jacket, tablet always in his hand?”
“He was there, yeah. But how did you know his—”
“Googled the TV station and read all I could. Really, One Two Three, you gotta keep up. Your tablet is your extra brain.”
Amy had no tablet. But she nodded, resolving to learn what she could at the library. She was obviously far behind the others.
So was this a competition, like Gran said? If so, who was winning so far? Probably she would find out Saturday night.
* * *
Thursday afternoon Amy was “promoted” to production assistant for a soap opera. At first this sounded exciting, but she quickly discovered that it mostly meant fetching coffee from the Starbucks across the street (“I just can’t drink that awful stuff they have here”), fetching things from other rooms (“My red scarf, I think I left it either in Makeup or my dressing room or maybe the ladies’, the one nearest the green room, or—”), and watching actors emote through overwrought plots (“But . . . Stone . . . Emily swore that Cliff was the father of Madison’s twins!”). Amy crossed “television production” off the list of careers she might want someday if she never got to college to study neurology.
Waiting for the unknown, Amy discovered, was worse than facing it. No scenarios occurred on Thursday. But she remained constantly on edge, poised for action she couldn’t predict. When an actor came up behind her to complain that she’d gotten his coffee order wrong, she jumped so hard that the coffee sloshed onto his costume. Amy apologized so profusely that finally the actor told her to knock it off, he’d drink the damn coffee the way it was.
When would the next scenario happen? What would it be?
In the evening Amy couldn’t concentrate well enough to play decent chess with Paul, who resented it. “That was a really dumb move.”
Amy tipped over her king. “Your game.”
“I can’t believe you had a rating of 1900. Were you lying?”
“No!”
“Then I don’t know what’s happened to you. It’s hardly worth playing you at all.”
Amy scowled, but she had no real answer.
The only bright spot was, surprisingly, Kaylie. She had gone to school every day that week, and as she and Amy prepared for bed, Kaylie said abruptly, “I know I’ve been a bitch lately. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s just that I’m so keyed up about All-City tomorrow night. This is going to be it, Amy. The band’s big break. Tomorrow is the last day I have to sit in that stupid school and listen to stupid teachers drone on about the Council of Trent.”
Amy couldn’t remember what the Council of Trent was, if she’d ever known. She said, “School is more than that.”
“You’d like to go back, wouldn’t you?” Kaylie said shrewdly. “Do that summer bridge course to take the college-admit exams. Fuck, I can’t imagine anything worse. But when Orange Decision is rich and famous, I’ll get it for you. You won’t have to work at the boring job anymore. I’ll take care of you and Gran both.”
“Kaylie,” Amy said, because it looked like this might be her only chance, “about my job at the TV station. It isn’t exactly . . . I mean, on Saturday night there will be a—”
“Gotta get to sleep,” Kaylie said. “I can’t be late tomorrow for my last day in hell. But on Saturday there’ll be what?”
“Nothing,” Amy said. She didn’t want to spoil Kaylie’s mood. She was glad she hadn’t mentioned the show debut when all at once Kaylie flung her arms around Amy, something she hadn’t done for at least two years. Into Amy’s ear she whispered, “It means the world to me that you and Gran will be there tomorrow night. Really.” She whirled away and into the bathroom, singing.
Kaylie really thought her band would win. She really thought this evening would change her life. She really expected to rescue Amy, who at only one year older already had given up such expectations. There was no rescue. There
“He was there, yeah. But how did you know his—”
“Googled the TV station and read all I could. Really, One Two Three, you gotta keep up. Your tablet is your extra brain.”
Amy had no tablet. But she nodded, resolving to learn what she could at the library. She was obviously far behind the others.
So was this a competition, like Gran said? If so, who was winning so far? Probably she would find out Saturday night.
* * *
Thursday afternoon Amy was “promoted” to production assistant for a soap opera. At first this sounded exciting, but she quickly discovered that it mostly meant fetching coffee from the Starbucks across the street (“I just can’t drink that awful stuff they have here”), fetching things from other rooms (“My red scarf, I think I left it either in Makeup or my dressing room or maybe the ladies’, the one nearest the green room, or—”), and watching actors emote through overwrought plots (“But . . . Stone . . . Emily swore that Cliff was the father of Madison’s twins!”). Amy crossed “television production” off the list of careers she might want someday if she never got to college to study neurology.
Waiting for the unknown, Amy discovered, was worse than facing it. No scenarios occurred on Thursday. But she remained constantly on edge, poised for action she couldn’t predict. When an actor came up behind her to complain that she’d gotten his coffee order wrong, she jumped so hard that the coffee sloshed onto his costume. Amy apologized so profusely that finally the actor told her to knock it off, he’d drink the damn coffee the way it was.
When would the next scenario happen? What would it be?
In the evening Amy couldn’t concentrate well enough to play decent chess with Paul, who resented it. “That was a really dumb move.”
Amy tipped over her king. “Your game.”
“I can’t believe you had a rating of 1900. Were you lying?”
“No!”
“Then I don’t know what’s happened to you. It’s hardly worth playing you at all.”
Amy scowled, but she had no real answer.
The only bright spot was, surprisingly, Kaylie. She had gone to school every day that week, and as she and Amy prepared for bed, Kaylie said abruptly, “I know I’ve been a bitch lately. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s just that I’m so keyed up about All-City tomorrow night. This is going to be it, Amy. The band’s big break. Tomorrow is the last day I have to sit in that stupid school and listen to stupid teachers drone on about the Council of Trent.”
Amy couldn’t remember what the Council of Trent was, if she’d ever known. She said, “School is more than that.”
“You’d like to go back, wouldn’t you?” Kaylie said shrewdly. “Do that summer bridge course to take the college-admit exams. Fuck, I can’t imagine anything worse. But when Orange Decision is rich and famous, I’ll get it for you. You won’t have to work at the boring job anymore. I’ll take care of you and Gran both.”
“Kaylie,” Amy said, because it looked like this might be her only chance, “about my job at the TV station. It isn’t exactly . . . I mean, on Saturday night there will be a—”
“Gotta get to sleep,” Kaylie said. “I can’t be late tomorrow for my last day in hell. But on Saturday there’ll be what?”
“Nothing,” Amy said. She didn’t want to spoil Kaylie’s mood. She was glad she hadn’t mentioned the show debut when all at once Kaylie flung her arms around Amy, something she hadn’t done for at least two years. Into Amy’s ear she whispered, “It means the world to me that you and Gran will be there tomorrow night. Really.” She whirled away and into the bathroom, singing.
Kaylie really thought her band would win. She really thought this evening would change her life. She really expected to rescue Amy, who at only one year older already had given up such expectations. There was no rescue. There
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