Chapter Thirty-five
My last summer at home passes in a flurry of online classes, voice lessons, working as a receptionist at Grandma Maddie’s salon, and waiting tables at a restaurant in Sommerton—not The Smoked Salt Grille—in the evenings.
Things have relaxed at home, probably because I stay in my room a lot and give my mother no reason to suspect me of .
. . whatever. Outside of work, my social life is nonexistent and my expenses, few.
Grandma is adamant that I’m not allowed to pay her back until I’m all finished with college and settled with a job in New York, so by the time school starts, I’ve saved enough to pay the remaining balance that will be due to La Bella when I start night classes in October.
Back in school, I keep working weekends at the restaurant in Sommerton.
The first two months of my senior year fly by.
Three days after my eighteenth birthday, I get up extra early to pray, something I’ve been doing more and more often these last few months.
Today, I’m going to finally unveil my plan to my parents, and I need God’s help with that—if only to stop the shaking of my hands.
At breakfast, I pick at my egg white omelet for a good five minutes before I work up the nerve to blurt out, “I’ve decided to graduate early. At the end of this semester.”
I wait for the explosion, but it doesn’t come. Instead, my parents exchange a glance. Dad sets down his newspaper.
“We know,” he says. “The school counselor sent a letter at the beginning of the year.”
My pulse thrums. I can’t believe they’ve known for two months but didn’t say anything.
I swallow and rearrange the silverware around my plate. Stay calm. Stay . . . calm. You’re an adult now, so be an adult.
I nod, trying to act like I’m not as surprised as I am. “I’ll have all my credits completed this semester, as well as my associate degree from Sommerton Community College. There’s no reason to stay in high school.”
I inhale a tight breath. I’ve practiced my speech for weeks, but it’s hard to force out the words.
“Since I’m eighteen now, I don’t really need your permission, but I would like your blessing.”
“Our blessing? Hmm,” Dad says, and the fact that he’s doing all the talking while Mom remains silent is freaking me out a little. “Honestly, Faith, we were hoping you would change your mind.”
“What about all your college applications?” Mom chimes in, and I let out a breath. “You’ve applied for admission next fall, right? Not in January.”
“Right.” I nod. “I’ll start college next fall, as planned.
I’m not sure where yet, but I’m planning to major in Musical Theatre.
” I hold up my hand to silence Mom’s inevitable interruption.
“Since you’ve made yourselves clear about what you will and will not pay for in regards to my education, I’ve made some additional plans to help pay for my own schooling. ”
I hate that I can’t look my parents in the eye, but if I do, I might lose my nerve, so I continue to stare at the omelet on my plate.
“Starting next Monday, I’ll be taking night classes at La Bella College, studying esthetics. I’ve already put down a deposit, and I have the remainder due in my savings account.”
“Beauty school?” Mom’s jaw drops. “Tell me you’re kidding, Faith. You got a twenty-one hundred on the S.A.T.!”
As if intelligent people with good test scores shouldn’t consider a skilled trade? Careful, Mom. Your snobbery is showing.
“Yes. And I hope those scores will put me in the running for some good scholarships toward my Musical Theatre degree.”
“I’m lost.” She splays her hands and leans away from the table. “What does beauty school have to do with Musical Theatre?”
“Cosmetology School,” I correct as gently as I can, considering my teeth are clenched.
I make an effort to relax my jaw, my voice, and my body language.
“As a licensed esthetician, I can work in a spa or a salon. I can even work as a makeup artist for theatrical productions after I finish college and start auditioning in New York. It’s a respectable skilled trade that a lot of people make really good money doing. ”
“But . . . why?”
“Haven’t you always preached about—” I cringe.
Bad word choice, probably. “Er, told me that I won’t be able to make a living in the theatre?
That I need something to fall back on? Well, I don’t believe that.
But I do know I need marketable skills to support myself until I’m able to make a living in the theatre.
Not only that, but this is a skill I can actually use in a theatrical setting, doing stage makeup. ”
Their expressions aren’t exactly open, but they’re listening, so I continue.
I explain how esthetics is a growing field, even pulling a spreadsheet from my pocket, listing the average incomes of estheticians in all the cities where I’ve applied to colleges. I explain the length of the program and why it makes sense.
