“Uh . . . you’re welcome? Not sure what I did!”
She dances her fingers up my arm. “I’m not the only one who got a bit lucky.”
“What do you mean?”
“Callum asked me for your number too! I hope you don’t mind that I gave it to him.”
“What? Megan!”
She throws back her head and cackles, a wicked glint back in her eye. Now this is more like the Megan I know. “Hey, he likes you and you obviously don’t mind spending time with him. I heard you two yammering on about photography—lens this and angles that. What’s the harm? If he calls you and asks you out, you can always say no.”
I bite my lip, but eventually I shrug. “I suppose so.”
“Of course! But I wouldn’t say no if I were you. I hear that Callum McCrae is not only a fox but a super-rich fox. His family own some giant estate up in Scotland. He’s probably a laird or something.”
I grimace. “Yeah right. And even if that is true, that’s even more reason not to go out with him. He’s probably really arrogant.”
“And betrothed to a countess,” says Megan, fluttering her hand in front of her like an old-fashioned fan. “Ooh, maybe he knows the Royals? Sorry, Penny. He probably won’t call. You’re not quite on his level.” She pokes at me with her finger, but I feel the dig even deeper.
When we get back to her room, Megan bounces on her bed, still staring at the Snap of Luke. I perch on her office chair, staring around her room. I can’t help but think about Posey. Not only about her beautiful haunting voice, but also about the role that she has in the show.
“Megan, can I ask you something?”
“Of course!” She sighs dreamily.
“Why has today been a good day? I mean, apart from being asked out by super-hunk Luke?”
She rolls over onto her stomach to face me, her legs kicking up behind her. She leans her chin in her hands and studies my face. “I don’t know. I guess . . . having you here has helped a lot. I haven’t found it that easy.”
“What do you mean?” I ask gently. Megan is normally so hard to open up—she dances round issues as nimbly as a ballerina.
“Oh, you know, the girls here are such cows . . .”
“Megan . . .”
She swallows, then flips onto her back. Her toes creep up the wall, but her eyes flutter closed. “I haven’t really made any friends here. Not like back home, where I had tons of friends. And everyone’s so freaking talented. Sometimes . . . sometimes I think I’m the least talented person here.”
I take a deep breath. “Even though you’ve got this big role in West Side Story ?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t really have a big role.” The words come out as barely a whisper, and I leave the chair to sit up on the bed next to her. “I’m just in the singing chorus.”
“Why did you lie? You don’t have anything to prove to us, you know. You’re already at this hugely prestigious school. Everyone thinks you’re amazing.”
“I know. I just didn’t want people back home to see me as this big failure when I already felt like one.” Her eyes open and meet mine. “Plus, I am the understudy for the big role—for Maria. The girl who got it is such a wuss anyway—she’s bound to pull out—so I didn’t think there was any harm in a little white lie.”
“A wuss?” I ask. The Posey I met didn’t seem like a coward, just a bit lost.
“She’s got severe stage fright or something—and she’s here on a scholarship, so Madame Laplage will probably make her go home if she pulls out. But if you can’t handle the pressure here, then how can you possibly hope to survive in the outside world? That’s acting, right?”
“But this is still school . . . Shouldn’t someone be helping her through it?”
Megan frowns. “Do you want me to get the part or not?”
“I don’t think it’s fair for someone to be punished for their anxieties.”
At that, Megan softens. “I didn’t mean it like that. Sorry, Penny.”
“So Madame Laplage is a real person?” I continue. “Not just a name?”
“Oh, she’s real all right. And she’s terrifying. We don’t see her around that much, but if you do, it either means someone’s in big trouble or someone’s about to be a big star. She’s like the scout for young talent across a lot of industries.”
“Wow! Have you ever seen her?”
Megan shakes her head. “First-year students almost never do. Besides, it’s not just about who gets what role in the shows or plays. You remember those girls you met earlier? They’ve all got these big blogs that everyone at school reads and they’re so creative. So I started a blog too but almost no one reads mine. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”
“Why don’t you show me?” I ask. Megan’s words about Posey were hardly nice, but I know she’s going through a tough time.
“OK.” She turns on her computer and loads her blog. Just as I expected from Megan, it’s really nicely designed, and even the photos and fashions she’s chosen to focus on are well put together.
“This looks really good!” I tell her, honestly.
“Thanks . . . but hardly anyone visits.”
“Do you visit their blogs?”
“Yeah . . .”