Reality Check by Jen Calonita Page B

colonial, and the barn on her property is fully functional and has a bunch of horses that we all take riding. She has a bigger room than any of us, which seems to be redecorated in Pottery Barn outlet stuff every two years. What's not to like about Brooke's home sweet home?
    “Charlotte,” she says stiffly, sounding like my mother. “I'm
not a farm girl and I don't want certain people to think I am one.”
    I know who she's talking about again. Brooke's never gotten over Marleyna Garrison's ribbing in ballet class about how Brooke smelled of horse manure.
    “Okay,” I assure her. “Just relax.” I have to admit, I'm alternating between nausea and fits of giddiness myself. We are about to start taping a TV show about us.
    “You're right,” Brooke says and breathes a little easier. “This is our starring moment. What am I worrying about?”
    “So, Addison, how do we start?” Hallie asks. “Should we tell a funny story? Or talk about boys?”
    “Or gripe about homework? Family?” Keiran asks. “Should we avoid sounding negative? I don't want to come off as cranky.”
    Addison laughs. “Just do what you'd normally do. Chat. Talk about school, especially since we can't tape you guys there.”
    The four of us nod. Talk about school. Talk about school.
What
about school? Do I mention my possible date with Zac? No, no, that wouldn't be good because then it would be on tape. I'd be talking about Zac to the world and I have no clue if he'll be around long enough to hear it on TV. Okay, school. Classes? That's boring. Homework? Nah. How much I hate Mr. Sparks? That would just get me an F in social studies. School…
    “Ready?” Addison fixes her headset and looks at us hopefully. “We'll go slow and we can always stop when you want.”
    The girls and I look at each other. Brooke puts her hand in the middle of the table and we all give it a squeeze. “Let's get this party started!”
    We've already ordered our usual: mozzarella sticks, clam strips, and a round of Cokes. The order covers the checkered tablecloth. The furnishings at the Crab Shack are pretty cheap—white plastic chairs and rickety patio tables with tacky tablecloths. A large canopy hangs over the fifteen or so tables, giving us some relief from the sun. Food is ordered at the shack window and then your number is called over a staticky intercom so you can pick it up. Definitely not fine dining, but the place is always packed. Not many restaurants around can beat the spectacular scenery. The dock is right on the water and overlooks Shelter Island, a quiet residential town a short ferry ride away. Sailboats and small yachts slip by or dock right here, some with local license plates, others from as far away as Florida.
    “Girls, I've got the perfect opener for us.” Hallie's eyes light up. “I figured we could start out talking about the spring fling. At least that sounds exciting, right?” Hallie fingers her green v-neck sweater that brings out her eyes. It's her favorite shirt and she's wearing it with a denim skirt, tights, and her brown knee-high boots that we covet.
    We all nod. “What do you think, guys?” I ask the crew, but their faces are blank. Fourth wall. Fourth wall. I have to remember that. They're not going to answer us.
    “Perfect!” Addison says enthusiastically. “Let's try it on for size.” She turns to the crew, who jumps into action, yells out a few commands, and then someone says “Rolling,” faster than I can even take a sip of my Coke to wet my lips.
    “Can you guys believe the spring fling is next month?” Hallie asks, trying to sound natural even though I know her voice is an octave higher than it should be.
    “Um, yeah, that's pretty close,” Keiran seconds, her eyes moving toward the cameras and back again. I notice she's shredding the napkin in front of her.
    “Has anyone started thinking about dates?” Brooke asks, a mischievous smile on her face. “It's never too early to start.” She turns to me. “I