"You can trust this girl?"
"Definitely. We go to school together. Brighton," she said, referring to an exclusive girls' school in Los Angeles. "I'm on scholarship."
"I'm impressed. Brighton's got a hell of a reputation."
"I guess. I got in based on academics, but I applied because they offer dance for PE credit. It's not a dance academy, but they support the arts, and so at least I get to study, you know?"
"And your dad's okay with that?"
"Technically, my dance class is a gym class. So he copes. Mostly he likes being able to say that his little girl goes there on scholarship. And--" She cut herself off with a shake of her head.
"What?"
"I don't know. Nothing. It's petty," she added when he lifted a brow and stared her down.
"So? I'm not going to think less of you."
"He doesn't let me dance--you know, not at a real studio. And he knows it bugs me. So I think in his mind I can't complain since he's letting me go to Brighton."
Wyatt nodded, hoping she wouldn't see the way he was clenching his fists to fight back the anger. Her dad was a piece of work, and the sooner she graduated and got out of there the better.
"I never asked where you go," she said.
"Beverly Hills High School," he said, then grimaced. "I fit the profile of a Hollywood cliche, but my mom and sister went there, so no one was going to rock the boat for me. But I'm doing my senior year in Boston," he added. "I got into an exclusive photography academy."
"I'm not surprised. And I bet you're the top in the class. Your work is fabulous."
He'd hooked his camera up to the computer at Patrick's work station once between her shifts and showed her some of the images that were on the memory disk. It wasn't his best work, and it was all raw, without any time spent cleaning up or enhancing at his own computer. Even so, he appreciated the compliment as much as the tone of absolute loyalty and certainty.
"Will you get to study only photography? Or do you have to do the regular school stuff, too?"
"A couple of classes, but mostly I'm done with all my academic requirements."
Her sigh was filled with longing. "I wish I could go to a dance academy."
He started to say something, but she shook her head, cutting him off. He knew her situation--even if she got a scholarship, her dad wouldn't let her go. "Well, at least you have Brighton," he said, lamely. "I can't believe you've been going to school just a few miles from me all this time."
"And now you're going to Boston." She cleared her throat. "I'll miss you."
"I probably wouldn't hav
e applied if I'd known about you. There are excellent photography schools around LA, too."
"Really? Then why didn't you apply to those? Boston's all the way across the country."
He considered giving her his stock bullshit answer about how the Boston program was the most innovative, had the most variety of classes, offered him an amazing scholarship. And all of those reasons were true. They just weren't the reason.
And Kelsey deserved the truth.
"I want to get away from my family," he said simply.
"You do? But you love your parents. And you've said yourself your grandmother's amazing."
"She is. And I do. But--oh, hell. I want to be a photographer. More than that, I want to be a successful one. I don't want to be a starving artist. I want to make a real living."
Her brow furrowed. "But you--"
"What?" He snapped the word, then kicked himself when she flinched. But didn't she get it? After all the talks they'd had? All the time they'd spent together? "You think it doesn't matter because I have a trust fund? That I should just live on that and fund my business and not care if it never really earns a penny because what does it matter, I can pay my rent and buy my groceries?"