“Were you going through my bag?” she asked, grabbing the backpack. “That’s mine! You have no right to go through my things!”

“I wasn’t going through your things—”

“First you were eavesdropping on me and now you’re going through my things?” she asked, her brown eyes wide. “What is the matter with you?”

I took a deep breath. “Hey. Madison?”

“What?!”

“Shut your big mouth for a minute and listen to me.”

She jerked back, almost as if I’d struck her, but she finally closed her mouth.

I took another breath. “I came in here to close up the room. I pushed in the chairs and picked up the trash, like I did in the other two rooms. I saw the bag sitting over there in the corner. I picked it up. There was no name on it. All I was looking for was something with someone’s name on it so I’d know who it belonged to. That’s it.” I took another breath, exhaled. “And as I told you the other day, I wasn’t eavesdropping. I was picking up costumes. The door was open. I wasn’t hiding. So don’t accuse me of things that aren’t true.”

Her mouth twisted back and forth in an angry little knot. Her eyes darted around the room. She squeezed the bag to her chest, the letter still in her left hand.

“Did you read the letter?” she finally asked.

I hesitated. “I did. I wasn’t sure what it was when I unrolled it. I thought it might be a piece of homework or something. Something with a name on it.” It was the truth.

“It’s not what you think,” she said, lifting her chin up.

“Madison, it doesn’t matter what I think.”

“Well, it’s not what you think,” she repeated. She stared down her nose at me, a move that very much reminded me of her mother. “It’s not a rejection letter. They made a mistake. I’ve… I’ve already talked to them. It was a mistake. They’ll be sending me the right one any day now. The acceptance letter, I mean.”

“Okay,” I said, holding my hands up.

“You don’t believe me?” she asked, widening her eyes again.

“I didn’t say that.”

“But I can tell you don’t,” she said. Her tone was accusing. “By the way you’re standing there.”

“Madison, I don’t—”

She collapsed into the desk, her body jelly-like as it molded into the chair. She dropped the bag to the floor and balled up the letter again. She threw it across the room and dropped her blond head on to the desk

And then she started to cry.

I gave her a minute to sob and heave and water the desktop with her tears. I didn’t know her well enough to put my arm around her and comfort her, and I was also a little afraid that she might punch me in the mouth if I tried to touch her.

Finally, she looked up. Her mascara was running, long lines from her eyes to her cheeks. She looked like a cheetah.

“Please don’t tell my mother,” she said, then dissolved into another fit of tears.

I waited her out again.

She looked up again and now the mascara was smeared all around her face, a cross between a football player and a raccoon. She wiped at her face, but all that did was spread it around more.

“You can’t tell her,” she said. She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I’ll pay you.”

“You don’t have to pay me,” I said. “It’s none of my business.”

“I’m appealing the decision,” she said quickly. “I’m sure it will get reversed. I’m sure they’ll let me in. I think they must have gotten me mixed up with someone else.”

“It’s none of my business,” I repeated.

“How much do you want?” she said. Her eyes were still wet with tears but her voice was firm. “I just got my allowance. Or we can go to the bank.”

I frowned. “Madison, I don’t want any money.”

“But please! You can’t say anything! To anyone!”

It was clear that she’d inherited her mother’s flair for the dramatic, as well. I was sort of surprised that she hadn’t gotten into acting school. “I won’t,” I said, my tone just as firm as hers. “I told you. It’s none of my business.”

She sniffed several times, then rooted around in the backpack before pulling out a tissue. She covered her nose and then made a sound like a goose honking. She wadded the tissue up and dropped it into her backpack.

“I’ll get it straightened out,” she muttered. “I will.”

“You haven’t told anyone?”

She hesitated, then shook her head.

“Why not?”

Her shoulders sagged and she looked at me the way Emily did sometimes, like I didn’t have a single clue as to how the world worked. “Why not?” she repeated. “Have you met my mother? Everyone expects me to get into a drama program, but her especially. If I tell her I got rejected, she’ll go major freako on me. She’ll totally spaz on me and it’ll be all my fault.”

“Do you know that for sure?” I asked. “She might surprise you. Maybe she’ll understand. Maybe she could help you appeal the decision.”

“No way,” she said, shaking her head. “She’d probably kick me out of the house. Or make me join the Marines. Or something else just as insane.” Her eyes filled with tears again. “She can’t know. You can’t tell her anything. I’m begging you.”

“You don’t have to worry about me saying anything,” I told her. “But I wish you’d reconsider talking to someone about it. You know, rather than keeping it a big secret.”

She squinted at me. “You really haven’t met my mother, have you?”

“I just mean that keeping a secret is a really hard thing to do. Especially something like this.”

She eyed me cautiously. “Are you just angling for more money?”

I shook my head, exasperated. “No, Madison, I’m not. Forget I said anything. Good luck with your appeal. I hope it works out for you.” I motioned at the wall. “Turn out the lights on your way out, okay? And lock the door.”

I repositioned my bag on my shoulder and headed for the door.

“Wait,” she said, when I had my hand on the knob. “Wait.”

I stopped, took another deep breath and turned around. “What?”

“You really don’t want anything?” she asked. “And you really won’t say anything?”

“I don’t want anything. I won’t say anything.” I forced a smile in her direction. “And don’t forget your bag when you leave.”

TWENTY THREE

“How was play practice?” Jake asked.

“Insane, like always.”

“Good to know some things never change.”

We were getting into bed. Actually, I was getting into bed. He was already nestled between the sheets, having coming up twenty minutes earlier to read while I got Sophie settled into bed. He’d offered to do it, but I’d waved him off, needing the time with one of our own kids to remind myself that not every interaction with a younger generation had to border on the insane. I spent fifteen minutes with her, asking her about the overnight and laughing with her, hoping that neither she nor any of the others would ever keep the kind of secrets from me that Madison was keeping from her mom. I reminded myself that they probably would and that I’d need to remember to forgive them when they did. After I said goodnight to her, I headed to our room, where Jake asked me how the theater was.

I snuggled under the sheets, the room colder than normal. The low was close to freezing and the sound of the heat being forced through the vents was almost a constant now… and would be for the next six months, knowing what fall and winter and spring were like in Minnesota.

I relayed my encounter with Madison Bandersand.

Jake set his book on the nightstand when I was done and let out a long whistle. “Wowzers.”

“Right? Poor girl was a mess.”

“I don’t blame her. Her mother’s seven kinds of nuts.”

“I know. But still. That’s a massive secret to keep to yourself.”

He nodded in agreement. “It is. But it’s her choice... and not your business.”

“I have to wonder if she even wants to play Snow White,” I said, ignoring his comment. “Like, maybe she just had to because her mother expected her to.”