Look Both Ways (17 page)

I’m still waiting for my turn to perform when the choppy-haired non-eq from Never Have I Ever opens the door. “Oh, sorry,” she says. “We’ll wait in the hall.”

My mom looks at her watch. “Wow. How is it three o’clock already?” she says, and I take a normal breath for the first time in an hour. “Time flies when you’re surrounded by talent, I guess. Thank you all for giving me the privilege of listening to your unique points of view. It was such a pleasure to work with you.”

I know I should be upset right now, but all I feel is relief that I don’t have to sing in front of these insanely talented people. If I’m honest with myself, the second impression I made probably wouldn’t have been any better than my first. Everyone else here pulled off way better performances than I could’ve managed, even though I’m the only one who has done the exercise before. No matter how hard I try or how many master classes I take, I’m never going to be as good as they are. That should inspire me to work even harder, the way listening to Skye did on my last Family Night at home. But more and more, the thought of struggling toward something I’ll likely never achieve is starting to feel exhausting. The entire point of coming here was to grow as a performer, but maybe nothing—not even Allerdale—is going to make me want this like I should.

If I never make it as an actor, will I be exiled from Family Night? I think about my mom saying,
Oh, my daughter? She’s so mainstream. She’s not like us,
and it stings like crazy. But it hurts just as much to lie and make excuses for myself and pretend to love something because I’m genetically predisposed to love it.

I’m so deep in thought that I don’t even realize my mom’s next to me until her hand lands on my arm. “That went so well, didn’t it?” she says. “What remarkable people. You’re so lucky to be in this group of apprentices, Brookie.” She doesn’t say,
You could learn so much from them,
but I hear it anyway.

“Yeah, definitely,” I say, and it comes out sounding flat.

“Hey.” She tilts my face toward her. “What’s the matter?”

I can’t tell her what I’m thinking, so I say, “Nothing. I just hoped I’d get a chance to perform, that’s all.” If I were a real Shepard, that’s what would be bothering me.

My mom rubs my back. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t expect to run out of time. But you’ve done this exercise before, and this is the only chance I’ll ever get to work with your classmates. You can perform for me later, if you want.”

“No, that’s okay.”

“Well, the offer stands if you change your mind. I hope you’re not too upset.”

“I’ll be fine,” I say. “Have a good time with the non-eqs.”

On the way out the door, I toss my handout labeled “VALIDATE” into the trash.

I leave the classroom before my friends are done gathering their things, slip into the bathroom, and crouch down in the corner of the handicapped stall where nobody can see me. I’m going to have to face everyone sooner or later, but right now I’m feeling too fragile. I send the universe an image of my friends telling me it doesn’t matter who my mom is or that I lied, that they like me for me. But I know deep down that’s probably not going to happen. Not everyone is as understanding as Zoe.

As if I’ve summoned her, the bathroom door opens, and I hear Zoe’s voice. “Brooklyn? You in here?”

I’m about to answer, but then I hear Jessa. “Why do you care? I don’t get why you even hang out with her.”

“She’s funny and smart and supersweet,” Zoe says. “And right now she’s really upset, so be nice to her, okay?”

“
She’s
upset?
We’re
the ones who should be upset. Did
you
know Lana Blake Shepard was her mom?”

“I found out last night,” Zoe says. “Why does it really matter, though?”

“Are you serious right now? It matters because she obviously bribed her way into this festival! I have tons of supertalented friends who didn’t get in here, and
that
spoiled brat is taking up space because Marcus is friends with her mommy.”

“Jess, you don’t know that,” Livvy says.

“Why else would she possibly be here? We’ve seen zero proof that she can actually sing or act or dance. She couldn’t even get a part as a freaking
spear-carrier.
”

“It’s not her fault she didn’t get cast,” Zoe says. “Plus, she’s an amazing pianist. You should seriously hear her play.”

The sink goes on, and Livvy says, “What is up with my hair today?”

Jessa ignores her. “If she’s so good at music, she belongs at Interlochen! Allerdale is for actors, and she is
not
an actor. Her own mom didn’t even want to watch her perform. Didn’t you see how she called on everyone but her?”

“Brady and Adam didn’t go, either,” Livvy says.

“Jess, I really think we just ran out of time,” Zoe says.

“Why are you sticking up for her? Don’t you know she’s using you?”

“How is she using me? She’s my
friend.
”

“She wants people to see her with the Juilliard girl, obviously. She follows you around like a lost puppy.”

Livvy giggles. “God, Jessa, you’re kind of being a huge bitch right now.”

“It’s not bitchy if it’s true.”

“I
want
her to hang out with me,” Zoe says. “What do you not understand about ‘we’re friends’?”

I can almost hear Jessa rolling her eyes. “Girl, you do what you want. But I wouldn’t want some amateur hanging on to my coattails. Hey, Liv and I are going to Target later. You want to come?”

“I can’t,” Zoe says. “Brooklyn and Lana and I are having dinner.”

“Ohhhhh.”
Jessa says the word like it has about five syllables. “Okay. I get it now.”

“Jessa, it’s not like that.”

“Whatever. I say good on you. If she’s gonna use you, use her right back.” And then the door swings open and bangs shut, and everything is quiet.

So I guess that’s it; my days of being part of the group are over. No more raucous dining hall meals, arguing over which is the worst musical ever written. No more crowding around someone’s laptop and watching dumb YouTube videos. No more late nights on the lawn. When those things were actually happening, I was always waiting for them to be over so I could be alone with Zoe. But now that they’re not an option anymore, I realize how much I’ll miss being invited.

