Terrible Terrel

by Whoopi Goldberg

  I’m saved from answering. “Hi, there!” Marjory comes up behind Dad. She’s wearing a pink dress and a tan coat. She smiles warmly at me and pats Dad on the shoulder.

  “Sorry, I’m a little late,” she says.

  I give Dad a meaningful look—does he really want to date some lady who never shows up on time?—but he’s looking at Marjory.

  “We should go in,” I say loudly. “It’s almost time for the ballet to start.”

  Marjory looks at her watch. “We still have ten minutes. And we need to wait for my niece. She’s still in the restroom.”

  “Your niece?” Dad says. He looks like he just got a bad case of indigestion.

  “Didn’t I mention she was coming?” Marjory asks. “She…ah, there she is!”

  She waves to someone over my shoulder. I turn around.

  Standing there, in a dark green velvet dress, is Tiara Girl.

  Chapter 10

  Tiara Girl is wearing a tiara (surprise!) with dark green stones that match her dress. She stares at me with narrowed eyes. I glare back at her.

  “April, you know Terrel, I’m sure,” Marjory says. “You two are in the same ballet class, right?”

  Tiara Girl nods. “Hi,” she says.

  “Hi,” I reply.

  “And this is Mr. Liu,” Marjory motions to my dad.

  Dad is trying to smile, but he still looks sick.

  Marjory touches Dad’s shoulder. “Are you all right?” she asks.

  He nods.

  “Let’s go in, shall we?” Marjory says.

  “You go on,” he says. “We’ll find a drinking fountain first.”

  As Marjory and Tiara Girl walk into the theater, Dad pulls me aside and whispers, “Terrel, I am so sorry. I had no idea Marjory’s niece would be here.”

  “You knew Tiara Girl was her niece?” I say. I can feel my eyes bulging. “And you didn’t even tell me?”

  He looks apologetic. “When you told me you didn’t care for April…”

  “She’s a pain in the neck!” I say.

  “…I thought it would be better if you got to know Marjory first. I certainly didn’t mean to spring it on you like this. I…” He runs out of words.

  This is why I can’t wait to grow up. Even if you’re a very organized kid, adults can do things that totally mess up your life.

  I shake my head. “We’d better go in.” I can see Dad is still upset.

  But not half as upset as I am.

  We enter the theater. An usher shows us to our seats. They’re in the front row of the loge, which is a fancy word for “balcony.” They’re great seats, even better because no tall guy or lady with a huge hat can sit in front of me. I would be having a great time if it weren’t for the fact that my life is turning into a horror story before my eyes.

  “Do you girls want to sit together?” Marjory asks.

  “No!” Tiara Girl, Dad, and I say in unison.

  “I mean, why don’t you two sit in the middle, so you can talk,” Tiara Girl says, sweetly.

  Marjory looks surprised, but we arrange ourselves so that the grown-ups are in between us.

  My brain is swirling. Maybe I’m having a nightmare. Maybe this isn’t really happening. Marjory leafs through the program and points things out to Dad. Dad keeps looking over at me like I might explode at any second.

  I lean forward a little and peer down the row, to find that Tiara Girl’s doing the same thing. We glower at each other, then lean back in our seats.

  How could Dad do this to me? Dating someone is bad enough, but dating Tiara Girl’s aunt? What if he and Marjory end up getting married? What if I have to spend holidays and vacations with Tiara Girl?

  Fortunately, the theater lights start to dim. The musicians in the orchestra pit, which is down below the front of the stage, tune their instruments. Everyone claps as the conductor enters. She lifts her baton, the music starts, and soon the red stage curtains part.

  For the next hour I don’t think about any-thing but ballet. The sets are gorgeous. So are the costumes. And the dancing is totally amazing. I didn’t know ballet could look like this. The women in the corps de ballet move exactly in unison—not just kind-of, sort-of together, the way we do in class. The men bound across the stage like stags leaping across a field. When the princess and prince dance together, it’s so beautiful my heart nearly stops. The music is full of sadness and longing. The dancers come together, then break away from each other, then come together again. When I fall in love, a million years from now, I want it to feel the same way they look.

