Chapter 10
“Claire! Claire, over here!”
It’s lunch, and I’m on my way over to sit with Lily and Dylan—who are more Evie’s friends than mine, but Evie went off campus
with Eddie for lunch—when I hear Chelsea Adler calling my name.
She’s waving me over to the table where she sits with Jasmine and Genevieve most days, along with the senior basketball and
football guys. I walk over, because what am I supposed to do, ignore her? Victor is there. Ben is, too.
“Okay,” Chelsea says without preamble as soon as I’m in front of her. She’s sitting on the table with her feet on one of the
chairs. “So is Victor full of shit, as per usual, or is it true? Do you actually know Lucas Cordova?”
“Fuck you,” Victor says to Chelsea. “It’s true. Right, Claire?”
“Oh,” I say, and let slip a high-pitched nervous giggle that makes me wish I could turn around, leave, and never set foot
in this school again. “A little. Not well.”
Then I launch into the chess team story. I add some bland and uninteresting details to it; in this telling, Nicky is the one
who was more into chess, and better friends with Lucas, and I always tagged along and played in the level below them.
But Chelsea isn’t satisfied. “Do you still play chess? Are you on the team here at school?”
“No. I was never very good. Like I said, I just tagged along.”
“I don’t remember your brother playing chess here, either.”
“Too busy with football, I guess.”
Chelsea tips her head to the side, considering me. If she weren’t so pretty, she’d be easier to ignore. I of all people shouldn’t
think that, but it’s true. She has this appealing, open face. Even when she’s being cruel, you want her attention on you.
I bet when she’s being kind, or likes you, her attention feels like sunshine. Unfortunately, that’s never been the case between
the two of us. “You know what’s so funny?”
I rub my palms along the sides of my jeans. “What?”
“I’ve always thought you look like the girl in that show. The one from a million years ago. That stupid show Lucas Cordova
was in when he was younger.”
“I don’t think I do.”
My voice comes out too loud. Too defensive. My heart is beating so fast.
From across the table, Ben says, “Don’t be an asshole, Chels. Claire is way prettier than that girl.”
He’s talking to her, but his eyes are on me.
“No, yeah, of course she is.” She turns back to me. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it as an insult. But you do look like her. You must
see it, right?”
“I don’t, actually.”
“Okay, sure. Ben’s right. You are prettier.” Then she adds, almost nonchalantly, “If you’re still friends with Lucas, you should tell him to come out this weekend. It would be fun. Ben’s having people over on Friday.”
I would never in a million years bring Luke to that party. “We were never that close, so I’m not sure I feel comfortable . . .”
I stand there. I don’t know why I don’t turn and walk away; it’s like my feet are rooted there until she dismisses me. Chelsea
seems like she’s waiting for me to say more.
Finally, she widens her eyes and says, “Oh, is that all you were going to say? Okay. Got it.” She glances at Genevieve, and
they both look as if they want to laugh.
I mutter a goodbye, and then turn to get out of there as fast as possible. But as I walk—not toward Lily and Dylan, but straight
out of the student center—I hear my name again.
This time it’s Ben. He jogs to catch up with me.
“Hey. Sorry about that. Chelsea can be . . .” He makes a face. I nod in agreement. “I know I already texted you about it,
but I do hope you come on Friday. Alone, I mean.” He reaches out to tug on the sleeve of my sweater, and grins. “I’m not looking
to compete with Lucas Cordova.”
I can’t help it. I blush. “Wish I could, but I’m babysitting on Friday.”
“Maybe after, though?”
He says it casually, but I can tell he means it.
“Maybe.” I probably would go, if Chelsea weren’t going to be there. But she will be, and after that awful cross-examination, there is no way I’m going to put myself in the same room as her.
For the rest of the day, I’m uneasy. What if someone does more digging? What if they start to put two and two together?
Thank God Mom was so private about our family life when I was on the show. When Nicky was younger, he got stressed out by
the cameras and the crowds, so we never did any media or went to any of my events as a family. It was always only me and Dad.
Every picture of me online at any premiere or event is me looking self-conscious in an ill-fitting dress, shoulders stooped
to seem shorter, and Dad in a suit, no tie, and his signature Ray-Ban aviators, no Mom or Nicky anywhere.
At the time, it hurt my feelings that Mom never came. In fact, it still does. But it’s funny how things work out, because
now it’s my saving grace.
I get back from school about half an hour before Luke is due to come over.
Sitting at the kitchen counter, the first thing I do is send an email to the manager at Java Hut to withdraw my application.
Then I spend ten minutes going over the list I made earlier of all the things I want to cover with Luke.