Or maybe I was never really invited at all. Maybe I was just following Zoe around like a lost puppy.

At least she stood up for me. She didn’t know I was here, so she didn’t have to say the things she said. She really does like me, and it’s not because I can bring her closer to my mom. And it’s a good thing, too. If I don’t have any shows or any friends, Zoe’s pretty much the only thing I have left going for me at Allerdale. I better cling to her with everything I’ve got.

I spend the rest of the afternoon holed up in a practice room, playing overly dramatic sad songs. When I come back to the room to change for dinner, Zoe’s waiting for me. She looks gorgeous in a strappy red dress and sparkly shoes. “Where were you?” she asks. “I texted you a million times.”

Part of me wants to tell her I overheard her conversation with Jessa in the bathroom, but that would be embarrassing for both of us. “Sorry. I was in a practice room,” I say. “There’s no reception down there. Let me change, and we can go, okay?”

“Okay.” Zoe smiles, a totally genuine smile, and it calms me down to see how excited she is for tonight. Honestly, even if she were using me to get closer to my mom, I’d probably let her.

We walk the five minutes to Main Street and find Spindrift, which is one of the three restaurants in town. The bistro turns out to be beautiful, all rough-hewn wood tables and tiny votive candles and chairs with swirly wrought-iron backs that are nicer to look at than lean on. Mom’s already there when we arrive, halfway into her first glass of wine. “My girls,” she says when she spots us. “Sit down. Get anything you want—appetizers, desserts, my treat.”

“Thank you so much for inviting me,” Zoe says as she settles into her chair, and my mom says, “Of course, my darling,” even though it was my idea.

“How were the non-eqs?” I ask.

“Oh, they were
wonderful.
No one topped you, though, Zoe. I was floored by what you did in class today.”

Zoe turns pink. “Wow, really? I mean,
wow.
Thank you.”

“When you get to New York, Brookie will give you my number, and we’ll arrange a little audition, okay? No promises, but if I end up having space for another student, I’d love to teach you. If that’s something you think you might want, of course.”

“Oh my God,
yes.
I can’t even—I mean—
yes.
Thank you. Thank you
so much.
” Zoe beams at me, and I smile back, but it almost hurts to do it. I can’t even tell if I’m more jealous that she has captured my mom’s heart so thoroughly or that my mom has captured hers.

“How’s Dad? And everyone else?” I interrupt.

“Everyone’s wonderful. Dad sends his love—he’s at Glimmerglass this week. Marisol’s due in three weeks—she’s absolutely enormous—and your uncle’s working on an absurd musical about online dating. It’s called
Don’t Kiss Me, Kate.
It’s going to be intolerable.”

“I think that sounds kind of hilarious,” I say, and Zoe stifles a laugh and nods halfheartedly, like she kind of wants to be on my side but also doesn’t want to contradict my mom. “Are you going to see it?”

“You could not pay me enough to sit through that.” My mom takes a giant gulp of her wine. “You haven’t said a thing about
Birdie
yet, Brookie; I need to know everything.”

I suddenly realize I never told Zoe to pretend I’m in
Birdie
with her; I have no idea what I’m going to do now. I look around wildly, hoping for something to divert my mom’s attention, and the waiter a couple of tables away catches my gaze and comes right over.

“Good evening,” he says, sliding a bread basket onto the table. “Do you ladies know what you’d like to eat?”

“I think we need another—” my mom begins, but I cut her off.

“Yes, I’ll have, um…” I haven’t even looked at the menu, but I order the first thing my eyes land on. “The baked polenta.”

Mom looks puzzled. “Since when do you like polenta?”

I’m not even completely sure what polenta is. “I thought I’d try it again,” I say.

Mom starts peppering the waiter with questions about how the various dishes are prepared, and Zoe gives me a look like,
What is up with you?
I reach for my phone to text her, but Mom decides on an entree and starts paying attention again. The waiter takes Zoe’s order and leaves.

My friend is clearly aware that I want her to do something, but she’s not sure what, so she just starts talking. “
Birdie
has been so much fun. Jim Krowalzka is directing—I don’t know if you know him—and I already feel like I’m learning so much. I don’t know if Brooklyn told you, but I’m playing Kim, which is a great part and everything, but she’s a little bit of a two-dimensional character, you know? But Jim’s helping me really round her out and figure out what her motivations are. And Brooklyn’s been helping me practice my songs. She’s
such
a talented pianist.” Even though she hasn’t guessed right about what I need from her, I love that she’s trying.

“Brookie, that’s so nice of you, but I hope you’re spending plenty of time working on your own music,” Mom says. “You’re here to grow as a performer, not as an accompanist.”

Zoe’s eyebrows crinkle. “Are there songs in
Señor
—”

I cut her off before she can blow my cover. “Don’t worry. I’m concentrating on my own stuff, too. Zoe has a much bigger part than I do. The ensemble has a lot of downtime.”

My friend looks thoroughly confused for a second, and then I see understanding click into place behind her eyes. “Right,” she says. “They all sound really good, though.”

“Well, I’m bursting with excitement. Dad and I can’t wait to see you in your big Allerdale debut.”

“Great,” I say. I reach for the bread basket and stuff a roll into my mouth so I’ll have an excuse not to talk for a minute.

My mom leans in and lowers her voice. “So, tell me all the
important
gossip. Any budding romances in the works?”