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.
