Chapter 11
Eleven
#cantstoplaughing
Instagram caption by @seenatMVH.
I shut off my phone to make myself stop scrolling through Instagram.
It’s hard to see people talking about me, about my dad, posting pictures of me that I didn’t know were taken.
It feels like a violation. A lot of it is nice—complimenting the outfit I wore today or the way I did my hair.
But some of it is not nice. A photo of me wiping mustard off my face.
An ugly snort laugh that I did today in the hallway between class periods.
I wish that I could just stop caring about it all.
I lay back on my bed and glance at the organic chemistry textbook lying on my desk.
I should pick it up and study some more.
But that makes me think of Zeke, and I smile.
I don’t know why. It’s going to be tough to integrate him into my friend group when he’s so different from the people I normally hang out with.
Butter snuffles and snorts at my feet, in the middle of some doggy dream.
My stomach sinks at the thought of what Zeke and I are doing. Am I hurting him somehow, preventing him from making real friends?
I sit up and stare at the drizzle out the window and try to banish my doubts. I can do this. We can do this. Pretend to be friends with a super nerd who is totally not my crowd? While everyone stares at me and wonders what I’m thinking? No problem at all . . .
“Callie!” Mom yells from downstairs. “Dinner!”
I give Butter a kiss on her soft head and walk down the stairs, lost in my thoughts. When I enter the dining room I’m greeted by— “Dad!” I wrap my arms around him, and I’m enveloped by his scent, his favorite Giorgio Armani cologne, a little woodsy and a little spicy.
“I’m home early, Callie Berry.” Dad hugs me tight.
“How did the audition go?” I say, stepping back. Dad wears a red collared shirt that’s slightly wrinkled, probably from his flight, and his blond hair curls about his shoulders, no offending ponytail in sight. Mom’s back is to me in the kitchen, stirring something at the stove.
“Great, great,” Dad says, but his face falls a bit.
“Oh no,” I say. “What happened?”
“I’ll tell you over dinner. Let’s see what your mom made.”
We take seats at the table, and Mom brings over a pot of something. “Chicken zoodle soup!” Mom says, beaming. “With extra chicken for more protein.”
“Smells great,” Dad says.
“Zoodle?” I say.
Mom gives me a level stare. “No complaining, you.” She scoops me up a huge ladleful and hands me a slice of gluten-free bread made out of ground nuts. Scrumptious.
I text Suzy a pic. Save me!
She texts back a barf emoji. I love her.
“What’s going on, Dad?” I take a sip of soup. It’s salty and savory, with tender chicken and ribbons of zucchini that are difficult to spoon up but tastes all right. “It’s good, Mom!”
Mom’s face lights up, and I glow inside. Sometimes, during moments like this, I feel like Mom and I could actually connect. I think I might want to tell her more what’s going on with me, with Zeke, this horrible social pressure I feel. But I don’t. It’s not the right time.
“Well, I got some bad news. Some good news, too, but some bad.” Dad blows on his soup. Mom and I watch him expectantly.
“The good news is, I got the part.” Dad grins.
“Yeah!” I cheer.
“Good job, Ben!” Mom smiles.
Dad slices a hunk of “bread” and slathers it with grass-fed butter. “I’m thrilled. My agent thinks this role could be huge for my career.”
Mom reaches across the table and takes his hand. “That’s fantastic, hon.”
Dad swallows a bite of bread. “But the bad news is I’m going to be in LA for at least two months of filming, maybe longer.”
My stomach drops.
Mom’s face falls. “So long?”
Dad stirs his soup. “I know it’s a long time. But this is my dream role.”
“You’ve got to do it,” Mom says. She looks at me. “We’ll support you. Right, Cal?”
I think about everything Dad’s going to miss in those two months. Me cheering at football games, the Homecoming dance, Halloween . . . I love Halloween with Dad. He always dresses up and scares Mom. Every year he gets her so bad, and I laugh until I cry.
I look up, and my parents are staring at me expectantly. “You’ve got to go for it,” I say.
Dad smiles. “Thanks. I’ll come back whenever I can, though I don’t know how often that will be.”
Mom smiles. “It will be worth it at the end to see you on that screen.”
Dad reaches out and takes her hand. Then he turns to me. “You sure you’re okay with it, Callie Berry?”
I force a smile. “Of course, Dad.”