#famous(38)

But the other end of the line was dead silent.

Then she hung up.





chapter twenty-five


RACHEL

FRIDAY, 5:55 P.M.

There was no way around it: I couldn’t do the show, so I couldn’t go to the dance with Kyle.

Now I just had to tell everyone. Mo would be pissed. But then, I was pissed at Mo.

After the “family discussion,” I ran up to my bedroom and threw myself onto my bed, staring at the ceiling. I was doing a lot of that lately.

I already knew I couldn’t go through with this, but some part of me didn’t want to admit it. The part that thought Kyle looked adorable in his tux, and noticed how he had laughed at the same ridiculous moments as I had, and smiled at me in a way that felt so real, even while the rest of me—my actual brain—was screaming at me not to be so fricking gullible.

Pros is doing the show, cons is saying no.

Pro: I get to go to homecoming with Kyle.

Con: It’s fake, he only asked me because a producer made him, and I’ll probably embarrass myself by forgetting that.

Pro: We’d be on TV.

Con: Being on TV is basically begging all the mean girls to comment on how ugly the dress I chose was, how much hotter Kyle is than me, how ridiculous my hair looks, and, and, and. They’d probably point out things that were wrong about me that I hadn’t even thought of yet. Maybe my jokes suck. Or maybe I have a lisp. Or a mustache—a massive handlebar mustache that curls at the ends that somehow I’ve never even known I have. Whatever it is, they’ll tell me.

Pro: Kyle clearly wants to stay in the spotlight longer. I could give him that.

Con: He probably wouldn’t even realize I was the one doing it.

Pro: Mo might not be totally wrong about this helping our application.

Con: Even thinking about what I’d be like on TV made my stomach hurt. Remembering the moronic things I’d said in the two minutes at my front door, when I hadn’t been expecting everyone to show up, made my whole face feel hot. If I knew I had to do it—mug for a camera—I’d almost certainly try too hard and be even more brutally awkward. There’s a reason I write plays, not audition for them.

Con: The more I put myself in the spotlight, the lower the chances of this ever blowing over.

Con: Kyle doesn’t like me that way, which sucks enough already, but the more I get to know him, to actually see him, the worse that’s going to feel. Doing this would be like starting with a paper cut and trying to bandage it with a machete.

If I’d learned anything from the past week, it was that other people could be cruel—needlessly cruel—for no reason at all. They’d probably already forgotten what they said to me. Even Jessie seemed to be over it by now; all the internet trolls wouldn’t know me if they tripped on me. But it would almost certainly start up again—and be way worse—if they did know who I was. I couldn’t go through that again.

So it had to be no. Everyone might hate me for a while, but how was that any different from my life right now? Mo would come around eventually, hopefully around the same time I was ready to be on speaking terms again. And Kyle . . . well, Kyle never really liked me in the first place.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my phone light up, the harsh metallic glow of its screen reflecting off the folds of my comforter.

(From Kyle): Hey, what r u doing tonight?



I wasn’t ready to hear from him yet. Knowing I was going to single-handedly end his star turn was way easier when he was an abstract concept instead of a real contact.

Could I text that the whole thing was off?

No, he’d never speak to me again. Plus, it just felt cowardly. Like breaking up over social media or something.

(To Kyle): No plans yet. I know, hard to believe of a social butterfly like me.



(From Kyle): Come to Beau Anderson’s party it’s gonna be huge.



Beau Anderson? The senior football player? I had never in my life gone to a party like the ones he threw, with multiple kegs and random hookups happening in any room with a door that closed and kids vomiting into bushes or toilets or tubs “then rallying!” They sounded more like something out of a movie than Apple Prairie. Frankly, I’d never wanted to go.

(To Kyle): Maybe. I doubt I’ll know anyone there.



(From Kyle): You’ll know me. And Monique.



Wait, what?

I typed Mo a text.

(To MO-MO): Beau Anderson’s? Really?



(From MO-MO): Don’t automatically say no. It could be fun. Besides, if you and Kyle are going to homecoming you should hang out. Which is easier and more likely to lead to sloppy makeouts if you’re drunk.



(To MO-MO): Nothing in your text is ever gonna happen.



(From MO-MO): Stop being a drama queen and let’s do something fun for once.



Great, now Mo was doubling down on being evil.

(From Kyle): Say yes? Promise I’ll shower so I don’t smell like fries AGAIN



If I didn’t go they—well, mostly Mo—would berate me all night. And every new text from Kyle would just make it harder to tell him what I had to.

Besides, if I wasn’t going to take the coward’s way out and text him the bad news, how was I going to tell him? The longer I waited, the harder it would be. I needed to do it before Mary sent today’s footage to wherever footage goes before it embarrasses you in front of a national audience.