Page 32 of Come As You Are

But of course, my sister took that too.

My dad, though… We may not have as much in commonas Mom and Sierra do, but he always had the time and patience to teach me card games and tricks, and even a little cardistry—his favorite hobby. Every skill in my arsenal, from poker to canasta, comes from him. And even now, when I’m so happy to be an hour away from them all, I wish he and I could just squeeze in one game of gin rummy.

God, I hate how many things Sierra took away from me. It’s like every day, I discover a new one.

I wait for the notification that a voicemail has been left, but my phone remains silent for the rest of the afternoon.

The talent show proves to be a surprisingly popular topic of conversation at Camden. Apparently, it’s some kind of institution, and it’s one of the few nonmandatory events that every single student attends. At dinner that night, Heather, Kayla, and Kayla’s roommate Maya are more than happy to give Sabrina and me a rundown.

“Mr. Hoffman emcees it every year, and every year he messes up half of his jokes. Still unclear whetherthat’ssome sort of meta joke or if he’s taken one too many footballs to the brain.” Kayla pauses to sweep her braids behind her shoulder and take a delicate bite of her Bolognese, which is apparentlyalsoa Camden institution for Sunday-night dinner. “There used to be this awesome band that always closed down the show, but they graduated last year, and supposedly they got a contract at an indie label, but no one knows if that’s really true or not.”

“I heard that fell through,” says Maya, “but there are plenty of people who perform every year and are epic.”

“It’s really fun,” adds Heather, neatly wrapping spaghetti around her fork. “You guys should think about performing. I was too nervous to do it as a freshman, but I’m definitely gonna do it this year.”

Salem’s not listening to a single word—he’s parked himself next to me with earbuds in his ears and a book open in front of him—but Sabrina and I listen with rapt attention as Maya tells us more acts we can expect to see, including a senior who sings opera, a freshman who’s rumored to be a speed-painter (no idea what that is, but assuming it’s as advertised), an impeccable hip-hop routine from the Dance Club that Kayla assures us will star Ashleigh front and center, and, incredibly, a junior ventriloquist.

“This all makes me feel very talentless,” Sabrina jokes, and I’m glad someone else said what I was thinking, but one thing I will not be doing is making myself sound subpar. I may not have a talent for the show yet, but I will come up with one. And this seems like the perfect opportunity to dig into whether Isabel and her friends have anything I can somehow glom on to.

“Does anyone else do dance routines?” I ask casually. “Or, like, a lip-syncing kinda thing?” Yes, I Googled “talent show ideas for people without talent.” Lip-syncing is shockingly popular. And also not a thing I am good at. But I figure if there’s anything I can pick up in a couple of weeks, that’s a solid one.

“God, that’s the cheesiest,” Sabrina cuts in, dragging herfork through the sauce on the plate. “When did we start pretending that required multiple brain cells?”

Well, so much for that.

“Oh, the way my cousin does it is definitely a real talent,” Heather says earnestly, turning to Kayla. “Remember those videos I showed you? She’s so good.”

Kayla nods and smiles, and all I can think is that there exists a girl so pure of heart, she proudly shows off her cousin’s lip-syncing videos, and I made out with her boyfriend.

Yeah, I’m once again the Girl Who Wasn’t Chosen, but once upon a time, I was also a Nice Girl—maybe not Heather level, but nice. Sweet. And we’re both living proof that sweet is not enough. Even if it gets the guy, it doesn’tkeepthe guy. Because the guy will always eventually get lured away by shameless flirting and sexy clothes and, above all, a willingness to do what the sweet girl won’t.

Even if the girls are sisters.

Ask me how I know.

“A freshman did tap last year,” says Maya. “She slipped and fell on her butt in the middle. It was not pretty. Let’s just say she does not go here anymore.”

Okay, so maybe I’d been so fixated on how I could look impressive that I had forgotten that I could even more easily make a complete ass of myself. Whoops. “Yikes,” I say with a goofy swipe of my forehead before remembering that I am being uncool and I need to shift the attention elsewhere immediately. “So what are you guys thinking of doing?”

“I’m thinking about singing,” Kayla says with a hint of bashfulness in her voice. “Or maybe doing a monologue.”

“Ooh, I was thinking the same!” Heather’s warm brown eyes light up, and I watch as she, Kayla, and Maya spin off into a conversation about how much they love drama and music and theatre and lights and camera and action. (Well, maybe not action.) If I didn’t feel like an outsider before, I certainly do now.

“Do you know what you’re gonna be doing, Evie?”

I blink at the sound of my name; apparently, I’ve been watching them without really listening. But now Kayla’s just asked me a question and Heather and Maya—and Salem and Sabrina, who definitely think I don’t notice them peeking over like the little weasels they are—are looking at me with curious interest, and I have no idea what to say, other than that I do not want to concede that I am wildly unimpressive in front of these people.

“I may do something with some friends” comes out of my mouth before I can stop it, and I regret it immediately. Faster, if possible. Because I can see them all trying to figure out who exactly my friends are who are not seated at this table, and frankly, that is a very good question.

The silence that drags out after that is almost worse than if they’d actually just asked, and I’m trying to recall everything I know about physics to see if I can make myself melt into the floor when Salem finally says, “Just warning you that if it’s baton twirling, I’ve heard Hoffman likes to jump in and relive his high school glory days.”

“Noted,” I say with a grin as everyone else jumps in with jokes and guesses about what various staff talents would be. It’s tremendously gratifying when I make everyone, including Salem, crack up with the mental image of Mrs. Frank breakdancing, to the point where I almost forget that now I really have to go and beg Isabel to do something with me.

Almost.

Chapter Nine

EVEN IF I DIDN’T KNOWIsabel lived in Hillman House, I would’ve known she lived in Hillman House. Tucked away in a lush green corner of the campus that is going to be next-level stunning when the leaves change, it’s a stately Victorian with a glorious wraparound porch and room for only twelve girls. Of course, it costs twice as much as living in Lockwood or Ewing, so it wasn’t even on my radar of possibilities, but there’s still enough competition for it that they have to host a lottery for residency.

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