The Reece Malcolm List (12 page)

“Awesome room,” he says right away, of course, because what
doesn’t
Sai think is awesome? “So ya like it here compared to St. Louis? Or is it rough with your dad gone?”

“No, I like it,” I say. “I didn’t think I would, but L.A.’s not what I thought it would be like.”

“So you hadn’t been before?” he asks. “Even though your mom lives here?”

“I meant like full-time,” I say, which is only sort of a lie. I don’t want to lie to him but I don’t want him to know the truth, either. So it’s my best compromise.

“Oh, yeah, okay,” he says. “I came here on vacation, sort of, when I was a kid, did the whole Disneyland thing. So I didn’t know what it was gonna be like.”

“Why did you move?” I ask. “I mean, if you don’t mind . . . ”

He shrugs, sitting down on the edge of my bed, tapping his black Vans on the rug. “My parents are getting divorced. Kind of a long story.”

“Sorry, I—”

“No, it’s okay. Yours, too, I guess.”

I shake my head. “No, they were never . . . Anyway. Sorry about your parents.”

“Sorry about your dad,” he says.

“Thanks.” I sit down next to him and page through my
Fuddy Meers
script to find the monologue I highlighted.

“Were you and your dad close?” he asks, looking very directly at me.

“Totally not,” I say, even though that makes me seem like a terrible person. “Not lately, at least.”

“Yeah, me neither, with mine,” he says. “And now it’s just us.
Awesome
.”

“That sucks,” I say.

“A lot. Yeah.” He leans forward to take a well-worn
The Glass Menagerie
script out of his back pocket. “Things good here at least for you? Yeah?”

I nod, because it’s true. I want a lot more than I have: answers, explanations, understanding. But there’s seriously no denying things are better.

“Okay, you wanna go first? Or should I?”

“You can go first.” I pull my feet up and hug my arms around myself while Sai paces the room a couple times before launching into Tom’s monologue about writing poetry on his warehouse shifts. I’ve watched Sai enough in class to know he’s good, but Sai is
good
. He’s instantly someone else, fully dedicated to the character, like he isn’t in my room with me. It’s hard to do that, to completely let go of who you are, even for only a few minutes. I’m not even completely sure of who I am sometimes and I still find myself hanging on to me when I act. It takes this combination of bravery and openness I just don’t possess.

“So?” he asks when he finishes, shoving the script back into his pocket.

“It’s, like, perfect,” I say, then slightly regret my gushy choice of words. Even though it is. “If you can do it like that tomorrow, you’ll get an A for sure.”

“Man, thanks. You wanna go?”

I would honestly rather stand in front of an auditorium full of strangers than a few inches from Sai in my freaking
bedroom
, but I try my best to put him out of my mind and focus like I always would. And I guess it’s okay because I get two
awesome
s and some applause.

“You ready for tomorrow?” he asks, and I guess it’s weird we haven’t brought it up yet.

“As much as I can be, yeah.” I hope I don’t sound over-confident or anything. But I know the talent level in The New City Nation—which at our school is the best of the best—and I guess I feel
really
pretty good about my chances, even here.

Sai gets up and examines my bookshelf, as my mother leans into the room. “Hey, Ms. Malcolm.”

“Hey, Sai.” She grins at me like we’re sharing a joke. (I assume the joke is that for such a hot guy he’s also a dorky goofball.) “Are you guys hungry? I thought we could have Brad pick up dinner on his way home.”

“Dinner would be awesome,” Sai says. “I’m not intruding or anything?”

“Definitely not. Burgers from In-N-Out all right with you?”

“For sure,” Sai says. Really enthusiastically. I can tell my mother is fighting back laughing at him.

“I’ll place our order with Brad,” she says. “And call you guys down when he’s here.”

Sai thanks her before she leaves the room. “Who’s Brad? Your stepdad?”

“Sort of, yeah, her boyfriend. He lives here and everything.”

“Is it weird?” he asks. “It’s still weird to me my parents don’t live together anymore.”

I shrug. “I knew my stepmom like my entire life. So it doesn’t seem weird. Also Brad’s like the nicest person in the world.”

Brad is home before long, and we settle at the kitchen table with the burgers and fries, even though my mother proclaims it pointless to eat fast food in such a proper manner. (I kind of agree, even though I like the whole sitting-at-the-table-like-a-real-family thing a lot.) Brad asks lots of questions about show choir and school in general, and I mostly stay quiet because Sai rambles on forever.

