Don't Touch (11 page)

Be brave. Be brave.

When I get back to the room, Mandy's sitting in Drew's lap, and he's playing with her hair. Livia's arguing with Oscar about whether or not a magazine ad featuring an impossibly skinny girl is sexist.

“Just because it's sexist doesn't make it less hot,” he says.

“But it
should
!” she says.

Hank's laughing at them.

Only Peter looks bored, like I've kept him waiting.

“Ready?” he asks. He's smiling, but it feels like he's my director. I'm late for my audition and I've got something major to prove.

“Yeah, let's get it over with.”

“I'll be gentle,” Hank says, and reaches toward my arm as if for a reassuring squeeze.

I jerk back and he laughs breathily in surprise.

“Sorry,” I say. “I think I've got stage fright.”

“Happens to the best of us,” Oscar says, “which would be me!” He raises his glass.

“Take it from Hamlet's last line before her entrance,” Peter suggests.

And Hank starts, “Soft you now! The fair Ophelia!”

Ophelia's being watched, like me. She would be nervous too. “Good my lord, how does your honor for this many a day?”

“I humbly thank you,” he says, “well, well, well.”

She wants to seem strong. I make my voice hard: “My lord, I have remembrances of yours, that I have longed long to re-deliver.” I hold out my script like it's a gift.

“No, not I,” Hank says. “I never gave you aught.”

Now some of the emotion should seep through. I let my voice quaver, plead with him:

“My honored lord, you know right well you did; and, with them, words of so sweet breath composed as made the things more rich—”

“You're acting,” says Peter.

“What?” He didn't stop anyone else like this.

“Sorry, I just—you were in the scene at first, but now you're overthinking it.”

“Let her get through it,” Mandy says.

“No, he's right. Can we go back?”

We do the first part of the scene over again. I still can't think about anything but them looking at me, about how bad a job I'm doing. At the same spot, I stop and say, “I'm sorry, Hank.”

“That was better!” Peter says. “Why did you stop?”

“I was just saying the lines. I wasn't feeling anything.”

“That's better than fake feeling. You sounded honest.” Peter hops up to talk only to me. “You've got to let go of some of that control,” he says, “that tension, like Nadia says. It isn't helping you.” Peter takes me by the shoulders and shakes me, not hard, but I'm so stiff it jars me. His face is so close. His eyes are so
green.

I say the first thing that comes to mind, “My phone,” and slip out of his grip, pretend I'm checking a message. “Sorry,” I say, avoiding Peter's eyes by looking at Hank. “I got a text from my mom. She has to come get me earlier than she thought.”

“Oh no!” Mandy says. “Here, let me text her. One of us can give you a ride.”

“No, she's already almost here,” I say, “and we've all been drinking. . . .”

“I'm sober,” Drew says, but I remember how fast he took those curves when he
wasn't
under the influence.

“You're going to miss all the fun,” Mandy says. “After we practice, we play games.”

“Next time,” I say. “Okay?” I go for my bag.

“You're leaving
now
? Don't you want to at least wait till she's actually here?”

“I have to meet her at the bottom of the driveway.”

“That's crazy,” Mandy says. “It's a super-steep walk and it's dark out.”

“She gets scared of backing down it.”

“Fine.” Mandy untangles herself from Drew and stands. “I mean, if you have to go, you have to go.”

“I'm sorry,” I say.

She's not looking at me, but she leads me toward the front hall.

“Bye, everybody. I'll see you Monday.”

They all mutter good-byes, but nobody other than Mandy seems particularly concerned that I'm leaving. I'm afraid Peter sees through my lies. He waves the stack of scripts at me and smiles as if to say it's too bad I'm such a scaredy-cat.

Or maybe that's all in my head.

“Wait here,” Mandy says in the entrance hall and ducks into the kitchen, coming back with a pack of gum. “We don't want your mom to freak out.”

“Right,” I say. I didn't drink much, but I'm sure Mom would smell it.

