Noah: See you then. Sleep well.
Emma: Goodnight. <3
Noah: <3
CHAPTER29
A Phone Call
Dear Diary,
Noah Kincaid is my boyfriend. I’m his girlfriend. We’redating.
So… does that mean I can’t add Oliver Bishop’s number to my phone now?
I’m kinda regretting stalling on that.
I mean, it’s not like Noah and I aremarried. And it’s not like I’m asking Oliver out or anything. I can have an attractive, talented guy’s number in my phone without it being anything scandalous or in poor taste.
… Right?
Why do I do this to myself?
Emma
* * *
I should’ve known things were going too well.
Reality came crashing down on Saturday morning. I was so distracted lounging in bed and writing about Noah in my diary that I answered my phone without checking the caller ID first.
“You’re screening my calls again, Emmaline,” my mother’s voice carried through the phone, ripe with disapproval.
My pen froze against the page, and I quickly flipped the diary shut. “Mother?”
“I just got off the phone with Atticus’s teaching assistant,” she said thinly. “Blaise Rousseau? She mentioned you two know each other.”
My heart dropped out of my chest. “I—yes. We’ve met.”
“She mentioned a few other things, too.”
Dread pooled in the pit of my stomach as I wondered what colorful things Blaise had to say about me now. Did she tell my mother about Noah? The dates?
“Really?” I tried for nonchalance while crossing my fingers. “You know, I’m pretty sure the school administration frowns on parents calling their daughter’s TA—”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were failing out of college?” my mother cut me off, her patience snapping as a bite entered her tone. “Do you know how embarrassing that was for me to hear?”
I swallowed around a lump forming in my throat.Thanks, Blaise.
“The ladies at the club have children at Harvard and Yale and Oxford, then my pianist daughter goes and runs off to a small school for something she’s been doing her whole life,” she prattled on. “That much I can live with—but then she fails the class about piano? Are you purposefully trying to humiliate me?”
“I’m not failing,” I said in a rush as I sat up. This was a delicate conversation, and I wasn’t about to risk my freedom at Westcroft, but I couldn’t help feeling a little relieved it wasn’t about Noah. “The first few quizzes were a little rough, but I’ve brought my grade up since then. I still have plenty of time to study for the midterm.”
“Butwhydidn’t you pass those quizzes? I wonder what could possibly distract you so much that you’d fail at something you’ve been doing since you could walk.”
“Music Theory isn’t the same as playing,” I said, annoyed by her patronizing tone. “I never took classes like this in high school, and I’ve only dabbled in composing for fun.”
But it was pointless to argue, further proven by my mother’s answering sigh. “I thought I raised you better than this. So far this little adventure of yours is a waste. I can’t help but assume you’re too distracted by college life and its temptations to take your studies seriously.”
