Limelight by Amy Poeppel

Author:Amy Poeppel
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atria/Emily Bestler Books

That night the six of us went out to dinner at the Smith, an American bistro near Lincoln Center where I was sure everyone in the family could find something they wanted to eat. The restaurant was noisy, but we got a round booth in the back that made it possible to talk. Charlotte was especially sulky, Megan kept getting her phone out, and Jack knocked over a water glass within the first five minutes of sitting down together. My mother hugged him.

I was completely preoccupied with thoughts of Carter.

“Tell me all about your friends here,” my mom said. “Any nice boys?” and she gave Charlotte a wink, an act that would have been deemed unforgivable had I done it.

“I hate them,” Charlotte said. “New York guys are the worst.”

“I’m sure there are a few good ones,” Michael said.

“Maybe,” she said. “The head of the math department is, like, twenty-five, and he’s awesome.”

“Awesome how?” I asked, not appreciating the sly smile on her face.

“He’s a super-cool nerd. He has a model of DNA tattooed on his leg.”

“How do you even know that?” Michael asked.

“Yeah,” I said.

“All the teachers have tattoos,” said Charlotte. “My PE teacher has this wavy vine that goes around her bicep, and the Spanish teacher has a bird on her ankle.”

“I don’t get the appeal,” I said flatly.

“God, it’s not a big deal,” Charlotte said. “I might get a tattoo.”

My mother looked up from her tomato soup.

Megan rolled her eyes. “Don’t take the bait, Mom,” she said. “She’s trying to get under your skin.”

“She’s not getting under my skin. She’s not eighteen. So it’s illegal. It’s a totally moot point.”

“They don’t even check. As long as you have some kind of ID, they won’t ask questions. The music director has a treble clef on his wrist,” Charlotte told my mom, “but he got it backwards. Idiot.”

“I guess he’ll have to live with it,” my mom responded.

“You’re not getting a tattoo,” I repeated, taking the bait after all.

“Not today,” she argued, “not this week, but I’m thinking about it.”

“No you’re not.”

“Yes I am.”

“You could contract hepatitis,” Michael said. “Or HIV. It’s not safe.”

“I would go to a reputable place, obviously,” she said.

“They all use sloppy methods, dirty needles,” I said.

Charlotte looked alarmed. As someone who had spent a good deal of her free time looking through a microscope, she was a germophobe.

“Well,” she said, shaking it off, “it’s my body anyway so why do you even care?”

“Megan, put your phone away,” Michael said.

“Obviously I care,” I said to Charlotte and took a big sip of my wine.

“We care,” Michael said quietly, “which is why you don’t get to decide this yet. Later in life you can do whatever you like, but for now the law protects you from making a decision you’re simply not equipped to make yet.”

“Good times,” Charlotte said flatly.

“Yes, cheers,” my mom added, ignoring the obvious sarcasm and holding up her glass. “Here’s to New York, everyone.”

Jack picked up his Sprite and clinked it against her wineglass, just hard enough to break it.

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