Understudy

She laughs. “Oh please. Just listen to the rest of the story, okay?”

“I’m not really sure I want to.” Gwen doesn’t understand that I’m about to walk into a family dinner and that no matter how much my acting ability has improved this semester, there is no amount of talent in my bones to cover up how absolutely shitty I feel while eating dinner with my parents. “Was she prettier than I am?”

Oh GOD, Wren. Why did those words slip out of my mouth? Why am I so freaking stupid?!

Gwen laughs again. “Nooooo. For starters she was like five years younger than us. Just listen, okay?”

I groan in reply. She continues. “Okay so I tried to act casual like I wasn’t even thinking about you or anything and I asked him if that was his girlfriend and he said no. So I asked if she was his sister or something and he said she was like a sister and he was just there to support her.”

The wheels in my head turn as I try to recall anything from my times with Derek that would hint to him having someone who was like a sister to him. He is an only child as far as I know, and his mom never mentioned anything about anyone else. Still, she must not be the Lexie from his phone. Because ‘almost sisters’ don’t have hearts next to their names.

“That’s…interesting,” I tell her as my nerves go from being super heartbroken back to just mildly heartbroken. There’s no sense in crying over someone who isn’t really your boyfriend. This information didn’t really tell me anything about Derek. Just that he’s a good friend when someone needs him.

Too bad he can’t be honest to friends who need honesty.

Since my parents are paying for dinner and the food is fancy like Aunt Barlow said, I decide that I should drown my sorrows in a large plate of nachos with extra queso. All the delicious carbohydrates do an excellent job of filling the hunger in my stomach after a long day’s work but they do little to quell the pain I feel over Derek.

Sometimes, even now when I’ve complete

ly given up on him, I’ll still find myself getting caught up in thoughts of him in this weird alternate universe where things suddenly change and everything is perfect and I get to be his girlfriend. And then, before the thoughts manifest into daydreams, I’ll snap out of it and tell my brain to shut the hell up with the Derek thoughts already. I mean, come on.

So I tell myself to stop thinking of him and then I dive into another bite of food. I politely answer whatever my parents ask me during dinner. Although I forbid my brain from repeating the cycle by bringing up Derek again, it doesn’t really listen.

It’s like my brain has a mind of its own.

I’m doing all right though, I’m getting by. High school is almost over and college awaits. There will be more boys in college and soon Derek will be just a memory. In fact, I’ve almost forgotten about him by bedtime.

And then Mom pokes her head in my door and she asks me if the Senior Prom is still going on tomorrow and if so, will I be going with that nice boy with the long hair?

I tell her yes it is, and no.

There’s only so long you can lay in bed with the pillow squished over your ears before the constant beeping of your cell phone will drive you crazy. Sure, I could have turned off the ringer but that would mean getting out of my comfortable and oh-so-warm bed and walking across the room to where it’s plugged into the charger on my desk.

So not happening at seven in the morning.

At least, not until about an hour after the text message beeps woke me up. I know it’s Margot before I even glance at the phone. She’s the only person I know who would be awake this early on a Saturday morning. I also don’t even need to read her texts to know what they say. Unless some freak accident happened, like her house burned down in the middle of the night or her dad discovered he had a child he never knew about, again, then the only thing her texts will consist of is a repeat of what she’s been asking me all week.

7:32 a.m. Heyyyyy best friend. Do you know what today is?

7:33 a.m. it’s tell your best friend you love them day!!!

7:34 a.m. Just kidding. It’s PROM.

7:45 a.m. WAKE UP BITCH

7:50 a.m. You will have fun!!! Come with me!!! I have dresses you can wear

8:03 a.m. Don’t make me drag you kicking and screaming because I will

I don’t have a date and therefore that’s the only reason Margot can fathom as to why I don’t want to go to prom. But that’s just her delusional thinking because I have never wanted to attend a stupid prom, especially not for my senior year. Dances don’t appeal to me, date or no date. She refuses to believe it and it’s making her try entirely too hard to change my mind. My phone beeps two more times with new texts from her. She can be so damn persistent.

My answer was perfectly clear yesterday when I told her no about a million times, so she doesn’t deserve to have me text it to her now. I look over at the Art Institute calendar on the wall. The square for today has been circled a dozen times in a pink highlighter. I might have made the plans to attend the interior decorating exhibit with someone else, but plans change and I’m still going.

I dress to fit the part of a future interior decorator: black skinny jeans with maroon velvet flats, a black lacy camisole and a maroon sweater with pearl buttons. I throw my hair into a messy yet stylish bun and fold my bangs across my forehead, pinning them with a rhinestone bobby pin. A fresh coat of nail polish and minimal makeup has me looking exactly like a professional. Well, maybe a professional intern.

Attending this exhibit will be my first experience with what life will be like after college, when I’m working my dream job. It’s probably for the best that I go alone. I pack a small notebook and pen to take notes. My reflection smiles back at me in the vanity mirror as if the girl on the other side of the glass doesn’t know that I am hurting on the inside.

When I tell my parents goodbye and leave the house a few minutes later, my phone is still on my bed. I tell myself I’m leaving it because I don’t need to waste time wondering if anyone special might call me with an apology and an explanation. By the time I arrive at the convention center, I’ve almost convinced myself to believe that lie.