Read Online Reel Life Starring Us by Lisa Greenwald - Free Book Online Page B

experiencing it.
    â€œNo, this is the home line.” Pause again. “I’ll tell her Dina called, though. She should be—”
    â€œNo, that’s okay,” I interrupt. “Um, thanks. Bye.”
    I hang up while he’s still sort of half-talking, something like
Are you sure?
    â€œSo?” my mom asks. I was so focused on how absolutely awful the call was that I forgot my mom was still in the kitchen.
    â€œDon’t ask.” I squint even though it’s not even sunny in here and try as hard as I can to keep from crying. “I’ll go get my sweatshirt and meet you guys in the car.”
    â€œDina. You’re my daughter. I know when you’re about to cry,” she says as I’m already out of the kitchen and in the hallway.
    She’s right. She does know. And I do cry. Up in my room,into my pillow, like some pathetic girl who doesn’t get what she wants. But I’m not pathetic. I just don’t have any friends here, and now even Chelsea’s dad knows that.
    And Chelsea’s at the movies with all those girls who did the “Sea-Sea Stern” cheer during badminton, and I bet Ross and all the boys that sit at the table next to them during lunch are there, too. And I bet they’re all slurping Cherry Cokes and eating mega bags of popcorn with greasy liquid butter. And they’re all laughing and wearing their cropped leggings and their long cardigans. All of the girls’ hair is straight and perfect and they look like models from the Delia’s catalog.
    And I’m at home wearing last season’s Gap jeans with a zip-up sweater I got for Hanukkah two years ago. And I won’t be going to the movies. I’ll be going to my brother’s stupid Rockwood Hills Soccer League game, where I’ll probably see other kids from school.
    Not the Chelsea Sterns but the Katherine Fellsons and the Maura Eastlys, the girls who aren’t popular, who live in the Spruce section. The girls who are just normal, who don’t worry about being seen at their brothers’ soccer games because they have friends.
    I suppose I could try to be friends with them. They let me sit with them at lunch. They’re acceptable. They’d probably welcome me more than Chelsea would. But I don’t want to. Idon’t want to be someone who just fades into the background, someone who’s friends with people by default.
    â€œDina,” my mom yells to me from downstairs. “Come on. Now. We’re going. Nathan’s going to be late.”
    â€œComing,” I yell back. I can’t believe this is how today’s turning out.
    Forget this. Forget trying so hard to be friends with someone who doesn’t want me. I never thought I’d be someone like that. I don’t want to be that person. I don’t want to be so desperate. I’m changing my mind. I’m going to become friends with Katherine and Maura. It will be fine. Katherine and Maura are fine. They’re more than fine; they’re good enough at least. There are extra seats at their lunch table. And they let me sit there.
    They accept me. I accept them. They’re the Acceptables.
    And that’s all I really need right now.

Sasha Preston piece of advice: If you’re
tired, wear something red.
    My parents always used to be the type to go out on Saturday nights. Fancy places, too. My mom would wear nice pants or a dress, and my dad would wear a shirt and jacket and sometimes a tie.
    Lately, not so much.
    And I can tell my mom wants to go out because she’ll drop not-so-subtle hints like, “The Cohens are going to Riverbay on Saturday. They said we’re welcome to join them.” Or “The Steinfelds have a subscription to this off-Broadway show series. We can get discount tickets.”
    In the beginning, my dad would go along with it. Up until about a month ago, he’d even still go out to the fanciestrestaurants and order bottles of wine, and