by Wendy Mass
“Lose the hat,” the director orders as Annabelle and I arrive at the gym after school. It’s been transformed with streamers and balloons, and a big band is setting up on one end.
I gather up my nerve and say, “Um, I’m not sure I should….”
“Why not?” he barks, checking a little video screen in his hand.
I lift the hat off my ear.
“Keep the hat,” he commands. “Just stay in the background. Far in the background.”
I nod, and we scurry to the bleachers to join the other extras. I actually need to go put more ointment on my ear, so I tell Brenda I’ll be right back and hurry to the girls’ locker room. I’ve only made it to the gym teacher’s office when I hear the yelling. “I told you it’s the role of a lifetime!” Madison’s unmistakable voice shouts. “How could you turn it down?”
I duck into the empty office and hold my breath.
“Because I’m tired of playing the same guy in every movie,” Jake explains. His voice is loud, too, but not as loud as hers. “I want to challenge myself. I want to explore my craft. I’m not like you. I don’t want everyone following me all the time, just waiting for me to mess up or whatever.”
Madison groans. “Why are we even bothering to do this? Here, take the ring. I can’t even fake-date you anymore.”
“Are you fake-breaking-up with me?” he asks, sounding amused.
“Yes!” she says, sounding anything but amused. She storms past me, thankfully not looking into the office. He follows a minute later, pushing the ring deep into his front pocket.
I let out my breath and hurry into the locker room. There’s more drama behind the scenes of the movie than there is in the movie! By the time I finish and get back out, half of the extras have been placed in different parts of the gym. Annabelle waves to me from the dance floor, which, as far as I can tell from all the tape marks on the floor, is where a lot of the action will be taking place. The rest of the kids are either seated at the round tables, standing at the food table, or posed in small groups. Brenda calls off a few more names and directs them where to go. When she consults her list and says, “Rory?” I stand up. But so does Boy Rory. We look at each other and quickly sit down. “Sorry,” we both mutter. Brenda points to Boy Rory and tells him to join the extras on the dance floor. Then she tells me to sit at the table farthest away from the dance floor, and to keep my bad ear always facing away from the camera.
I nod and take my new seat, which is only a few feet away from the crew and the video monitors. Amanda Ellerby is at my table, along with Kira and two seventh grade boys who never would have noticed me before, but who now stare at me as though they’ve never seen anyone with a baby elephant’s ear. I wish I could text Annabelle and tell her what I overheard between Jake and Madison, but the director has a strict no-texting-on-the-set rule. Brenda comes over and tells us to start working on our fake-talking and fake-laughing. I don’t feel much like laughing. The two boys pair off, so Amanda and Kira and I fake-talk, which is really hard with three people because you never know who you should be looking at. After a while, we give up and start real-talking instead. Since I can’t talk to Annabelle and Sari, I decide to share what I overheard with them. Kira practically faints, like, she seriously turns pale and her eyes flutter. “They broke up?” she says, her voice catching at the end.
“Well, they were never really going out, right?” Amanda says.
“Right. It was all for publicity.”
“Boy, the tabloids would love this!”
“We can’t tell anyone, though,” I insist, questioning my decision to tell them in the first place. “It wouldn’t be fair.”
“Don’t worry,” Amanda says. “I know how to keep a secret.”
We both turn to look at Kira. But she’s in her own world. The director finally starts shooting the scene, and we switch back to our fake-talking. It’s actually kind of fun pretending we’re having a conversation. I decide I like Amanda. She’s fun. Kira is still sort of shaking, so she just pretends to keep sipping from her fake soda. Well, I guess it’s real soda, but she’s not really supposed to drink it.
Since we’re so far in the back, we can’t hear what the actors are saying on the dance floor. But we can hear what the crew says about it. Apparently everything was going fine until Madison refused to kiss Jake, which she was supposed to do at the end of the last song. Then Madison storms past us, followed by the director and Brenda. Brenda stops near our table to discuss the options with the crew. Amanda and I scoot our chairs over a few inches to hear better.
