by P. G. Kain
“Wow!” I say. My mom knows how much I dislike her organic, all natural, looks-like-tree-bark-and-tastes-like-tree-bark healthy food. Of course, maple syrup is one thing that I don’t mind, but I don’t tell her that. “Thanks, Mom. This looks great.” When I look at the spread she has created and think about how I just spent the last hour cleaning my room in order to make her happy, I consider how we are more alike than I think.
But then when I look at my mom, I realize how different we are. She’s wearing the same pair of sweatpants she has worn for years, and her SAVE THE WILDLIFE T-shirt, which is so old it has faded from bright red to dull pink. At least she’s wearing the locket I gave her. In fact, the day after I gave it to her she put a picture of me as a baby in it. The gold heart looks nice even against her less-than-fashionable T-shirt.
She undoes her braid on the weekends, so today her gray-and-brown hair looks wild and unruly. I think about Ashley’s short, layered cut and how chic and modern it looks.
“Do you ever think about cutting your hair?” I ask as matter-of-factly as possible, like I just asked her to pass the salt or something.
“Well, Mona just gave me a trim the other day,” she says, unaware of the real intention behind my question. Mona is the administrative aide in my mom’s office, and she cuts my mom’s hair because she happened to move into an apartment where someone left behind one of those salon chairs that goes up and down. Mona is getting her degree in statistics and knows absolutely nothing about cutting hair.
“Mom, Mona is not a stylist. You said yourself she uses those kindergarten scissors with the round edges.”
My mom pats her hair down a bit, “Well, those seem to work just fine, and it doesn’t cost me a penny.”
The intercom buzzes, and my mom bristles. “Well, that must be your dad,” she says stiffly.
“Why is he buzzing the apartment and not just using his key to come up?” I ask. If I am being honest with myself, I might actually know the answer to this question, but my mom answers before I can think about it too much.
“Well, I’m sure he just wants to spend as much time with you as possible,” she says, opening the door for me.
“Don’t you want to see him?” I ask.
My mom hesitates and shakes her head a bit, like she doesn’t know what to say. Then finally, “Oh, it’s such a short visit. Let’s not waste any of it.”
I decide to push this just a bit. “C’mon, just come down with me.” I know they have been having problems lately, but I figure this is just due to the fact that they haven’t seen each other in a while. Maybe if my mom came down she would see that Dad is not such a bad guy. I know they have different opinions about things, but still, we’re a family, and we should do things together. After all, the whole idea of a trial separation is that you are just giving it a try. That means you should also give being together a try. Why am I the only person in this family who is able to see that?
“No, Cassie. I think it’s better if you just run down. Do you have your cell phone? Money in your wallet? Are you wearing sunscreen?” The questions come at me in rapid succession as my mom walks to the door and opens it for me. I answer yes to everything, tell her I love her, and head out the door to meet my dad.
“Dad!” I scream when I spot him outside the lobby of our building. My dad looks perfect. He’s wearing a light green polo top and khaki shorts. He could be cast right now as the dad in a commercial that takes place during a family picnic or a weekend getaway. I wrap my arms around his chest and hug him tightly, but I can’t help thinking how much better this would be if we were all together like a real family.
• • •
By three o’clock I am exhausted and a little nauseous. We have been to the Central Park Zoo, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and Bloomingdale’s. I’ve eaten popcorn, a hot dog with ketchup and sauerkraut, cotton candy, a pretzel with mustard, an ice cream bar, and half a bottle of water. If there was a street cart selling it, my dad bought it, and I ate it.
For the first time since we left the apartment this morning, we are sitting down, and it feels good. We found a quiet bench under a tree, and now that we’ve been sitting for a few minutes, I’m not sure I will ever be able to get up.
At first just being still and quiet feels good, but after a few minutes it gets a little uncomfortable. We’ve been so busy doing stuff all day that we haven’t really had time to just sit and be together. It’s weird having him on the road, because when I spend time with him, it feels like we’re always trying to squeeze in all this quality time into just a few hours. The truth is, I don’t want quality time, I just want regular old hanging-out-not-doing-much-of-anything time. I don’t know who invented quality time, but they sure got it wrong.
We sit in silence for a few more minutes, but the distance grows uncomfortable, and I start racking my brain, trying to think of things to say or something to ask my dad. I could ask him why he’s traveling so much and why Mom won’t come downstairs to see him when he’s in town. He’d tell me the answer if I just ask him, but the truth is, I don’t want to know.
Finally my dad breaks the silence. “Hey, did I tell you that I saw your commercial for that security company again?”
“Really?” I say.
