Lucky Caller(47)

“I’m going out,” Rose said, and then moved past me.

“Rose,” Mom called as Rose stomped through the living room.

“I’m going out,” she repeated, and the front door opened and slammed shut.



* * *



I got a text a little while later from Jamie.

Hey your sister is down at the playground Two more messages popped up as I looked at the screen: Should I go talk to her?

I’m gonna go talk to her

I went to get my shoes on.

The playground stood about a block away from the Eastman, tucked back among the houses there. It had a blacktop with benches bordering either side, a basketball hoop, a swing set, a little jungle gym, and one of those metal roundabouts that turn in circles.

Jamie and Rose were sitting on one of the benches near the basketball hoop when I arrived.

“Hey,” Jamie said, looking over as I approached. “We’re discussing plot holes in Harry Potter.”

Rose smiled weakly at me. She looked like she’d been crying.

“There are no plot holes,” I said, just to be contrary. “That shit is airtight.”

“In book four, why didn’t they just make a portkey out of something Harry would encounter in a normal day? Why did they have to stage an elaborate festival that Harry had to win his way through just to get to the trophy portkey? Why didn’t they turn a pen or something into a portkey and then hand it to him?”

“It’s not worth thinking too much into. It’ll keep you up at night,” I said, and as I settled down on Rose’s other side, Jamie stood.

“I should, uh … I just wanted to … make sure you were…” He gestured around. “You know. It’s getting dark. Safety in numbers and all that.”

“You don’t have to leave, James.”

“I just thought maybe you’d rather talk about … Harry Potter plot holes … with Nina.”

“We’ll probably talk about the shambles my life is in instead,” Rose said. “And you’re welcome to join.”

Jamie sank back down, and it was quiet. The sun had dipped low, the sky that kind of watery twilight blue of early spring.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Rose said eventually.

“Trying to justify the Triwizard Tournament in your mind?” I said.

She didn’t laugh. Instead she just shook her head, and when she spoke, her voice was hoarse: “It’s like I’m at the point where I can’t even remember why I liked doing art in the first place. And I can’t even tell … like maybe I was only good at it before because it didn’t matter.”

I thought of Sasha, of her words in the food court today. “Like how it’s easy to flirt with someone if you don’t actually care, but when you’re like, legit interested, it’s really hard?”

“Can’t relate, I’m always good at flirting,” Rose replied.

I smiled.

“I think you’re an amazing artist,” I said after another pause. “But I think … if you’re not happy at school … if you’re having a hard time doing what you’re doing and you’re not enjoying it at all, then … why don’t you just do something else?”

She shook her head. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” Jamie asked.

“How can I just give up on my dream like that? What if it’s supposed to be hard? And even if it’s not, what kind of message would that send to Sid? How messed up would that be?”

“What does it have to do with Sidney?”

“She wants to do the theater thing so bad. What will it say to her if I just give up?”

“It’s not giving up,” I said. “It’s just … admitting that what you thought you wanted isn’t actually what you want. What’s wrong with that?”

“But I told everyone! I made this whole big thing about following my dreams and living a creative life and all that, and what am I supposed to do now? Just say I changed my mind?”

“Yeah.”

“But—”

“But what? It’s not a crime, saying something you thought before isn’t what you think now. I actually think it’s a pretty decent thing to do, isn’t it?”

“I don’t want to have to say I was wrong,” she said sullenly.

“Well, that sounds like a Rose problem.”

She huffed a laugh.

“You could switch majors,” I said. “You could go to a different school. You could take a semester off, just work for a bit. There are lots of options.”

Rose nodded, and it was quiet again.

“What do you think, James?” she asked eventually.

“I think Nina’s right.”

“That’s an awesome thing that people should say more often,” I said.

Rose smiled a little brighter this time. A little more like normal Rose. “Maybe I think you’re right too.”

I held out my arms. “God, it’s like a drug.”





41.


THAT SATURDAY BROUGHT A WEDDING to the Eastman that was unlike any of the ones I had encountered so far during my time at Pipers. This wedding was themed. And not in the way that they usually are—vintage or romantic or rustic. This wedding was Shakespeare themed.