“We’re almost done with the footage,” Brenda says, consulting a screen. “We just need the kiss. It doesn’t even have to be her face, we can do a back-of-the-head shot and digitize the rest of her later. But you-know-who has decided she no longer wants to kiss her fake boyfriend.”
Amanda and I exchange surprised glances. So the crew knew all along! Then it hits me. I jump out of my chair and hurry up to Brenda. “Sorry for eavesdropping, but if you can do a back-of-the-head kiss, then how about just using someone else with dark hair?”
Brenda looks skeptical, but the other crew members nod. “That could work,” one of the guys says.
Brenda turns to me and says, “I assume you’re going to suggest yourself? And, no offense, but that” — she points to my ear — “would be hard to digitize out.”
I shake my head. “Not me. Her.” I point to Kira, who is still pretending to sip from her cup even though the director yelled cut ten minutes ago. “Her hair is much more like Madison’s. In fact, from the back, if Kira were standing on a box, they might as well be the same person!”
Okay, I might have gone a little far on that last part, but Brenda goes off to consult with the director, who has returned from his apparently unsuccessful visit with Madison. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but it looks heated. Finally, they both nod, and Brenda comes over. She snaps her fingers in front of Kira and says, “Stand up. Time to make your dreams come true.”
Kira, clueless, follows her obediently. Amanda turns to me. “Wow. I can’t believe you did that. You could be the one kissing him.”
“Nah. The ear, hat, and everything.”
“Uh-huh,” she says, unconvinced.
The kiss is being filmed on the other side of the gym, so we can’t even catch a glimpse of it if we stand on the table, which we try as soon as we’re sure the director can’t see us. Since everyone else has to stay in their assigned spots, too, no one really figures out what’s going on until one of the crew members yells out, “Watch out, she’s gonna hit the floor!” a split second before we hear a thump. I’ve got to hand it to Kira, though. According to a report from Leo, who was only a few feet away from the action, after Kira fainted, she brushed herself off and got right back up on that step stool. Fifteen minutes and six (I’m sure not very painful) takes later, the director finally yells, “That’s a wrap!” and everyone claps. Well, everyone except for Madison. But judging by the fact that after the director wrapped the scene, Kira fainted again, I’m pretty sure Madison doesn’t have to worry about being permanently replaced anytime soon.
After the big dance night, the next few movie scenes take place in various hallways before or after school, where all we have to do is fake-talk at our lockers or pretend like we’re hurrying to class. Thankfully, over the course of the week, my ear has become human-sized again, and Brenda is finally able to stop positioning me with my back to the camera. The twenty-dollar bills from each scene are piling up nicely. It’s really a great gig. I’m going to miss it when it ends.
I’ve already spent five dollars of my movie earnings on extra thick tape for Bunny’s cage. He definitely can’t chew through it, because each morning he’s still in there, just as I left him. He’s been very sweet, too, and I feel guilty for any mean thoughts I may have had, or any accusations I may have flung his way. Sawyer really likes him, too, and I think the feeling’s mutual. Bunny thumps his back paws a lot when Sawyer is around, which I’m prett
y sure is a sign of affection and trust.
Cleaning out the “droppings” isn’t very fun, but it’s a lot better than changing diapers. And so what if I have to move his cage to the floor at night so I can’t see his red glowing eyes staring at me out of the darkness? Small price to pay for his cuteness during the day.
On Saturday morning, Mom knocks on my door while I’m hard at work sorting through my clothes. Natalie’s party is in a week, and none of my clothes are cool enough. I might wind up wearing Annabelle’s pink shirt and my own white shorts. Or maybe the black ones. I get tired just thinking about all the times in my life I’m going to have to find the right clothes for the right occasions. I’m so bad at it.
