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air. I was pretty sure the guy in the suit standingat the bar was one of the Marsalis brothers and that the blonde a few tables over once had a recurring role on
CSI
. Meanwhile, Dad was leaning toward the glamorous young couple to our right and showing them the
New York Weekly
article.
    Was I being übersensitive, or was this totally bizarre?
    â€œYou’re not going to the professional children’s school,” Mom said the next morning. The inspiration for this idea had come from Raigh the night before. A neighbor on her floor had a ballet dancer daughter who went to that school.
    â€œWhy not?” I asked with a yawn. “It would be perfect for me. And ninth grade’s the perfect year to transfer.”
    â€œHerrin is perfect for you.” Dressed in her work clothes, she was standing at the kitchen counter, waiting impatiently for her chai tea to steep. I was sitting at the kitchen table, head propped in my hands, watching a bowl of Cheerios go soggy.
    â€œHerrin can’t make the time accommodations I need for my career,” I said.
    The facial tic Mom sometimes got around her left eye fired involuntarily.
    â€œWhy do you hate it so much when I use that word?” I asked.
    â€œI don’t hate it.”
    â€œYou soooo hate it. It’s like in your opinion no onewho’s fifteen can have a career. But there are Olympic skaters, gymnasts, tennis players, actors, and singers who do it all the time.”
    â€œThat’s different,” she said.
    â€œOh, really?”
    â€œYes, really. Most of them are seizing a moment that may be the only opportunity they’ll ever have. Young athletes have to take advantage of a youthful agility and flexibility they won’t have when they’re in their twenties. The actors and singers are capitalizing on being cute and adorable in a way that might very well change dramatically by the end of puberty.”
    â€œAnd you don’t think I’m doing the same thing?” I asked.
    Mom leveled her gaze at me. “I think you’re talented and you’ve worked hard. I’m proud of you, Jamie, but honestly, just because you’ve sold some photographs and
New York Weekly
ran that story about you because you’re so young does not mean this is a career. I’m not sure how you can call hanging around with a disreputable bunch of freelance photographers who make money by invading other people’s privacy a career. No one ever mistook a paparazzo for an Olympic gymnast.”
    â€œThey might if they saw some of the moves my ‘disreputable’ friends make to get a picture,” I quipped with another yawn. “Why shouldn’t car-dodging be an Olympic sport?”
    I’d hoped Mom would smile, but she didn’t. The skinaround her eyes wrinkled. “What time did you get home last night?”
    â€œDon’t change the subject,” I said.
    A healthy dose of motherly stink-eye followed as she fumed, “Today is a school day and you need to be awake. Your father is the most irresponsible excuse for an adult that ever—”
    â€œWe were celebrating.”
    The tooth puller looked blank. “Sorry?”
    â€œThe
New York Weekly
article? Hello? The one all about your daughter and the career she’s not allowed to have?”
    The kitchen door swung open, and Elena wheeled in Alex. My brother cannot speak or control his actions, and yet he is incredibly aware and astute. He took one look at my mother and me, and I could see in his eyes that he knew we’d been arguing.
    He made a grunting sound and a jerky motion with his head. It was his way of saying, “What’s going on?”
    My mother and I locked eyes. “You’ll have to forgive me if your
career
is not foremost on my mind,” she said. “I have a few other things to attend to.”

MARCH OF TENTH GRADE, SEVENTH DAY OF SPRING VACATION IN LA

    I KNOW IT SOUNDS LIKE A CLICHÉ, BUT I FEEL NAKED