Page 2

Chapter Two

The next morning at lunch, I walk through Fallbrook’s ancient, crowded stone halls to the newer cafeteria. Fallbrook used to be an orphanage before it was converted to a prep school in the early 1900s. I can’t help but sometimes feel like I’ve gone back in time when I walk through the narrow, creaky corridors, but I’m not complaining. It’s a total vibe.

I squint through the masses of upper and middle-class students, my stomach uneasy at the thought of not finding my friends and having to sit with strangers. Or worse, alone.

I release my breath when I find Carlton sitting at our table, his face down and resting in his folded arms. I relax as I approach the table, but frown when he doesn’t look up. Why is he sitting alone? Where are the rest of our friends? I place my tray on the table. The soft thud it makes doesn’t seem to catch Carlton’s attention, so I clear my throat.

He glances up. “Oh. Hey, Dot.”

“Hey.” I study him. There’s a glean of sweat dripping from the place where his short hair meets his forehead. His eyes have bags under them, and his mouth is set in a scowl I’m not used to seeing. “You good?”

“No,” he says, his scowl somehow deepening even more. “No, I’m not.”

My stomach grows uneasy when I note his biting tone. I’ve never heard him sound like this before. “Any particular reason why?”

Carlton sits up, balling one of his hands into a fist. He finally meets my searching gaze with his own, and I have to stop myself from looking away from the fierce expression on his face. He could be made of stone. “Zayne,” he spits. “Zayne Silverman.”

“Oh. Seriously?” I tilt my head. I don’t know what I was expecting him to say, but it definitely wasn’t that.

Carlton looks murderous in an adorable way. To someone else, he might look scary, but I know the soft, charismatic Carlton. The one who laughs uncontrollably when I tickle his face with my braids, and who would rather study the art of vocal cadence than ever have a physical altercation with someone who offended him.

“Yes, seriously. Dude has been pissing me off since we were kids. It was all over Little Birdie yesterday. Why are you acting surprised?”

I bite my lip, fighting a sudden, irrational urge to laugh. Zayne just seemed so harmless when I met him yesterday. “I heard about you having to run lines with him, but I haven’t downloaded the Little Birdie app yet. I keep forgetting.”

Carlton continues to glare at his balled-up fists on the table. The unease in my stomach returns. Gone is the funny and easygoing guy I spent the summer with. The one who made my cheeks hurt from smiling and my knees weak. Who briefly took my mind off Mom’s absence. It’s such a shift in demeanor, he seems like a different person.

“Hey.” I touch his shoulder. “What could he possibly have done to get you this worked up? I’ve never seen you like this before.”

“Dot.” Carlton squares his shoulders. “You know how badly I want to get into Underwood Academy. Nigel Weathers is going to be at this season’s performance, and there’s no way he’s going to be able to see my potential if I get stuck playing a supporting character.”

“So, the part you play really matters, then?”

“Of course it does.” He shakes his head. “Nigel Weathers is the admissions director for Underwood Academy. He comes to our school every year to hand-select two students, Dot. Only two. And he always chooses the lead actors.”

“Okay. I can see why you’re so worried, but what does Zayne Silverman have to do with it?”

“The jerk messed with my script, Dot. My script. And I stumbled on my lines.”

My mouth falls open. “What? What do you mean?”

Carlton sighs. “All I know is that one moment, I’m running lines with Meredith, and the next, I’m reading with Zayne for the audition, and my lines are crossed out with Sharpie, and different lines are added in with pen. It’s like he took my script and messed with it, so my audition would be ruined.”

I wrinkle my nose. “But that doesn’t make any sense.”

“So…I’m lying, then?” Carlton’s tone is stiff, and my stomach sinks. I don’t want him to get the wrong idea, and I don’t know why I’m sort of defending some boy I barely met yesterday.

“Of course not. I just mean that I can’t see why he would do something like that, or why you wouldn’t just tell Mr. Saltzman and ask him for a new script.”