Mom knocks again. I toss the clothes onto my bed and open the door. She comes in wearing a sweat suit and resting Sawyer on one hip. My mom is not the sweat suit type. “I’m taking an aerobics class at the community center,” she announces. “Sawyer really likes the day care room there, so I’m going to take him with me. You okay staying home alone?”
I hadn’t been home alone since “the incident,” but I’m pretty sure I’d be okay this time. I’m about to say I’ll be fine home alone, when I glance over at Bunny. His ears are pressed down against his head, and I’m pretty sure he just winked at me.
“I’ll come with you,” I say, hurrying to gather my books. “I’ll just do homework on one of the couches there.”
“You sure?” she asks.
I nod. Sawyer claps happily. It’s nice to be wanted.
Mom is late for her class, so I volunteer to take Sawyer into the playroom. It’s full of kids around his age, some who have been on playdates at our house. I set him down, and he runs right over to the make-believe kitchen and starts frying a make-believe egg. If only he would eat a real one. On my way out the door, I notice a little dark-haired boy, around four or five, sitting by himself on a purple beanbag chair. His face has that crumpled about-to-cry look to it. Both of the women running the playroom have their hands full with other kids, so I go over to him and sit down.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
He doesn’t reply, just sniffles.
“Is your mom taking an exercise class? Mine is. I’m Sawyer’s sister.” I point to Sawyer, who has now moved on to washing pretend dishes. He’s going to make some lucky girl a good husband someday.
I turn my attention back to the boy. He shakes his head. “I forgot my book.”
“I hate when that happens,” I tell him. “Do you want to pick out another one? They have a lot to choose from here.”
He shakes his head. “I just want mine.”
“Is it at home?”
He shakes his head. “My sister has it but she’s busy.”
“Where is she?”
“Dancing,” he replies.
“Do you mean exercising?”
He shakes his head. “Dancing!”
“I’ll go see if I can find her, okay?”
He nods, sinking lower into the beanbag.
I grab my book bag and head down the hall. All the other rooms are empty except for the thumping coming from the exercise room. No one practicing for a Bar Mitzvah, no one learning how to keep kids from cracking their heads open on a babysitting gig.
I backtrack into the main room and look around. A big sign catches my eye: REGIONAL AUDITIONS FOR THE BALLET SCHOOL OF AMERICA, UPSTAIRS IN MEETING ROOM B, PROMPTLY AT 11 A.M. So upstairs I go. When I get there, all I see is an empty table with some folders and pens on it. Then a bathroom door swings open and a tall girl in a leotard, who looks about sixteen, comes out. She slumps against the wall, head down. It would have been smart of me to actually get the name of the boy’s sister.
“Um, is your brother in the playroom by any chance?”
Her head snaps up. Her eyes are red from crying. “Why? Is he okay?”
“He’s fine,” I assure her. “Something about you having his book?”
She looks puzzled, then says, “Oh, right,” and reaches into a gym bag at her feet. She pulls out a well-worn copy of Green Eggs and Ham.
“Do you want me to bring it to him?”
She shakes her head. “I can do it. Looks like I’m done here anyway.”
I glance at the empty desk and the door next to it. I can hear classical music being played inside. “Did you try out already?”
She shakes her head and gestures to the clock above the table. “I got here late and the lady wouldn’t let me in.”
“But it’s only five minutes after eleven now. How late could you have been?”
“It was one minute after when I got up here. I was only late because I had to take my brother downstairs first. But the lady at the desk said, ‘Ballet is all about discipline and being on time is part of that,’ and then she left.”
“That’s so unfair. I bet you wouldn’t want to be a part of a program that treats you like that.”
She shakes her head. “BSA is the best ballet school in this part of the country. If I got in, it would be a free ride to college. I really need that.”
I glance at the clock. Six after now. “Where did the lady at the desk go?”
“I heard her tell someone she was going down for more coffee. Why?”