Mandy opens the door and looks glum as she says, “Do you want me to wait with you?”

“No, I don't want to take you away from things,” I say. “I'll be fine.”

She looks toward the ceiling,
almost
an eye roll. “I thought this would be a good chance for you to bond with everyone.”

“And I got to,” I say, “a little bit.”

“But Caddie,” Mandy says, “it's not cool to watch everybody else put themselves out there and then leave.”

“I know, but my mom—”

“I know, I know,” Mandy says, sounding exasperated. “Look, it's not you. I'm just worked up about auditions.”

“You were great,” I say. “You're going to do great.”

“Thanks,” she says, but she's looking at the floor. “Hey, do you remember the last time you spent the night over here?”

“Um, I don't know.” That's another lie. I remember it too well.

“You had to go home early then, too.”

“I did?”

Mandy leans on the door, pausing a second before opening it. She looks out into the dark. “This is old, stupid stuff. I'm sorry I'm being weird.” She turns back to me and there's the smallest reassuring smile. “You can't help if your mom says you have to go.”

“Thanks for understanding,” I say. I should squeeze her arm or give her a hug.

But I don't.

As I make my way down the hill, I turn to wave and see Mandy shutting the door.

At the base of the drive, the trees mostly block the light from the houses, which are set far back from the road. Stone columns with lamps mark the end of Mandy's driveway, but that light blinds me to what's farther off in the woods.

The creepiness isn't enough to send me back to the house, though. Being scared of the dark is so normal. Why couldn't that be my thing?

I should have texted Mom when I first pulled out my phone. It will take her at least twenty minutes to get here. I'll have to hope Mandy's not watching to see when she actually comes.

That last night at Mandy's was her birthday, seventh grade. She'd invited a bunch of girls from dance for a sleepover. There was Lena, a wiry girl who was daring and smart about guys, but who could be mean. There was Britt, whose mom didn't let her go anywhere until she'd curled her hair with a hot iron. And Bailey.

Bailey had the clean-scrubbed look of a girl who preferred apples to candy. She always seemed to be going along for the ride, and it could be easy to forget she was there. Mothers loved that about her.

Mom and Dad had been fighting all week, and
don't touch
kept ricocheting around in my head. By the time we climbed in our sleeping bags, I just wanted to sleep.

But Lena had made up a game called Truth or Spoons. There'd be a bunch of spoons in a circle, one less than the number of players. We had to lay down cards in a certain sequence, and whenever someone got rid of all her cards, everybody had to grab a spoon.

Whoever failed had to answer a question from the girl who was out of cards. “And it has to be the truth,” Lena had said. “Cross you heart and hope to die.”

If she hadn't added that last part, I might have been all right, but what if I lied and I really did die? It might not happen right away, but when it came, maybe years from now, I would know I had brought it on myself.

Each time someone played her last card, hands would fly into the center, but I couldn't risk touch. A couple of times, a spoon went flying and I grabbed it, but mostly I kept losing.

The questions were easy at first.

“If you could go anywhere on vacation,” Mandy asked, “where would you go?”

“Boring,” said Lena. “Ask something interesting.”

“I don't want to be mean,” Britt said, when it was her turn to ask.

“It's not mean,” said Lena. “It's part of the game.” But Britt asked an easy question too.

Finally, Lena said, “I think Caddie's losing on purpose. We should ask her something good—for punishment.”

And the next time she won, she asked, “Who do you like?”

I knew she'd make a thing of it, but I named a guy in our class: “Dev Lakhani.”

Lena cackled and said, “I cannot wait for Monday,” but Mandy stuck up for me.

“We can't play a game with secrets if we can't trust each other to keep them,” she said.

“Fine,” Lena said, but the mocking threat in her eyes never went away. The next time I lost, she said, “Tell us about your parents.”

“That's not a question,” Mandy said, her voice sharp.

But Lena said, “I hear they fight all the time.”

