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“Great.” My mind races, trying to piece together the truth and the lies. I press a hand to my suddenly damp forehead. “But let’s meet somewhere. With midterms and all, I’m dying to get offcampus.”
When I get to the front doors of Vanier, I spot someone who has no business beinghere.
My stomach plummets as I pull up and my dad’s gaze meetsmine.
“What are you doing here?” Iblurt.
There’s no shock in hiseyes.
“I want to know the same thing.” Even as he tugs the baseball cap down on his head, he leaves the sunglasses off—which tells me he’s really pissed if he’s willing to risk beingrecognized.
I swallow, staring past him. “How did you findme?”
“An old industry contact thought he recognized you at his studio. Then he saw your name on a lineup for a showcase and sent it tome.”
Fuck.“Dad,I—”
“How long have you been planning this behind my back? AndHaley’s?”
I’ve heard my dad yell before, but this is different. His voice is low and precise and scary asfuck.
“It wasn’t a plan. I auditioned in the spring,” Iadmit.
His anger is a living thing, scorching the fall air between us. “I’ve asked you questions, Haley, too, about your classes, your residence—all of it. You lied to ourfaces.”
Righteousness shoves out the guilt. “I told you I wanted to get more involved in music. I pitched you Vanier half a dozentimes.”
“I thought you were taking an interest. I thought you had priorities. Instead, my own daughter has been lying to me formonths.”
I drop my book bag on the pavement. Part of my brain insists I need to go to class, but I shove it aside. “You’re acting as if people never lie. Everyone does. Youdo.”
“Aboutwhat?”
“You knew about me for a year and wouldn’t acknowledgeme.”
His tight jaw goes slack, but it’s the shock in his eyes I feel the most. I wasn’t planning to tell him I knew that, not ever, but now that it’s out, I can’t take itback.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Dad’s voice is unusuallyrough.
“I have a letter from my birth mom. She tried to contact me two yearsago.”
He exhales hard. “Annie, listen to me—you’re my kid, and everything I’ve done was foryou.”
I shove both hands through my hair. “I get that you were the biggest star on the planet and you left because of me. Because you had a kid to take care of. I know you’ve made sacrifices”—I swallow—“but I’m eighteen. You can stopnow.”
His eyes, the same glowing gold as mine, deepen. “You want to be a grown-up? To face the world on your own without help from the people who care about you? Then I can stop sending tuition money. I assume this is where it’s been going rather than Columbia.” He gestures to the building behind me. “I should’ve been suspicious when you asked me to send money for tuition and your other expenses together and that you’d take care of getting everything paid. But you’ve always been a thoughtful kid and I trusted you. Hell, I was proud ofyou.”
The blood drains from my face, guilt warring with devastation in mystomach.
Normally, I embrace every emotion I’m feeling. Today, they feel like weakness, and I needstrength.
I know I’m in the wrong here, but he istoo.
The Vanier building isn’t only the backdrop of our argument. It’s the reason I risked everything I am, everything Ihave.
I swallow down the emotions so I can find my voice. When I do, it’s stronger than Iexpected.
“Do you have any idea how hard it is to get inhere?”
