom’s sugary-sweet voice punctures my black cloud as she transfers bowls over to the table and sets them down. “Well, no matter what happens, keep that fire alive and stoked, Stevie. Politics are politics. Keep fighting the good fight until you come out on top.” She takes my hand and smiles. Her light-chestnut hair falls into her eyes, doing nothing to hide the love in them. “You’re still young. You have your whole life ahead of you to share your gift with the world.”

I squeeze her hand. “Thanks. I know I get carried away with this stuff.”

“As long as you let it carry you to bigger and better things, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Dad sets his book aside while Mom and Joplin take their seats. He nods in agreement, removing his reading glasses as he smooths back his dark, silver-sprinkled hair. “Sounds like it’s time for a plumbing joke.”

Everyone groans.

His modest beer belly jiggles when he laughs. “Why did the plumber break up with his girlfriend?”

“Because the girlfriend couldn’t handle any more plumbing jokes and it was illegal to ax him in his sleep with a pipe wrench,” Joplin deadpans, sliding two fingers under her chin.

“Because she was too draining.”

I reach for a biscuit and peel apart the buttery layers, shaking my head. Dad has been in the union for twenty years, starting as an apprentice and then building his own plumbing business from the ground up when Joplin and I were toddlers. Mom is a part-time librarian, and we all work on the farm in our spare time, tending to the chickens and keeping the vegetable gardens flourishing.

We’re a lower-income family, making my dreams of stardom feel even more urgent. What I wouldn’t give to provide for the people who have spent their adult lives working long days just to put food on the table. It’s more than a dream, really. It’s a mission. An undertaking to repay the many sacrifices they’ve made for my sister and me along the way.

Mom sets her spoon on the table. “Are we ready?”

Taking a bite of my biscuit, I nod and place a napkin on my lap.

Joplin starts. “I received a fifty-dollar tip at the diner this morning. The couple said my smile was sweeter than the blueberry pancakes. Corny but effective.”

“It’s kind of lopsided,” I declare.

“Part of its charm.”

Dad goes next. “I got off work an hour early and mowed the lawn. Now it looks better than Fran’s next door.”