“Just go stand at the top of the stairs and warn me if you see her coming.” Before she can ask anything else, I drop my bag on the ground and hurry over to the table. Little Emily St. Claire has taught me a trick or two. I climb up on the table, grab the plastic covering right off the clock, and turn the minute hand back to 10:58. Then I replace the cover. The whole thing takes less than fifteen seconds.
Just as I hop down, the girl runs up from the top of the stairs and joins me in front of the table. She stares at me wordlessly. A few seconds later, a lady in a business suit appears, carrying a mug of coffee in one hand and a clipboard in another. She places them on the table, glances up at us, and says, “Yes?”
I step to the side as the girl clears her throat. “Um, I’d like to try out?”
The lady sighs. “Look, I don’t make the rules, I just enforce them.”
The girl points up at the clock. “But I’m not late. You must have read it wrong before. It’s only 10:59.”
The lady frowns, but turns to look. Then she does a double take and sighs. “Fine. Sign here.” She pushes the clipboard at the girl, who eagerly signs it and passes it back. The lady hands her a folder and points her to the door. She picks up her gym bag, mouths “Thank you!” to me, and hurries inside the room.
“These auditions are only for older girls,” the lady says curtly. “So if you were planning on trying out …”
I shake my head. “I wasn’t. I wouldn’t want to take another girl’s spot.” Honestly, sometimes I don’t know where I come up with this stuff.
Back in the playroom, the little boy is sitting right where I left him. He snatches the book from my hands and then hides his face in it. I wave to Sawyer, who ignores me and keeps playing. Little kids are so fickle.
We have a vocabulary test on Monday, so that’s the first thing I dive into when I get settled on one of the couches in the main room. I’ve only gotten down to the third word on the list, coincidence, when someone plops down next to me. I lay the list on my lap and turn to find Leo Fitzpatrick.
“Yo,” he says.
“Yo to you.”
“What brings you here on a fine Saturday morning?”
“Brother in the playroom, Mom exercising, potentially evil bunny at home. You?”
“I’m here to visit an old friend. I mean that literally, he’s really old.”
“I saw you and Amanda here once before.”
He nods. “We come pretty regularly. These old guys are pretty cool. They have a lot of funny stories to tell.”
“Speaking of telling stories …” I look around to make sure no one can hear us. “How about you tell me why you and Amanda suddenly became best friends again last year?”
He smiles and shakes his head. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you
, which I can’t.”
“I might,” I say hopefully.
He laughs and pushes himself off the couch. “Remember,” he calls back to me as he walks away, “there are no such things as coincidences.”
I glance down at my vocab list, and back up. “Wait, what do you mean?” But he’s already joined a group of old guys playing cards and doesn’t answer.
Lying in bed that night I keep thinking about what Leo said at the community center. Of course there are such things as coincidences. Like when I’m thinking about Annabelle and she calls me right then. Or when you happen to be at the right place at the right time, or the wrong place at the wrong time. I’ve had my share of both lately. So why would he say there isn’t?
I toss and turn for a while and am no closer to figuring out what he meant by the time I fall asleep. This time, my nightmare is the worst I’ve ever had. I dream that someone is holding a pillow over my face and pressing down on it. I’m kicking and swinging my arms, but nothing helps. I awake with a start, so relieved that it was just a dream that I want to weep with joy.
But like last time, I quickly realize that I can’t catch my breath! I’m really suffocating! This is different from the other dream. Worse, if that’s possible. I can’t even make a gasping noise because I can’t get any air through my mouth or nose. My eyes fly open in panic, but this time I don’t see a glowing red pair of eyes staring back at me.
I can’t see anything at all.
Chapter Fifteen
I plop the cage on the counter. “This rabbit tried to kill me. I would like to return him.”
The pet store manager nods. “Figured it was just a matter of time. Didn’t earn that name for nothing.”
“Kyle R? Isn’t he just named after someone named Kyle?”