problem is, I havenât discussed it with my parents yet, and Iâm running out of time.
The deadline for early decision is November first, less than two months away. Iâve already completed most of the application package, everything except the final two elements of a four-part portfolio that includes a ten-minute film. But, obviously, Iâm going to need my parentsâ support or itâs never going to happen. New York is a long way away, and NYU is expensive. Really expensive.
Who knows? Maybe itâs just a pipe dream. Still, Iâm not quite ready to give it up.
I head over to the gun safe to put Delilah away, thinking that maybe I can talk to them now, before I lose my nerve.Itâs not like itâs going to get any easier the longer I wait, and if they say no, well . . . I guess I wonât bother with the rest of the portfolio.
*Â Â *Â Â *
When I return to the house fifteen minutes later with Beau and Sadie in tow, I find both my parents sitting together at the kitchen table, drinking coffee. My dad has obviously just showeredâhis hair is dampâand my mom has changed from her church clothes into a pair of bleach-stained shorts and an old T-shirt, her usual Sunday-afternoon attire. Her blond hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and she smells like sunscreen and bug repellant.
I realize I better catch her now before she heads out to her gardensâa vegetable plot just off the kitchen and a larger, fenced-in space out back where she grows Old World roses along with other colorful flowers that I canât name.
âHey, can I talk to yâall for a sec?â I ask, sliding into the chair opposite them.
My mom raises one brow quizzically. âIs this about Patrick? Because Iâm not sure I likeââ
âItâs not about Patrick.â I take a deep, calming breath. I can do this . âItâs about my college apps.â
Daddy sets down his mug. âHowâs that coming, hon? You need help with your essays?â
âNo, nothing like that. Itâs just . . . I know we talked aboutapplying to just the state schools, but I was thinking . . . I mean, you know how I like to make movies and all. I was hoping that I could apply to a film school, too.â
My momâs blue eyes narrow a fraction. âFilm school?â
I swallow hard. âNYU, actually. You know . . . in New York City,â I add lamely.
âNew York City?â my dad parrots back, somehow making it sound like Mars or something.
I plow on recklessly. âYeah, Iâve read over their materials, and I think their program sounds awesome. Itâs a good school, too. And . . . well, Iâd like to at least apply and see what happens. I know itâs a long shot, butââ
âWeâre not sending you off to New York City, Jemma,â Daddy says, shaking his head. âThatâs all there is to it.â
My parents exchange a glance, and then Mama nods. âBesides,â she says, âall your friends are going to Ole Miss. What would you do in New York? Alone? And film school . . .â She trails off with a shrug. âYouâre a straight-A student, Jem. Why would you throw that all away for some crazy ideaââ
âI wouldnât be throwing anything away. They have academic programs at NYU, too, you know. Maybe I could . . . I donât know, double major in film and English lit or something like that.â
âWhere did you even come up with this idea?â Daddy asks, sounding a little dazed.
I fold my arms across my chest, trying not to look too defiant. âThat class I took last summer. You know, the one at the Y? The teacher said I had a cinematic eye. I know itâs hard to believe, but she actually thought I had talent. Real talent.â
My mom eyes me suspiciously. âAre you sure this doesnât have something to do with