#famous(76)

SATURDAY, 10:44 P.M.

Stupid, stupid, STUPID.

I ran down the hall, turning at random, barely able to see where I was going through the film of tears pouring out of my eyes.

So much for cleaning up. I barked out a bitter laugh.

Finally, panting, I stopped, leaning against a locker for support. It couldn’t keep my legs from feeling like beached octopi, though, so I sort of slid down the side of it until I hit the floor.

I’d been so wrong. Believing that all that sunshine he gave off could be real. He was a sunlamp, just some fake version anyone could have for the right price. Shining on me was all just part of some game, some manipulation to get . . . what, a random makeout session? It didn’t make sense, except I’d seen what I’d seen.

I buried my face in my hands and let out a sob that sounded like an injured seagull.

I sat there, ugly-crying on the floor, for what felt like hours, but was probably only a few minutes.

“Hey.” A familiar voice a few feet overhead. I didn’t look up.

“H-h-hey,” I choked out snottily. I was suddenly very aware of the fact that I didn’t have a tissue. “How’d you find me?”

“You ran past the cafeteria bathrooms. I just followed the general direction. Though I will say, managing to weave your way to the Latin hallway when the building’s only half-lit is pretty impressive. In heels, no less.”

I half laughed. It also came out snotty.

“You wanna go home?”

“I want to curl up in a ball and disintegrate.”

“All right. Well, home is as close to that as I can offer right now.”

I let Monique pull me up and lead me out the door, into the night.





chapter fifty-eight


KYLE

SUNDAY, 4:42 P.M.

My phone buzzed against the top of my nightstand.

Finally. I dropped the controller midgame, ignoring Ollie’s shouts of annoyance, and dove on it.

But it wasn’t Rachel. It was Mary.

I picked up the phone.

“Kyle, we’ve seen the footage.”

“Oh, so they were filming.” I laughed bitterly. “Of course.”

“First off, let me apologize. I thought you were made aware of the situation. Our cameraman shouldn’t have filmed you and Ms. Stashausen without your knowledge.”

Mary coughed.

“But you got your drama, right?”

That one: ignored.

“We can pull together a cut that doesn’t use that footage. If Rachel’s not on board anymore we’ll have to figure out a workaround for the live chat with Laura, but—”

“Use it.”

“Sorry?”

“Use the footage.”

“Kyle, that’s not the story we’re—”

“And neither of us is coming on the chat.” I actually had no idea what Rachel would do. She wouldn’t respond to a single text, or call, or the stupid-expensive daffodils I’d sent to her house. But judging from Monique’s texts, I was probably right.

“Kyle, we always planned to end this with—”

“I mean, if you want me to tell the audience I’m contractually obligated to be there, fine. Maybe I’ll mention how all the grown-up producers tricked me so they could get a reality-show ending.”

The silence: thick as tar.

“We’re still not using the footage.” Mary’s voice didn’t sound harried anymore, it sounded cold. Good. Clearly I was getting through.

“Use it or I’m going nuclear on Flit.” Would she call that bluff? How did people even have Flit breakdowns? Shave head, smoke things, swear a lot?

“All right.”

“Thanks for calling.”

I hung up.

Five minutes: all the time it took Mary to get to my mom.

“What are you thinking?” She burst into my room without even knocking. Very un-Mom.

“Honestly? I was thinking that callbacks for the play get posted Monday. I really hope I got one.”

“What are you talking about?” She squinted at me like I was some foreign object. The body snatcher who took her son. She had the timing all wrong, though. I was only now waking up.

“The school play. They had auditions during lunch last week, and I think I really have a shot, even with all the Laura Show crap.”

“So you’re planning to throw away the best opportunity you’ve ever been given in order to . . . play pretend?”

I sighed. Ollie: staring at the screen so hard it looked like he might be attached to it through his eyes.

“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.”