Page 8 of It's in the Contract
I look up. The lunchroom is dead quiet, and everyone is staring at me. Even Noah and Brielle have stopped and turned around to watch. Noah looks from the floor to me, disgust on his face, and Brielle covers her mouth to hide a laugh. Tom Sheppard guffaws from across the room and holds up a phone to snap a pic.
I want to rewind time, go back just a few moments, and choose to skip lunch or leave the cafeteria entirely or do anything anything anything other than be here.
I officially want to die.
Three
The secondhand embarrassment is real. Did you see this video of Callie Carter at lunch? #puke #soembarrassing
Instagram caption by @ellamontgomery01.
I scrubthe green and white polish from my fingernails until my fingertips are raw and pink, until the number 22 is obliterated. The acetone stings my nose, and sharp tears prick my eyes.
“Why? Why why why?”
My sweet squishy pug whines at my feet, sensing that something is wrong. I finally set down the cotton swab and recap the nail polish remover. I put my head in my hands and just breathe.
Butter lets out another whine, so I lean over and heave her up onto my lap. I already changed out of my salmon outfit into comfy sweats and a BTS t-shirt so I don’t need to worry about her short doggy hairs getting everywhere. “Sheesh, girl, you need to lose some weight,” I say, but then I immediately feel horrible. “I’m just kidding. You’re perfect.” I scratch her velvet ears, and her tongue lolls out of her mouth. Her brown eyes close in purebliss. I press a kiss to her soft head and then squeeze her to my chest until she yips. I ease off on the pressure.
Noah dumped me. It still doesn’t feel real. It had to be forher,too. And then I PUKED in front of the whole school. It’s like something out of a nightmare.
“It’s going to be okay, right girl?” I pet Butter’s head. “People will forget.” They won’t.
I glance at my spotless pale pink comforter on the bed and notice that the dog hair that was there this morning is gone. Mom must’ve come in and vacuumed it off.
Butter lays her head on my lap and closes her eyes. Despite my reservations, I open Instagram. I’m assaulted with videos and pictures of myself, people laughing over my barf on the floor and discussing at length how I’m handling the breakup.
I close my eyes for a second.
Time to fix it. I open my eyes and whip out a post of my own—a pic of me, Suzy, and Dana smiling in front of the school. I give a quick life update in the caption. Well, as much of a life update as I can give without actually letting people see the real me. No one wants that. They want the perfect Callie—the gorgeous, popular, daughter of a movie star. Loved by all, immaculately dressed. The Callie they know never gets home, changes into sweats, and stress eats chocolate chip cookie dough while binge-watching The Great British Baking Show. Never.
The picture won’t stop people gossiping, but it’s better than not posting anything at all. Let them see that despite my breakup, I’m smiling and having fun.
The stress of everything balls up in my stomach. I set down my phone and glance at a framed picture on my desk of Noah and me. His arm is around my shoulders, and he’s kissing my cheek. I’m smiling in genuine happiness, and you can see my dimples, the ones I’ve always hated but Noah loved. Tears wellup in my eyes before I can stop them. I grab the picture and chuck it, frame and all, in the trash can.
My phone buzzes with a FaceTime call from Dad.
I hurry to brush my eyes and answer the phone. “Hey, Dad.” I paste on a smile. “How’s LA? How’s the audition going?”
Dad’s tanned face distorts into a frown. “They wouldn’t even let me try out, Cal. The movie directors told me that the role has already been filled by Leonardo DiCaprio.”
“What? No way. They didn’t even give you a chance? You are way better than him, Dad. Loads better.”
Behind my dad, palm tree fronds ruffle in a sea breeze, and the phone bounces in his hands. He must be going for his nightly power-walk/jog. His shoulder-length, wavy dark blond hair is in a low ponytail. Dad’s pale blue eyes are always a little squinty, like he’s gearing up for a laugh.
“It’s because of your ponytail, isn’t it, Dad?” I say. “I keep telling you to chop it.”
Dad puts on a mock-offended face, and he pauses at a traffic light. He looks right at the phone and winks. “Gotcha. The audition is tomorrow. And they’re going to love my ponytail.”
“Dad!” I roll my eyes. “How do you always get me?”
“Have I told you lately that the word ‘gullible’ is written on your ceiling?” Dad starts up his run again, and the image of him resumes bouncing.
I shake my head and groan. I pointedly do not look up.
“Seriously, though,” Dad says. “I’m nervous for tomorrow. A lot of great actors are trying out for this role.”
“You’ll get it. As long as Leo isn’t one of your competitors.”
