“What’s going on?” Mom instantly panics. “Rachel! Is she okay?”
“Rachel is fine,” I say dragging my nails down my cheeks. “Mom … Josh Taylor … tickets sold in nine minutes … radio contest … INEEDYOURPHONE!”
“Take it!” She thrusts it forward, looking at me like I’m a crazy person.
“Thanks!” I grab it, and tear back up the stairs, dialling as I run. I trip at the top, stubbing my toe, and the phone flies out of my hand and into the air. The searing, stinging pain pulsing through my toe is so intense, I feel like I might throw up. I bend over, grab the phone from the floor, and hobble down the hallway in agony. When I reach my bedroom, I hear Rachel speaking to someone.
“My name is Rachel Carter,” she says with a shaky voice.
“And are you a big Josh Taylor fan?”
“His biggest.”
“So, Rachel, have you brushed up on your Josh Taylor trivia?” the DJ asks.
“Yes,” she answers, giggling nervously.
“Okay, for two amazing, front-row tickets to see Josh Taylor live in concert, can you tell me what musical instrument Josh Taylor’s parents have played since they were teenagers, which Josh refuses to learn to play? Rachel … you have fifteen seconds to answer, starting now.”
Rachel opens her mouth to answer, but then suddenly, grabs a scrap of paper off my desk and scribbles French horn. She looks at me, widening her eyes, waiting for me to nod that she’s right. Instantly, I grab the paper, scratch out French horn, and write trumpet, which I’m positively sure is the right answer. OMG, I’m so happy she didn’t say French horn.
“Rachel, you’ve got nine seconds left,” the DJ says.
“Um … I’m not sure,” she squeaks out, “but I think … oh …” She sighs heavily. “I’m not sure.”
I furiously poke my finger on the piece of paper. I can’t believe she’s not saying it. Just say TRUMPET! Just say it!!!
“I think … it’s the trumpet!” she finally blurts out.
“Ohhhh, I’m sorry Rachel, that’s not the right answer. Actually, Josh and his parents all play the trumpet. Being his biggest fan, I’m surprised you didn’t know that. French horn was the answer I was looking for.”
13
The Big News
I don’t know how much more disappointment I can take. I’ve been trying so hard to be positive but now I’m worn out. I’m tired of trying. I’m tired of being almost there and then failing. For a “successful little businesswoman” I don’t feel very successful at all.
November is a blur, an awful grey blur of high-fives and squeals and little giggling groups of girls. Obviously, they got tickets. And then there’s Scarlett and her stupid V.I.P. tickets. Honestly, I think if she goes on about them one more time, I’m going to seriously lose it. And then there is Rachel. She never did want to talk about the interview, or the lie, and she never brought up the radio contest, either. I really don’t deserve her as a friend, but I’m so glad she is, because she’s the only person who’s keeping me from going nuts right now.
My parents have finally stopped arguing, but I still catch Mom crying every once in a while, and I hear them whispering sometimes, too, like they have some big awful secret, a horrible secret I don’t want to hear. They keep saying we need to talk about something. I keep saying later. Honestly, I’m afraid they might be planning to get a divorce, which would be the worst thing that could ever happen, which is why I keep saying later. I think maybe they need more time to work things out, and as long as no one says the word out loud, there’s still a chance to fix it. Unfortunately, there is no more time.
“Hannah, you can’t keep saying later,” Mom says with a frustrated sigh. “We need to talk.”
“I’m really busy right now, I was just about to practise the guitar.”
“Hannah, you don’t own a guitar.”
“I know that. I borrowed Rachel’s.”
“But why, Hannah? You don’t even play the guitar.”
“Exactly, that’s why I need to practise!”
“Hannah, come have a seat,” Mom says, patting a chair by the kitchen table.
This is it. Here it comes. I guess I can’t put it off any longer.
Mom and Dad exchange a worried glance and then they both stare at me like they’re waiting for me to say something.
“Okay, just say it!” I finally blurt out.
“Well,” she says, rubbing the back of her neck, “we’ve been trying to talk to you about this for a few weeks now, but you wouldn’t listen, which wasn’t a big deal at the time because the decision wasn’t final yet.” She glances back at Dad. “But now it is, as of today.”
“Final?” I ask, as a lump rises in my throat. “As of today?”
“Yes, as of today,” Mom almost whispers.
Suddenly, my world is spinning. I just want it to stop. I’m not ready to hear this. I just want everything to go back to the way it was, before all the arguments and whispering and crying.
“I know,” I yell, “I know what’s going on. I know everything!” I shove my chair back and tear off up to my room. I try to fight back the tears, but realize it’s no use, so I bury my face in my pillow, but instead of crying, I scream. I scream because I’m frustrated, I scream because I have no control over what’s going on in my life, and I scream because I’m just so tired. How could I be so happy in September and so miserable now? How could my life get so totally messed up so fast?
Exhausted, I drift off to sleep until the sound of knocking wakes me up. My dad is standing in my doorway, holding a plate of supper.
“Can I come in for a sec?” he asks, smiling.
“Fine,” I answer.
“I’m sorry you’re so upset over what’s going on,” he says, putting the tray on my desk. He sits down on the edge of my bed. “Hannah, it’s not going to be that bad.”
“Tell me, Dad. How is it not going to be that bad?”
“Listen, this is going to be good for us. We’re all going to be better off.”
“Better off!” I shriek. “You’re getting divorced! How could we possibly be better off?”
“Divorced?” he says, raising his eyebrows. “We’re not getting divorced.”
“What?”