“Yeah, this time I was just in my hotel room getting ready for a meeting, and I had the news on or something, and then all of a sudden, bam, there was my girl.” My dad’s face lights up when he talks about seeing me on TV. “Have you booked anything recently?”
“Uh, no . . .,” I say. He knows I’ve been grounded for the past month or so, but I guess he forgot. “But I did have a great audition the other day for an amusement park. Maybe I’ll get a callback and book that. It’s a national. I’m sure you would see it in one of your hotels.”
“That would be great,” he says, and I smile at him. It’s weird thinking of him seeing me when he’s thousands of miles away, but here I am, sitting a few inches from him, and I wonder if he sees me at all. I get a pit in my stomach and think about my last go-see. I hope I did good enough to get a callback. I’d really love to have my dad see me in that spot.
“Hey,” my dad says. “You know what we haven’t done yet? We haven’t gone on the carousel. C’mon, let’s go take a ride or even a few.”
The carousel? Does he have any idea how much I have eaten in the past few hours? Taking me on the carousel is just asking for trouble. My stomach rumbles at the very thought of spinning around in circles while grabbing on to a brightly painted wooded horse, praying I won’t toss my cookies. I don’t tell my dad any of this. Instead I just pretend I am in the middle of a shoot for a commercial. I smile, hop up from the bench, and say, “That sounds great. Let’s go.”
CHAPTER 15
Ginger is full of questions on Monday morning as we walk to our schools. With my dad in town, I wasn’t able to see her for almost two full days. We barely go more than two full hours without speaking, so two days feels like forever. She wants to know every detail of every minute I spent with my dad. It’s nice to have a best friend who is so interested in your life, but the truth is, there isn’t much to tell.
“It was just a nice weekend,” I tell her, and shrug. I don’t tell her that sometimes it’s hard to talk to my dad or that sometimes I want him to talk to me more. I don’t tell her about how guilty I feel when I’m with my dad, because I know it means my mom is at home alone, or worse, in her office working on some math equation. Ginger knows I adore my dad, and I don’t want her thinking anything otherwise. I try to change the subject and ask Ginger about her weekend out of the city with her parents. “How was Provincetown?” I ask.
“The weather was great, and we got to use that wheelchair with the super-huge wheels so it can go in the sand. That was fun, but my parents made us go to this poetry reading for one of their friends. And I swear it’s, like, impossible for my parents to pass a used bookstore without going in. I mean, seriously, how many copies of Leaves of Grass can they own?” Ginger’s parents have an i
ncredible collection of books by Walt Whitman, a poet that her mom really admires. I think the collection is cool, since most of the books in our house have numbers and math symbols on every page. I’d love to have books on our shelves with titles I understand.
We get to the front of the school building and I say, “Hey, you know what? Let’s make grilled cheeses after classes today. Like we did last summer.” Last summer we made grilled cheeses for lunch almost every day, and we never got sick of them.
“That’s a great idea,” Ginger says. “I think we have everything we need at my place, but I’ll just text my parents and make sure.”
Then I decide to make things more interesting. “And let’s make a deal,” I say.
“I don’t like the sound of this.” Ginger looks at me with concern.
“I’ll do all the dishes, if you talk to Ming-wei.”
Ginger stops dead in her tracks. “You mean actually talk to him. Like using . . . words and stuff.”
“Yes,” I tell her. “Using words and stuff. You can do it. It’s now or never.” I take her by the shoulders and point her in the direction of her school. “Be brave, my friend, and look on the bright side. You can speak to him in English or Chinese. You have two whole languages to choose from.” I give her a gentle push toward her destiny and say good-bye.
I have a few minutes before class starts, so I use the time to sit in the sun with my eyes closed and just chill before being stuck inside. I’ve barely closed my eyes when I feel my cell phone start to vibrate. I assume it’s Ginger, since she often calls me two minutes after seeing me to tell me something incredibly important that she’s forgotten.
I take out my cell phone and see that it isn’t Ginger, it’s my agent.
My heart skips a beat. Could this be about getting a callback for the Seven Sails amusement park spot? Maybe it’s another audition for something else.
“Hello?” I say.
“Hi, Cassie. It’s Honey, and I have a callback for you for the Seven Sails spot this afternoon.”
“Fantastic!” I shout.
“Well, just keep your grades up, Cassie. I’ve heard through the grapevine that there are some major campaigns coming up at the end of the summer.”
“I will,” I say, and as the words come out of my mouth I suddenly remember that there was an assignment due this morning that I totally forgot about. Not the best way to keep my grades up. But I’m not going to let that little mistake get me down. I just got a callback, and Rory might be there. I’m not going to let reality get me down today.
