She was a master at subtext.
Tonight’s Q-and-A session began as soon as the drinks were served. “So, Nick,” Uncle Theo said, “how’s soccer shaping up?”
“Good,” Nick answered. “It’s definitely going to be a winning season; the only problem is that I’m pretty bored most of the time. We control most of the play, so I don’t get a lot of shots. Randall Washington knows what he’s doing up front.”
“See?” I said. “You didn’t even need me.”
Nick laughed. “Every year I try to get Charlie to join the team, and he always says no.”
“I would’ve loved to see that,” Dad agreed. “It’s a shame the play is in the fall.”
“I believe it’s amusical, not a play,” Aunt Whit said, sipping her wine. “There’s a difference. Musicals are song and dance.” She looked at me. “Right, Charlie? You’re singing and dancing?”
My chest tightened as I nodded.
“But Charlie has some monologues too,” Nick added. He would know, after all—I had twoInto the Woodsscripts so I could run lines with him before anyone else. He took it seriously, always giving insightful feedback. “It’s not all singing.”
Aunt Whit considered. “Yes, that’s true, Nicky,” she said. “Charlie, you’ve always been great at pretending, ever since you were little.” She turned to me and smiled like the Big Bad Wolf. “So now you’re pretending on a bigger stage, playing a part.”
Everything in me clenched.
Pretending, playing a part.
I glanced around the table to see if anyone noticed.
But thankfully they just laughed, and then Dad and Uncle Theo launched in on the latest quandary: where I should commit for hockey. The offers had come in over the past couple of months, and they’d been obsessed ever since. It was the same when Nick’s future was still up in the air. “I mean, why not Trinity?” Uncle Theo said now. “They’re at the top of the NESCAC, and…”
Nick kicked me under the table, getting me to make eye contact.You haven’t told them?
I shook my head.No.
He glared at me.Tell them, Charlie. Now.
“Yes, all true,” Dad agreed. “But there’s talk going around that their coach is in the running for the Colgate job. I don’t think—”
“Dad,” I interrupted. “Trinity’s out.”
He looked at me. “What?”
“Trinity’sout.” I fumbled for a bracelet under the table. “I called them last week, and said no.”
“Without talking to us first?”
“Jay…” Mom started.
I shrugged. “I talked to Coach Meyer.” (Who’d caught on: “Just let your dad down gently,” he advised the last time we spoke.)
“And me,” Nick said. “We made a pro/con list and everything.”
Dad’s expression stayed serious. “Have you turned down anyone else?”
I swallowed and nodded. “Bowdoin.”
“Well, okay.” He nodded back. “Then I guess it’s Hamilton or Williams.”
We had cake when we got home, a little before midnight. The game had gone into overtime, and then a shoot-out, so we’d left after the Rangers nabbed the 4–3 win in the final round. Nick and I had the same cake every year: vanilla with chocolate icing. Mom always ordered two of them, so we could blow out our own candles (and have more leftovers).
“Make a wish!” Dad said once they were gleaming in front of us, just as Mom blinded us with her camera flash. I watched Nick squeeze his eyes shut and extinguish his cake in one go. I quickly did the same, wondering what his wish was.
