Page 117 of Dear Rockstar (Dear Rockstar 1)

“Orono.”

“Great school.” He nodded. “You planning on going into forestry?”

“No.” I looked down at Dale’s bedspread.

“Engineering?”

“She’s going to major in art.” Dale looked at me. “She’s very talented.”

“Art?” John scratched his head. “Why are you going to Maine to major in art? The New York Studio School is right—”

“It’s a long story,” Dale sighed. “Just forget it, Dad.”

John looked between the two of us, frowning. Now I felt like I owed him some sort of an explanation.

“Do you know who Tyler Vincent is?”

John chuckled. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“Well… Tyler Vincent lives in Maine.”

“Yep, he does.”

“So… if I go to college in Maine, I’ll have a better chance of meeting him.”

John stared at me for a moment. Then he laughed, long and loud. “What a reason to pick a college!”

I looked back down at the bedspread, hurt by his laughter. Dale didn’t say a word.

“I’ve got a better chance of it in Maine than I do if I stay here,” I snapped, defensive.

“Here, now, don’t go getting all ruffled up.” John smiled. “I didn’t mean an insult. Come on into the kitchen and we’ll talk about this at dinner. Catfish is frying.”

John waited. I finally got up and followed him. Dale trailed behind us. John piled our plates with catfish and potato salad, boasting that the catfish breading was a “secret recipe” passed down through generations.

“Used to catch it ourselves, didn’t we, son?”

Dale just stared at his plate and shrugged one shoulder. John eyed him for a moment and then looked at me. I poked my fork around my own plate, trying to imagine Dale Diamond holding a fishing pole.

“Let me tell you something, Sara. I love Maine. I was born and bred there, and it’s probably one of the most beautiful places on this earth.” John leaned back in his chair. “There are a lot of good people in Maine. Mind you, they don’t take too well to outsiders, but they get used to you. After a fashion.”

He paused again and looked at Dale, who was picking onions out of his potato salad with his fork. “You miss it, Dale?”

“No,” Dale said, not looking up.

“Well his mother’s there.” John frowned, looking back at me. “I didn’t mean to laugh at your choice, Sara. University of Maine is an excellent school, but it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s a good school for you… Understand?”

“Yeah.” I understood, all right. I understood plenty. He was going to tell me not to go, plain and simple. He was going to say it was ridiculous to pick a college for the reasons I had. But what he didn’t understand and what Dale didn’t understand, what even Aimee didn’t understand, was this was my chance, my one chance, to get out of here for good.

But I respected his opinion. I respected him. So I shut up and listened.

“It’s a fine school, but sweetheart, you want to major in art. I’m not saying they don’t have a good art program. It’s just fine, but it’s not exactly prime rib for the price you’d be paying per pound. It’s more like… round steak.”

I laughed. He was always coming up with analogies like that.

“What if I decide to go into something else?” I shrugged. “I know they have an excellent education department. What if I decide to teach art instead of becoming an actual artist?”

“An idea,” he conceded. “But I don’t know if it’s a good one, because I’m not you. Is teaching what you really want to do?”

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