“Love you back,” I say, and then she’s gone.
I stand there on the lawn for a couple of minutes after I hang up and try to pull myself together. Out in front of one of the other dorms, some non-eqs are practicing a song from Dreamgirls, and their voices sound ethereal in the quiet night air. When they mess up, they laugh and talk quietly and then try the harmony again. This is what I always pictured Allerdale would be like—a place filled with music and joy, where you can sing outside at night without the slightest hint of embarrassment, even if everyone can hear you. I thought this would be the place where I finally found myself, not just another place I’d have to hide.
There’s loud, happy music on in our room when I come back in, and Zoe’s shaking her butt as she digs through her dresser. “Hey, where’d you go?” she asks.
I take a deep breath. “Zoe, I have to tell you something.”
She must hear the weight in my voice, because she turns off the music. “What’s going on? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. I should’ve told you this before, and I’m really, really sorry that I didn’t, but…Lana Blake Shepard is my mom.”
Zoe sits down on the edge of her bed and blinks at me. “Wait. Seriously?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh my God. Oh my God.” She shakes her head like she’s struggling to take this in. “Wow. Why didn’t you say something?”
“I didn’t want anyone to know,” I say. “I was embarrassed.”
“How is that embarrassing? She’s, like, the coolest person ever.”
“No, I mean, she’s not embarrassing. But it’s really embarrassing that she’s my mom and I’m…me. Everyone knows I wasn’t cast in anything, and once people find out we’re related, they’re going to assume I’m here because she called in a favor.” I swallow hard. “You’re probably thinking that, too. It’s okay if you are.”
“No, of course not,” Zoe says, but I’m not sure whether to believe her. I can feel all those I deserve to be heres packing up and slinking quietly out of the room.
“I wanted people to get to know me as me, not as Lana Blake Shepard’s daughter, you know? Like, I know this girl whose dad died when she was twelve, but she never tells people about it until she knows them pretty well because she doesn’t want to be ‘the girl with the dead dad.’?”
Zoe looks at me like I’m nuts. “This is so not the same thing.”
“No, I know. I’m not explaining it well. I’m not saying my mom is, like, a tragedy. But it’s really easy to get defined by one thing. Are you pissed I didn’t tell you? Please don’t be mad.”
“I’m not pissed, Brooklyn. I just think it’s a little weird that you lied about it.”
“I didn’t really lie. Nobody asked me if we were related. You asked if she’d done a workshop at my school, and I said no, because she hasn’t.” It’s a lame excuse, and I know it.
Zoe shrugs. “Whatever. All I’m saying is, if Lana Blake Shepard were my mom, I’d tell everyone.”
Of course you would, I want to say. Nobody would judge you, because you’re the kind of daughter she deserves.
“I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out on my own,” she continues. “I feel so dumb now. I know your last name, and you kept talking about how you come from a family of theater people. What is it like living with her? Is it amazing? I can’t even imagine.”
I hate that she’s asking the same question Skye asked when she first met me, the same question everyone asks. I don’t want anything about Zoe to be unsurprising. “I don’t know; it’s normal. She’s the only mom I’ve ever had. I don’t have anything to compare it to.” It comes out a little harsher than I intend, and I sigh and sit down on my bed. I have to pull myself together. I was so worried about this revelation changing the dynamic between Zoe and me, but now I’m the one acting bitchy and making everything weird.
“Listen,” I say more quietly. “My mom and I are having dinner tomorrow after she’s done teaching all her classes. Do you want to come with us? I’d really love it if you would. She says she’s looking forward to meeting you.”
“She said that?” Zoe’s eyes light up, and it hurts to see that kind of rabid interest on her face and know it has nothing to do with me. When Lana Blake Shepard is on the table, I’m no longer the most interesting person in the room, even when I’m the only other person in the room. “I’d love to have dinner with you guys. Thank you so much!”
Zoe springs off the bed and throws her arms around me like everything’s suddenly fine between us again, but I can’t even enjoy her affection because I feel like I bought it. I probably don’t even deserve it; I’m using one person I care about as a sparkly, distracting bauble and another as a lure. I’m actually kind of a horrible human being.
I’m about to confess one last thing—that I need Zoe to pretend I’m in Birdie while we’re at dinner tomorrow—when she says, “Have you told the other girls? Livvy’s going to lose it.”