The Reece Malcolm List (18 page)

I can’t imagine ever feeling that way about someone else. I hope that doesn’t mean I’m a completely screwed-up person.

“You look serious,” my mother says, and I realize she’s talking to me.

“Sorry.”

She laughs. “There’s no apology required for that. Everything all right?”

“Totally. I should just do my homework and sleep.”

“In that order.” She grins at me. “Good night, kid.”

“Good night, Devan,” Brad says.

“’Night.” I wave and walk upstairs, where I focus on homework only, definitely not picturing the cast list sheet or Elijah
or Sai
or every single thing and person I’m scared of.

Chapter Thirteen

Things I know about Reece Malcolm:

28. She has a superpower when it comes to pie.

The next morning I run straight to the Music Hall. I mean, callbacks were one thing. A cast list is another entirely.

I don’t even worry about being polite as I navigate my way through the mob crowding around it, though I do notice people are kind of stepping away to let me through. I don’t spend time debating if it’s a good sign or not, just look at the cast list, run my finger down until I find my name, and even though I’m only the third person listed—
ohmygodi’monlythethirdpersonlisted
—still run my finger over to confirm I’ve gotten the role I wanted.

And there it is in black and white:
Mary Flynn: Devan Malcolm
.

Considering how tight the crowd is getting, I excuse myself, running into Sai as I attempt to cross the hallway to Women’s Choir. Like, literally. My face smacks into his chest.

Oh my God. It’s really firm.

“Man, watch out.” Sai laughs and grabs my shoulders to keep me from bouncing off of him and into someone else. I notice there’s a huge splotch of my lip gloss on his T-shirt where I face-planted into him. “Congrats, by the way. You’re gonna be awesome.”

“Thanks.” I grin at him. “Oh my God, I didn’t even look at anyone else. You got something, though, right?”

“I got something,” he tells me. “See you in Nation.”

“See you,” I say, waving before—“Sai!”

He’s already too far down the hallway, past the gathering crowd, to hear my warnings that my MAC Dazzleglass (in the embarrassingly named shade of Love Alert) is currently giving the illusion that some girl (who is definitively not the girlfriend he’s about to have class with) had her mouth on him this morning. For a split second I cross my fingers for some Love Alert–motivated suspicion and jealousy. Wait, no, I don’t. That would make me a terrible person.

“Devan!” Lissa runs up behind me as I walk into Women’s Choir. “Congratulations. Are you completely psyched?”

“Totally,” I say, which makes her laugh.

“Sometime I want to see you go really crazy. You just got a huge role.”

“This
is
me really crazy.”

We laugh even though obviously it’s kind of true.

“How were the burgers of magic?” she asks.

“Oh my God, pretty amazing. No actual magic but close.”

Mira walks into the room and makes a beeline for us. “Liss, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Lissa says, and I realize her name must have not been on the list. I was so used to checking only for me—or me and Justine—but now there are other people I should have looked for, too.

“They’re stupid to leave you out,” Mira tells her, before glancing at me. “I can’t believe the lead female role calls for someone who can be sarcastic and bitter, and yet of course it’s the year you show up and basically already land the part your first day.”

“I, um, I didn’t mean to.”

“Devan.”
She knocks her shoulder into mine. “Don’t be stupid, of course you did. Your act has to stop.”

Last time she accused me of having an act, she was wrong, but right now I feel pretty stupid. Of
course
I did. This is the most important thing in my life. I mean, after everything with my mother. Or is it the other way around?

“Seriously, congratulations, even if we all saw it coming. You really deserve it.”

“Thank you,” I say, thrown by this gush of niceness from her. Who is this new and nicer Mira? “What about you? I’m sorry, I totally forgot to look.”

“K.T.,” she says. “The journalist. It’s a good featured role considering I’ve never even been in the chorus before.”

“Definitely,” I say. “Congratulations. You get to be in, like, one of the best scenes.”

“I know.” Mira grins so fully it’s almost like she’s a different person. “Thanks.”

Mr. Deans tries to lead us through a warm-up and then “Down to the River to Pray,” which is the latest song he’s added to our repertoire, but the mood’s super distracted, from girls who didn’t get roles and girls who did. He excuses the crappy performance on it being one of our newer songs and leads us through a Haydn piece, which is silly because if we can’t manage English today, Latin is not going to happen.

“Why doesn’t everyone use this period to study?” he says after the second sloppy rendition. “Devan, can I see you up here?”

I used to love getting called up individually by choir teachers. Not to sound
completely snotty
egotistical
full of myself, but it would inevitably be about something good. Until the day it was about the worst thing ever.

But I walk up to Mr. Deans as normally as I can and hope I don’t blurt out something stupid. “Um, hi. Is everything okay?”

Mr. Deans laughs. “I love how quickly I’m learning how high-strung you are. Everything’s fine. I wanted to tell you how excited I am to have you as Mary. When you sang ‘Now You Know’ your first day, I hoped you’d have a great audition for the others, because I was already sold.”

“Thank you so much,” I say. “I’m really excited. It’s, like, one of my very favorite shows.”

He smiles and nods. “I had a feeling.”

I talk to him a few more minutes about
Merrily
before returning to my desk. Of course no one is studying, and Mira and Lissa gesture for me to take the empty seat near them.

“Are you okay?” Lissa asks.

“Yeah, you look more freaked out than usual,” Mira said.

I’m not about to tell them that the last time I got called up in choir it was because my dad was dead. So I shrug and try to play it off as one of my weird things I guess everyone is used to by now. And it actually feels okay getting teased, and not just because it’s better than talking about Dad. It’s like—in spite of everything—life is becoming good and normal. And I’ve been waiting a long time for that.

