My legs were starting to cramp up. There really hadn’t been any point to getting here twenty minutes before the show even aired, but I was so nervous of screwing up the timing that staying home hadn’t been an option.
I looked out the car window at the front of Rachel’s house. The house: totally unremarkable. White siding, neatly trimmed hedges under the windows facing the street, blocky two-car garage sticking out to the right, like an afterthought. The only thing that stood out were the flower beds lining the pathway up to the door, filled with strange, spidery red flowers and furry fronds and a bunch of other weird things I’d never seen in any other garden.
Still, that didn’t tell me anything about what was going on inside. It just meant Mrs. Ettinger had the same flower aesthetic at home as she did at her shop.
I moved my phone closer to my face, peering at the tiny live stream of the show. I couldn’t make my next move until I was sure she’d seen it.
I heard my name. Finally, Laura was getting around to our segment. I wonder if opening with the Halloween makeup artist had been some sort of punishment from Mary. Fine, you can leave, but we’ll bury you.
There we were in the limo, Rachel laughing at something with her whole body, like it was the funniest thing in the world. At the rose garden, Rachel plucking a flower and putting it in her teeth and making her fingers into those little clicky things. Castanets? Then in the crowd, Rachel’s face lit up by the circling lights, but more from the inside, her smile a thousand watts huge as she turned to the people around her, letting them pull her into a twirl or a dip.
And me: watching Rachel. In every one. Like there was no one else in the room.
Ms. Laurila’s room appeared on my screen. I could feel my heart start to race.
Emma: crying. Me: comforting. Emma: kissing. Me: pushing away. They edited out her cattiest comments, but they left me saying I was ready to risk it for Rachel.
The screen cut back to Laura with a big bin of popcorn. The audience was in an uproar.
“I can’t wait to know what happens next. We thought today would be the end of Kyle and Rachel’s story, but we’ll all just have to stay tuned.” Laura started stuffing more popcorn in and turned back to the screen, where I was once again pushing away from Emma, making my speech.
They cut to commercial. I got out of the car and walked up the driveway. It felt like I was stepping out in front of my biggest audience yet.
chapter sixty-one
RACHEL
MONDAY, 4:40 P.M.
Monique sat on the couch, watching me from the corner of her eye.
The doorbell rang.
“Really?” I turned to stare at Monique. If she’d set me up again . . .
“It’s not what you think.”
“Then my dad can answer it.”
“I already told him you would.”
Classic Monique.
“I said I’d watch, not that I’d talk to him.”
Monique blinked rapidly, trying to recalibrate. I forced myself not to smile. I so rarely got to make her squirm.
“You saw; it definitely was not mutual. And he told me he had to threaten Mary to even get them to use the footage. He’s putting everything on the line, Rachel, it’s—”
I stood.
“But I will.”
She rolled her eyes exaggeratedly, then shooed me upstairs.
I ran to the door. Kyle was there, staring at his feet, kicking at the concrete.
“Hey,” I said, unable to meet his eyes. “No cameras?”
“I wouldn’t do that, not now.” He frowned. “Anyway, I think I’m done with all that.”
“But it’s been so utterly positive for both of us,” I deadpanned.
He smiled at the ground.
“So you saw?”
“Yeah.” I looked up at him. He was suddenly staring at my face so intently it immediately made me blush.
“I had no idea. I didn’t want that to happen at all. I didn’t even know they were recording. Though I guess I’m glad they were. Otherwise you might’ve thought . . .” He shook his head. “Anyway, I’m sorry. That you had to see that. That I hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you, Rachel.” His face was one big plea, all lowered eyebrows and wavering lips and beautiful, sad eyes.
“I know.” I smiled a little. For the first time I wasn’t second-guessing this, or him, or me. He was telling me the truth. He had been all along.
Neither of us said anything for a minute. I could feel his stare on my forehead, laser-intense, heating me from the inside. It felt amazing and terrifying at the same time, because I knew I would let him in. That I already had.
I had to change the subject.
“So you’re pulling the plug? I thought you liked performing.”
“Yeah, I do. But I thought I should, you know, perfect my craft.” He grinned goofily. “I got a callback for Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.”
“Whoa. Even weirdos know that’s a play for weirdos.”
“Had to make up for lost time. Oh, also, that reminds me, Burger Barn is gonna be calling you. You can tell them no if you want, I just thought—”