Mandy had started picking at the carpet. Lena had never been at my house, and I'd definitely never told her about my parents' fights.

Lena rephrased. “Do you think your parents will get a divorce?”

“I don't know.”

“Your best guess,” Lena said. “You have to answer.”

“I told you, I don't know,” I said, but was that true? Answering either way felt dangerous. If I said yes, that might make it come true. And if I said no, that might be a lie.

I had cut back on the washing by then, but when a game had a consequence that I couldn't accept, washing gave me an out, a clean slate and a second chance.

“I have to use the bathroom,” I said.

“I'm guessing the answer is yes,” Lena teased as I stepped through the tangle of sleeping bags to get to the door.

In the bathroom with the door locked, I washed all the way to my elbows. I don't know how long it was before Mandy knocked. “Caddie,” she called, “are you sick or something? Can I come in?”

“Just a second.”

I finished and dried off. Then I opened the door.

I said, “Sorry I'm taking too long.”

Mandy looked concerned, but disappointed, too. “I really like Lena,” she said. “I want her to have a good time.”

Do you like her more than me?
I wanted to ask but didn't dare.

“Why would you talk to her about my parents?” I said.

“It just came up,” she said, and then, “Can you not be weird?”

She knows. She knows,
played in a loop in my head. I followed Mandy back into her room and tried to look cheery and ready to play.

“Since you hate my question,” Lena said, “I thought of an alternate: What were you doing in the bathroom for so long?”

My face went hot, but I couldn't speak. Eons passed. New species developed, flourished, then died. My limbs wouldn't work, my jaw wouldn't move, even if I had known what to say.

“You have to answer,” Lena said.

I tried to tell myself it was okay to lie because Lena was mean, but no lie came. Part of me wanted to spill my guts about my games and the panic and ask them to keep it a secret,
but tell me I'm normal, please, tell me I'm not as freakish as I think I am.

I didn't have it in me—to lie or to tell them the truth.

“I just—shouldn't be here,” I mumbled, before I knew what I was saying. “I need to go home.”

“Are you sick?” Bailey asked.

I nodded, but Lena wouldn't let up. “We would have heard if she'd gotten sick.”

“It's just a stupid game,” Mandy said, and she sounded desperate for us not to ruin her party.

“You're shaking,” Britt said, and I was. My teeth were chattering, my hands . . . I pressed my fingers together but couldn't hold them still.

“Caddie,” Mandy pleaded, “don't freak out. We don't have to play anymore.” There was frustration in her voice, in her eyes, that and something else too—contempt.

“She has to answer,” Lena said. “Those are the rules.”

“No, she doesn't. You don't have to,” Bailey said.

“Just answer,” Mandy said. “Lie if you want. No one cares.” She was begging me to behave, to keep being her friend, but our friendship died, right then. I felt it go.

“I'm sorry. I want to go home.”

“My parents are asleep,” Mandy said, but I left the room and walked down the hall to the master bedroom. The door stood open a crack. “Caddie, don't,” Mandy shout-whispered, but I pushed the door open.

Her parents looked weirdly exposed with bare feet sticking out from under the sheet, her father's arm across her mother's hip. Mandy's mother must have sensed me—she sat up gasping, clutching her husband. Mandy's father lurched to sitting, a defensive reaction, and then they stared at me with something like horror. That changed to annoyance as soon as they got their bearings, but horror felt like what I deserved.

My parents were called. Mandy's father put on a robe over his hairy chest and boxers—I hadn't wanted to see that—and sat up with me in the kitchen, not speaking, waiting for Dad to come.

The next week, Mandy asked if I felt any better, but there was a wall up. She told me Lena had invited her to spend the night that weekend, saying something about it being a shame that I couldn't come too, but that Lena's mom only let her have one guest at a time.

We still sat together at lunch. Mandy still told me secrets, but she didn't ask me to share mine. I never spent the night at her house again.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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Auditions make everyone crazy, but it comes out in different ways.