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“I’m going to audition for the play at the HCT.”
My Dad stared harder, his jaw working in a way that meant he had a lot to say on the matter, though I couldn’t imagine what.
Mom sniffed as if smelling something distasteful. “Acting?”
“Yes.”
My father slowly chewed a bite of green beans almondine from side to side, then wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Hmm. That’s not exactly…academic.”
“It’s what I want to do,” I said.
“Why?” Mom asked, as if I’d said I wanted to join a circus.
“I just told you why,” I said. “As an after-school activity.”
My father held my gaze with his hardest stare. “It’s not because of that boy, is it?”
I froze.
He knows. He knows about X. And the party. And what happened…
Mom gaped between us. “What boy? Who…?”
My dad set his napkin down, my petrified silence seeming to confirm for him the truth of everything he was about to say.
“A fellow at the office has a daughter at George Mason. When he found out I did too, he gave me an earful about a boy named Isaac Pearce.”
A sigh of relief loosened my tensed limbs and I sagged in my chair a moment. Then indignation flared through me, making my hands strangle my napkin under the table. My father, who would’ve been hard-pressed to name a single one of my friends from New York, now pin-pointed Isaac Pearce. Why should he interfere in my life now when it was too late? Why the fuck didn’t someone at his office give him an earful about Xavier Wilkinson?
“Who is Isaac Pearce?” Mom demanded.
“He’s a guy at school,” I said. “I hardly know him—”
“Gary Vance, my coworker, says Isaac’s a senior, but much older than the kids. He was held back a grade and there’s talk about some trouble with the law—”
“He was held back because his mother died and he stopped talking for a year,” I snapped. “You make it sound like he’s a moron or a degenerate. He’s neither.”
My father pursed his lips, and nodded to himself, as if I’d just confirmed his worst suspicions. “Gary says he lives with his alcoholic father in a trailer in a junkyard, and worse—his father i
s one of our franchise owners. Gary says his station is a disgrace.”
My mother’s hand flew to her throat. “Jesus, Willow.”
“What?” I gaped at my father’s smug expression. “Judgmental much? So he’s not rich off dirty oil money like we are, so what?”
“Dirty,” my mother said with a sniff. “Who’s being judgmental now?”
“Business aspects aside, the boy has a reputation,” Dad said, as if he were the official Pearce Family Historian. “Apparently, he’s something of an actor. He does plays at the community theater.”
He deals drugs to small children, would’ve sounded the same in my dad’s mouth.
Mom whirled on me. “Is that why you want to act? To follow this boy around?”
“That’s the first thing you think of?” I cried. “Guess what? Isaac Pearce isn’t a criminal. He happened to defend me today from some meathead jock, and even so, even so…” I was shouting over their knowing looks now. “He’s not why I’m auditioning. Jesus, give me some fucking credit, why don’t you. You wanted me to do something, so here I am, doing something.”
“You watch your language,” Dad said, his voice hardening. “And let’s keep in mind you’ve never acted a day in your life. Suddenly you want to be on stage in front of the entire town?”
“Is Isaac Pearce going to audition too?” Mom asked, saying his name like it was a dirty word.