I mean, in a charming way.

He has to go after we eat, which I figure has something to do with the beeps his phone made while we were nearing the end of the meal. And that’s fine. If I were Nicole and capable of commanding the attention of a hot guy, I’d use my powers, too.

My mother gives me A Look as I help her clean up once Sai is gone. “The boy couldn’t keep his eyes off you all night.”

“You’re totally wrong,” I say.

“Yeah? Trust me, I’m unskilled at many, many things, but I know when one person’s into another. Are you going to believe your years of life experience versus mine? Please.”

I giggle, partially because she’s funny but mostly because it’s nice to hear.

“So you’re aware about birth control and protection and everything, yeah?” my mother asks, totally casually, while wiping off the kitchen table.

“Um, what?” I mean,
seriously
?

“I don’t think sex is anything anyone needs to treat like this big secret. People have it, big deal. I just want to make sure you know how to keep yourself safe.”

I just stare at her.

“Don’t look at me like that.” She laughs. “Take a gorgeous boy up to your room, I’m going to check in. Trust me, it’s worth being embarrassed in front of me now. My mother never talked to me about it, and I ended up ruining my goddamn life.”

That actually means
I
ended up ruining her goddamn life.

I have to run out of the room because all at once I need to cry, puke, lay down, punch a wall, kick something, anything at all not to feel that sentence over over over. Not that it works. I do cry, and I do feel a little pukey, and I definitely slug the bathroom wall (it seems sturdiest), which
hurts
(because it’s sturdiest, I decide, not because I’m a huge wimp who’s never punched anything in her life). But I still feel it. Over and over and over and over.

She doesn’t come after me, and I’m not sure if that’s good or not. Clearly she isn’t going to say what I need to feel better (
I didn’t mean you, you weren’t responsible at all for ruining my life, I’m sorry I spent so much time away from you, I’ll spend all my time making it up to you, and you should definitely start calling me Mom
), so it’s probably for the best. But the silence is hard, too, and it might be an acknowledgment. Right? I’m crying and punching and feeling pukey because what I feared is absolutely true.

Chapter Nine

Things I know about Reece Malcolm:

23. I ruined her life.

As usual, Brad takes me to school the next morning. He’s quieter than normal. It’s a lot scarier than my mother’s silence, which is at least natural. When someone who normally sounds like the blustery leading man in some indie British romantic comedy goes silent, it’s another story completely.

“Do you, um . . . ” I time it so no matter what he answers, we’ll be pulling up at school the second after he responds. “Think you could pick me up today after auditions?”

“What time?” Brad asks, as if my request isn’t weird at all. Maybe it should comfort me, but all I can think is my mother told him enough that he knows neither one of us will want to be around the other.

“Five,” I say. “Sorry, I know you probably can’t because of your job.”

“I think I can manage,” he says. “Don’t panic if I’m a few minutes late, though.”

“I won’t,” I say as he pulls up to New City. “Thanks, Brad.”

“Certainly,” he says.

I start to open the car door, but I can tell Brad’s about to say something.

“I know she isn’t always the easiest person to talk to,” he says. “But you should try.”

I nod, even if I don’t know if that translates over to me or not. Boyfriends are one thing, long-intentionally-lost daughters are another.

“Have a good day, Devan.”

“You, too,” I mumble, and then feel rude, so I clear my throat. “Thanks for the ride.”

Elijah is walking in as I am, and he holds out a bag of Cheetos to me. “Breakfast of champions?”

“It’s too early for anything that orange,” I say. “But thanks.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing.” He kind of cocks his head at me, making his longish spiky blond hair flip around. “You okay? Rough night?”

I shrug. “I guess. Not really.”

“Bad night, you gotta have a Cheeto.” He shoves the bag at me again, and this time I take a handful. Artificial cheesiness is not necessarily a bad way to start the day. “You need to talk?”

I shake my head, imagine saying it to him or anyone else.
Hey, I ruined my mother’s entire life
. “Thanks, though.”

“Oh, hey.” He unzips his backpack, takes out a piece of bright orange paper. It matches the Cheetos. “My band is playing a gig next weekend, and you should definitely come. It’s all ages. And I can put you on the list so you won’t have to pay or anything.”

