He raises his gaze back to my face.
The oxygen in the room seems to have thinned. I place a palm on my belt, but don’t fiddle with the buckle. I just need something to hold me up, and somehow a hand against my abdomen does the trick.
“My father gave up his own family name in the divorce settlement. To protect us, he gave up his own name.”
Ten behaves as though Mona deserted them, but the choice wasn’t hers. It was her husband’s. He took everything from Mona, and then excluded her completely by altering his last name along with their children’s. And then worse, he set his son and daughter against their mother.
Heart cancer…“You told me she was dead,” I whisper.
“She is. To me, she is.”
The rows of desks seem to undulate like the streamers sparkling in the gym. I need to get out, get away from Ten. I back up until I hit the door and then I swing around, pull it open, and escape the airless classroom.
22
Back Rolls and Spring Rolls
Last night has toppled my entire world.
I danced with Mona Stone’s son.
I’d been about to let him kiss me.
I’m still reeling from how betrayed I feel. Not by Ten, but by my mother. Considering how evasive she’s been about them, I have no doubt she’s aware of their connection to Mona. How could she not tell me? Don’t I deserve to know who I’m sitting next to in school?
Maybe she was hoping I would never find out since Ten is transferring schools soon. Or maybe she was hoping I’d like Ten so much that I’d change my opinion of my idol.
Unless Mom doesn’t know who the Dylans really are…
I stare at her upside-down head. She’s so concentrated on her yoga flow that she doesn’t feel my eyes on her.
“Warrior three,” our yoga teacher says.
Mom puts her right foot between her hands, then lifts her back leg. I follow suit. She lifts her palms and stretches her arms in front of her. I attempt to do the same, but lose my balance. I topple, whacking my hip bone so hard against the vinyl-wood flooring that a breath rushes though my parted lips.
Mom mouths,You okay?
No. I’m not okay. I don’t shake or nod my head, don’t answer hervocally. Instead, I go back to attempting mediocre poses while watching the wall clock.
As we pick up our mats, Mom says, “Is everything okay, baby?”
I have never rolled up my mat so tight. “Yeah.” I lead the way out of the glassed-in yoga studio.
She beeps the car open, and I toss my mat in the back alongside hers, then sink into the passenger seat.
“Did something happen at homecoming?” she asks, settling behind the wheel.
I eye Mom. Debate whether to tell her about my discovery. She’ll probably just take the Dylans’ side. “Nope. Nothing.”
She combs her fingers through her hair, then starts the car and drives out of the lot. “You know you can talk to me.”
Why would I whenyoudon’t talk to me?
I fiddle with my phone the rest of the way to Golden Dragon. I hate that Ten gave it to me. Hate it so much that I decide to erase the content and give it back to him tomorrow. As though the tech gods heard my thoughts, I find a text from the Apple Store informing me that my old phone is fixed.
We park across from the restaurant, then get out.
“Hey, Mom, can you pick up my phone tomorrow at the mall?”
