#famous(46)

(From Rachel): Oh for sure. We braid each other’s hair every night.



I smiled. I’d been so worried for a second, but Rachel seemed fine. She would have said something. Even if she hadn’t said it to Jessie, she would have told me after. She so clearly took crap from no one. Plus, if she were legit broken up about it, she wouldn’t have already been making jokes.

Still, we hadn’t talked about what Ollie had said. About what I’d seen on Flit.

(To Rachel): Are you okay otherwise?



She responded almost immediately.

(From Rachel): Of course. Why do you ask?



(To Rachel): No reason. It just seemed like people were being kinda crap to you since the picture and . . .



And what? Was I going to fix it or something? I deleted the “and.”

(To Rachel): . . . so I thought I’d ask.



(From Rachel): I’m fine.



(From Rachel): Trolls will be trolls, right?



I wanted to say something more. Tell her I understood. Or that she could talk to me if she needed to.

But it sorta felt like she was saying “back off.” Even with texts making it hard to understand how people mean things.

Plus, I didn’t really understand. And she hadn’t told me about it herself. The room: suddenly feeling even darker.

(To Rachel): For sure. Anyway, txt me tomorrow about stuff for the show. We can plan our attack together.



(From Rachel): Will do. Tactical superiority will make us victorious!



I half laughed. Joking = okay, right? Maybe she really just didn’t care about jerks on the internet.

(From Rachel): Later.



(To Rachel): Good night, Rachel.



I almost typed “sweet dreams,” then I realized that was weird and stalkerish.

I rolled over, put the phone on the nightstand, and stared into the darkness of my bedroom for a long time, replaying our conversation, until I finally fell asleep.





chapter thirty-one


RACHEL

SATURDAY, 10:00 A.M.

I think I probably slept for a grand total of thirty-seven minutes.

I’d finally managed to pace off most of the nervous energy jangling through me after the confrontation with Jessie—I never get into real fights; Monique likes being in charge but she doesn’t turn into some rabid animal when we disagree—and then Kyle had to text and start the whole thing up again.

I spent the entire night swapping the gut-heavy feeling that Jessie was right, everyone thought I was a pathetic “dumptruck,” for the fluttery, fizzy anxiety of wondering what Kyle meant by checking up on me. After standing up for me. No one had ever done something like that for me, and he acted like it was just normal. To stick up for the weird kid. To be aggressively kind in the face of all that nastiness. Had he never seen a teen movie?

And when was I supposed to text him, exactly?

Around seven I gave up and went downstairs. Mom was up, sipping coffee at the kitchen island. She looked startled to see me.

“I’m going to do it,” I said.

“Do what?”

“The show. I’m doing the show.”

Immediately her face origamied into anxiety. “I thought we were on the same page. This kind of attention can be hard to handle. We weren’t trying to pry, but after you left your dad wanted to see what you meant about the people on Flit, and . . .” Mom shuddered a little. Thank god Dad slept late on the weekends; Mom tried to fix things, even things she clearly had no control over, but Dad just got sad and hovery when he thought people were hurting me or Jonathan. It was suffocating.

“No, I want to. Mo was right, this could be the thing that gets us into Budding Playwrights. It’s worth it just for that.” I still didn’t really believe that, and I was still pissed with Mo, but she’d laid that groundwork with Mom. “Besides, I already told Kyle.” She kept staring at me, forehead corrugated with worry. I had to say something Momish to prove I was fine. “I’ve already had to deal with the mean-girl fallout, so I know I’m strong enough to handle that. All I’d be doing is throwing away an opportunity.”

She nodded slowly. She was still frowning, but her shoulders dropped down, like some of the tension had gone out of her.

“We said it was your decision, and it is. You’re sure?”

I nodded, swallowing against the nerves already creeping back up my throat.

“Okay, then. We’ll support you. Without interfering, I promise. I didn’t ever—” Mom frowned, searching for how to put it.

“I know you’re trying to do what’s best for me. I think this is what’s best. For my future.”

“Okay.” She nodded, like she was trying to reassure herself. “Then we’ll support you. We’re so proud of the person you’ve become, Rachel, I hope you know that.”

“Thanks, Mom. I’m gonna watch TV,” I said, before she could really get going. The longer we talked about it, the more chances she’d have to see how completely not certain of this decision I was.

I hid all morning, bored by the Saturday TV I was flipping through, but unsure what else to do. I waited until I heard the floorboard sighs that meant Mom was heading upstairs to sneak into the kitchen for a cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal.