Terrible Terrel

by Whoopi Goldberg

  “Your dad and I haven’t been dating very long, but we’ve gotten to know each other pretty well outside your ballet classes over the last year or so. He’s a wonderful man, and I know how much he loves you kids,” she says.

  There’s a vase of flowers on a shelf right in front of me. I look at them so I don’t have to look at Marjory.

  She continues. “He’s told me how much you do to keep the family running smoothly. The shopping, and reminding your brothers about their homework, and organizing everything. I think he wishes you didn’t have to take on so much responsibility. That you had more time just to be a kid. Maybe if he and I keep seeing each other, I can help with—”

  “No!” I say, in a louder voice than I’d intended. I sit straight up on the couch, as if it had been trying to swallow me up and I’d just realized it and managed to get away. “I like doing all that stuff. It’s my job. If I don’t do it, I’m not important. If I don’t do it, no one will need me.”

  She sits silently, digesting what I’ve said. After a minute, she comes over and sits beside me on the couch. She looks at me, her eyes soft. “Terrel, you’re important no matter what you do. Doing those things is a huge help to your dad, but you’re important just because you’re Terrel. Do you understand?”

  I feel my eyes start to water. I pretend I have an itch so I can brush the tears away.

  Marjory puts her arm around me lightly. “And can I tell you a secret?”

  I’m silent because I don’t want my voice to crack.

  She goes on. “I am a terrible organizer. If your dad and I end up together—and that’s a big if, because as you know, we are just getting to know each other—I would be thrilled if you kept on directing the grocery-shopping trips. And organizing your brothers. And frankly, I could use some help right away with this Nutcracker School holiday party next week. April volunteered me to be in charge of it. I don’t even know where to start, so I keep putting it off. You think you might have room in your organizing schedule for one more disorganized person?”

  Suddenly I feel much lighter, as if I’d been carrying a backpack full of Danny’s bodybuilding weights but it had suddenly disappeared. I nod.

  Marjory smiles. “Good. Now. Is there anything else that’s bothering you?”

  I close my eyes to think, and a tiara flashes into my mind. I’m so happy about the organizing stuff that I hate to bring it up. But I guess we might as well get everything over with at once.

  The words rush out of my mouth. “If you and Dad did…”—I can’t quite bring myself to say get married—“If you did end up together, would I have to hang out with Tiara Girl all the time?” Panic shoots through my body as I realize my faux pas. “I mean, uh, with April?”

  Marjory just looks at me. I can’t tell if she’s mad or not. “You call April ‘Tiara Girl’?” she asks.

  I can hardly deny it now. “Yeah.”

  Suddenly, she starts laughing, a rich, full, hearty laugh. “No wonder you looked so miserable in that tiara I gave you!” she says. “Oh, honey, I had no idea. I’m sorry. I thought you’d like it.” She laughs long and hard, and I can’t help smiling.

  “It is very, uh, sparkly,” I say, trying to be nice.

  Marjory wipes her eyes and turns to face me again. “Terrel, April is my niece, and I love her. But I understand that sometimes she’s not the easiest kid to be around. Her parents are getting a divorce, and she’s having a tough time.”

  This is a weird thought. It never occurred to me that Tiara Girl might be a jerk because she’s unhappy.

  Marjory goes on, “That’s one of the reasons I take her on Saturdays. So, no, I would not expect you to be her best friend. But you might have to spend some time with her. Do you think you could do that, for your dad’s sake?”

  Between my friends and me, we’ve put a spider into Marjory’s drink, attacked her nose with a stink bomb, blasted her eardrums with horrible music, snuck a human heart into her briefcase, and written a letter that could have ruined her relationship (if Jerzey Mae hadn’t written it on pink paper). I guess if she’s not mad about any of that, I can put up with Tiara Girl…I mean, April.

  “Okay,” I say.

  Marjory grins at me. “Can I have a hug?”

  I hug her. Her sweater feels soft and cuddly, like my favorite teddy bear when I was a kid.