  The curtain falls, and I clap so hard my hands hurt. But when the houselights come up at intermission, I remember where I am—and whom I’m with.

  “What do you think, Terrel?” Marjory asks, leaning across Dad. “Really good, huh?”

  I nod.

  “That’s really a lovely dress you’re wearing,” she says to me.

  I can see this makes Tiara Girl mad, which is fine with me.

  “You said you liked my dress, too,” Tiara Girl says.

  Marjory looks a little surprised. “Yes, of course I do, sweetheart.”

  “Do you want to get up to stretch your legs?” Dad asks me. I think he’s trying to get me out of there until intermission’s over.

  I watch, out of the corner of my eye. I want to be wherever Tiara Girl’s not. She looks as if she’s starting to stand up, so I say, “No.”

  “I need to use the restroom,” Dad says, apologetically.

  “That’s fine; I’ll stay here with the girls,” Marjory says.

  But she doesn’t. After Dad leaves, a woman a few rows back calls out to Marjory, and Marjory goes back to chat with her. And I’m stranded with Tiara Girl.

  Now that the grown-ups are out of earshot, Tiara Girl and I can be openly hostile. After a minute, she scoots over and sits in Dad’s seat. “So, when did your stupid dad start going out with my aunt?”

  I glare at her. “You call my dad stupid one more time and I’ll whack that tiara right off your head,” I say. “And I’m not sure how long. Did you know about this?”

  She snorts. “Of course not. Do you think I would have agreed to come if I’d known you’d be here?”

  I love how she says, “agreed to come,” as if she’s doing everyone a favor by being here. Some favor. I’m sure all the London ballet stars are thrilled she’s here.

  “Well, what are we going to do?” she says.

  “Hope they break up soon,” I say.

  She stands up to go back to her seat. “Well, if your dad’s anything like you, she’ll definitely get sick of him fast,” she says.

  I pop up to go thump her, but just then Dad and Marjory both return.

  Dad looks horrified that we had been left alone together. I’m sorry, he mouths when they’re not looking.

  “You girls having a nice chat?” Marjory asks.

  “Uh-huh,” I say. Tiara Girl smiles a big, fake smile.

  The second half of the show is as good as the first, but Tiara Girl’s gotten under my skin and I don’t enjoy it as much. By the time the curtain drops for the last time, I’ve decided that something definitely needs to be done. But what?

  After the show, we all walk down the stairs to the lobby together. “Would you two like to go out and have some ice cream with us?” Marjory asks.

  “It’s a school night,” I say. “I should be in bed already.”

  “Well, it’s a special day,” she says, as Dad helps her into her coat. “I think it’s fine to stay up late once in a while.”

  I bet Dad would like to spend more time with Marjory. I’ll bet he wants me to say yes, but I feel mean, and the last thing I want to do is hang out with Tiara Girl for another hour. I force a big yawn. “I’m really tired,” I say.

  “Maybe another time,” Marjory says. She puts her hand on his arm. The hair on the back of my neck rises.

  “Sure,” I say. There will be another time, I think, over my dead body.

  Chapter 11

&
nbsp; Even though Dad says he and Marjory aren’t rushing things, it sure seems to me like they’re rushing. Thursday night he mentions that he had lunch with her. And Friday night he dashes off, smelling like pine again. He comes back later that night in a good mood. I even see him dancing around the kitchen with a dish towel when he doesn’t know I’m watching. This is serious.

  I haven’t told my friends that Dad’s dating Tiara Girl’s aunt. It still stings a little that they didn’t get how bad it is that Dad is dating at all. Brenda and I go to the same school, and she knows something’s wrong. However, since she wants to be a doctor, she looks at everything from a medical perspective. She thinks my bad mood is due to a vitamin deficiency, and she even told me to ask my dad about getting some multivitamins for kids. But I know my problem isn’t too few vitamins; it’s too much Marjory.

  Saturday morning I get ready for class. I pull on my tights and my leotard. Tai, who wants to be a hairstylist when he grows up, braided my hair last night, and it looks pretty good.

