“You can’t,” I said, my voice rising at the unfairness of this. I hadn’t set up the Stanwich High theater department, after all. Also, why was it that parents always wanted you to be involved and disciplined and dedicated to something, but then as soon as you were, they started complaining that you were limiting yourself? “I’ve told you guys how it is—”
“But maybe it shouldn’t be,” my mom said, shaking her head. “You guys are in high school. You’re kids. Why should you have to commit to doing only one thing? You should be trying as much as you can, figuring out what you like.”
“Um,” I said, just staring at her. “That’s not what it’s like. What am I supposed to do about it?”
“Change it,” she said simply.
I opened my mouth and then closed it when I realized I didn’t have a response.
“And if you can’t,” she continued, “you could at least take the opportunity to broaden your horizons in college. That’s all we’re saying.”
“Anyway,” my dad said, “we don’t need to get this all figured out right now. We can talk about it when you’re back from Teri’s, okay?”
“Yeah,” I said after a moment, trying to get my priorities back in line, remembering a beat too late that I shouldn’t be annoying my parents right now. I needed to go into the city tonight—that was what was important, and I shouldn’t have lost track of that.
“Sounds good,” my mother said. She gave me a small smile, and I gave her one back.
“Okay,” I said, grabbing my keys. “See you guys tomorrow. Two?”
“Noon,” my mom said, raising an eyebrow at me.
I just nodded and gave her a smile, all too aware of Rule #5: Don’t push your luck.
* * *
“You guys look great,” Teri said from where she was sprawled on the couch.
I smiled and flounced out the skirt of my dress. It was my current favorite, a mid-length dress with a fitted bodice and a bright pink skirt that billowed out and spun around me if I turned quickly, which I did constantly when I wore it, of course. I had paired it with ankle boots—I figured it was going to be too cold in the city for flats tonight, and there was practically nothing I hated more than my feet being cold. I had used my magic curling iron on my hair. I’d found it online and it was amazing: it did all the work for you and gave you perfect beachy waves every time. It was way better than what I’d been doing before that, which was watching YouTube tutorials and then completely failing to re-create the results. My hair was now in soft waves that I knew would fall out in a few hours, no matter how much hair spray I used.
Stevie was wearing a gorgeous jade-colored jumpsuit with long sleeves and a cinched waist, and pointy-toed heels. Whenever I wore flats and Stevie wore heels, I felt that it threw off our whole dynamic, because suddenly she wasn’t where I expected her to be, but instead was a few inches higher. Stevie always liked to add to her height whenever possible, whereas I avoided heels if I could. I’d tortured my feet enough over my dancing years and figured that they really deserved a break.
Stevie had straightened her hair so that it hung long down her back and moved in a glossy curtain. We were both wearing more makeup than usual. Teri, who was the best of us at it, had done a cat-eye on me and a smoky eye on Stevie, and as I glanced down at myself, and then at Stevie, I was startled to see just how unlike our usual selves we looked. We looked older, more pulled together. Like we were heading somewhere exciting, off to have an adventure—which, I reminded myself as I patted my waves, was exactly what was going to happen.
“I think we’re passable,” I said. “I don’t think they’ll kick us out of Josephine’s.”
“I wish I could come,” Teri sighed as she crossed to the kitchenette and pulled a Sprite out of the fridge. “You’ll give me updates?”
“It’s so cool you have your own fridge,” I said. It honestly seemed like the dream to me—your own fridge, your own snacks.
The Tsai house was huge and modern, all right angles and glass. It was a smart house, and Teri’s parents were constantly updating it, so that oftentimes when we were there, it took us hours to figure out how to do things like turn on lights or heat or the television. Teri had moved out back to the non-smart guesthouse at the beginning of the year and seemed much happier now that she could turn on lights by hitting a switch.
The guesthouse was two stories, with a kitchenette, two bedrooms, and a living area with a couch and a huge television. The second bedroom had two beds, and Stevie and I had each claimed one before we’d started getting ready. But the best part about Teri living in the guesthouse was that we would be able to come and go without her parents seeing and asking pesky questions like why are you here or where have you been or do you have any idea what time it is?
Teri sat back on the couch with her soda, then placed it carefully next to her phone and the remote, which were lined up just so—making me wonder if maybe Ryan Camper was real. This seemed like an awful lot of effort to go to for a figment of your imagination.
“Okay,” Stevie said, picking up her clutch. It was a medium-size black bag and I’d last seen it at the prom. “We good to go?” She glanced at her watch. Stevie was the only person I knew who wore a real, non-Apple one, with ticking and hands and dials and everything. I’d had a plastic Swatch when I was little, but around the time I outgrew it was when I got my first phone, and then I always knew what the time was without having to wear it on my wrist. “If we’re trying to make the four-ten, we need to leave now.”
“Can I put my stuff in your bag?” I asked, my tone wheedling, as I crossed to my bigger purse. I took out what I thought I might need—license, cash, emergency credit card tied to my parents’ account, lipstick. “You know I hate carrying one.” Stevie rolled her eyes good-naturedly and held her bag out to me. “Thank you!” I said as I tucked my things into the zippered pocket.
“Don’t forget your phone,” Teri reminded me.
I met Stevie’s eye and smiled. This was Rule #6 of lying to your parents: Let them occasionally think they’re smarter than you. I’d learned from Eric’s mistake. He’d been grounded for two straight months when his parents tracked his phone and realized that he wasn’t at a study group, like he’d told them, but at Jones Beach at a concert. I’d checked my parents’ phones—both of them had the same password, it was honestly embarrassing—and found they had tracking apps installed so they could make sure I was where I said I was. As soon as I’d seen that, I realized I had to think one step ahead, and was now always careful to leave my phone where I told them I’d be, so that if they did track it, all they would see was that I had been telling them the truth. It was sad, this lack of trust. I mean really.
“I’m actually going to leave it with you,” I said, holding it and saying a silent goodbye for just a moment before setting it down on the coffee table. Even though I knew I had to do this, it was always hard to part with my phone. And despite the fact that I could use Ophelia, it just wasn’t the same. “Would you mind posting a Story or two? Just so that there’s incontrovertible proof I was here. And if my mom or anyone texts, just call Stevie and I’ll tell you what to text back. My lock code is 1717.”