say.
“It’s yours, then. Keep it. The pants are fine, but I’m afraid if I wear the white shirt I’ll look like one of the waiters. Because it’s happened before.”
I laugh and consider for a few moments before speaking. “I have some stuff you could look at, if you want. Is that weird?”
“No, you’re going to save me from getting drink orders all night.” She dashes ahead of me down the hallway, so I take a spare second to glance at the framed photos, even though it’s dumb dumb dumb to think any of them will be of me.
In my room we settle on my deep green knit shirt, which actually looks even better on her because she has much better hair than I do. I feel so good about helping her out that I even mention it.
“Oh, please,” she says. “My hair guy is just really good. Should I make you an appointment? I would have offered but you look fine to me.”
“Would it be okay, seriously?” I imagine the one remaining piece of mousy me gone, even if it might make my chances of invisibility smaller. Less safety, but better hair and therefore style. It would be a tougher call if style didn’t always win out.
“Seriously,” she says. “I’ll call later.” She examines herself in the mirror. “Brad’s ex is going to be there. I should shut up about all of my ridiculous relationship drama but it’s as if I literally can’t. I’ve become a crazy person who is actually concerned her boyfriend’s ex will pick a more appropriate outfit for an event.”
“The shirt looks good,” I say, because it’s the only thing I can think that might help at all.
“You’re too kind.” She switches it out for her T-shirt. “Thanks for putting up with my unhinged rantings.”
I shrug and consider telling her the contents of my brain are pretty much always crazier than the things she says. But then my phone beeps with a text message.
I don’t know the number, which is weird, but my heart bangs like a percussion section when I read it, not just because of its contents, but because I can tell from reading it that it’s from Sai. Got your number from Kennedy, was at school late, heard Deans saying auditions for musical next week.
“Everything all right?” my mother asks, still examining her reflection, even though she’s back in her kind of crappy normal clothes.
“Yeah, I, just, this guy, school, auditions.” My mouth is dry and I’ve forgotten enough of the English language to even know how to fix what’s wrong with my response.
“Auditions for what?” she asks.
“The fall musical,” I say. “It’s, like, a really big deal. For me, at least.”
She laughs. “I want to hear about the guy who’s terrifying to speak of when really big deal auditions aren’t.”
“He’s no one,” I say. “I mean, just a guy, this guy from school, it doesn’t matter, I don’t even like him.”
“Uh huh,” she says with a raised eyebrow. “Definitely sounds like it.”
“Shut up,” I say without thinking. And then we both laugh really hard, and I tell myself to get how amazing this moment is, my mother and me, at last, cracking up together, even if it’s sort of at my own expense.
“For now I will.” She turns from the mirror. “All right, I have to get through another chapter today, so I should attempt that before dinner. Thanks for the shirt.”
“You bought it for me,” I point out.
“Ah, technicalities. See you later, kid.”
On Saturday night, I’m still settling on accessories and perfecting my outfit for my first official night out with friends in L.A. when my mother knocks on my door. “Come in!”
She does, shutting the door behind her. “Two boys are here for you. One, I should mention, I’m leaving Brad for. Damn .”
Oh my God. Sai is here. In my freaking house .
Okay, fine, I definitely meant everything I said about there being no point in liking Sai. But I guess I’ve been lying to myself to think that means I don’t like him. I have no willpower against the hair,
“It’s yours, then. Keep it. The pants are fine, but I’m afraid if I wear the white shirt I’ll look like one of the waiters. Because it’s happened before.”
I laugh and consider for a few moments before speaking. “I have some stuff you could look at, if you want. Is that weird?”
“No, you’re going to save me from getting drink orders all night.” She dashes ahead of me down the hallway, so I take a spare second to glance at the framed photos, even though it’s dumb dumb dumb to think any of them will be of me.
In my room we settle on my deep green knit shirt, which actually looks even better on her because she has much better hair than I do. I feel so good about helping her out that I even mention it.
“Oh, please,” she says. “My hair guy is just really good. Should I make you an appointment? I would have offered but you look fine to me.”
“Would it be okay, seriously?” I imagine the one remaining piece of mousy me gone, even if it might make my chances of invisibility smaller. Less safety, but better hair and therefore style. It would be a tougher call if style didn’t always win out.
“Seriously,” she says. “I’ll call later.” She examines herself in the mirror. “Brad’s ex is going to be there. I should shut up about all of my ridiculous relationship drama but it’s as if I literally can’t. I’ve become a crazy person who is actually concerned her boyfriend’s ex will pick a more appropriate outfit for an event.”
“The shirt looks good,” I say, because it’s the only thing I can think that might help at all.
“You’re too kind.” She switches it out for her T-shirt. “Thanks for putting up with my unhinged rantings.”
I shrug and consider telling her the contents of my brain are pretty much always crazier than the things she says. But then my phone beeps with a text message.
I don’t know the number, which is weird, but my heart bangs like a percussion section when I read it, not just because of its contents, but because I can tell from reading it that it’s from Sai. Got your number from Kennedy, was at school late, heard Deans saying auditions for musical next week.
“Everything all right?” my mother asks, still examining her reflection, even though she’s back in her kind of crappy normal clothes.
“Yeah, I, just, this guy, school, auditions.” My mouth is dry and I’ve forgotten enough of the English language to even know how to fix what’s wrong with my response.
“Auditions for what?” she asks.
“The fall musical,” I say. “It’s, like, a really big deal. For me, at least.”
She laughs. “I want to hear about the guy who’s terrifying to speak of when really big deal auditions aren’t.”
“He’s no one,” I say. “I mean, just a guy, this guy from school, it doesn’t matter, I don’t even like him.”
“Uh huh,” she says with a raised eyebrow. “Definitely sounds like it.”
“Shut up,” I say without thinking. And then we both laugh really hard, and I tell myself to get how amazing this moment is, my mother and me, at last, cracking up together, even if it’s sort of at my own expense.
“For now I will.” She turns from the mirror. “All right, I have to get through another chapter today, so I should attempt that before dinner. Thanks for the shirt.”
“You bought it for me,” I point out.
“Ah, technicalities. See you later, kid.”
On Saturday night, I’m still settling on accessories and perfecting my outfit for my first official night out with friends in L.A. when my mother knocks on my door. “Come in!”
She does, shutting the door behind her. “Two boys are here for you. One, I should mention, I’m leaving Brad for. Damn .”
Oh my God. Sai is here. In my freaking house .
Okay, fine, I definitely meant everything I said about there being no point in liking Sai. But I guess I’ve been lying to myself to think that means I don’t like him. I have no willpower against the hair,
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