“I’d never give Silverman that satisfaction.” Carlton shakes his head. “He obviously wants to play the lead, too. Don’t be stupid.”

Stung, I flinch at his words. But he’s right. I have no reason not to believe him. If Zayne’s as bad as Carlton says, it’s him I should be interrogating.

“I didn’t mean that.” He touches my chin, bringing my gaze back to his. “I’m so sorry. I’m just stressed.”

My heart softens, but before I can respond, two lunch trays plop down on our table. I squint up through the fluorescent lights at Meredith and Mabel. They both have their hair up in buns and are donning denim jackets over their uniforms. “You two are matching,” I tell them. “It’s like I’m seeing double.”

Meredith laughs. “What good is being a twin if you aren’t allowed to match?”

Mabel glances from me to Carlton. “Everything okay?” Her tone is uneasy, like she can sense the tension between us. Or maybe she’s referring to the Little Birdie post from yesterday.

I shrug. To be honest, I’m not sure if Carlton is alright. He’s never acted like this before, not in the three months I’ve known him. Hopefully, once he gets the lead role in the play like he’s hoping, he’ll be able to relax.

When no one answers her question, Mabel crosses her arms. “I need to use the bathroom.” She raises her eyebrows at me pointedly.

I catch on, acknowledging the classic code for needing girl-talk. I may have been homeschooled for the majority of my life, but I’m not clueless. At least, I hope I’m not. I stand from my spot next to Carlton. “Me too.”

We leave the table and walk through the halls to the nearest bathroom. The chatter from hoards of students surrounding us drowns out my thoughts as we make our way through the sea of white button-ups beneath navy vests and cardigans, pleated skirts, and beige trousers. The halls of this school are narrow, paneled in smooth dark wood, with the occasional nick in it that makes me wonder who left it and when . The historical architecture at every corner makes me feel like I’m in a castle. Except the bathrooms. They’re a much newer addition to the building, and I find it jarring every time I step into the modern, cool-toned area.

We wordlessly stop in front of the sinks. It’s clear that neither of us needs to use the restroom. Mabel fixes her hair in the mirror and darts her eyes to mine through our reflections. “What was that about?”

I frown. “What was what about?”

“Carlton. He looked like he was ready to rip someone’s head off.”

“Ah.” So, it was obvious. “Yeah, he’s really upset about Zayne Silverman.”

Mabel winces. “It was awful, Dot. I know I didn’t go into much detail yesterday, but you should have seen him after his audition. I thought he was going to cry. And C never cries.”

“Really?” My eyebrows narrow. “It was that bad?”

She sighs. “I don’t know what happened in that audition room, but whatever Zayne did to Carlton was pretty messed up. In fact, he’s been a jerk to him since they were really young. I’ve watched them fight, like, our entire lives.”

My frown deepens. I feel a surge of protectiveness shoot through me for Carlton. Who does Zayne think he is, anyway? What gives him the right to think he can treat Carlton so badly?

“We should probably get back,” says Mabel. “I want to ask Rue about the chem test before the bell rings.”

I nod. “Okay.”

We exit the bathroom and walk back down the hall. I clutch my backpack as someone passes me too closely, knocking it off my shoulder, and then someone else bumps into me, sending the papers they’re carrying flying across the floor. I squat down to help retrieve them. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” a deep voice says, and I look up into large brown eyes on a handsome face I recognize from yesterday.

Zayne Silverman.

His short dreads are in a bun today, revealing his undercut. He sighs deeply as he picks up his scattered papers.

The anger I experienced in the bathroom returns full force. “ You .” I snatch one of his papers off the ground and stand, crossing my arms. “You should watch where you’re going.”

“Dot,” Mabel says, sounding torn between shocked and amused.

“I know,” Zayne admits, standing up as well. He brushes off his jeans and glances up at me with a faint smile. “My bad.”

I purse my lips. I didn’t expect him to agree, so now I have no reason to keep being rude. Other than because he messed with Carlton’s script. But there isn’t enough time for the things I want to say to him, so I shoulder past him and keep walking.

