Kissing the Shy Guy - Stephanie Street Page 0,16

me wishing this everlastingly long day would end.

Organ music filtered through the closed doors. I hoped that meant it was close to being over. It was. A few seconds later, the doors opened. Mourners spilled out, red-eyed and dressed in black. From experience, I knew the casket would be wheeled through another entrance to the waiting hearse. Friends and family members would follow a police escort in cars to the nearby cemetery for a brief graveside ceremony before returning to the church for food and visiting.

Instead of returning to the kitchen, and whatever torture my mom might come up with, I plopped into a wing-backed chair in the foyer outside the sanctuary and pulled out my phone again. No new texts. No emails to check. No Snapchats. I'd already exhausted myself on Instagram—hot as he was, I could only stare at pictures of Theo James for so long—which left Facebook.

I shuddered, then reminded myself I had nothing better to do. Normally, I wouldn't engage in such a mindless activity as scrolling my social media accounts, accounts no one even knew I had. I'd been on my high horse for too long about what a waste of time they were to admit to having them now. However, it was that or go back and check the tables…again.

I tapped the little blue icon and waited for my newsfeed to update. I'd only created it to keep track of updates from the Northeast Regional Scholarship for the Dramatic Arts. I'd have preferred emails—social media wasn't my thing—but what could I do? Still, it provided a convenient way to keep track of the competition and torment the DIVAS.

I snorted. The divas or the Diva squad, that was what Rose Pearson called the IM group she'd formed with some of the other girls competing for the scholarship. Not that I disagreed with the label, but it was a bit cliche. Initially, I'd been left out of the group—not surprising—but then I'd received a notification from Lola Rey. I knew Lola and Rose from some regional performances we'd all participated in together in the past. It had been no great surprise to see them last fall at the Emerson Performing Arts Center. That was where the announcement had been made for the Northeast Regional Scholarship for the Dramatic Arts. I'd met the two other girls in the chat at the Center, too. Lola's best friend, Layne Hall, and a ballerina named Lillian Preston.

Of the five of us, only Lola and I would be competing for the singing portion—not that I was worried about competing against her. I snorted again at the very idea. Rose was competing in the acting category, Lillian in dance, and Layne songwriting. I'd been surprisingly entertained keeping up with everyone's drama and comments. I knew the other girls barely tolerated me, but I was used to that. If there was one thing I'd gained since I began performing at the age of five, it was thick skin.

I hadn't told them about Josh bailing on me. What would be the point? None of them could fix the problem for me. But they would understand and, gosh, it would feel so good to vent to someone who would get it. I'd just clicked over the IM conversation when I got a text message from Lydia. As soon as my funeral duties were over, I was supposed to go to Lydia's house for a sleepover. Bella was already there. They'd been texting me about every fifteen minutes, wondering when I would be done.

Lydia: What up, chica? What's taking so long?

Good freaking question. I shot back a quick reply that clearly expressed my frustration and received a laughing emoji in return.

Lydia: Get here ASAP!

Like that wasn't already priority number one.

What was taking so long? I stood and tucked my phone back into my pocket. The parking lot was still empty. No voices echoed from the other end of the building announcing the arrival of the family.

I wished they would hurry! I'd already had a busy day planned without my mom volunteering me for waitressing duty. But did she care? No. Nothing was more important to her than what she was doing—helping others. But why did she always have to drag me into it? I didn't mind helping out sometimes, but she made me feel guilty any time my plans interfered with what she wanted me to do. What I wanted to do was pull out my hair from all the stress! I couldn't wait to get