He glanced my way. Seeing my grin, he frowned for a second, then smiled back, looking down at the floor like he was trying not to laugh.
And a sense of humor. Jesus, I’d be lucky if I didn’t declare my undying love for him the first time they put us in a room together. There was no way this could happen. What they’d already shot was mortifying enough. Too bad there wasn’t a way to say no to the show but convince him not to back out of homecoming.
“That’s yours for now,” Mary said. “It was tailored to you, after all. Just take it to the dry cleaners and send the receipt to the show. We’ll reimburse you. It’s possible we’ll have you wear it to the dance.”
Kyle nodded, eyes still down, cheeks still smiley.
“I’ll drive him,” Mo said. It was the first thing she’d said since we all sat down. “You guys probably have somewhere to be, anyway.”
“Great. Thanks, Jo,” Mary said, smiling perfunctorily. I could see Mo’s jaw tense. Good. She deserved it. “We’ll get going. Can’t wait to get started on this!”
Mary shook Mom’s hand, smiled in a big circle at the rest of us, and whisked out the door, Eddie in tow.
“Text me later, okay?” Mo stopped by the door to look back at me, eyes pleading.
“Don’t worry, I definitely will.” If only to ream her out.
“So was you asking Rachel something the show had planned from the beginning, or . . .” I heard her saying to Kyle as they headed out. Then the door slammed shut.
“Well.” Mom leaned back into the couch cushions, looking dazed. After a few seconds of grinning at nothing, she turned to me. “What do you think about that?”
I stared at her.
“I can’t believe you set this up. You knew they were going to come over, and make me look like a total fricking idiot—”
“Rachel, tone.”
“And then they’d air it on national TV. You knew.”
Mom’s forehead accordioned into a pained expression. Dad was frowning at me unconvincingly. I had a sneaking suspicion Dad was thinking the same things.
“All I knew was they were helping Kyle ask you to homecoming. He was the boy you had a crush on, and Mo said this would help your plays somehow.” Mom shook her head, waving the air in front of her as if it were full of flies. “I thought you’d be excited.”
“To be the laughingstock again? For everyone to remind me that I’m too fat for him, too ugly, too worthless to—” I shook my head. Even now it felt risky to tell my mom about the really awful stuff. If she knew that, there was no limit to how far she might go: wrap me up in a thousand layers of bubble wrap, remove all the too-sharp internets and people from my vicinity, and pack me away in my room for the rest of high school, probably.
“Rachel, you didn’t say anything about—”
“Of course I didn’t.” I could feel spit flying out of my mouth. I couldn’t stop, I only seemed capable of talking louder, faster. “Remember Lorelei Patton? I told you about her, and you decided to turn it into a personal crusade. Everything you did made things a thousand times worse. Why would I be stupid enough to tell you something like that again?”
“Oh.” Mom’s face slid down, like it had suddenly turned to wax on a too-hot day.
It took all the air out of me. I shouldn’t have said any of that. It was years ago, and everyone had moved on. I thought I’d moved on. Apparently not. It was horrible to see Mom look so hurt and sad and know I was the reason.
“Don’t worry,” I said, forcing my voice back toward calm. “People are crappy is all. I just feel . . . blindsided.”
“Well, even without that . . . new information, I don’t think we should go any further with this,” Dad said, looking at Mom meaningfully. She nodded slowly, face scrunched up like she had a headache. “It’s your choice, Rachel—you know we want you and Jonathan to be your own people—but what that Mary described sounds . . . well, shallow. I want you to be recognized for your talent, not for liking some boy.”
“Well of course. We both do.” Mom shook her head, looking at her lap. “I just thought this—just the dance, you getting asked to the dance—would be fun for you. But that was stupid of me. I should have asked. I should have known you’d feel this way about being thrust into the spotlight. When have you been an attention seeker? Of course you feel this way. Here—”
Mom leaned over to the coffee table, sifting through the stacks of forms Mary had left behind until she found the right one.