“Uh, Dot?” he calls from behind me. “Can I have my math homework, please?”

Without turning around, I toss the paper I’m still holding over my shoulder. Mabel catches up with me. “Ouch, Dot. I didn’t realize you could be so harsh.” But she’s smiling as she says it, like it’s a compliment.

Good job, Dot. This may be your first time at school, but you’re doing okay so far. Her approval lifts my spirits so much, I add, “If he doesn’t leave Carlton alone, what you just saw will seem like nothing by comparison.” I have no idea what I’m going to do to him, but she doesn’t need to know that.

All I can hope for is that Zayne minds his own business so I can continue to win over Carlton and his friends.

“How was school, honey?” Dad says across the dinner table.

I spear a piece of overcooked, instant lasagna with my fork before answering. “Fine.” I don’t mention Carlton’s recent bad mood or the reason behind it. Or person , rather. Dad is of the firm belief that a mature individual should never take their frustrations out on those they care about. If I tell him Carlton got mad at me today, he’ll probably overreact.

“Find out if you got a decent part in that play yet?”

“No. I only auditioned in the first place to fit in, remember?”

“There’s nothing wrong with liking different things as your friends, Bardot,” he tells me, “A real friend wouldn’t care if you fit in or not.”

Beau wipes his mouth. “Can I be excused?”

“Only if you promise to run a comb through that hair before bed,” he says. Dad is good at many things, but our hair isn’t one of them. It’s why he keeps his own short and low-maintenance. Lucky for all of us, Mom taught me well enough to handle the thick curls Beau and I were gifted.

Beau pushes his chair in and goes to his room. Dad lowers his voice and asks me, “How do you think he’s doing?”

“Probably fine.” I shrug one shoulder. “His grades are up, and he hasn’t been having anymore nightmares lately. But you already know that.”

Dad looks lost in thought. “And what about your mom? How was the phone call?” His eyes are far away, and I realize, with a start, that the stubble on his face is starting to look more gray than black. It’s only been four months since we’ve begun operating without Mom, but it feels like it’s been much longer. Especially when I look at my dad.

“She says she’s doing well.” I try not to wince. “Sorry you missed the call again.”

“Nothing to be done about it. I had work.”

Beau walks back into the kitchen, silencing us. He holds my cell phone out to me. “Carlton called.”

I glance at Dad. “May I leave the table?”

He nods, and I scramble up from my seat, reining in my urge to sprint to my room. We aren’t allowed to bring our phones to the table. My parents are old-school that way. I’ll never admit it to them, but I actually kinda like the rule. It feels nice to take a break from social media and my friends at least once a day to chat with Dad and pray before dinner.

The only downside is missing a phone call or message from Carlton.

Beau follows me to my room. I raise my eyebrows at him. I can’t help but feel impatient for him to leave so I talk to Carlton.

“I answered the call,” Beau admits. “And Carlton didn’t say so, but it seemed like he was in a really bad mood.”

“Seriously? You answered my phone?” I cross my arms.

He fidgets and looks down at his shoes. “Just to tell him you were still eating dinner.”

“Okay.” I shake my head, irritated. “Thanks, I guess.”

“He seems kind of mean,” he adds with a cringe.

“He’s not.” I wave my hand to brush off his statement, but he’s already leaving, making me angrier than I would have thought possible. “You don’t even know him,” I mutter as I shut the door, though I know he doesn’t hear me. It’s not fair for Beau to judge Carlton based on today’s bad mood, when he has no idea what happened with Zayne at the audition. I don’t think my brother realizes that Carlton came into my life at a time when I really needed someone.

Right when Mom left.

I was destroyed at the start of summer, like an expensive silk blouse cut down the center, then carelessly stitched back together for display despite my raw, fraying edges. And no matter how much thread was used to sew me back up, I knew deep down the stitching didn’t match what was there before. It was too bold, too contrasting, and not fooling anyone.

