I raised an eyebrow.
“Why are you home, anyway? Don’t you have to be at the office?” Mom had always worked late, but since Carter left for school, she never walked through the door before takeout o’clock.
“I was worried about you.”
“It’s no big deal, Mom, honestly.”
“Nice try. I looked online—this is a very big deal. There are already stories about your flit on all the local stations’ sites, and on a gossip blog out of New York.”
“It wasn’t my flit,” I mumbled.
“Don’t be tedious.” She waved a hand in the air exasperatedly. “The point remains: you should have told your father and me.”
“I’m sorry. I just figured it would blow over by this morning. I mean, you saw it. It’s not even a very good picture of me.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. I thought you looked very handsome.” Mom eased back into the spindly wooden chair she was sitting in. She’d actually been waiting for me on the edge of her seat. Mom caring that much about anything I do: definitely new.
“Not a-million-reflits-overnight handsome.”
“Okay, explain that for me.” She scrunched up her eyes, putting her fingertips to the side of her forehead. “Because I can’t understand why everyone cares so much about this picture. Why news teams care about it.”
“I think they only care that it’s popular.” I tried to say it with authority, like Carter would. She nodded thoughtfully, as though I’d said something smart.
“Well, let’s make a plan.”
Classic Mom: she would spreadsheet a party if she could. It’s probably why she was such a good lawyer; she was equal parts interrogation and list making.
“What sort of plan? I don’t really have a say over this.”
“Of course you do. You certainly have a say in how you react. For example, you didn’t have to agree to be interviewed by those reporters this morning.”
“I guess not.” I could feel my back tensing up.
“I think you were quite poised.” Mom gave a rare smile. I exhaled. “I was proud of how you handled yourself. The goal now is to make sure you get more of those opportunities and use them to your advantage.”
“Look at you, Stage Mom.”
“No, I’m just trying to be smart,” Mom said pointedly. “If you play this right, it could put Princeton back on the table. An essay about this—with Rosie’s help, obviously”—Rosie was the SAT tutor Mom had hired a year ago who had transitioned recently into a college apps guru—“well, it would definitely stand out. And colleges have always liked applicants that are visible, doing something different; the ones that have that ‘something special.’ This could be what makes you special, Kyle. It could be everything we’ve wanted for you.”
I swallowed. I’d thought my parents were mostly resigned to the idea that I wasn’t going to follow Carter to the Ivies. I didn’t have the grades, I wasn’t half as good at lacrosse; it just wasn’t going to happen. It had actually been a relief when my most recent SAT scores came in; even they could see I was nowhere near Princeton’s averages.
The first thing I manage to do that’s different than Carter, better even, and they want to use it to put me back on track to being his Mini-Me.
The house line rang from the little paneled nook at the back of the kitchen. Mom stood up automatically. Usually it was either a telemarketer or one of her clients.
“I’m gonna do some homework,” I said, starting across the kitchen.
“We’re on the same page, though?” Mom walked to the phone but didn’t pick it up, watching me with raised eyebrows. “We’re going to optimize your . . .”
“Media appearances?”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, I guess that’s what they are. You’ll discuss any ‘appearances’ with your dad or me first, okay?”
“Yeah, okay. Sure.”
She nodded once and grabbed the phone off the cradle, putting a hand over the receiver and mouthing “shoes off” before putting it to her ear. I kicked them off and started upstairs. I figured I had at least an hour of video games before I had to start on homework. After all, I’d expected more shifts this week.
I’d barely turned on the Xbox when Mom’s voice ricocheted up behind me.
“Kyle, come down here, please?”
I clicked the game open, so it could at least be loaded when I got back, and padded back downstairs.
“Yeah?”
Mom’s eyes were extra wide and the blood had drained out of her face. She was still holding the phone at shoulder level, but I could hear the tinny flatline of the dial tone from the doorway.
“What happened? Is everything okay?” My heart started beating faster, pulsing hard through the veins in my neck. “Mom, what’s wrong?” Had something happened to Dad? A car accident? “MOM.”