The Summoning Read Free

far as Brent’s locker before Miranda elbowed me. “Ask him, Chloe.”
    She mock-whispered it. Brent glanced over … then quickly looked away. My face heated and I clutched my lunch bag to my chest.
    Kari’s long, dark hair brushed my shoulder. “He’s a jerk,” she whispered. “Ignore him.”
    “No, he’s not a jerk. He just doesn’t like me. Can’t help that.”
    “Here,” Miranda said. “I’ll ask him for you.”
    “No!” I grabbed her arm. “P-please.”
    Her round face screwed up in disgust. “God, you can be such a baby. You’re fifteen, Chloe. You have to take matters into your own hands.”
    “Like phoning a guy until his mother tells you to leave him alone?” Kari said.
    Miranda only shrugged. “That’s Rob’s mother.
He
never said it.”
    “Yeah? You just keep telling yourself that.”
    That set them off for real. Normally, I’d have jumped in and made them quit, but I was still upset over Miranda’s embarrassing me in front of Brent.
    Kari, Beth, and I used to talk about guys, but we weren’t totally into them. Miranda was—she’d had more boyfriends than she could name. So when she started hanging with us, it suddenly became really important to have a guy we liked. I worried enough about being immature, and it didn’t help that she’d burst out laughing when I’d admitted I’d never been on a real date. So I invented a crush. Brent.
    I figured I could just name a guy I liked and that would be enough. Not a chance. Miranda had outed me—telling him I liked him. I’d been horrified. Well, mostly. There’d also been a little part of me that hoped he’d go “Cool. I really like Chloe, too.” Not a chance. Before, we used to talk in Spanish class sometimes. Now he sat two rows away, like I’d suddenly developed the world’s worst case of BO.
    We’d just reached the cafeteria when someone called my name. I turned to see Nate Bozian jogging toward me, his red hair like a beacon in the crowded hall. He bumped into a senior, grinned an apology, and kept coming.
    “Hey,” I said as he drew near.
    “Hey yourself. Did you forget Petrie rescheduled film club for lunchtime this week? We’re discussing avant-garde. I
know
you love art films.”
    I fake gagged.
    “I’ll send your regrets, then. And I’ll tell Petrie you aren’t interested in directing that short either.”
    “We’re deciding that today?”
    Nate started walking backward. “Maybe. Maybe not. So I’ll tell Petrie—”
    “Gotta run,” I said to my friends and hurried to catch up with him.
    ***
    The film club meeting started backstage as always, where we’d go through business stuff and eat lunch. Food wasn’t allowed in the auditorium.
    We discussed the short, and I
was
on the list for directors—the only freshman who’d made the cut. After, as everyone else watched scenes from avant-garde films, I mulled through my options for an audition tape. I snuck out before it ended and headed back to my locker.
    My brain kept whirring until I was halfway there. Then my stomach started acting up again, reminding me that I’d been so excited about making the short list that I’d forgotten to eat.
    I’d left my lunch bag backstage. I checked my watch. Ten minutes before class. I could make it.
    ***
    Film club had ended. Whoever left the auditorium last had turned out the lights, and I didn’t have a clue how to turn them on, especially when finding the switch would require being able to
see
it. Glow-in-the-dark light switches. That’s how I’d finance my first film. Of course, I’d need someone to actually
make
them. Like most directors, I was more of an idea person.
    I picked my way through the aisles, bashing my knees twice. Finally my eyes adjusted to the dim emergency lights, and I found the stairs leading backstage. Then it got tougher.
    The backstage dissolved into smaller areas curtained off for storage and makeshift dressing rooms. There were lights, but someone else had always turned them on. After