“Thanks, I’ll see if I can go.” I look over the flyer. “Which one’s your band?”

“Killington Hill,” he says with a note of pride in his voice. Something about New City that’s so different than back home is how much everyone seems to care about things. “We go on at nine. Definitely you should go, if you’re into music and everything. We finally don’t completely suck.”

I laugh. “I’ll try, yeah.”

“Also I hear Kennedy is organizing some karaoke thing this weekend, which you should definitely come to,” he says.

I am truly truly truly not an expert in anything having to do with boys, but I do see how they act around girls they’re into, and there is something about Elijah’s tone, and the way he leans in when he talks to me, and how he is adamant about his gig and the karaoke. And
obviously
I like Sai the Lost Cause, and
obviously
Elijah and Lissa are an item or almost one or something.

But I still like it.

My phone beeps as I’m dashing to Women’s Choir, and having no idea who it might be, I grab it out of my purse and check the screen.
NEW TEXT FROM: REECE MALCOLM
. I programmed her name that way, obviously, but it still feels like a kick while I’m down, just another reminder that I’ll never have a normal relationship with my mother.

Still.
Sorry I’m a bitch. xo

Okay, it doesn’t change the fact that she
does
think I ruined her life. It doesn’t make me feel better about her mentioning sex and Sai like that’s ever going to be a possibility. It definitely doesn’t make up for her ignoring me all of last night. Or, you know, my whole life before that.

But it’s good she reached out. Right? Maybe I should want an actual apology. Not an apology for the fact that she feels the way she does about me, because that much is fair.

Lissa bumps into me as we walk into the choir room together, and she gives me a little shrug. “Everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” I say quickly. “Actually—I thought today would suck and I guess it won’t completely.”

“Aw, that’s cause for celebration.” She grins as she tucks her long red hair behind her ears. “So I don’t know if you heard from anyone yet, but Travis wants us all to go out for karaoke this weekend, one of those places in Little Osaka where we’ll have our own room. I hope you’re coming.”

“What’s Little Osaka?” I ask, because—unlike Mira—Lissa isn’t someone I worry about looking stupid in front of.

“Oh, right, you’re new to L.A. It’s a Japanese part of town on the Westside, but it’s smaller and newer than Little Tokyo, which is downtown. You should come.”

“I’ll ask my mother, but I’ll try. I’ve never actually gone to karaoke before.”

“You’ll love it, I’m sure. Especially when you have a private room, you can be an idiot and not worry what anyone thinks.” She waves to Mira as she walks into the room. “Hey, I was filling in Devan on karaoke.”

“Oh,” Mira says. “You’re coming?”

I notice Lissa elbow her. “Yeah, probably,” I say.

“Oh, good, E gave you one of his flyers?” Lissa points to the neon orange paper sticking out of my folder. “Are you going? We can ride together.”

“I just have to ask my mother,” I say.

“Is your mom really strict?” Lissa asks.

“Totally not at all, I should just ask before agreeing. She never says I can’t do anything, though.” I shrug. I don’t want to talk about my mother. “It’ll probably be okay.”

“Must be nice,” Mira says before walking to her chair. I start to walk to mine, but Lissa grabs my purse strap. Of course Mira is watching us intently.

“She’s been weird lately,” Lissa says quietly. “I wouldn’t take it personally.”

I wonder if it’s actually amazing that people here—besides Mira, of course—are so nice to me. Back in Missouri, yeah, no one went out of their way, but I also now keep thinking of times I could have talked to people more, been less invisible, not been so afraid. It’s possible my instincts are
kind of
almost
completely backward.

Unlike the last auditions I went through—last February in Missouri—when we waited to audition sitting on the floor of the hallway outside of the choir room, today I’m in a chair in the room where I first met Sai. I can’t believe how much has changed since February. Seriously, I can’t believe how much has changed just since I first met Sai. Today in this room every chair is full, to the point that some kids are sitting on the floor while others pace as well as they can. I’m between Sai and Travis; all three of us are receiving more than a few glares, and I know it’s thanks to our calm exteriors. To be fair I guess it could
totally
be taken as snotty—and okay, maybe Travis is—but I’m not. I just think it’s stupid to care so much about theatre and yet get psyched out by auditioning when it’s going to be something you’ll theoretically do for the rest of your life.