Page 29 of In Harmony

“Yes,” I said, fighting to control my anger. “Probably he’ll get the lead because he’s brilliant. And back to the point, I probably won’t get a part. Because, quote, I’ve never acted a day in my life. So just forget I said anything.”

“We don’t want you hanging around boys like him,” Mom said, deaf to everything I’d just said. “We came here so you could get a fresh start, but of course, you immediately latch on to the worst elements—”

“Oh my God,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Do you hear how ridiculous you sound? Assholes come in all shapes and sizes, Mom. City or country. Poor and rich, alike.”

Sons of CEOs especially.

“And I’m not latching on to anyone. I’m trying to…”

Find myself in the dark.

Dad and Mom exchanged glances in which she silently pleaded with him to put a stop to this. Dad folded his napkin on the table in his signature I’ve-just-made-a-decision-move.

“I’m not going to forbid you to audition if you think you want to. But no matter what happens,” he said, “at the theater or at school, you’re to keep your relationship with that Pearce boy strictly professional. He’s legally an adult. You’re seventeen-years-old. Do you understand what that means?”

“It doesn’t mean anything,” I heard myself say aloud. “Jesus, you’re a worse gossip than the kids at school.”

I inwardly cringed when I thought what would happen when Dad’s informant told him that Isaac had been suspended for punching Ted Bowers. My parents held no moral authority over me; one of the many things I’d ceased to care about after X was done with me. But he could make things hard if by some miracle I got a role in Hamlet.

I lightened my voice. “It’s not a big deal,” I said. “I’m auditioning because I want to try something new. It has nothing to do with any guy.”

“Let’s hope not,” Mom said. “It’s not as if this town has a plethora of good families to begin with.”

“For God’s sake, Regina,” Dad said. “Have you looked out the window? You live on a street of houses just as big and beautiful as ours.”

“There’s New York City well-to-do, and then there’s country-well-to-do,” Mom said, putting her wine glass to her lips. “There’s a difference and you know it.”

“So you’re biased against the entire state of Indiana,” I said. “And Dad’s biased against a poor guy who lives in a trailer. Congratulations, you’re both equally shallow.” I stood up, gathering my plate. “And I’ve lost my appetite.”

I’d never spoken this way to my parents. Ever. Yet I ignored Mom’s gasp at my rudeness and ignored Dad’s hollered order to sit back down. I stomped to the kitchen and dumped my dish in the sink.

Then I felt like shit.

I sighed. If things were different, I’d have been just as snotty and prejudiced about Indiana as Mom. No question. I was a Manhattan girl, born and bred. The old me would’ve looked down her nose at George Mason and made up her mind about everyone in it, before stepping one foot in the place.

X changed all that. You can’t look down on anyone when your own self-worth is ground into the dirt, shattered into pieces, and then pissed on.

I liked Harmony. I liked Angie and her friends. I liked Isaac for standing up for me today at school and for the possibilities he’d shown me with Oedipus. After months of frozen apathy, caring about anything or anyone was like holding something fragile. I had to protect it before it slipped out of my hands and shattered too.

I went back to the dining room. “I’m sorry I spoke to you that way. I promise I’m not auditioning because of any boy, but because I want to. May I be excused to go upstairs and do my homework?”

My parents stared.

“Homework?” Mom said. “This is the first we’ve heard you say the word—”

“Yes.” Dad said, cutting her off. “But another outburst like that and there will be no play. Understood?”

“Understood.”

And I did. My dad had zero control over his work under Ross Wilkinson but in our house, he was the boss, ruling with an iron-clad fist that hadn’t bothered me before, because I’d always fallen in line. Daddy’s little girl.

Xavier X’d that out too.

I hurried upstairs. Behind my locked door, I dug the photocopied Woolgatherer monologue out of my backpack. I read the words over and over, losing myself in Rose’s world. Letting her words be mine.

It was easy.

They gave me a needle to make me stop screaming…