Page 116 of Dear Rockstar (Dear Rockstar 1)

“Oh.” My mother sounded surprised and I looked over, seeing for the first time what she held in her hands. It was a book of food stamps. I’d seen them often enough when we were on welfare, but it had been so long, it didn’t register at first. My heart plummeted when I recognized the booklet and my mouth felt dry.

“I only have eighty dollars here,” my mother said quietly. “Sara, hand me those packages of broccoli and corn. I have enough vegetables in the freezer to last me.”

I got them just before the bagger did and I offered him a weak smile of apology. His name was Danny and he’d been in my World Lit class my junior year. Tammi took them off the order.

“That’ll be eighty-eight twenty-nine.” Tammi snapped her gum, looking impatiently at my mother. The people behind us were watching with disgusted interest.

“Sara, hand me the peanut butter and the coffee,” my mother said. This time Danny handed them to me personally. My throat felt tight. Tammi took those off the order. Her gum snapping was beginning to grind on my nerves.

“That’s seventy-nine forty-nine,” she said impatiently. “Come on, lady, we don’t have all day. I have other paying customers waiting.”

“Here.” My mother, turning a paler shade of white, gave her the eighty-dollars in food stamps. I grabbed the cart and started out of the store. My cheeks felt as if they were on fire.

“There.” My mother caught up to me in the parking lot. “That was taken care of easily enough.”

I didn’t say anything and kept on walking.

John opened the door and I almost fell on top of him. I’d been pounding on it for what felt like forever.

“Is Dale here?” I panted.

“He’s in his room. Are you okay?”

“I’m great!” I cried over my shoulder. “I’m fantastic!”

He shut the door, calling after me, “You staying for dinner? Fresh catfish!”

“Sounds great!” I called back, bursting through Dale’s door.

“Hey!” He smiled when he saw me standing there.

“Dale!” I cried, throwing my arms wide, beaming. “Guess what?”

“What?” He was sitting bare-chested on his bed, staring at me, guitar poised in mid-air, and normally I would have immediately jumped him just on principle, but I was too excited—I could barely breathe.

“I’m going to Maine!” I shook the envelope at him, in case he’d missed it. “I placed! I placed!”

He set his guitar aside just in time, because I tackled him, kissing him hard, practically knocking us both off the bed.

“Congratulations.” He kissed the tip of my nose, smiling, but it didn’t reach his eyes—there was no dimple in it. “So now what?”

“Look.” I handed him the letter and he sat on the edge of his bed with it.

“Dear Student,” Dale read softly. “Congratulations, you have placed in the Maine Difference Creative Competition. You are invited to attend the Maine Difference Open House Program on April twenty-second to claim your prize and take a good look at our campus and the college way of life.”

He paused and the piece of paper trembled slightly in his hands.

“Isn’t it great?” I cried. “Placed. That means something. I might not get first—that’s the full scholarship—and second and third place are cash prizes. But at least I placed! I’m going to Maine!”

“It’s terrific, Sara.” He handed the letter back to me. “I’m so proud of you.”

He didn’t look happy, and I knew why, and I couldn’t blame him. I felt a lump in my throat, swallowing around it, wanting to tell him it was all going to be okay, but John interrupted us.

“They still doing that Maine Difference contest thing?” John asked from the doorway and I jumped, startled.

“Dad!” Dale frowned. “How long have you been there?”

“Sorry,” John said sheepishly. “I heard Maine and it drew my attention. I didn’t know you wanted to go to the University of Maine, Sara. Which one?”

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