But Carlton had been there. He was nice enough to take me into his circle before school even started. And he might not know it, but having him, Mabel, Meredith, and Rue to talk to about lighthearted things that have nothing to do with my mom makes me feel like I’m finally whole again.

I check my messages before I call Carlton back. Rue texted me.

Rue

Here’s the link to Little Birdie’s app. Make sure you turn the notifications on so you don’t miss anything.

Me

Thanks.

As indifferent as I am to the whole “Little Birdie” thing, I should probably stay in the loop. Shaking my head, I call Carlton. I bring the phone to my ear and pace back and forth while I wait for him to answer.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey.”

He sighs into the phone. “I’m sorry about being such a jerk today. I didn’t even get a chance to ask you how your audition went.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. This, this , is the real Carlton. The one with the kind voice, who makes me feel like I’m the only person on his mind.

“It went well.” It didn’t go well, of course, but now that I’m an “actor,” I should probably start practicing stretching the truth. “At least I think it did. I hardly tried, to be honest.”

“Don’t worry. You hardly need to. You’re not the one trying to get into Underwood. It won’t matter if you end up being cast as a singing tree on the moors.”

Even though it’s him who lives and breathes theater, I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t be embarrassed to be cast as an actual tree. That would be the opposite of impressive. “You don’t think that will happen, though, do you?” I ask.

“Why does it matter?” There’s a smile in his voice.

“I mean, I’m obviously not auditioning for the lead or anything, but I’m still hoping to be cast as something other than a singing tree on the moors.”

“Dot,” he chuckles, “you’re still new at this. Everyone else in the drama club has been doing theater for years. And a lot of them end up being part of the ensemble. That’s not a bad thing.”

“Great,” I mutter. “I wish you’d told me that before I tried out. Now I feel stupid for hoping for something more.” Like impressing you.

“Well, like you said,” he states. “You hardly tried. Maybe put in some effort next time.”

My heart sinks. He’s right. Why didn’t I try harder? Why did I think I wouldn’t have to? “Everyone else makes it seem so easy ,” I explain. “Acting, I mean. But it’s harder than I thought.”

“That’s your problem, Dot. You’re capable of so much, but you never really apply yourself.” He lowers his voice, and the bitter note is impossible to miss. “Some of us actually do try, and it doesn’t work out.”

Could he be referring to my lack of extracurriculars, when I’ve told him about my plans to apply to such prestigious universities? Or the way I groan aloud every time I have to study? How I willingly fall asleep in classes that bore me?

Carlton is lucky he doesn’t have my problem. At least he’s passionate about the path he’s pursuing.

And then the last part of his sentence registers with me for the first time. Some of us actually do try, and it doesn’t work out.

“That’s right,” I say, feeling like the most selfish person alive. “I forgot what happened with Zayne.”

“Of course you did,” he mutters. Almost like he doesn’t want me to hear it. And then louder, he says, “It’s fine. Hey, I gotta go. See you at school tomorrow?”

My lips part. I hurt his feelings. “Carlton—” But he hangs up.

He’s just stressed about his bad audition, at the possibility of losing his chance of being noticed by Nigel Weathers, I tell myself. That’s all this is.

I stare at my pastel yellow bedroom walls. At my fuzzy white rug. At my cozy, amber bedding. At anything, I realize, other than my round vanity mirror, so I won’t have to look at myself.

This is all Zayne Silverman’s fault. If it weren’t for him meddling with Carlton’s script, none of this would be happening. Carlton’s chances of getting into his dream school wouldn’t even be a question. He wouldn’t be so angry and he wouldn’t be lashing out at me.

I can’t help but feel like I must have done something wrong. Maybe it’s my lack of socialization, all those years spent with no one but Beau, and Dad as our teacher, instead of learning how to navigate tricky social situations like these.

I’ll have to fix this somehow. I’ll find a way to prove to Carlton I’m not as self-centered as he thinks.

I click the link Rue sent me and download Little Birdie’s app. And I don’t forget to turn the notification alert on.