Chapter 113
[Rose's POV]
I stood in the hospital corridor, phone still warm in my hand from Ashley's call.
MIT. Direct admission. Accelerated placement.
The words circled through my mind like electrons in orbit.
But accepting meant committing to academia. Years in lecture halls and laboratories. Structured curricula and department politics.
I opened my email app and began typing, my thumbs moving carefully across the screen. The mechanics of modern communication still felt strange sometimes.
Dear Ashley,
Thank you for Professor Thompson's incredible faith in my abilities. I'm deeply honored by this opportunity.
However, I have commitments I must fulfill first. I've made promises to teammates who are depending on me, and I don't break my word. I'd like to accept admission to MIT, but I need to request a one-year deferral to honor these obligations.
I hope this doesn't cause any inconvenience.
Sincerely,
Rose Evans
I hit send before I could second-guess myself. The decision settled over me with surprising calm. This was the right choice. Not the practical choice, perhaps, but the principled one.
Twenty minutes later, my phone buzzed with Ashley's response. I scanned the message, watching her surprise and acceptance unfold in carefully chosen words. She promised to speak with Thompson, to arrange everything for next fall's enrollment.
Give yourself permission to live at eighteen, she'd written. Genius can wait a year.
I smiled faintly at that. If only she knew how long I'd already been waiting.
Benjamin's room felt smaller when I returned. James sat on the leather sofa beneath the window, Christopher stood with his arms crossed near the door, and Alexander sprawled in the chair closest to Benjamin's bed, one leg bouncing restlessly.
Benjamin himself looked like a medical supply catalog had exploded across his body.
"I need to leave," I said. "The American Dream Star finals are in two weeks. My teammates are waiting for me at the training studio."
James's expression shifted immediately to concern. "Mom, you just got your collar off days ago. The doctor recommended at least another week of rest."
"Time doesn't wait, James." I kept my voice gentle but firm. "Ava and Sophia need me. We only have two weeks to prepare."
Christopher stepped forward, his CEO instincts kicking in. "I can contact the production team. We could negotiate an extension, adjust the timeline—"
"Christopher." I met his eyes directly. "You know I won't break the rules. I want to compete fairly, like everyone else."
"But you're not like everyone else," he protested. "You're—"
"A contestant," I finished. "Just a contestant. That's all I should be in this competition."
Benjamin shifted in his bed, the movement awkward with all his restrictions. "Great-grandmother has a point. Fair competition means everyone plays by the same rules."
Alexander's leg stopped bouncing. "Even if those rules suck?"
"Especially then," I said. "Integrity means nothing if you only follow rules that benefit you."
Before I left, something occurred to me. I turned back to Christopher. "The rule change for the finals—allowing free team formation instead of assigned groups. Who made that decision?"
Christopher's expression became carefully neutral. "I'm not sure of the specifics. I'd need to check the work emails."
He pulled out his phone, fingers moving across the screen with practiced efficiency. The room fell quiet except for Benjamin's soft breathing and the distant beep of medical equipment from the hallway.
"Found it," Christopher said after a moment. "The format change was proposed and fast-tracked by Carter, one of the judges. It went through the approval process in less than forty-eight hours."
I nodded slowly, processing this information. Carter had pushed the change through with unusual speed. That suggested either genuine belief in the new format or a specific agenda. Given what I'd observed of television production politics, I suspected the latter.
"Thank you," I said. "That's helpful to know."
I didn't elaborate on my suspicions. No need to worry the family with theories I couldn't prove yet. But I filed the information away for future reference. Carter's motivations would become clear eventually.
---
The hospital's underground parking garage smelled of concrete and exhaust fumes. My footsteps echoed as I walked toward the elevator bank, already mentally cataloging what I needed to discuss with Ava and Sophia at rehearsal.
A car horn beeped twice, sharp and insistent.
I turned to see a black sedan idling near the exit ramp, driver's window rolled down. Alexander pulled off his sunglasses with a flourish, grinning widely.
"Yo, Great-grandma! Need a ride?"
I walked closer, genuinely surprised. "Weren't you just in Benjamin's room?"
"Yeah, but I'm fast." He winked. "Besides, I couldn't let you take an Uber. What kind of great-grandson would that make me?"
I pulled out my phone and showed him the training studio address Ava had sent. Alexander glanced at it and nodded confidently.
"Downtown rehearsal space? I know that area like the back of my hand. Get in."
I settled into the passenger seat and reached for the seatbelt. Before I could fasten it, Alexander leaned over and checked the buckle himself, making sure it clicked securely into place. The gesture was oddly touching—this careful attention to safety from a teenager who'd been crashing cars and breaking rules just weeks ago.
"Safety first," he said, catching my surprised look. "You're precious cargo, Grandma Rose."
The car merged smoothly into Boston traffic. Alexander drove with unexpected competence, his earlier recklessness replaced by careful attention to signals and spacing. The city rolled past the windows—historic brownstones giving way to glass office towers, tourist groups clustering around street performers, the constant pulse of urban life.
We stopped at a red light. Alexander drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, then glanced at me. "Can I ask you something?"
"Go ahead."
"Why are you doing this? The singing competition, I mean." He gestured vaguely. "You've got the brains to do literally anything. You could already be at MIT, working on whatever genius stuff you want. So why waste time on a reality show?"
The question was more perceptive than I'd expected. I looked out the window at a group of college students crossing the street, backpacks slung over their shoulders, laughing about something.
"Because I made a promise," I said. "Ava and Sophia believed in me when they didn't have to. They took a risk by choosing me as a teammate. I won't let them down."
"But you could explain the situation," Alexander pressed. "They'd understand if you had to leave for something important."
"They would understand," I agreed. "But that's not the point. The point is that rules should apply equally to everyone, including me. If other contestants can't defer the finals for personal opportunities, then neither should I."
Alexander was quiet for a moment, processing this. The light turned green and he accelerated smoothly.
"That's pretty hardcore," he said finally. "Most people would take the shortcut."
"Most people aren't trying to build something that lasts," I replied. "Shortcuts might get you there faster, but they don't teach you what you need to know for the next challenge."
We drove in comfortable silence for a while. The downtown buildings grew denser, the streets narrower. Alexander navigated the one-way roads with ease, finally pulling into a parking spot near the studio with practiced precision.
He shifted into park but didn't turn off the engine. "Grandma Rose?"
"Yes?"
"When the competition happens, if you need a cheering section..." He looked suddenly younger, almost vulnerable. "Me and Mike could come. We'd make signs and everything. Really embarrassing ones, probably."
I felt something warm unfold in my chest. "I'd like that very much."
"Yeah?" His face brightened. "Okay. Cool. We'll plan it."
I reached for the door handle, then paused. "Alexander?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For the ride. And for offering to come."
He looked startled, then pleased. "That's what family does, right? We show up for each other."
I smiled and got out of the car. As I walked toward the studio entrance, I heard him call out one more time.
"Kick ass in there, Great-grandma!"
I turned back to see him leaning out the window, grinning that same irreverent grin that had once infuriated me. Now it just made me shake my head fondly.
"Go home, Alexander."