Page 70 of More For Me

I blink at her, confused. “You’re starting college early?”

“No.” Her voice is squeaky. “I, um, I auditioned for a performing arts school. And I got in.” A smile breaks through her nervousness, but she shuts it down right away. “So I’ve been talking with Mom and Dad about going.”

“Where is it?” Vega whispers, looking just as freaked out as I feel.

“Michigan.”

We all stare at her. Clearly the other girls didn’t know anything about this either.

“No way does Dad let you go,” Presley finally says, sounding shaken.

Santana shrugs. “He’s being surprisingly cool.” She pauses. “And Mom is on board.”

If Mom is on board that’s pretty much the end of it. She can usually convince Dad to go along with anything. When Fox, Alex, and I started our show, and Dad was so angry I was sure he was never going to talk to me again, Mom got him under control in a matter of weeks.

“Wow, Santana,” I say, trying to fight down the nauseous feeling. “That’s…that’s really amazing.”

“God, look at your face,” she cries, reaching for my arm. “You look like you’re about to puke. This is why I didn’t want to tell you right now. Presley is right—you’re terrible with change.”

“You’re moving?” Vega asks. Her face has gone pale.

Santana winces. “Nothing’s decided for sure, Vegs.”

My other two sisters look completely shell-shocked—which is exactly how I feel. The idea of one of my sisters living on the other side of the country…

I’ve dated guys who’ve called me co-dependent when I wouldn’t put my relationship with them over commitments to my family—those guys quickly found themselves out on their ass.

But their criticism wasn’t entirely without cause. We are exceptionally close. The bond I have with my sisters could never be matched with anyone else. Our parents haven’t exactly encouraged us to branch out. Uncle Daltrey and Uncle Cash nearly had heart attacks when Rose, River, and Will first moved out of the house and into their own apartment. When Wyatt started at Julliard, Uncle Cash tried to convince the other parents that we should all just move to New York for four years.

So maybe other people might see our reaction to Santana’s news as over-the-top. But to us? The idea of my little sister living so far away makes me feel panicky.

And I see that same panic in Presley and Vega’s eyes.

Santana’s eyes are worse though. She looks so guilty. Like she just got caught betraying us or something. And that isn’t right. Getting into this school is clearly a huge deal for her. She’s wanted to be a country music singer since she was old enough to listen to music. Despite the fact that our rock and roll family has constantly tried to persuade her to a more “acceptable” style of music, she’s stood firm in what she wants.

And now she accomplished this huge thing and we’re making her feel awful about it.

I reach over the table and take her hand. “Santana, I amsoproud of you.”

Her face brightens a little. “Yeah?”

“Hell yeah,” I say fiercely. “I think this is amazing. Totally amazing.”

Her cheeks tinge with pink. “It’s a really competitive school,” she blurts out. “One of the best performing arts boarding schools in the country. The auditioning process was rough.”

I grin. “You kicked that audition’s ass.”

She laughs, looking relieved. “You’re really not mad?” she whispers.

My heart twists. “Of course I’m not mad.” I swallow, trying to dislodge the lump in my throat before she notices. “I am going to miss you, though.”

Her eyes get wet. “I haven’t made up my mind yet,” she says.

But I know she has. I also know I’m going to do everything I can to try to convince her to take this chance. It will be even harder for her to leave than it will be for us to watch her go, but she clearly wants this. Whatever support she needs to be brave, she’ll get from me.

No one bugs me about Bodhi anymore after that. After I kick Presley and Vega under the table, they get on board and start asking our sister questions about the school and her audition. With the slightest bit of encouragement, Santana is bursting with conversation about the program, the teachers, what the dorms are like. This clearly isn’t a whim for her—she’s been researching and planning for a long time.

Vega’s phone rings, interrupting Santana in the middle of a long description of the town near the school—apparently, she’s looked up every shop and restaurant in a twenty mile radius. “It’s Mom,” Vega says, pressing the accept button. “Hey, Momma.”