Tell Me Something Real Read Online Free

family. A grandmother. An aunt. Someone bound by blood or vows. “You just have to play. This might be too much. It might not be enough. Promise me you’ll keep up with it. Conservatory work is rigorous.”
    For the first time since I hit puberty, I’ll miss summer music camp in LA—trapped at the clinic instead. I can’t imagine getting into one of the conservatories, playing for hours a day, leaving home for the luxury of music, replacing regular high school with a performing arts education. Mrs. Albright and I spent hours filling out applications and recording cassettes, but in the end, only three schools invited me to audition after I applied last fall—before the diagnosis. Back then, my only hurdle was getting in. There are so many obstacles now, but that doesn’t change my dream of going. I want to spend my days at the piano, hours on end, losing myself in the notes. I didn’t think I could want anything so much. Until Mom.
    â€œI don’t know how much I’ll be home,” I say. “We’re in Mexico so much. There isn’t a piano there. Honestly, with how things are with my mom, I don’t know if I can even go. I haven’t even told my parents.”
    â€œWould it better if I have the schools send the acceptance letters here? We won’t hear for a couple more months.”
    I’m filled with relief that I won’t have to worry abouttelling Mom and Dad now. Or Adrienne. The last thing I want is for her to intercept my mail. “Yes, that would be better.”
    Mrs. Albright gives me a tender smile. “But you need to practice whenever you’re able. Agreed?”
    I promise with my whole body, eyes squeezed shut, hands clutching the music, head nodding.
    â€œGood,” she says. “Turn over the folder.”
    Louise Albright
    555-3722
    269 Mariposa Street
    â€œIn case you run out of music.”
    I want to hug her, but something about her, maybe her perfect posture, prevents me from doing so.
    â€œPlay every day,” she says.
    In the hall, Adrienne and Zach lean against the cinder-block wall near the door. Tall and lanky, Zach bends his head as he listens to Adrienne. She shakes her head. He speaks. She shakes her head again. Poor Zach.
    â€œHey, Vanessa, tell her I can come with you.”
    â€œFor the millionth time, no. Babcocks only. It’s tradition.” Adrienne flashes a smile, half-playful, half-dangerous.
    His eyes meet mine and I shrug an apology.
    â€œWe’ve got to get Marie,” she says as she reaches for her art supplies. “See you soon.”
    I turn away when she gives him an enthusiastic kiss good-bye.
    Half of the parking lot waits at the exit, bumper to bumper, so close they resemble boxcars hitched to a steam engine.
    Adrienne tosses her stuff into the backseat. Mom hasn’t driven the car since the storm. I’m promoted to shotgun.
    I lean my head out the window. “Marie’s going to freak out if we’re not there,” I say.
    She backs out of the space and drives in the opposite direction of the honking line. “These fools don’t spend half their time driving through TJ.”
    Our wheels crush a patch of marigolds as Adrienne barrels over the sidewalk, off the curb, and into the street. Seamless and daring. She raises her middle finger at the school. “See you later, motherfuckers.”
    Chaos hasn’t consumed Torrey Pines Elementary. Parents sit behind steering wheels, anxious and smiling. A small gaggle of mothers, wearing a uniform of pastel clam-digger pants and jelly sandals, huddle near the entrance. Probably moms of kindergartners, a club to which Mom once belonged. I don’t remember running through the doors and into her arms. I can’t imagine a time when she was strong enough to lift me.
    Marie walks out alone. She wears a butter-yellow shirt with a drawing of one of her saints, horrible portraits sketched with an amateurish but