Page 70 of It's in the Contract
Their lyrics are slightly different than what we planned, but Brielle has stolen our idea.
Noah spins on screen and drops Brielle into a low hold, their lips breaths away from touching. Katrina and Angela dancein the background. Angela’s dancing looks more like flailing compared to Brielle and Katrina, who are used to dancing on the cheer team, but no one seems to notice. The girls in the lunchroom collectively sigh. Someone whoops and claps.
My mouth drops open. “She can’t . . . she can’t do this.”
Suzy’s cream skin is flushed red, her lips pressed into a thin line. She stands, her chair scraping back against the lunchroom floor, like she can stop the video playing by sheer will. Dana stares in horror at the screen, her enormous brown eyes blinking slowly.
“We did . . . we did it first,” I say, in denial. There has to be a mistake. There has to be something we can do.
We spent hours on that, planning every lyric and dance move, not to mention the dozens of filming takes. We worked so hard . . .
“I didn’t know,” Troy says. “I swear I didn’t know they were going to do this.”
I realize I’m squishing my sandwich so hard that gloppy bits of chicken and celery are dropping out of the bottom.
“Callie,” Zeke says. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Tears prick the corners of my eyes, but I blink them away. Nausea swirls through my stomach.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I want to just ignore it, but I pull it out, if only for a distraction. In the video, Brielle and the others strike a finishing pose, and people in the lunchroom clap and cheer. Some tables even give them a standing ovation, and several people hurry across the cafeteria to Brielle and Noah’s table to congratulate them in person. Cassidy and Brian pop back on screen, all smiles.
“Mom?” I answer.
“Callie,” her voice is breathless and tight. My stomach sinks even further.
“Get your things. I’m waiting for you outside.” Her voice is the sickeningly cold tone she gets when she’s holding onto her patience by a thread.
Suzy gives me a concerned look.
“It’s my mom,” I mouth.
Mom lets out a tight breath of air. “You need to come home right now.”
Twenty-Six
Have Callie Carter’s standards fallen so low? Has the budding star’s heart been broken so thoroughly that she’ll sleep with anyone now?
Article clip by Seattle Stars magazine.
I walk outsideto a drizzly gray day. I don’t bother to put my hood up, even though the rain is messing up my beachy waves. My feet are heavy as I walk down the stone steps and past the fountain that marks the school entryway.
I see Mom’s car right away, a neon green Mazda that was made to stand out. Her fingers tap anxiously on the steering wheel. A hot pink sweatband keeps her hair out of her eyes.
I get in the passenger’s seat of the car and sit down, dreading whatever is about to happen. Did I do something wrong? Or worse, did we get some bad news?
“Did something happen to Dad?” I blurt.
Mom looks at me, her eyes wide. “No, Callie, nothing like that.” She starts the car and we pull away from school.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
“Just wait until we get home.”
The rest of the car ride home is silent, and we pull into the garage and step into the house. Dad is waiting at the kitchen table, staring out the window at the gray rain.
I run to him and throw my arms around him. “Dad!”
He puts his arms around me. “Hey, Callie Berry. I missed you.”