“So you see?” I say at last. “It’s a solid plan. I can still have a viable career option in the theatre, if—” I cough and take a drink from my water glass. “While I’m establishing myself as a performer.”
“Faith.” Dad takes off his glasses. “You don’t have to support yourself through school. We helped pay for Ryan and Gretchen’s undergraduate degrees, and we’ll help you, too.”
“If,” Mom butts in, “you pick a course of study that isn’t a complete waste of our money and your time.”
“I know you want what you think is best for me.” I silently pray for patience. For fortitude. “I’ve been drawn to the stage all my life. It’s who I am. I can accept that you won’t pay for my schooling. I’m willing to pay my dues in order to follow my dreams.”
“You’re very talented, Faith. No one will argue that.
” Mom’s tone is her version of tender, I guess, but the prevalent Faith-directed chill I’ve grown accustomed to is not entirely absent.
“But you’re so young. You have too much potential to waste it on a long-shot like show business.
” She sighs. “I know you feel grown up and wise now. Everyone does when they’re eighteen.
But you don’t realize how sheltered we are here in small-town Iowa, honey.
We all know you are, inarguably, the most talented singer and actress in your high school of five hundred students.
Here, you’re a big fish in a tiny pond. But it’s an ocean out there in the real world, full of other, possibly more talented, fish and a good many sharks.
The odds are stacked against success before you even start. ”
“I know it won’t be easy, but I’m not a coward. I won’t quit just because it’s scary or competitive.”
“Naiveté often masquerades as bravery when you’re young,” Mom says, her voice taking on the tiniest bit of condescension—at least to my ears.
“You’re a small-town girl from Iowa, not some worldly-wise urbanite.
” She nods. Agreeing with herself? “Your dad and I don’t want to punish you for being talented.
We want to protect you. To make sure you’re safe and that you’re preparing yourself to have a good life and a career that can support you. ”
“If I try to live the life you want, it will kill the part of me that makes me . . . well . . . me.” I take a breath and remind myself to keep my cool.
“I believe God has given me the talents he has for a reason and that I need to develop those talents with proper training and education—not smother them with practicality.”
Mom opens her mouth to interrupt. I hold up my hand.
“No, please. Just listen. Yes, I’m young,” I say. “And yes, I’m probably pretty na?ve. But I only get one shot at being young, and I don’t want to waste it being afraid. Don’t you understand? If I don’t pursue the dreams God has put in my heart, I’ll not only be letting myself down, but God, too.”
“You believe God wants you in show business?” Mom scoffs. “I imagine most of the stuff that happens backstage on Broadway would make Jesus Christ roll over in his tomb.”
“Well, I guess it’s a good thing he’s not in there anymore, isn’t it?” My tension spills, staining my words with angry sarcasm. I close my eyes. Breathe, Faith. Breathe. “Sorry. That came out a little strongly. What I mean is . . . maybe he wants me there for that reason.”
“So you want to be a Broadway missionary?” She snorts. “Or an evangelical makeup artist?”
I sigh. “I want to live the life I’ve been called to live, in the way I’ve been called to live it.
I want to use the gifts God has given me, recognizing that the most important of those gifts is himself.
No, I don’t know what that’s going to look like yet, but I know I need more training—professional training and experience—to be ready when I figure it out.
If I’m accepted into a musical theatre program at a university, I can get that training.
And by working as an esthetician while I’m doing it, I can also have a job to support me through the hard times after I go to New York. ”
“You’ve obviously given this a lot of thought, Faith.” Dad puts his glasses back on, only to pull them off again. “I’m proud of you.”
He’s . . . what? I blink. “Really?”
“Yes, I am. But I still have to agree with your mother. Spending thousands upon thousands of dollars, not to mention several years of your life studying something in which the odds of finding success are slim seems like a waste. Not just of our money and your time, but of your potential.”
Mom nods. “I know your head was filled with a lot of religious stuff over the past couple of years, Faith. And that worries me. You’re young.
You’re vulnerable. You’ll be surrounded by all these volatile, artistic people who are going to find out your dad’s a doctor and you come from a family with money.
What if you go off to college and get dragged into some cult? ”
Like Aunt Becca did at my age. Minus the college part. “You’re kidding, right?”