Page 78 of Goalie Secrets

“Did you say…A?”

“Yes, the letter A,” my mother interrupts impatiently and with the wave of a hand. “She’s one of the producers.”

“Well, A, nice to meet you. However, if you’re here to ask me to be part of the show, the answer is a definitiveno. A hundred percentno. I’d rather dieno.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Mom says, brushing a hand through her perfect hair. “It’s just a bit of footage here and there. You’re part of the story.”

“Which story?” I snap. “The one where I’m a constant reminder that you can make a million people beautiful but not your daughter? No thanks. I’m rather tired of that narrative.”

Defensive much, Van-ya?

A clears her throat, attempting damage control. “It’s more about how Zara has built this incredible empire while staying connected to her family.”

“Connected? Is that what we’re calling it now?” I laugh bitterly. “I’m not standing in front of a camera for you, Mom.”

Zara’s eyes narrow. “You’ve always been so ridiculous. I refuse to have you ruin this for me. God, Vanya, for once can you try to understand what this means for my career?”

Mom stands in front of me and grabs my upper arm. Her fingernails dig into my skin as she pulls me to the kitchen for privacy.

“If you think you’re going to ruin this for me, you are sorely mistaken,” she says through bared teeth.

I wiggle out of her grasp and feel the scrape of nail on skin.

“Leave me out of it.”

“You’re just as ridiculous and unambitious as your father,” she hisses, getting right in my face so her spit hits my eye. As always, I’m the only one who fully sees the ugliness of her hostility.

“Don’t,” I state as calmly as I can, wiping my eyes which are definitely not prickling with pressure. This woman will never see me cry again.

I walk out of the kitchen. Experience has proven that being alone with her only makes her nastier.

“Don’t mention my father in any of this, Zara,” I state in front of the other two people.

Her nostrils flare slightly. The room is deathly silent. The weight of everyone staring at me makes me squirm. I won’t give in. She can do what she wants with her glamorous life, but she can’t force my consent.

I’m about to throw them all out of my house when the front door creaks open. A voice cuts through the tension.

“Vanya?”

Jeremy. Relief floods me at the sound of his voice. It’s immediately followed by dread. He’s walking intothis. I approach him, managing a neutral expression.

“Are you OK?” he asks worriedly, stepping inside. His expression turns somber when he takes in the scene. “Am I interrupting something?”

“I was just wrapping up a meeting,” I say at the same time my mother croons, “Not at all.” She tilts her head and assesses Jeremy. How does she do that? Bare her teeth one second and smile sweetly the next.

Jeremy looks between me and my mother. I know it’s only a matter of time before the questions start. I want another shot of vodka.

“Don’t be rude, Vanya. Introduce us to your friend.”

“Jeremy, this is my mother Zara Gupta and her, um, production crew. A and…” I look at the cameraman.

“B for Byron,” he answers good-naturedly.

“Everyone, this is Jeremy. He’s my, um, neighbor from across the street.”

“Jeremy Lopez?” B for Byron pipes up. “I’m a huge fan! Loved you at the All-Star game last year.” He drops his camera and walks over to shake Jeremy’s hand.

“Thanks.” Jeremy politely shakes everyone’s hand before standing beside me. Although we’re not exactly touching, it feels like he’s holding me up.