Now my mom was humming the song to herself. “Evan wrote that?” she said. “I can’t believe it.”
“Join the club,” I told her.
The phone started ringing again. This time, we all listened, waiting to hear who it was.
“WHY ARE YOU NOT ANSWERING YOUR PHONE?!? OH MY GOD, DID YOU SEE THE ARTICLE? I AM FREAKING OUT, WHY ARE YOU NOT ANSWERING YOUR PHONE?!” Victoria took a deep breath and I could see her switching the phone from one ear to the other, like she always does when she’s so excited and her words can’t come out fast enough. “Please call me, I’m starting to act like Tizzy around here. It’s getting ugly. Oh, hi, Mr. and Mrs. Cuttler, in case you get this first. Everything’s fine, I’m just trying to get ahold of Audrey. Okay, ‘bye. AUDREY, CALL ME BEFORE I HAVE TO RESORT TO SKYWRITING.”
We all looked at each other after Victoria hung up. “Why do I not have a hard time believing that Victoria actually would hire a skywriter?” my dad said.
“The odds are 70–30 in favor of it,” I agreed.
My mom just shook her head and began restacking all the newspapers, even though they were already stacked. “Audrey,” she said, “this is kind of a problem.”
I didn’t know what to say. I felt like I was going to cry—my parents were upset, Victoria was apoplectic, and now everyone was going to think that I was some groupie whore. I hadn’t even finished reading the article yet, but I’d gotten a good idea of where it was going from that one paragraph. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know that it would be such a big deal.”
“Was this before or after you gave the interview without talking to us about it first?”
“Um…both?”
My dad sighed. “We’re not mad, it’s just…well, I don’t know what it is.” He looked to my mother. “Can we sue?”
She just rolled her eyes at him. I guess almost twenty years of marriage gives you the right to not take your husband seriously during serious moments. I filed it away for future reference. “Audrey,” she said again. I was starting to hate the sound of my own name. “Your father and I aren’t upset with you, but we just wish you had told us that you talked to a reporter. Or that Evan had written this song. Is there anything else we should know?”
I thought for a minute. Should my parents know some things? Like maybe the fact that Evan and I had had sex, or that we’d met because he was so drunk that he puked on me? Should they know about the time Victoria and I got sick off peach schnapps when we were fifteen?
Absolutely not. Like I needed more parental drama right then.
I faked innocence. “It says on Evan’s website that they’re going to shoot a video. Is that important?”
She blinked twice. “Are you going to be in it?”
“No one’s asked me to be.”
“Then I think we’re fine.” She glanced over at my dad. “Maybe?”
“What about the reporters?” he asked.
We all were flummoxed by that one. “Sic Victoria on them,” I offered.
“That’s what you should have done with this one,” my dad said, shaking a copy of the Weekly.
“She’s probably already on it,” I replied.
Finally, my mother had an idea. “I’ll talk to my friend who works in the PR department over at the magazine. She might have some ideas.”
“Who?” my dad asked.
“What magazine?” I said at the same time.
“You know, Evelyn?”
Now it was my turn to blink. “Evelyn works at the senior citizen center!” I said. “Her ‘magazine’ is the Leisure Ledger! It covers things like golf cart repair and produce sales at the grocery store! And she is the PR department.”
“You’ll be a hit with the sixty-five-and-older crowd by the time all of this is over.” My dad started to laugh. I could tell that he was much more content with that idea than one that involved male groupies.
“In the meantime,” my mother said over us, obviously a little annoyed, “you”—here she pointed at me—“are not allowed to give any more interviews or appear in videos or sign autographs or do anything that will cause reporters to start calling our home and/or Grandma.”
“Can I still go with Victoria to the concert next Friday?”
“What concert?”
“The Lolitas are playing with the Plain Janes at the Silver Cup in Hollywood. You said I could go last month,” I added quickly. “The Lolitas are gonna be huge and this is my last chance to see them in a small venue before all the wannabe fans get ahold of them.”
“No, that’s fine, you can go,” my mother said. “Just don’t inspire any more love songs, all right?”
There was this weird silence then, which was strange, because my family’s pretty chatty, in case you haven’t noticed, and we don’t really let things hang. But then the phone started to ring again and I just wanted to go up to my room. “Can I call Victoria back now?” I said, and when my dad nodded, I went upstairs.
I didn’t call Victoria back right away, though, and not because I was curious to see if she’d follow through with the skywriting threat. Instead, I put my stereo on so I couldn’t hear the ringing phone, then laid down on the bed and put one arm over my eyes, making the world as black as I could. So many people were going to read that article. My parents. Victoria. Jonah. Sharon Eggleston. Tizzy. Evan. James. My stomach cramped at the idea and I rolled over, taking my pillow with me.