#famous(36)

“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.

“That’s it.” She slid a business card from beneath its paper-clip prison and leaned back from it. I smirked, though she probably couldn’t see it. She absolutely refused to get reading glasses because they’d “make her look old,” but she was willing to squint and keep adjusting her arm back and forth to find the right distance for five straight minutes, as though that was somehow better.

“I’ll grab my phone, and you can tell me the number,” she finally said, passing it to me. “And we’ll tell her right now we’re not interested. If we reach her quickly, they can even stop the invite from airing—they said that, right?” Mom’s face was imploring.

“Don’t do that.” The idea of turning my back on it so definitively—turning my back on Kyle—actually made my stomach hurt. He might still take me to the dance, right? Then again, this was all a game for him. It had to be. Wouldn’t I be setting myself up to be hurt more by agreeing to be his pity date? “I should at least talk to Kyle first.”

“Okay, honey. What do you want me to do? Tell her no to the rest, or . . . ?”

How was I supposed to know that?

“Just . . . don’t do anything yet, okay? I’d like at least as much time to think this over as you and Mo had,” I added. It sounded sulky even to me.

Mom didn’t even flinch, though.

“Okay,” she said, staring at me like my eyes were some kind of life raft. “Take your time and make whatever decision feels right. And I mean that, honey. Whatever decision you make, your dad and I will support you, won’t we, Dan?” He nodded solemnly. “I swear to you, I would have never said yes to even this much if I’d thought . . .” She exhaled heavily, eyes pinched closed.

“I know, Mom. I just need time to think.”

“Of course. Yes, right. Take your time.”

I nodded.

But really there was nothing to think about. Just one brutally painful thing to do.





chapter twenty-four


KYLE

FRIDAY, 5:45 P.M.

We were barely a block from my house. If I didn’t ask now, I’d miss my chance.

“Do you think . . . is Rachel mad at me?” I looked out the window at the lawns flying by. I could feel Monique looking over, sizing me up.