"Y-You could sell anything. And I m-mean, I'd t-take all of y-your pictures for you. N-No charge," Tatum laughed back, hoping it wasn't obvious how serious she was in spite of laughing it off. If Emma decided out of nowhere the next day that she actually did want to be a model, and demanded Tatum move to California to follow her around and take all of her glamor shots, Tatum probably wouldn't think twice about going. There was always that one father shaped thing her way of doing whatever she wanted though, real or fantasy.
"Annie s-said I should m-make a portfolio," she said, over the music. "I s-said it's dumb, b-because dad would n-never go f-for it. Could you imagine h-him letting m-me go to art s-school? W-With a b-bunch of h-hippie faggots?" His words, not hers, but she knew Emma would know that.
"I-It's a nice d-dream but it's n-not gonna h-happen. I am s-sort of w-wasting my time," the redhead shrugged, as she turned the corner toward her house. She could already see her large driveway, thankfully empty, the house still dark except for the light she had left turned on on the front porch. "L-Let's smoke this b-blunt in the g-garage and w-we'll r-raid the cabinet before we go in?" she suggested, as they were pulling in and she killed the engine, the car going silent and music cutting out a few seconds later. Tatum strictly made them smoke outside, as a rule of thumb, if they were anywhere near the Donnelly house.
But it was cold, and almost Christmas, and they could just leave the garage door cracked.. Her dad would never know. Or so she hoped.