  Dad knocks on my door.

  “Almost ready?” he asks. He’s more dressed up than usual. I know it’s because he’ll be seeing you-know-who, since it’s Saturday and she’ll be dropping Tiara Girl off at class. Vomit.

  “Yeah,” I say. I pull my ballet slippers off the shelf and put them in my bag, then open the door.

  “I saw Marjory the other night,” he says from the doorway.

  I don’t say anything.

  He clears his throat, then continues. “She was wondering if you and I would like to go to the zoo with her and April next weekend.”

  “Well, we wouldn’t,” I say, standing up.

  “Now, Terrel,” he says. He doesn’t look angry. He looks disappointed in me, which is worse. “You know that April stays with Marjory on Saturdays. I’m afraid that sometimes you are just going to need to spend time with her. You don’t have to be best friends.…”

  I laugh a short, sharp laugh.

  “…But you are going to have to figure out how to get along.”

  I was afraid of this. I guess Dad thinks hanging out with Marjory is more important than me being happy. That’s a pretty crummy thing for a parent to think.

  I’m trying to figure out what to say when Dad hands me a white box that’s tied up with a blue ribbon.

  “What’s this?” I ask.

  “It’s a present for you. From Marjory,” he adds. “She said it’s an early Christmas gift, but that you can open it now.”

  I untie the ribbon and open the box. Inside is a tiara with sparkly blue stones.

  “April really loves her tiaras, so Marjory thought you’d like to have one, too,” he says. “I told her blue was your favorite color.”

  “Wow,” I say, looking into the box. “Wow.” I wonder if it’s too big to flush down the toilet.

  Dad looks at his watch. “Why don’t you wear it to class?” he says. “I’m sure Marjory would like to see you wearing it.”

  Here we go again. He doesn’t care if I’d be happy about wearing it.

  I can’t even imagine what my friends would say if I walked in wearing a tiara. It would be as if JoAnn came to class wearing a frilly bonnet instead of her baseball cap, or if Brenda showed up with an armload of fashion magazines instead of medical textbooks.

  “Dad, I really can’t,” I say.

  He exhales. “Terrel, we’re going to be late. Please put the tiara on. We don’t want to be rude to Marjory.”

  I stick the stupid tiara on my head.

  “Beautiful,” he says. “You look like a princess,” he says, opening the door for me. I wish I were a princess. Then I could have Marjory and Tiara Girl tossed into a cold, clammy dungeon forever.

  It’s deadly cold outside. The snow that has fallen over the last several days has melted and then frozen again, coating the sidewalks with patches of ice. It seems as if every few steps my boots slip and I have to grab on to Dad’s arm. The icy snowflakes falling now sting my eyes and face. They are little and mean, just like the way I feel.

  As we walk, I keep my head down in case we pass anyone I know. All I have to do is get through the front door of the school. Then I can duck into the bathroom and pull the tiara off my head before anyone sees me. I’ll need to put it back on before I leave, but I’ll worry about that later.

  Finally we get to the ballet school. By some amazing stroke of luck, no one’s hanging around outside. I just may get into the building without being noticed.

  “Well, ’bye,” I say hastily and start to climb the stairs. I hear snow crunching behind me. Dad’s climbing the stairs behind me.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, a note of panic in my voice. So far the coast is still clear, but someone I know could come along any time.

  “I’m just going to the office to pay for this month’s classes,” he says.

  Great. I push open the door and a warm blast of air hits me in the face. “Have a good class,” Dad says. Clearly he’s going to stand there watching me until I go into the waiting room. I’m doomed.

  I turn and walk in. My friends are all gathered at the far end of the room. As I slowly approach, they stop talking.

  “What in the world…?” Epatha asks.

  Brenda leaps up and examines the tiara closely, as if it were some big germ that had just landed on my head. “Delirious be must she,” she says to the others. Then she feels my forehead. “Do you know your name?” she says, slowly and distinctly, as if I were three years old. “What month is this?”

  Jerzey Mae looks scared. Jessica looks worried. Al stares at me in horror.

  JoAnn’s eyes are about to pop out of her head. “Why?” she asks.

