like a love letter in code.
“Gum?” Patrick asks, tapping me on the shoulder.
He holds out a single stick of Wrigley’s Spearmint.
“Thanks.”
He gives me that mysterious hint of a smile that made me fall for him in the first place and then goes back to mindless bookwork. I slip the gum out of its outer wrapper and open the foil. As I fold back the thin silver paper, I see that what he’s given me is more than just a stick of gum. It’s hope, and fear, and plain old giddiness all in the form of a note written in perfectly precise letters:
For the phone phobic: [email protected]
The bell rings, and as I leave the classroom, I catch his eye and hold up the gum wrapper with a smile. Good , he mouths.
My new Chuck phone vibrates, and Sandra’s face flashes on the screen. I’m tempted to let it go to voice mail, but I know Sandra. She’ll just keep calling me until I answer.
“ Hola, mija ,” she says.
“Hey, Sandra. Um, I’m at school. I can’t really talk right now.”
“That’s okay, I just wanted to let you know that you have to be home as soon as school is out. You and the girls have a photo shoot today.”
“I can’t. I’m busy,” I lie. Photo shoots are Lex’s thing. “And I don’t want my picture taken, anyway. I already told Mom that.”
“Bonnie™, we need shots for the promos, the website, the show credits … don’t worry. No Seventeen or Teen Vogue . Although I think you’ll change your mind about that once we get into the swing of things.”
I sigh as I struggle to open my locker. “Fine.”
“XOXO,” she singsongs.
I roll my eyes and hang up just as the final bell rings. Now Señora Mendoza is going to make me explain in Spanish why I’m late.
“Dammit,” I mutter, grabbing my Spanish book and slamming my locker shut.
I could ditch. But I wasn’t going to let MetaReel steal my last few days of high school.
SEASON 17, EPISODE 8
(The One with the Tell-All)
Tessa and Mer are the only friends I’ve ever had, but not once have I assumed they would take my secret in stride. If I were to visually represent the lies I’ve told them for the past year, they would look like those concentric rings inside an ancient tree trunk, the circles getting bigger and bigger as they expand toward the outer bark. The closer to the present, the bigger my lies. I’ve invented my entire past, down to weird details like breaking my arm in fifth grade (never happened) and saying half of my siblings are cousins (wishful thinking). I’ve created family vacations out of stardust and childhood friends out of 100 percent pure fancy. I don’t need to imagine the hurt looks my best friends are going to have on their faces when they find out who I am; I’ve seen those expressions before, when people realize their spouse is cheating on them or their father isn’t coming home. Betrayal.
Now Benny and I are huddled in a deserted corner of a huge bookstore, poring through copies of Mom’s book, which just hit bookshelves today. We considered buying it, but that would mean giving money to an evil cause.
Mom made a mysterious trip to LA, but Benny and I Googled her and figured out she had some big book launch where MetaReel RealStars™ from Monster Parents and Sweet Sixteen Mom were pretending to be excited about her book.
“Is it true that Dad tried to hit Mom on several occasions ? Have I blocked this out or something?” This is what chapter seven says.
Benny shakes his head. “That never happened. I mean, sure, Dad cheated on her and he drank too much, but he was never, ever violent.”
From the time I was nine until I was thirteen, all I can remember from my parents’ interactions are arguments. Sometimes loud, but always in front of the cameras. They usually ended with one of them stomping off into the interview room to bitch about the other. Still, we’d just been kids. We didn’t know what went on behind closed doors.
I read out loud
“Gum?” Patrick asks, tapping me on the shoulder.
He holds out a single stick of Wrigley’s Spearmint.
“Thanks.”
He gives me that mysterious hint of a smile that made me fall for him in the first place and then goes back to mindless bookwork. I slip the gum out of its outer wrapper and open the foil. As I fold back the thin silver paper, I see that what he’s given me is more than just a stick of gum. It’s hope, and fear, and plain old giddiness all in the form of a note written in perfectly precise letters:
For the phone phobic: [email protected]
The bell rings, and as I leave the classroom, I catch his eye and hold up the gum wrapper with a smile. Good , he mouths.
My new Chuck phone vibrates, and Sandra’s face flashes on the screen. I’m tempted to let it go to voice mail, but I know Sandra. She’ll just keep calling me until I answer.
“ Hola, mija ,” she says.
“Hey, Sandra. Um, I’m at school. I can’t really talk right now.”
“That’s okay, I just wanted to let you know that you have to be home as soon as school is out. You and the girls have a photo shoot today.”
“I can’t. I’m busy,” I lie. Photo shoots are Lex’s thing. “And I don’t want my picture taken, anyway. I already told Mom that.”
“Bonnie™, we need shots for the promos, the website, the show credits … don’t worry. No Seventeen or Teen Vogue . Although I think you’ll change your mind about that once we get into the swing of things.”
I sigh as I struggle to open my locker. “Fine.”
“XOXO,” she singsongs.
I roll my eyes and hang up just as the final bell rings. Now Señora Mendoza is going to make me explain in Spanish why I’m late.
“Dammit,” I mutter, grabbing my Spanish book and slamming my locker shut.
I could ditch. But I wasn’t going to let MetaReel steal my last few days of high school.
SEASON 17, EPISODE 8
(The One with the Tell-All)
Tessa and Mer are the only friends I’ve ever had, but not once have I assumed they would take my secret in stride. If I were to visually represent the lies I’ve told them for the past year, they would look like those concentric rings inside an ancient tree trunk, the circles getting bigger and bigger as they expand toward the outer bark. The closer to the present, the bigger my lies. I’ve invented my entire past, down to weird details like breaking my arm in fifth grade (never happened) and saying half of my siblings are cousins (wishful thinking). I’ve created family vacations out of stardust and childhood friends out of 100 percent pure fancy. I don’t need to imagine the hurt looks my best friends are going to have on their faces when they find out who I am; I’ve seen those expressions before, when people realize their spouse is cheating on them or their father isn’t coming home. Betrayal.
Now Benny and I are huddled in a deserted corner of a huge bookstore, poring through copies of Mom’s book, which just hit bookshelves today. We considered buying it, but that would mean giving money to an evil cause.
Mom made a mysterious trip to LA, but Benny and I Googled her and figured out she had some big book launch where MetaReel RealStars™ from Monster Parents and Sweet Sixteen Mom were pretending to be excited about her book.
“Is it true that Dad tried to hit Mom on several occasions ? Have I blocked this out or something?” This is what chapter seven says.
Benny shakes his head. “That never happened. I mean, sure, Dad cheated on her and he drank too much, but he was never, ever violent.”
From the time I was nine until I was thirteen, all I can remember from my parents’ interactions are arguments. Sometimes loud, but always in front of the cameras. They usually ended with one of them stomping off into the interview room to bitch about the other. Still, we’d just been kids. We didn’t know what went on behind closed doors.
I read out loud
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