The Accidentals(42)

“Okay. A rush meal is just dinner in the dining hall. But three or four of the singers sit with you and try to figure out if you’re cool enough to spend the rest of the year with. It’s really all just a popularity contest.”

My heart drops to my stomach. “Ugh. I thought it was supposed to be about the music?”

“You’d think.” Jake nods. “But you’d be wrong.”

“Your audition must have gone well,” Aurora points out.

“I guess.” But singing is easier than conversation.





The next evening I’m tackling some problems for calculus on our window seat. But Aurora is hungry. “I just want to finish this chapter, okay? And then we’ll eat,” I promise.

She taps her foot on our ancient oak floor. “Can we go now? The homework will wait for you. Your rush meal is not tonight?”

“Nope. Tomorrow.”

“Then what are we waiting for?”

Since I prefer not to say, I give in, closing my book. “Let’s go, then.”

As we trot down the entryway stairs, I hear my phone chime with a text from Frederick. He’s back in town, and I’ve given him his own ringtone now. Every time it rings, I check it immediately. I’m waiting for a text that says, I found a house.

If he doesn’t, he’ll probably go back to L.A. for good. I’m sort of bracing myself. But earlier today he sent a text that said only: Inane. It took me a moment, but then I realized he’d added another word to our strange collection of negatives without positives.

Not to be outdone, I’d spent a portion of my Russian lit lecture trying to think of a follow-up. Feckless I’d eventually replied. And if the new text in my pocket is another word from Frederick, I’m ready with a follow-up.

At the bottom of the stairs, I throw open the door and almost run right into my father.

“That was quick,” he says.

“What?”

“I just texted you to ask if you were free for dinner. Tomorrow, I have to go back to L.A. Henry’s got his panties in a bunch.”

“Oh.” Since he hasn’t found a house yet… Is this it? He’s throwing in the towel on Claiborne?

I don’t ask, because Aurora is standing beside me.

He clears his throat. “So what do you girls feel like? Sushi? Burgers? I’ve already discovered that burritos are out of the question.”

“That bad, are they?” Aurora smiles.

“Whatever you’re thinking, it’s worse.” Frederick rocks back on his heels. “I’m going to eat nothing but Mexican food for the next three weeks. And maybe I’ll bring some burritos in my carry-on when I come back.”

I replay the words he’s just said in my head, and then follow Frederick and Aurora toward Main Street.

We end up at Wheelock’s, where Darcy, the exuberant waitress, pounces once again. “You’re back!” she shrieks. “Give me two minutes, and I’ll have your special table cleared.”

“Your special table?” I ask when she walks away.

But he only points at me and smiles. “Disheveled,” he says.

“Incognito!” I reply.

“What?” Aurora asks.

“It’s just a word game we play,” I explain.

“Oh, like Friendly Words?”

Frederick winks at me. “Actually, I may have a bit of a Friendly Words addiction.”

Aurora’s eyes light up, and she digs her phone out of her purse. “What’s your handle? Rachel, is he going to crush me?”

Darcy beckons to us.

“We’ll see,” my father says, leading us to a table. “Rachel has never challenged me to a game of Friendly Words.” He pulls out my chair for me. “I think she’s chicken.”

“What?” I shoot back. “Maybe I’m just trying to save your feelings.”

He takes out his phone. “You realize we have to settle this, right? One game, no tears. What’s your chat handle?”

“ChoirGirl1998.”

I see his eyes rise from his phone to me. “Choir girl?”

Whoops. “It’s a movie reference,” I lie. “Chick flick.”

Aurora gives me a strange look. But Frederick taps on his phone, oblivious.

“Well, hello again!” The waitress puts a beer in front of Frederick.

“Hi, Darcy,” Frederick says.

“I assume you wanted your usual. Unless you’d like to mix it up for once in your life.”

“If it aint’ broken…” he says. This must be their new shtick.

“And what can I bring you girls?”

“Diet Coke, please?”

“Sure, honey.”

“Me too,” Aurora adds. And when Darcy retreats, Aurora asks Frederick what he’s going to do in L.A.

“Meetings. A few hours in the recording studio. More meetings. Mexican food.”

“What happens in the recording studio?” she asks. “Wait—do you still need surgery on your hand?”

He shakes out his left wrist. “I’m all set now.”

“Strange,” I say, flipping my menu closed. “Wasn’t it your picking hand?”

“Yep,” he says easily. “It’s solid now.”