Read Online Finding Abbey Road by Kevin Emerson - Free Book Online Page A

“It’s . . . great,” I say, and I think I feel like maybe I mean that. “Right?”
    Mom finishes reading and she’s beaming. “That is excellent, Cat.” She gazes at me warmly. “All’s well that ends well,right?” She turns to the refrigerator. “Should we have some pie to celebrate?”
    Her comment makes me squirm. It’s like she’s dismissing the past, brushing last week’s little incident under the rug.
    All’s well that ends well.
    So much of last week was amazing, not just a problem that needed a satisfactory ending . . .
    Some of the biggest moments in my life . . .
    â€œActually,” I say slowly, carefully, like tiptoeing through a minefield, “it’s not really over.”
    Mom pulls the leftover pie from the fridge. She glances up at me, not saying anything, but it’s as much of a go on as I guess I’ll get. “What’s up?” asks Dad. He’s trying to sound casual, but at the same time he moves over to the bar and puts both hands on the counter, like he’s bracing for whatever I might say.
    â€œI have something to ask you guys,” I say, “and I know it’s going to sound like a crazy thing to ask, but it’s also something that’s super important to me, so before you say no, just . . . hear me out.”
    Carlson Squared share a glance.
    â€œOkay,” says Dad. He hasn’t moved. Mom starts slicing pie.
    The room is silent, the air still. Expectant.
    Or lethal.
    And I suddenly know that I should shut my mouth andrun. Get out, Summer, before it’s too late.
    But no. I won’t. Not anymore.
    â€œI know I messed up last week,” I begin. “That you trusted me by letting me travel with the band, and that I betrayed that trust by lying to you about the interview. And maybe I don’t deserve it, but this email makes it look like I’ll probably get into Stanford. If not, there’s still the other schools and I have those interviews in a couple weeks and all. My point is, I know you guys want me to go to college, and it looks like that’s going to happen. . . .”
    â€œWait, I’m confused,” says Dad. “Isn’t that what you want, too?”
    â€œYes,” I say, but ah crap there I am immediately lying. It’s like I duck before I even think! Except, there have been moments when I’ve wanted to go. Not nearly as many as the moments where I’ve known I’m supposed to want to, but still. Keep talking . . .
    â€œBut I’ve actually been struggling this fall because while part of me does want to go to college next year, another part of me wants to . . .”
    Say it, Summer.
    I can’t.
    Oh, God, be the girl you want to be and say it!
    Deep breath . . .
    â€œPart of me doesn’t.”
    Mom places the first slice on a plate.
    â€œWhat do you mean?” Dad asks.
    â€œWell,” I say, “it’s just that, another part of me imagines something different. I love music so much . . . I don’t know if you guys even know that.”
    â€œCat,” says Dad, “we know that.”
    Do you, really, though? “Well, maybe, but I don’t think I’ve really told you how much. Like I love working with bands, like with Dangerheart, and part of me sometimes thinks about . . .” Don’t say it! You have to. This is now or never . . . I feel myself seizing up as the words come out: “. . . taking next year to work on the band full-time, to get further in the music scene, like maybe an internship, and really go for it like I can’t do while I’m in high school, or . . . from college.”
    â€œYou mean like, not even going to college next year?” Dad asks. He’s still staring at the counter, both hands planted. Mom is putting the pie away.
    â€œMaybe, yeah,” I say. “I mean I definitely want to go to college, at some point, I think. But music . . . it’s