Rory
“Yeah, we didn’t have that much this weekend, now that the history project is done,” Owen replied. He was sitting at the kitchen
island in his usual uniform of a polo shirt and khaki shorts, his glasses sliding down his nose as his thumbs moved quickly
over the controls of his Nintendo Switch. It was Sunday night. The kid couldn’t even wear a T-shirt on the weekend?
like her friends were just texting random emojis at each other, so she didn’t bother taking off her red oven mitts. Instead
she moved the casserole to the counter, closer to the plates.
“Let me know if you want me to go over anything with you,” she offered, knowing full well her brother wouldn’t.
If Rory was an excellent student, Owen was that times twelve.
He hadn’t needed anyone’s help since kindergarten, when it had taken him a few weeks to stop writing his capital L’s backward.
Rory pulled the tinfoil off the pan and waved the steam away from her face.
“What did you make?” Owen looked up from his game, lifting a few inches off his stool to try to see.
“That pasta you like with the roasted veggies,” she replied with a smile, knowing it was his favorite. “Dad got a ton of broccoli
at the farmers’ market yesterday, so I figured we should use it before it goes bad.”
Ding! Ding! Ding! went her phone.
“Did you do the breadcrumbs?” Owen’s brown eyes were hopeful behind his glasses.
“Of course I did the breadcrumbs. What am I, an amateur?”
Rory hung up the oven mitts beside the stove so she could serve them each a plate of the piping hot casserole. Owen jumped
up to fill two water glasses for them, then grabbed paper napkins out of a drawer.
“Make sure you blow on it,” she told him.
“What am I, an amateur?” he shot back.
Rory laughed and checked “Dinner” off the to-do list in her planner.
She grabbed her phone again. There was a group chat going on in the Girls Only thread, everyone talking about chipping in to buy Stuart’s homecoming tickets now that Jacob Reilly had sabotaged their plan A.
At the same time the girls were texting each other photos of their dresses for the dance and asking for opinions on hairstyles and makeup looks.
Rory had several group texts going at once, of course. There was Varsity Cheer; All Cheer (which included the sophomores and
freshmen on JV); Girls Only (her closest girlfriends); AP Lang, AP USH, and AP Bio for her classmates in her harder classes;
Gov, for student council; and Fam for the family. Every one of them had new messages. Rory took a deep breath, silenced notifications,
and laid her phone down flat. Sometimes, her life was a little overwhelming.
“When’s Mom coming home?” Owen asked. “I want to practice my soliloquy with her.”
“They’re just doing blocking tonight, so it should be early,” Rory said, glancing at the clock on the kitchen wall.
It would probably be their mom’s only early night this week.
A former Broadway actress, Casey Dodd had moved to Boston after her career had stalled out.
That was where she’d met and married Rory’s dad, Simon Graham, who had been an up-and-coming chef at the time.
After Rory was born, her dad had opened a restaurant called Bellissima in Woodmont, an adorable suburb with a bustling downtown and plenty of shops and events to attract diners.
Their mom had started directing plays and musicals at the midsize community theater, and now it was basically her whole life.
This month they were putting on a production of Guys and Dolls, and they were getting close to opening night, which meant they would see their mom . . . basically never, at least for the
next three weeks.
Their dad was around only in the mornings and on Mondays, when the restaurant was closed, which was why Rory had developed
a dependable stable of dinner recipes she could pull off with no one else around. She refused to be one of those kids who
ordered takeout every night. Her father had instilled a love of good, fresh food in all of them, and it wasn’t like cooking
was hard.
Occasionally, she did cave to the temptation of literally phoning it in. Last night, for example. After she’d cheered at the
football game and finished up the pumpkin carvings for the bake sale, Tucker had come over and they’d indulged in a Chick-fil-A
feast for the ages. Now the pumpkins were all lined up on her front porch, where they’d stay until they started rotting and
ended up in the composter out back. At least it looked festive for now. With their busy jobs, her parents weren’t much for
seasonal decorating, but that was another household task Rory didn’t mind covering.
“Cool. I’ve gotta get a part in the play,” Owen said, shoveling pasta into his mouth at lightning speed. “Freshmen never get
parts, but I’m gonna break the streak.”
“I know you’ll get a role. You’re the most talented kid actor I know.” Rory bumped him with her shoulder.
“I’m the only kid actor you know.” He bumped her back. Suddenly, his eyes lit up and he sat up straight. “Who’s texting me?” he said, and stood to pull his phone from his back pocket. He lit up the screen and his face fell. “Um, it’s actually for
you.”
“What?” Rory took the phone from him. It was Gwen—she’d saved Owen’s number when they’d all taken a trip to Six Flags New
England over the summer and Rory had insisted they sync up in case anyone got lost. The message read:
Gwen:
OWEN! TELL RORY THERE’S A 911 AND TO CHECK HER PHONE!
Rory dropped her fork, handed Owen his phone back, and picked up her own. The screen was alight with messages like:
OH NO! IS HE OKAY?
WHAT WAS HE THINKING?
HE’S IN THE HOSPITAL!?!?!?!?!?
Heart now pounding in her throat, Rory scrolled back and saw Stuart’s name and Carlos’s name, and her vision went so blurry
she couldn’t understand anything else. Then her phone lit up again, this time with a call from Layla. She answered.
“Oh my God. Who’s hurt? What happened?”
“It’s Stuart,” Layla said. “They think he’s going to be fine, but it’s not good.”
Tears immediately sprang to Rory’s eyes, and she felt a sharp lump in the back of her throat, as if she hadn’t swallowed her
last bite. “What happened, Lay?”
“Him and his stupid motocross,” Layla bit out. “Apparently he rolled his bike and broke his leg. He’s in the ER at Valley
Hospital. We’re all on our way. Are you coming?”
“Oh, God. Is he okay? What am I saying? Of course he’s not okay. I can’t believe this.”
Rory was torn between being worried out of her mind and wanting to wring Stuart’s neck. He knew he wasn’t supposed to get on his motorbike during cheer season. What were they going to do now? Without Stuart, she wouldn’t
have a stunting partner for homecoming or for regionals. This was going to screw up their entire routine.
She shook her head, trying to focus on the present moment and Layla’s voice saying, “His mom says he keeps asking for you.
Can you get the car?”
If he’s all right, I’m going to have to kill him, Rory thought.
Into the phone she said, “I’m on my way.”