Oh. My. Gods. - Weebly

When she and Damian make no move to leave, I add, “In private.”
Damian seems to understand what I’m about to do. He takes
Mom by the shoulders and leads her out. “Come, Valerie. Let’s leave
Phoebe to her phone call.”
He waggles his eyebrows at her. She giggles in return and they
hurry out of the office—headed for their bedroom, no doubt.
I wait until my gag reflex relaxes before dialing Cesca’s number—burned
into my memory since she got her private line in sixth
grade—careful to add the international dialing code first.
She answers on the third ring.
“Hi, Cesca.”
“Phoebe?” She sounds shocked. “Is that you?”
“Yeah, it’s me. Mom felt sorry for me,” I say. “She approved an
international phone call for therapy purposes.”
Which would be partly true, if I had asked for a therapy call.
The other part is my having to find out if my suspicions of who
she told about my “immortal powers” comment are right. And if my
suspicions about why are way off base—which I hope they are.
“What’s wrong?” Now she sounds more nervous than shocked.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I say. “I just wanted to talk to you. To ask you
a question.”
“Oh.” Nervous, nervous, nervous. “What’s that?”
I take a deep breath, hoping I’m wrong. “Who did you tell what I
said about immortal powers?”
Silence from the other end.
Then, “I thought you couldn’t talk about that.”
“I’m talking about it now.”
“Oh.” More silence.
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