Since I won’t be bringing Luke with me to school, my plan is to take pictures of everything—the student center, the drama wing, the maker club room, the spots outside where you go to vape if you aren’t afraid of getting suspended—and run him through it when we’re together.
I also want to explain the social ecosystem to him, which I’ll do through social media.
Today I’ll kick things off by walking him through all my classes and homework assignments.
I am going to get through this by being as professional as possible.
When I’m done looking over the list, I open my text thread with Nicky and am about to send him a message to tell him about
the whole Luke thing when one pops up from him.
NICKY:
Yo, do u have a sec to talk?
ME:
Yes
Were your ears tingling? Was ur brain on fire with sibling ESP? I had just opened our texts and was about to send u the exact
same message
NICKY:
Ha
FT?
I FaceTime him right away. When he answers, all I can see is the overcast sky behind him. He’s got his backpack on, so he
must be walking somewhere on campus.
“Hey,” I say.
“Yo.”
“So what’s on that teeny tiny brain of yours?”
He breathes a laugh out of his nose, but I can tell he’s distracted, like something really is on his mind. I drop the jokey
tone. “What’s up? Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Fine. I mean, not just fine. Things are more than fine. They’re great, actually. I wanted to tell you—I met someone.”
His lack of interest in flirting with the cute waitress at the diner makes sense now. But something’s up. Nicky has dated
a lot of people, and never once has he called to tell me he was seeing someone new.
“That’s great,” I say. “Congrats. What’s her name?”
“Mara,” he says. “She’s this . . . incredible musician. She’s legit so good. And so smart. She’s so much smarter than I am.”
Nicky pauses. “There’s one more thing you should know—she’s trans. She wanted me to be upfront with my family if she was going
to be my girlfriend.”
Immediately I understand the phone call. Nicky has never veered far from homecoming court Katies and Instagram model Cassies.
He’s always dated exactly the kind of person society expects him to. I know my brother, and I know dating someone who’s trans
is a big deal for him. And I also know how I react matters.
“Cool. Thanks for letting me know,” I say. “I’m excited to meet her.”
Nicky’s relief is visceral. His shoulders drop, and whatever tension he carried into this call melts off his face.
“I’d love for you to meet her. We’ve been official for, I don’t know, three weeks now? It would be cool if you came to visit
or something. I want you to meet her first. Just you, I mean. Like, before I introduce her to Mom.”
“You’re planning to formally introduce her to Mom?” I feign shock. “You must like her a lot.”
“Yeah.” Nicky smiles. “I do.”
We decide I’ll come out for a night the weekend after next, both because Nicky has a home game and because Mom is busy with
the preproduction craft contract, so she won’t be able to come. If Mom were free, she’d never miss a chance to visit Nicky.
By the time we have it hammered out, I only have a couple of minutes before Luke arrives to tell Nicky about the whole “Luke
is shadowing me” thing.
“I don’t know,” Nicky teases, when I’m done explaining the arrangement. “It sounds more like an elaborate ploy to spend time
with you.”
“Can you not?” I ask. “I already feel uncomfortable about this. I don’t need you making it worse.”
Nicky holds up his free hand at the phone. “Oh, I’m so sorry that you’re feeling so uncomfortable because you’re being paid thousands and thousands of dollars for a few weeks of
hanging out with an old friend.”
“Point taken,” I say. “I know it was a million years ago, but he really hurt me, Nicky. At literally the lowest point of my life. Him being here is bringing up a lot of old, bad feelings, that’s all.”
At that Nicky softens. “I hear you. Why don’t you talk to him about it, then? Put it all out on the table?”
I laugh. “Five years later? No. I cannot imagine a more pathetic conversation on my part,” I say. “Even if we’d stayed friends
all this time, I wouldn’t want to sit across from him and admit how much it affected me.”
“Fair enough,” Nicky says.
The doorbell rings, and it’s like I can feel it reverberate through my entire sleep-deprived body. “He’s here. I have to go.”
“Hey. Don’t look so miserable. And don’t let yourself get blinded by all that celebrity shit. Even if he made a mistake, you
were best friends for a reason. Don’t forget that.”
I take a deep breath. Nicky’s right. This doesn’t have to be unpleasant. The best thing to do is to detach myself from what
happened and be cordial yet professional toward him for the next few weeks. Then we can both go our separate ways. “Thanks.
I’ll try.”
“Sure.” Then he waggles his eyebrows. “Have fun, lovebirds.”
“I’m going to kill you,” I say. “Goodbye.”
“Kidding! And wait—Gus?”
“Yeah?”
“Just . . . thanks.”
I blow him a kiss. “Love ya, big bro.”