Today Elijah says we should eat outside, and considering how Lissa seems fine with everything and Mira’s being less randomly mean, I know he’s right. So after getting through the sandwich line, I follow him outside, hoping it’s not super weird that we’re walking together. We’re not doing anything like holding hands or even standing closer than usual, but I do feel everyone’s eyes on us as we approach the table.

It’s the weirdest thing that for so long I would have killed for a group of friends, and now that I—sort of?—have them, I find myself longing at least a little for the days when I didn’t have to worry about what anyone else thought. Having a boy around who wants to kiss me would be way better if everyone else wasn’t thinking about it, too.

He leans in a little like that will make our conversation private at a table full of people who’re following us like a hot celebrity couple. “What are you doing after school?”

“I have Nation,” I say. “Sorry.”

Travis sits down on my other side, and I grin at him. We didn’t get a chance to talk in Nation because I guess after losing control of Women’s Choir, Mr. Deans ran a tight ship.

“Congratulations,” I say.

“For what?” He rolls his eyes. “I can’t believe what a small role I got.”

“Some people didn’t get roles at all,” I say as lightly as I can. At least Travis has a featured chorus role. But also of course I know if I’d ended up with a featured chorus role I’d be completely
devastated
depressed right now.

“You don’t get it,” he says, which I guess is fair, but still. I’d try to understand. “And I should have known you wouldn’t.”

I open my mouth to respond, but I don’t know what to say, and he moves back to his original spot anyway. Almost immediately, someone else sits down next to me.

And that someone is Sai.

“I meant to talk to you in Nation, but, man, Deans was going crazy,” he says. “I was thinking for our Acting project, we could do a scene together.”

Elijah glances at Sai and then at me. But we’re not doing anything wrong.

“Sure,” I say. Sai’s the only other junior in the class anyway, and even if I didn’t want to spend time with him—not, like, romantic time, I just like hanging out with him—it would make sense for us to pair up. Still, I glance at Elijah to make sure he doesn’t look suspicious. Then I realize I haven’t known Elijah long or well enough to know what suspicious looks like on him. I guess he seems neutral enough.

Elijah and I kind of take off on our own to head to class as lunch is ending. To everyone else’s credit, despite that there seems to be
a lot
of watching us going on, no one follows us or anything. And I remind myself I
like
being around Elijah. I have to stop overthinking things.

“So tonight you have Nation—tomorrow?”

I shake my head. “It’s the first night of rehearsals.”

“Friday’s my show,” he says. “You think we can manage to hang out before then?”

“I, um, I don’t know,” I say. “But I’m definitely coming to your show. Just so you know, between the musical and Nation, I’ll be busy basically all the time.”

“I know,” he says with a shrug. “I just like hanging out with you.”

“Why?” I ask, totally accidentally. Luckily he laughs, and leans in and kisses me. It’s funny how an action like that goes: I’m calmed by how nice he is, how already this feels familiar, how my heart also races in this really clichéd way. (I guess clichés come from somewhere.) All from his lips against mine for just a moment.

My mother picks me up from Nation rehearsal after school, but drops me off at home alone so she can run errands. I’m actually glad to have the house to myself. I don’t want to slack on my homework again (like last night), plus I’m not used to having so little time on my own here. Being alone has advantages, like belting songs at the top of your lungs without disturbing anyone or embarrassing yourself.

Also, of course, trying to figure out Reece Malcolm. Sometimes—obviously—it’s easier without her around.

I slip into her office. My mother’s recent email is really no help. The discussion with Brad regarding a television in the living room is still, somehow, going on, but my name hasn’t come up again. (Also there’s nothing preceding Brad’s comment about apologizing regarding me, so that must have come from a real life talk, not an email. I’m not sure if that’s a relief or not.)

There are emails with Kate about getting lunch, and emails with Vaughn about business stuff (royalty checks and her latest advance), and plenty of other random emails to and from Brad about the house and dinners and plans and some subjects I’m blocking from my brain until science invents a bleach or other very selective memory deleter.

The thing is, though, as far as emails go, I really don’t exist.

Is that a good thing or a bad thing?

I feel like I’ve done everything I can in the office, so I brainstorm for a bit before heading upstairs to my mother and Brad’s room. There I learn that they both keep the closet and shelves meticulously organized, that T-shirts—most bearing names of bands I’ve never heard of—take up about 80 percent of Brad’s closet space, and that despite her being prone to fashion ignorance, my mother owns several pairs of amazing shoes, mixed in with the Converse of varying colors.

I sit down on the bed to examine all the framed photos on my mother’s nightstand. There are none of Brad and, of course, none of me. One is of my mother and a woman who looks enough like her—and me, I guess—and is old enough that I figure she’s her mother. (She looks normal, not overly Botoxed like I guess I imagined.) Why haven’t I met her yet? There are also a few pictures of my mother with Kate, and with Vaughn, and one of Kate and Vaughn getting married. (Kate’s dress is to die for, of course.) The only unidentifiable photo is a black and white picture of an old-fashioned couple on their wedding day; I figure maybe they’re my mother’s grandparents. It’s weird to have so much history that doesn’t feel like mine at all.

It’s annoying I was brave enough to search through the room and still end up empty-handed. But also deep down I know I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s not like if anyone searched my room really hard they’d figure everything out about me. I mean, I lived with Dad and Tracie my whole life and it usually felt like I would never understand them. Why did I think I’d have better luck with Reece Malcolm?

I look around to make sure nothing’s out of place before heading back to my room. And maybe it’s dumb, but I open my desk drawer and take out some of my favorite theatre programs so I can tack them up on my walls here, just like they’d been back in my Missouri room. There’s a lot I’m afraid to tell people, but I don’t want to be a mystery in my own room.