Read Love is a Four-Letter Word for Free Online

bath.”
    “Sorry. I can call you back.”
    “No, no, I’m out now. So?”
    “So … I heard.”
    My heart beats a little faster. “And?”
    “I got in; I’m going to be the Cowardly Lion.”
    Not even the splittest of seconds passes before I launch into the congratulations I’d planned in the bathtub, just in case. “Benji, that’s amazing!”
    “I still can’t believe it. You should have seen my dad. He didn’t know what to say.”
    The image of the Dentonator trying to grapple with the idea of his son singing and dancing onstage makes me giggle and I feel a little less torn.
    “Are you okay?” Benji asks.
    “Of course I’m okay,” I lie. “I’m better than okay, I’m so happy for you. They couldn’t ask for a better lion.” Most of this is true, but it doesn’t stop my heart from aching.
    “Okay, good.” Benji’s relief flows across the telephone line. “I wish you were going to be in it,” he adds.
    “Me too,” I admit.
    “It’s going to be weird not having you there.”
    “You’ll probably meet all these new, super-cool people and forget all about me,” I say lightly, hoping against hope that it won’t turn out to be true.
    “Clarissa, you are the most unforgettable person I know, except for maybe Denise.”
    “Denise doesn’t count. How can I compete with that honking laugh?”
    “She should really be exempt.”
    “She should.”
    There is a pause in the conversation that I can’t seem to find the words to fill. My heart feels sore in a million places. But as sad as I am about not getting the role of my dreams, I have to find a way to lock it all up and just be happy for Benji. It shouldn’t be so difficult, he’s my best friend, for crying out loud. Part of me wants him to do well, but a bigger part of me wishes that I could be there to do well beside him.
    “Well, goodnight. And congratulations again, Benji.”
    “Thanks, Clarissa. I’m glad you’re okay with everything, because if you wanted me to … well … I would quit.”
    “Absolutely not,” I say. “Don’t be stupid.”
    “It’s just a play, you’re my best friend.”
    “It is
not
just a play; it’s
The Wizard of Oz
! It’s up to you to do it justice! And you are my best friend, and I won’t let you quit just because I wasn’t good enough to get in.”
    “Charity says casting is not about being good, it’s about being right for the part.”
    Charity says?
He just met her, and already he’s quoting her? I try not to let on that this bothers me. Instead I say as brightly as possible, “Well, I guess she would know!”
    “She’s really nice. I think you’d like her.”
    “I’m sure I would,” I say quickly. “Goodnight.”
    “’night.”
    I hang up the phone and change into an old t-shirt and gym shorts, ready for bed, even though it’s barely eight o’clock. I think about watching TV or reading or doing something to make me feel less miserable, but all I want to do is lie on the bed and stew in my bad mood.
    “I gather he got in.” Mom appears in the doorway in her silent ninja-mom way, holding a tall, frothy glass of what can only be …
    “Creamsicle float?” I ask.
    Mom nods. “I figured you could use a pick-me-up.”
    I nod wordlessly, slip off the bed, and take the glass from her hand. It feels cold and smooth and just holding it lifts my spirits a little. Mom makes the best ice cream floats in the world. She uses only premium vanilla ice cream and no-name orange pop. You would think that the more expensive stuff would taste better, but we have done the research and it turns out the cheap-o drugstore brand is the best.
    “That was good of you, on the phone,” Mom says. “I know it couldn’t have been easy.”
    “I guess.” I shrug, refusing to look her in the eye. If I do, she’ll look at me in that way that melts all the hardthings inside of me and I’ll turn into a soggy, blubbering cry-baby.
    Mom puts an arm around my shoulder and guides me back to the bed. We sit, me