Panic by Sasha Dawn

Author:Sasha Dawn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Fiction-Young Adult, Young Adult Fiction, Performing Arts, Music, Coming of age, Growing up, Self-esteem, Self-Esteem & Self-Reliance, Self-Reliance, Social Themes, Anxiety, Coming of age, Family, Family and Relationships, Friends, Friends and Family, Mental illness, Panic Attacks
Publisher: Lerner Publishing Group
Published: 2019-07-31T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 21

I’m putting my new clothes away. My small closet is already jam-packed with stuff I rarely wear because . . . well, Saint Mary’s mandates a uniform, and until recently, I haven’t had much occasion to meet up with friends outside of school, auditions, and rehearsals. So I don’t know where I’m going to put it all.

If only Dad were as generous with tuition for the performance academy as he is with clothes.

Wait.

I pull every new item out of my closet and fish the receipts out of the trash. When I add it all up, I’m numb. Slowly, I lower myself to my bed.

Three grand and change. Dad spent three grand on clothes I didn’t really need. That’s one month’s tuition.

I feel awful, and not just because I chose Dad over Mom tonight, as Nana not-so-subtly indicated. But because all of this is very extravagant and unnecessary.

Yes, it was fun, and Dad needed to offer up some fun after the things he said about my mother.

But I’d rather have the education, thank you very much.

I fold all the clothes and pack them back into the shopping bags. I haul the bags out to the living room, where Nana is watching TV.

“What’s all this?”

“I want you to be proud of me,” I say. “And not just for what I do onstage. I want you think I’m a good person.”

Nana pauses her Netflix. “I do, Madelaine.”

“The only reason I did this tonight was because I didn’t know how not to do it.”

Nana nods. “I understand.”

“And I’d cancel New York if I hadn’t already invited two new friends. But all of this . . .” I point to the clothes. “I don’t ask for this. I don’t expect it. My dad—”

“It’s the only way he can show you he loves you,” Nana infers.

“I guess so. I mean, I don’t want to think that’s true, but . . . maybe it is. I mean, I think about all the nights you and Mom and I hang out and watch shows. I think about all the times we cook together, and even do chores together. And we laugh. Even Ted . . . maybe he was a disaster, but he shared in it too, while Dad . . .” I swallow hard. “It’s like he’s never real. Like he’s always performing. Showing me only what he wants me to see.”

“Well, that’s the profession.”

“But Dad’s a manager. Mom is a performer,” I say. “She’s real. Why can’t he be?”

“I like the way you said that,” Nana says. “Your mom is a performer.”

“She is.” I sit down next to my grandmother and settle against her. “I’ve never seen her live on stage, but I know I will someday.”

“I hope so.”

Things are quiet between us for a minute or two. I breathe in the scent of her: tonight it’s chocolate and raspberries.

Nana breaks the silence. “So what’s with packing up all your new things?”

“I want Mom to return them while I’m in New York. Dad paid cash for a lot of it and gave me receipts in case something didn’t end up fitting right or whatever.

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