Author's Note: I reposted chapter 4 because I some parts were unclear. Please, please review. I really would appreciate it.

The next day I think I might have told the entire city of Conersville the good news. Now that I had solid proof in my hands, I was more than willing to tell everyone. Everyone, that was, except my parents. I still wasn't sure how they would react. (I was guessing somewhere along the lines of badly.)

Wednesday night I made a long distance phone call to my Uncle Mark, my brother's namesake. He was my mother's brother; they were very close, despite the fact they were polar opposites. My mother tended to be rather analytical (she was an accountant after all), while Uncle Mark tended to be more "artistic" as my father put it. Uncle Mark lived just outside Boston and made his living as a jazz pianist. He was married with a little girl, Olivia, who was just shy of a year and a half. He was the reason I played music. When I was little, we used to have what we call "family gatherings" (because, for some reason or another, we were against the word reunions). Uncle Mark would sit and play for almost the entire time. My brother Mark preferred to play tag with our other cousins, but I was fascinated with the sound Uncle Mark was able to draw out of the piano. I would sit and listen for as long as Uncle Mark was willing to play. One day, when I was about six, he sat me on his lap and showed me how to play. I was imminently enamored with the piano. I took lessons for a couple years, but then I chose to play cello after my piano teacher moved when I was about ten. I was terrible at cello, but Uncle Mark's faith in my future as a musician did not fade. When I started middle school, I switched instruments yet again, but this time for good. I fell in love with the trumpet. Uncle Mark's support had never wavered. He flew out once a year to come see a competition and was always willing to listen to my play. I knew he would be excited to hear that I was marching drum corp. Uncle Mark was no stranger to DCI. He had been in the pit for the Cadets for two years.

"Hey Uncle Mark, how are you?" I asked.

"As good as I can be with an eighteen month old," he laughed, "how are you, Kiwi?"

Unlike the rest of my family, Uncle Mark called me by my nickname, which I was grateful for. I had to other cousins name Catlin (except their names were actually spelled correctly: Caitlin. I envied them.)

"I'm good." I said, "I have some pretty big news."

"What?"

"I was accepted into a drum corp."

"Really? Which one?"

"They're new," I told him, "there an all female corp. They're called the Dragons. There out of Boston."

"Kiwi, that's great! You're welcome to stay at my house during winter rehearsals."

"Thanks," I said, "there's a small problem."

"Your mother," he said without any hesitation.

"Actually, I was going to say my parents, but close enough."

"Maria's a wonderful woman," he said, (Maria was my mother) "but she's a bit overprotective sometimes."

"I didn't notice," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

Uncle Mark laughed. "I'm guessing you haven't told your parents yet."

"No," I said, "I was going to tell them after dinner tonight."

"Here, if your mother objects, give me a call. I'll try my best to talk some sense into her."

"Thanks," I said. I heard Olivia cry in the background.

"Duty calls," Uncle Mark said.

"Okay, talk to you soon."

"Talk to you soon. Good luck."

I hung up the phone. I really wasn't looking forward to the impending discussion and possible doom.

"Catlin, dinner!" my mother called.

Well, here went nothing.

Dinner was tense, at least for me. I was dreading the upcoming discussion. Unfortunately, it was coming whether I liked it or not.

Wednesday was Mark's day to do dishes. I figured that there was no point to procrastinate.

"Mom, Dad," I said as soon as Mark had cleared the dishes, "I need to talk to you."

Mark immediately turned around.

"About something that in no way, shape or form involves you," I said, looking him square in the eye.

Mark sighed and returned to the dishes.

"Mark," my mother said, 'I'll finish up. Why don't you go up to your room and do your homework for a change?"

Mark sighed, and reluctantly went upstairs.

"All the way upstairs!" my father bellowed, "Not up the first three five times."

I heard Mark sigh yet again and really walked upstairs.

"And shut your door!"

Mark's door closed with a thud. My father simply shook his head.

"What's up sweetie?" he asked.

I figured it would be easier to show than tell, so I handed them the packet and the acceptance letter.

My parents looked it over. They looked at me.

Moment of truth.

"Congratulations," my dad said.

"Thank you," I said, "I'd really like to do this."

"No," my mother didn't even hesitate, "Absolutely not."

I was afraid of this.

"Why not Mom?" I asked.

"I'm not going to let you go meandering around the country with a bunch a people I don't know."

"But, Mom," I pleaded, "you're going to let me do that this fall. You're going to ship me halfway across and leave me by myself."

"That's… that's different," she stuttered.

It really wasn't. But I wasn't brave enough to say that.

"Regardless, you're not going. You need to e-mail this woman and tell her to find a replacement."

That was it. My biggest hope, my biggest dreams, and my great desire went completely up in smoke in under two minute. When my mother got like this, no one could talk her out of it. There was no discussion or rethinking. This type of decision was final. I was beyond crushed. I could feel tears running down my checks.

My mother started to get up. My father pulled her back down.

"Maria, if Catlin wants to go, I think she should go."

I stared at my dad, dumbfounded. In my almost eighteen years of existence, I had never seen my father stand up to my mother. Ever.

"Herb," my mother said, "this isn't up for discussion."

"Yes it is," he said, "I think you're being unreasonable and acting on impulse. And that's not fair to Catlin. Catlin is almost eighteen, and as much as you want to protector her from the world, it has come to the point where you can no longer do that. It's not fair to force her to miss out on some wonderful experiences that she worked very hard for because you're afraid what happened to your sister will happen to Catlin."

My mother stared at my father, then silently got up and left.

I stared at my father. He simply got up and finished the dishes.

I sat at the table, beyond confused.

I went up to my room. As I walked passed Mark's room, his door flew open. I let him get the first syllable of his smart ass comment before slamming the door in his face. I couldn't decide which was more satisfying: the noise it made when it closed, or the "OW!" Mark let out afterwards. (Yes, I know that is a bit sadistic, but I was in no mood to put up with him at that moment.)

I collapsed on my bed, not sure whether to laugh or cry. I wanted to laugh because there was still hope that I might get to do this. I wanted to cry because the possibility my father would win this argument was zero to none. Eventually, the crying part won out, and I lain on my bed and cried myself to sleep.