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enough so he could observe my agony.
    â€œThe company is called Good Music,” I told them. “And they publish songs and produce records.”
    â€œThere was an article about them in last week’s
Wall Street Journal
,” Jules remarked. “They’ve only been in business three years, but they’re doing very well.”
    I nodded, hoping this was a sign of encouragement. “They’re really hot—I mean successful—and I’ll be doing office work, but I’ll also have the chance to listen to the writers who are getting songs recorded. I’ll be playing my own songs for Bobby Goodman, the head of the company. There’s a chance I could even get a song recorded.”
    â€œSo, JJ,” Janny cut in sharply, “knowing how I feel about the music business, you went behind my back and applied for a job at a music publisher.”
    â€œNot exactly,” I protested weakly. “If you had asked, I would have told you, but you didn’t ask.”
    â€œWhat’s done is done,” Jules declared. He stubbed out his cigarette, looked at my mother and then back at me. “Justice, your obsession with songwriting has always bewildered us. If it’s a hobby, that’s one thing … but you know it’s not any serious kind of occupation. Frankly, I don’t condone what you did and how you did it, but I for onewould like to see you get it out of your system. This job may be just the way to do that.”
    Janny was already shaking her head. “I don’t agree, Jules,” she said. “I’m inclined to say no to the whole thing. It’s not just the job. It’s the deception on JJ’s part.”
    My heart stopped. I felt completely out of control, which I was. After all, they were already talking about me in the third person, which they knew I hated, as if I were a criminal waiting to be sentenced.
    â€œAnd what is that in your hand, JJ?” Janny demanded.
    I took another deep breath, knowing the worst was yet to come. “It’s a contract for three months. It says Good Music owns the publishing rights to any songs that I write during that time, whether they get recorded or not.”
    â€œThink you’ll get a record, Irving?” Jeff asked.
    I turned to him, my gaze steely. “I don’t know,” I told him, annoyed that he was sticking his nose into this at all.
    â€œLet me take a look,” Janny ordered.
    I handed her the contract. As she flipped through it, nobody dared to breathe audibly. The clock on the wall boomed in synch with my heart. When my mother looked up, she shook her head.
    â€œThis is a terrible contract. It’s very one-sided in the publisher’s favor. I would advise against this deal, Justice, for anyone, let alone my own daughter.”
    â€œMom,” I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking, “I’m going to be honest with you. I don’t really care if the contract’s good or bad. I can learn so much there. It’s where I want to be this summer. Please just sign it. Please. It’s like Dad said—this way I can get it out of my system.”
    My mother didn’t answer. I could see the cogs turning in her brain. She was mentally reviewing arguments for and against. Then she and Jules turned to each other once more in silent consultation. My future hung in the air like the last cloud of Jules’s cigarette smoke.
    Suddenly Jeff stood up. “I have a solution,” he offered. “It’s only for three months, right? So let Irving do it. But if she doesn’t get one of her songs recorded by the time it’s over, she has to give up this crazy songwriting thing and never mention it again.”
    My eyes narrowed. I couldn’t figure out if he was trying to help me or hurt me. My brother has always had a weird instinctive ability to understand our parents in a way I never have. When he and I fought as kids—as in