All chatter stops when I enter the living room. Reid’s eyes are glued to his laptop, his typing frantic. He doesn’t even look up. Mom’s eyes are narrowed, glistening with the sheen of disappointment. Delia pushes past me on her way upstairs, muttering not cool under her breath. Dad though is on another level. His arms are crossed and I can’t look at him right now.

“Hi,” I say to the floor.

Dad’s face is so red, the vein above his eyebrow makes an appearance. “Is that all you have to say for yourself right now?”

“I know this is bad.”

“Do you?” Dad asks. “I don’t think you get it. The Albany Institute isn’t summer camp. It’s not just for fun. It is one of the most competitive preconservatory programs in the country. Do you know how hard it is to get an audition? Ten percent. That is the acceptance rate just to audition. Reid got that. Reid worked for that—and it’s all in jeopardy. Because of you.”

“Can I just—” fresh tears start falling down my cheeks, shit “—talk to Reid? Alone?”

“Fine. I am so disappointed, Natalie.”

Dad retreats through the kitchen and downstairs to his studio to give us space. Mom follows. I curl myself into the chair adjacent to Reid, wrapping my arms around my knees. Every time I wipe my eyes, fresh tears fall because I do feel bad, but this is also the same story of my life. Dad doesn’t even think to ask me why. Doesn’t even consider that I might not be the only one who betrayed someone in this situation.

“I didn’t see until after rehearsal, but I had a missed call from a 518 number. I thought it was spam, but there was a voicemail. From the Albany Institute admissions office. Calling because they didn’t receive my RSVP, or the fifty-dollar deposit, and today is the last day to submit it. I thought they must have the wrong number. I didn’t get the letter so I didn’t get an audition. So I didn’t call back right away. But then I realized… I did get one. And you knew. You had to.” Reid’s gaze is still fixated on the screen. “It’s why you’ve been so distant all week.”

I nod because I can’t form words.

“This isn’t some prank, Nat. This is my life. My future. We said it in the rules, pranks are funny. This is…”