I nodded, trying to get a hold of myself. We were on a mission here, and I couldn’t lose sight of that just because Freddie had an accent and a dimple and a lock of hair I was dying to run my fingers through….
“Right,” I said, forcing myself to look away from him. I took a step back and glanced over where I’d seen my former friends. I could see their backs now, walking away with no idea of how close I’d been. “Okay, let’s go.”
“Sure,” Freddie said, falling into step with me as we headed toward the stage area. “But you really are going to have to explain what that was.”
“Of course,” I said, shaking my head. “Sorry. I did explain it to you already. But notthisyou. It’s—Well. Those were people I used to be friends with, back in Los Angeles. And I found out tonight…that they’re pretty mad at me.” I tried to push it away, but the look that Reagan had given me when they’d first recognized me—the shocked betrayal—was seared in my brain.
“Why are they mad at you?” Freddie asked, taking a bite of his hot dog.
I took a bite of my own, then told him the story—my dads moving all the time, the way I always had to leave schools just as I was starting to make friends. How I was never able to really relax or settle in.
“So,” I said, when I’d finished giving him the abridged version and we’d both tossed the remnants of our dinners away, “because of all that, ?I’ve found that it’s easiest to just try and make a clean break with people. And I thought it was fine! But then I ran into them, and, well…”
“So that’s why you’re avoiding them.”
“Yeah. Well, not just them.” Freddie raised an eyebrow at me, and I took a breath and explained about Nora and Greta, and even though I didn’t really want to—Bruce. “And since I’m stuck in this loop, it’s like I’m always looking over my shoulder. The last thing I want is to run into them so they can tell me how mad they are at me.” My mouth twisted as I said it. These words, which I’d been trying to toss off, instead landed heavily.
Freddie shook his head. “Our worst mistakes are a hall of mirrors—reflecting back to us all we shouldn’t have said.” He blinked, like he’d just surprised himself, and his expression was one I was now getting quite familiar with. “That might actually be a good—”
“Lyric?” I finished for him, with a smile, already pulling the Freddie list and Ms. Mulaney’s pen out of my bag.
“Uh, yeah,” he said, looking a little abashed as he scribbled it down. Then he pointed to the two other lines he’d come up with. “Who wrote these?”
“You did,” I said, and smiled when I saw his surprised expression. He tore off the bottom part of the list, then handed it back to me.
“Sorry about that,” Freddie said, still staring at the song lyrics on the page—including the ones he’d written but had no memory of. He shook his head, then looked up at me. “Lyrics aside, always having to move around that much—that must have been really hard, Cass.”
“Thanks. But it’s the way my dads’ business works. It’s just the way it’s always been.”
He ?looked at me for just a moment before speaking. “It sounds like you’re mad at them.”
I just blinked at him. “Mad at who? My dads?” Freddie nodded, and I just shook my head automatically. I was honestly a little surprised by the turn this was taking—it hadn’t come up in any of our conversations so far. “I’m not mad at them.” The second I said it, though, I wondered if it was true.
“It’s okay if you are,” he said, giving me steady look as we approached the door that I now knew would take us backstage. “It can’t have been easy, growing up like that.”
“Well, no. But…” I stopped as Freddie pulled the door open for me. I stepped into the corridor, my thoughts spinning.WasI actually mad at them? Had I been for a while now—and just hadn’t let myself see it?
“Hey, Violet,” Freddie said, as he approached the three stagehands playing their poker game. We were here earlier than before, and I noticed that the pot in the center had a lot less money in it. “Who’s winning?”
“Me, so far. I just can’t tell if Van is bluffing,” she said, raising her eyebrow at the guy across from her.
“He is,” I said immediately, remembering how the last hand had gone.
“What?” the guy, Van, asked, frowning at me. He looked disconcerted. “Who even are you?”
“No one,” I said quickly, even as I widened my eyes at Violet, trying to communicate that I knew what I was talking about. “Never mind.”
“Let me get a picture,” Freddie said, taking out his phone like before. He snapped it, then smiled at them. “Nice.”
“We should go,” I said, nodding toward the green?room. I was all too aware that shrimp-eating could be happening right now, and we were wasting precious time.
“Right,” Freddie said, his expression growing more serious. “Of course. See you guys.” We hurried down the hall, and I remembered a second too late that he’d left his phone again—but I figured we’d deal with that after we’d talked to Alfie.
Freddie pushed open the door to the green?room. Tristram/Doug was sitting on the couch, twirling his drumstick, and Alfie was holding a plate, the fork in his hand traveling up to his mouth….
“Prawns!” Freddie yelled. Alfie jumped, and his plate fell to the floor.
“What?” he asked, looking spooked as he glanced around in a panic. “What’s going on?”
