Trapped (Bullied Book 4) (Bullied Series) by Vera Hollins (romance novel chinese novels .TXT) 📕

any more. Performing in front of the whole school had been just one step toward making my dreams come true. Telling my parents who I truly was was the next.

The smell of waffles greeted me when I entered the kitchen, and my stomach growled. I’d come home as soon as I woke up, so I hadn’t had any breakfast yet.

My mom stood by the kitchen island. She smiled. “Hey, honey. How was it at Melissa’s place?”

“It was okay. Mel snores a lot.” I took a plate and reached for one of the waffles before taking a seat at the kitchen island.

Mom giggled. “She should sleep on her side or with her head raised to keep her airways open.”

I swallowed my waffle in three big bites and took another one. “This is Mel we’re talking about—she rolls around in bed like she’s practicing samba in her sleep. I think I have a few bruises from her elbows and knees.”

“Ouch. So you got to sleep next to her?”

“Yep.” I bit into the waffle. “Sar got the better end of the deal. She slept on the sofa. I should sleep there next time.”

“You do that. Anyway, there is something I’ve wanted to ask you since your solo,” she said with a small smile, watching me knowingly. “Your song was pretty emotional and…well, personal. So, I assume it’s about you, right?”

My cheeks warmed. “Right.”

“You never told me you fell in love with someone.”

I didn’t want to talk about my feelings, and even if I had, I wouldn’t have known where to start. “It’s a long story.”

“I bet, after hearing the lyrics. Is everything okay between you and that boy now?”

I opened my mouth to give her some vague answer, but Dad entered the kitchen and smiled at me, talking to someone on his phone.

“I’ll check it tomorrow.” He sighed at whatever the person on the other end of the line said. “Robert, it’s Sunday. You know better than to call me on Sunday. We’ll go over those reports tomorrow. Talk to you later.” He ended the call and stopped next to me.

Mom’s smile was amused. “They keep calling you on weekends?”

Dad rubbed his forehead. “And it’s not even eight yet. Hey, sweetheart.” He smiled and ruffled my hair. “How’s our most amazing singer? You were extraordinary yesterday.”

I bit at the cuticle of my thumb, hoping Mom wouldn’t press me to hear about Blake now that Dad was here. “You think?”

“He even recorded it with his phone,” Mom said. “He wants to show it at the office.”

I frowned. “Daaad! Don’t do that! That’s embarrassing!”

“There is nothing embarrassing about it. I want to show everyone how talented my daughter is.” He and Mom looked at each other and silently communicated something. I was none the wiser about what it was about.

“Hang on a sec,” he said before walking out of the kitchen. I just wished he would come back so we could talk about my college decision.

But when he returned and I saw the object in his hands, I grew speechless and my pulse began to race.

He’d bought me a new guitar, and it wasn’t just any guitar. I recognized it because I’d googled it so many times, fantasizing about owning it. It was a Gibson Montana SJ-200 Standard, one of the best acoustic guitars in the world. This piece of amazingness cost more than four grand.

This piece would cost their disappointment when they heard about the path I’d chosen.

“I can’t believe you bought me a Gibson. Did you rob a bank to buy it?”

Laughing, he handed me the guitar that had a big, red bow attached to its neck. “A bank or two, yes. Do you like it?”

My hands were shaking as I inspected the beautiful vintage design, running my fingers over its polished surface. This guitar was heavier than my Martin, but it felt perfect in my hands.

“Do I like it? I LOVE it!” I jumped from the chair and hugged him, holding the guitar in one hand. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

I saw Mom smiling broadly over my shoulder, which gave me hope that the conversation about college would go well. They cared about my happiness. They wanted me to do what would make me happy. So maybe they wouldn’t get mad…at least not very.

I stepped away from Dad and placed the guitar on the counter, so carefully, as if each move could shatter it into pieces.

“Thank you, both of you,” I said, inhaling deeply. “But there is something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Dad leaned against the counter next to Mom. “Yes?”

“I’m not going to your law college, or any law college, for that matter.” Their smiles dropped.

“What are you saying?” my mom asked. “You won’t go to a law college?”

I plastered my suddenly cold hands together. No matter what, I would push through this.

“Yes. I don’t want to be a lawyer.” I looked at my dad. “I never did. I want to pursue a career in singing.”

His face turned stern. “Singing?” He said that word as if it was going to bite him.

I swallowed the bile that rose up my throat. “Yes. I want to be a singer. That’s my dream.”

“Jess, honey, be real,” Mom said. “We’ve talked about this already, quite a few times. It’s okay to have dreams, and your voice is incredible, but the real world isn’t sunshine and rainbows. Singing will never keep you afloat.”

“That’s not a sound choice, Jessica,” Dad added. “You can’t expect to make a living with it.”

“Yes, I know very well how low my chances at success are. I know there are thousands—no, millions of singers out there who can’t and will never be able to make it in the music industry, but I don’t want to give up on my dream just because the odds are against me. If everyone gave up because of the odds, we wouldn’t have famous singers—”

My mom let out an incredulous chuckle. “You don’t understand how hard those people had to work to reach that