  Marjory stands up. “Now. You and Cheng had better get on home,” she says. She pokes her nose out the front door. “Brrr—it’s getting even colder out there. You need any more clothes? A sweater or a hat?”

  I shake my head.

  She grins mischievously. “How about a nice, cozy tiara?”

  Chapter 18

  It’s party time, and the Nutcracker School looks great. We took over one of the dance studios for our holiday party, and Marjory, Dad, and all my friends helped decorate (I organized, of course). Colorful streamers are draped across the ceiling. There’s a Christmas tree, a Hanukkah menorah, and Kwanzaa candles. We turned off the main studio lights so the little red, blue, green, and yellow lights we strung around the room would shine more brightly.

  The studio is full of ballet kids in party clothes and the kids’ parents, all having a good time. Epatha’s mom and dad made food for the party. Some local businesses donated prizes for a raffle. (My idea. I am good, if I do say so myself.) JoAnn volunteered to take care of the music, and holiday songs are blasting through the sound system. Ms. Debbé has already told her three times to turn it down.

  We look outside the big studio windows; snowflakes are gently drifting down. It’s a perfect way to end our fall ballet term.

  “Want some?” Epatha offers me a cup of red punch with an orange slice floating in it. I take a sip. There must be soda in it, because it fizzes and tickles my nose.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  My friends and I are gathered together by the window. Jerzey Mae is actually wearing red instead of pink, in honor of the season. We stand together quietly and watch our parents. Al’s mom twirls to show off the puffy silver cone she is wearing for a hat, in combination with a silver dress, to the triplets’ mom. Epatha’s mom and dad look like they’re sharing a joke as they serve food. Brenda’s mom and the triplets’ dad are chatting in the corner.

  My dad and Marjory are standing together. Dad looks up and sees that they’re right under the mistletoe hanging from the center of the ceiling. He leans forward and gently kisses Marjory on the lips. Not a big, gross kiss; just a little one.

  I try to decide what I think about this.

  I guess it’s okay.

  Tiara Girl is standing on the other side of the room with her friend. She must have seen the kiss, too. She catches my eye. We look at each other for a long minute. Then she raises an eyebrow, shrugs her shoulders in a what-can-you-do? gesture, and turns back to her friend.

  I feel an arm around me. “You okay, T.?” Al asks.

  I nod. “Yup,” I reply.

  The music changes from a Christmas carol to a hip-hop song. “Who wants to dance?” I ask.

  I start, my friends join in, and we dance until we can’t dance anymore.

  Terrel’s Guide

  to Ballet Terms

  châiné turns—quick turns that move across the room. I do these faster than a certain classmate, probably because the weight of the tiara on her head slows her down.

  chassé—a move kind of like a gallop, where you jump through the air and one leg follows the other one. Chassés get you from one place to another quickly. This could be helpful if you’re trying to run away from a stink bomb.

  dating—when you go out with another person and maybe fall in love with them. Dating doesn’t have much to do with ballet, unless your dad starts talking to another kid’s aunt while they’re waiting for your dance class to finish.

  grocery shopping—going to the store and ordering your brothers around so your food gets bought in a very organized manner. Then you eat the food, which gives you energy to do ballet. Grocery shopping is NOT a good activity
for a first date.

  jeté—leap. When you find a human heart beside your briefcase, you might jeté across the room in fear. Unless you’re Marjory, in which case you just talk about ventricles and stuff.

  plié—knee bend. When you go all the way down, it’s called a grand plié. Pliés make your legs strong, in case you need to jump up to get the peanut butter that your dad’s girlfriend put away in the wrong cupboard.

  tendu—when you stretch your foot out to the front, back, or side, but your foot doesn’t leave the floor. If you tendu at exactly the right wrong time, someone walking by might trip over your foot and her tiara might fall off.

  tiara—a sparkly crownlike thing you wear on your head if: (A) you are a princess, (B) you are an annoying kid in a ballet class, or (C) your dad makes you.