“Mom, the show was great. It was fun. But I’m not going to keep milking this thing while it hurts everyone around me.”
“Who are you hurting? This is about your chance to—”
“Rachel, for one. She’ll probably never forgive me.”
Mom frowned. It clearly hadn’t occurred to her that some other child might have different feelings about all this. Or any feelings.
“Fine, I understand that, but if you want Princeton as an option, you have to—”
“But I don’t. I’m not Carter, Mom. I don’t want to keep pretending I am.”
“Kyle . . .” She looked stricken. Rachel would like that. Stage direction: stricken. “I thought this was what you wanted.”
“I’m glad I did it, really. I would have never known what I wanted if I hadn’t. But I’m done.”
She sat down on the bed. She looked tired but not mad. It was a start.
“Theater? Really?”
“I actually think I’ll be good. Or at least I want to be good.” I could have tried to explain about how alive I felt when I was about to perform, how every nerve ending felt like a blaze of light, but instead I just smiled. Mom: barely processing what I’d already told her.
“I suppose I’ll have to tell the Burger Barn people we’re not interested,” she said to herself, squinting up at the ceiling.
“What are you talking about?”
“Oh, I was planning to tell you today. They called about some kind of partnership. You’d run their social media, I think? We hadn’t worked out details.”
“Do you have their number?”
Mom’s face brightened a little.
“You want to do it?”
“No.” I smiled at her apologetically. “But I know someone who might.”
chapter fifty-nine
RACHEL
SUNDAY, 5:15 P.M.
The screen of my phone lit up, a little bluish beacon in the darkened basement.
I ignored it. It would just be Kyle again, trying to explain why he’d been kissing Emma, trying to trick me into trusting him again so I’d play nice for TV tomorrow. Not happening.
Of course it could have been one of the thousand new “besties” I’d sprouted overnight feigning pity over whatever version of the rumor they’d heard, but eff. That. How they even got my number was beyond me.
The phone lit up again. Monique leaned across the table to grab it, looking at me questioningly. Even though we’d both seen What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? a million times, we didn’t talk through movies.
I shook my head no. She stared at the screen for a second, then typed in my password, which should have been annoying, but whatever, at least the notification wouldn’t scream at me once she left and I was alone in my bedroom.
Monique clicked the controller.
“Rachel, you need to look at this one.”
“I don’t need to do anything.”
“Okay, let me rephrase. I would like you to look at this one, then we can go back to the movie.”
“Yeah, well I’d like—”
“And if you disagree, I’ll keep pestering you until you do, and you’ll have to fight me for the remote, and we both know my crane style beats your tiger style.”
“I’m scrappy.”
“I’m serious.”
I rolled my eyes and grabbed the phone out of her hand.
“Kyle. What a surprise.”
“Just read them, Rachel, seriously.”
(From Kyle): I know you’re mad, and I get that you don’t want to talk to me, but could you watch the show tomorrow?
(From Kyle): If you never want to speak to me again after that I promise I’ll leave you alone.
(From Kyle): I told them you’re not gonna do the live chat, so don’t worry about that
* * *
(From Kyle): But please watch? I swear I’ll leave you alone if you say you will
* * *
“Well?”
“Who cares what he wants. Why should I watch his stupid show anyway?”
“You know there’s more to this, Rachel. If you just let him—”
“I know what I saw.”
“So do I.” Monique sounded annoyed, which was weirdly reassuring; Monique usually got to annoyed much sooner. “I saw him looking at you like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. And I saw your face when you came by to tell me you guys had kissed. I know you always have to believe the worst, but why not at least hear him out?”
I frowned. I wasn’t being unfair, I was just right. Why wouldn’t Mo accept that?
“There’s nothing they can show that will change what happened.”
“Okay. So watch and you get an ironclad guarantee that Kyle loses your number.”
The idea that I wanted that still felt like a physical ache. Like a light turning out.
But of course, as usual, Monique was right.
“Fine.”
I typed in a text.
“You press send.” I flipped the phone at Monique’s lap. She sighed exasperatedly but picked it up.
(To Kyle): Yes.
True to his promise, Kyle didn’t respond.
chapter sixty
KYLE
MONDAY, 4:31 P.M.