“Why did they show up as blanks for me?”
“Maybe your terminal doesn’t translate emojis.”
I consider this. “That’s probably lucky. If it had, I would’ve read…”
“Some very inappropriate-sounding announcements, yes.”
None of this makes sense. “But why were they only in my script? I can’t even see them. Why not yours, too?” I ask.
“Oh,” she says, “they were in mine.”
“But your reading was flawless! How did you read them without getting distracted by the, um, you know…”
“That’s the advantage of being bullied all your life, I guess. You get pretty good at tuning that kind of thing out.”
I feel ashamed. Here I was, partially blaming Cecily for my audition going poorly when it had probably been much more distracting for her.
“I’m sorry,” I say. The words aren’t really enough, but they’re all I can think of. I’m sorry about everything—sorry that I was awkward in our audition, sorry that I was blaming her for it, and sorry that she, apparently, has had to put up with stuff like this for years. “I’m really sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
We sit there quietly for a moment, listening to Tripp and Connor read from their own script. Now that I’m paying attention, I hear tension in their voices, like they are about to burst out laughing. Could be the nerves. Or maybe their script got tampered with, too.
“You think they have the same problem?” I whisper to Cecily.
“Looks that way,” she agrees.
I sit back in my desk and wonder if maybe I did a better job reading the announcements because I couldn’t see the images. Maybe my blindness actually helped me rather than hurt me. For once. And maybe there are other times in my life when this happens without me even realizing it.
I ask, “Did Xander and Victoria’s script have the images? They sounded normal.”
“Yeah, but they’ve got a few years of practice, you know?”
“So who would’ve done it?” I ask.
“Probably just some hacker wannabe trying to impress his hacker wannabe friends.”
But then Xander walks by—all three of the teams have been hanging out in Mrs. Everbrook’s classroom this morning during tryouts—and he leans in between our desks.
“Nice try, noobs,” he says. “In live broadcasting, you have to be prepared for anything. I hope you learned that lesson today.”
“Wait,” says Cecily. “You put those in the scripts on purpose?”
“Who, me? I didn’t say that. I just said I hope you learned something today.”
After he walks away, I whisper to Cecily, “You think we have any chance of making it to the final round next week?”
“Honestly? Not really. Not with me—”
I interrupt, “Don’t say stuff like that. You were great.”
Cecily doesn’t answer at first. Then she says, “Thanks.” It sounds like the compliment really meant something to her. I decide to seize the moment and take Ion’s advice.
“Hey,” I say, “you got any plans Saturday night?”
“Um… no,” she says.
“Want to go to homecoming? With me, I mean?”
“Uh, yeah, sure.”
“Just as, you know, friends?”
“As friends?”
“Or cohosts. If you prefer.”
“Whoa, let’s take things one step at a time,” she says. But I can hear that she’s smiling.
CHAPTER 13
On Saturday, as she is driving to my house to pick me up before homecoming, Cecily calls my cell.
“Are you all ready?” she asks.
“Yep.”
“Wanna just meet me outside?”
“My mom really wants to get a photo of us together. Can you come in? Just for a minute?”
“Oh…” She pauses. “Yeah, sure, of course. Okay, I’m parking in the driveway now.”
She hangs up, and I go to the front foyer. The doorbell rings, and I reach out and turn the knob. My parents are crowding in right behind me, apparently in a competition to find out which one of them can make this situation more awkward.
I swing open the door.
“Wow,” says Cecily. “You look great.”
I’m wearing a suit and tie. I even allowed Mom to comb my hair for the occasion.
“So do you,” I say. “At least, I assume so. Let me ask my parents. Cecily, I would like you to meet my mom and dad.”
They don’t say anything. This is awkward. So, so awkward. What’s wrong with them?
“Oh,” says Mom. “Hi there.”
Hi there? Seriously?
“Hi,” says Cecily quietly.
“It’s so very nice to meet you,” says Mom, trying to recover.
I guess Mom and Dad are just as nervous as Cecily.
“Well, how does she look?” I ask, trying to bring back the festive mood I would’ve expected in this conversation.
There’s another pause. Dad says, “She looks gorgeous, Will. Absolutely gorgeous. It’s wonderful to finally meet you, Cecily. We’ve heard so much about you.”
I hear them shake hands.
“We’ve got a dinner to get to,” I say. “Mom, you want to get that picture?”
“Wait, I brought you a boutonniere,” says Cecily. “Want me to pin it on?”