Big Time Read Online Free Page A

There’s no way I’m cooking tonight.”
    Dad is waiting by the front door when we get home, smiling and expectant. His smile fades when he sees me.
    â€œNo?” he asks.
    I just shake my head.
    â€œOh, sweetie,” he says. “It’s their loss, that’s for sure.”
    â€œThey made her cry,” my mother says.
    â€œThey didn’t make me cry,” I say. “I was just emotional because I got my hopes up. It was stupid of me to think I’d make it.”
    â€œThey did too make you cry,” she says. “Grown adults insulting impressionable teenagers to their faces. It isn’t right.”
    â€œIt most certainly wasn’t stupid of you to think you’d make it,” says my father. “You have a fantastic voice. What on earth did they find to criticize, exactly?”
    I glance behind me and catch my mother making a throat-slitting gesture.
    â€œNever mind,” he says.
    â€œThey said I was boring and had no stage presence,” I say.
    â€œThat’s crazy!” he says. “These people are obviously amateurs who wouldn’t know talent if it punched them in the face.”
    â€œKind of the opposite,” I say. “They’re professionals who do this for a living.”
    â€œJust hang on a second, okay?” He runs into the living room and comes back with one hand behind his back.
    â€œTa da!” he says, holding out a bouquet of Gerbera daisies, my favorite flower.
    â€œYour father and I bought you some flowers just because you’re our favorite daughter,” says Mom. “Nothing to do with Big Time , just a random gift.”
    â€œIt says Congratulations ,” I say, peering down at the little card nestled inside the flowers.
    â€œCongratulations on being our favorite daughter,” says Dad. “And on having the guts to audition.”
    â€œThanks.”
    â€œI’ll put them in some water,” says Mom. “Why don’t you go up and tell your brother to come down for supper?”
    My brother, Jack, is in his room studying, with his back to the door and his giant headphones on. I can never understand how he’s able to concentrate on schoolwork while listening to his insane punk music, but his marks sure don’t suffer.He’s pretty much a genius who will end up curing some disease or inventing a new social network. He has his music jacked up so loud that I have to smack my hand on his wall several times before he realizes I’m standing in the doorway.
    â€œHow’d it go?” he asks, swiveling around in his chair.
    â€œNot good.”
    â€œSucks,” he says. “You’re better off anyway. Have you ever seen how stupid they make people on that show look?”
    â€œI guess so,” I say. “It’s still no fun though. Mom wants you to come down for supper. We picked up pizza.”
    The whole time we eat, my parents won’t stop talking about the Big Time auditions.
    â€œThe thing is, Gerri,” my father starts, “you need to remember that music takes a lot of hard work and practice.”
    â€œThat’s why they call it show business,” says Mom, “and not show laziness.”
    â€œThat’s a great play on words, Mom,” Jack says, his mouth full of pizza.
    â€œReally though,” says Dad, “haven’t you seen this Justin Boober—”
    â€œBieber,” says Jack.
    â€œWhatever,” says Dad. “Bieber. Haven’t you seen his documentary? That kid was playing and practicing and practicing and playing and performing—”
    â€œI get the picture, Dad,” I say.
    â€œWhat we’re trying to say,” says Mom, “is—”
    â€œI know what you’re trying to say,” I tell them. “Practice makes perfect. Get back on the horse and ride. If I want to take music seriously, I have to start getting serious.”
    They look surprised.
    â€œExactly,” they