  “Present,” I manage to croak. “From Tiara Girl’s aunt. Dating my dad.”

  Epatha jumps up, shaking her head wildly. “Oh no. No, no, no. This is just wrong,” she says. “Terrel and tiaras, they do not go together. You need to get that thing off your head.”

  “Can’t,” I say. “Dad’s in the office. He might see.”

  “You’d better sit down,” Jessica says. I collapse on the bench.

  Tiara Girl and her snotty friend come into the studio. She sees me and immediately stomps over to us.

  “Is that one of my tiaras?” she asks, furiously.

  “No,” I say.

  “Then why does it look exactly like mine?” she asks.

  “You think I’d steal one of your stinking tiaras?” I yell. “Your dumb aunt gave it to me, and my dad made me wear it. I don’t know why he’s going out with her, anyway.”

  Tiara Girl’s friend stares at her. “Your aunt is going out with her dad?”

  Tiara Girl nods curtly.

  Her friend blinks. “Well, your aunt sure seems happy lately,” she says.

  “I don’t care if my aunt’s happy,” Tiara Girl says. She gives me a look so ugly that even though I always expect her to be awful, I’m still startled. “I care that it will ruin my life if I have to spend any more time with her.” She flings her arm out dramatically and points at me.

  “Well, I’m not thrilled at the idea of hanging out with you, either, you big, stuck-up cow,” I say, my voice rising.

  “How dare you call me big, pipsqueak?” she spits.

  “Girls!”

  Ms. Debbé marches over to us and bangs her walking stick on the floor. We immediately fall silent.

  “Is this any way for young ladies to behave? I think it is not.” Ms. Debbé pounds the stick again for emphasis. “There will be no fighting in my studio. No name-calling. Ever. Is that understood?”

  Tiara Girl and I both nod.

  “Now. You will shake hands. Then you will be friends.”

  Fat chance. But we shake hands. As we do, I see Dad coming out of the office. He sees Tiara Girl and me shaking hands and looking all chummy. He smiles and waves good-bye.

  “Very good. The class, it begins,” says Ms. Debbé. She strides regally across the room and starts up the stairs to the studio.

  Epatha whisp
ers something to JoAnn, who nods. Then Epatha turns to me. “Okay, girlfriend,” she says in a low voice. “We get it now. Dad dating is one thing. Dad dating Tiara Girl’s aunt is a whole different ball game.”

  “You think?” I say irritably, yanking the tiara off my head and throwing it in my bag.

  “Don’t worry,” she says as we walk up the stairs. “We’ll help you get out of this. Okay?”

  I nod, relieved. Just knowing my friends finally understand makes me feel better. Maybe with their help I can think of a way to get Marjory out of our lives once and for all.

  Chapter 12

  We line up in rows in the ballet studio—well, all of us except for JoAnn, who sits on the floor by the windows. Al is on my left, and Jessica is on my right. Epatha, Brenda, and Jerzey Mae are behind us.

  “Okay, amigas,” Epatha whispers as Ms. Debbé starts the music. “Put on your thinking caps—as long as they don’t look like tiaras.”

  “Grand pliés!” announces Ms. Debbé. “One…two…three…four.”

  As we plié up and down, our images are reflected in the mirror that stretches along the front of the studio. I can see the looks of concentration on my friends’ faces. Jessica is gazing off into the distance, and Jerzey Mae’s eyebrows are knitted. I know they don’t have to concentrate that hard to do pliés, so they must be working on solving my problem.

  “Tendus!” Ms. Debbé calls.

  “I think you should act like a monster,” says Al quietly as we slide our right feet to the side and point our toes. “Turn into ‘Terrible Terrel.’ Then she won’t want to stick around.”

  I must admit, I do like the sound of Terrible Terrel.

  Jessica shakes her head as we switch to our left legs. “That wouldn’t be very nice,” she says. Jessica is extremely thoughtful and considerate. This is good in everyday life, but bad when you are trying to scare off your dad’s girlfriend.

  “Now, ladies—please gather to one side. We will now practice jetés,” Ms. Debbé says.