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Emerson was pretty sure it was Sophie. But she wasn’t positive.
    â€œMay I speak to Sophie, please?” she asked.
    â€œYou are,” Sophie said. “Hey, two calls for me in one night! Are you jealous, Sammi?” she joked to someone in the room with her. “Who is this?” she asked into the phone.
    â€œIt’s Emerson.”
    â€œEm! I was gonna call you! Did you get in?” Sophie demanded.
    â€œYes,” Emerson said, her voice cracking.
    â€œAnd you’re so happy, you’ve been moved to tears?” Sophie asked.
    Emerson hardly knew Sophie. They never talked about important stuff. But all it took was that one question from Sophie—and everything came spilling out of Emerson. Her broken leg. The Nutcracker . The French tutor. How she felt when she danced hip-hop.
    â€œWow,” Sophie said when she finished.
    â€œI know,” Emerson answered. “Right now, the way I feel, I’d just call Maddy up myself and pretend to be my mom. But I’m afraid she’d recognize my voice. Or at least know I’m a kid.”
    She could hardly believe those words had come out of her mouth. But she meant it. Her parents just didn’t get how important hip-hop was to her. They never would. The only way she’d be able to stay in the Performance Group was to lie to them. And to Maddy.
    â€œIf that’s really all that’s stopping you, I could probably help,” Sophie answered. “I have an older sister, and she . . . likes to talk on the phone. We could try it.”
    Emerson’s heart stopped beating. “Really?”
    â€œI’m pretty sure,” Sophie answered.
    Emerson’s heart started beating triple time. “But what if she got caught? Aren’t you afraid of getting in trouble?”
    â€œShe won’t get caught. We’ll call from our home phone—it has a blocked ID. And my sister’s a pro. She once pretended to be her best friend and called this guy she had a crush on to find out if he liked her back. This will be child’s play next to that little feat.”
    â€œBut why would you do that for me?” Emerson asked.
    â€œOh, I don’t know . . . because I like you? Because I want a friend in the group? Because if I ever drop the weight, I’d like to go shopping for clothes in your closet?” Sophie said. “Hang tight. I’ll call you back as soon as it’s done.” Sophie hung up.
    Emerson gripped the phone with both hands and sat on the chair, motionless.
    This was wrong. This was insane.
    If this worked, it would be the best thing that she’d ever decided to do.
    Five minutes passed. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Emerson felt like her nerve endings were trying to dig their way out of her skin.
    The phone rang. Emerson hit the Answer button. “Sophie?” she exclaimed, forgetting her phone manners.
    â€œYou’re in, baby,” Sophie told her. “Now listen, be careful with that white peasant blouse you were wearing the other day. Because as soon as I’m down to a size triple zero, I’m borrowing it from you, and I don’t want it all covered up in ketchup stains or nothin’ . . .”

    â€œCan I? Can I? Can I?” Tamal asked. “Can I? Can I?”
    â€œAll right! All right! All right!” Devane exclaimed, too tired to say “no” one more time. “Just leave a piece for Mom.”
    â€œOh, sweet mama, I get cake!” Tamal leaned down and took a bite. Didn’t cut a slice. Didn’t even use a fork. Repulsive.
    â€œAnd please don’t slobber over every piece,” Devane exclaimed. “I didn’t bake that for you.” She grabbed a knife and cut the cake down the middle, evening out the mess Tamal had made. Then she carved out his ragged clump, dumped it on a plate, and pushed it toward him.
    â€œYou baked it for yourself. To tell yourself how great yourself is.” Tamal used a fork to eat the next