CHAPTER 16
My summer science class is filled with kids from other schools, so I only know a few of them and, of course, Nevin. Some kids are taking the class to replace a not-so-hot grade, like me, but it seems like most of the kids are taking it to get advanced placement next year or because their family moved and they need to finish the requirement.
I walk into class and see that there is a seat next to this girl Allison, who I talked to last week. I walk over to join her at her table, but before I can get to the seat, Nevin stops me. “So how is milady this fine day?” he asks in his strange Middle-earth accent. He’s wearing a brown felt hat with oddly shaped patches sewn on it.
“What in the world is on top of your head?” I ask.
“Ah, I see my authentic Middle-earth head cozy has caught your attention.”
“Nevin, it’s eighty degrees out and it looks like you’re wearing a dead cat on your head,” I say, and walk away toward the seat next to Allison, but someone has taken it since Nevin delayed me.
Before I can find another place to sit, Mr. Evans comes in and says, “We have a lot to cover today, so if you haven’t found a seat, please find one, and let’s start with the chapter on ‘Hypothesis.’” I look around the room. The only empty seats are at the table in front of me, where Nevin has plopped himself down. I look around the room one last time in a desperate attempt to find an empty chair somewhere other than next to Nevin, but there are no other options. I put my bag on the table and take my seat next to Nevin. He looks up from his notebook and smiles at me. I’m stuck with him and his head cozy for one class. How bad can it be?
Mr. Evans is saying something about inquiry. I know I should be taking notes, since Nevin and most of the other kids in class seem to be writing furiously, but I never know exactly what I should be writing down. “Oh, wait,” Mr. Evans says, and moves from the front of the room back to his desk. “I forgot to write down your lab partners.”
Lab partners is serious business. That is who you are stuck working with all summer. I try to make eye contact with Allison, who seems like she would make a cool partner, but she is whispering with the curly-haired girl who took my seat next to her. I scan the room and see if there is anyone else who I can make eye contact with. I feel like a sinking submarine tapping out a futile SOS call.
Mr. Evans grabs a pen from his desk and says, “Since you’re already sitting in pairs, let’s just use these for the summer. Oh, and this will also be the partner you will have during our final exam at the City Science Center and Museum.”
I want to stand up on my chair and shout, “Nooo! No! No! No!” Of all the days to get stuck sitting next to Nevin, I do it on the day lab partners are assigned. This is not happening. Mr. Evans starts going table by table, writing down the lab partners in his notebook. Nevin knows better than to even look at me while this is happening, but once Mr. Evans gets to our table and writes down our names, we both realize our fate is sealed. Nevin looks over at me and smiles.
“Looks like we’re going to be spending a significant amount of time together during this solstice with the longest of amplitudes.”
“Nevin, no offense, and I have no idea what that actually means, but please don’t say it again.”
“Affirmative, milady.”
“Can you just say, ‘Sure, Cassie’? You know the way people talk. Please.”
“Sure, Cassie,” he says very quietly.
I lean back in my chair and look up at the ceiling. I would rather get to know one of the new kids in class, but maybe working with Nevin won’t be so bad. I look over at him as he furiously takes notes and realize he is writing with a pen that is in the shape of a hobbit. On the other hand this could be one of those summers that makes me look forward to the start of school.
CHAPTER 17
As soon as class is over, I dash out of the room and almost run out of the building. If I am totally focused, I can make it to my callback on time, maybe even a little early. I jog home and go straight to my bedroom and change. It’s important to wear the same thing to a callback that you do to an audition, and luckily, I just threw the lime-green-striped top with the broad scoop neck and the thin periwinkle cardigan with small purple buttons that I wore last week on top of my desk. So they may not be perfectly clean, but at least they’re not totally wrinkled. I pull the top on over my head, smooth out any stray wrinkles with the palms of my hands, and grab the folder of headshots and résumés I keep ready in my desk drawer. It’s rare that they need a new headshot or résumé at the callback, but when they do need one and you have it, you seem very professional.
I walk out of the building and don’t break my stride until I am in front of Betsy Barnes Casting. I take a deep breath before I open the door. This would be such an amazing spot to book. It’s national, so that means my dad could see it at any time. Also, there is a chance that Rory could have a callback too.
It looks like they have called back about two dozen kids. Last time this place was a zoo, but today the energy is calm and serious. I scan the room quickly to see if Rory has also gotten a callback. I don’t see him. I sign in and wait in a chair close to the door to the studio. The casting assistant comes out of the studio and calls in the next group, and I sneak a peek into the studio. It looks like there are a ton of people in there. I hate callbacks where everybody and their grandmother is in the rooms. On smaller spots you just get the director and the client and a few random people. I guess this
is a major spot, because it looks like there are at least a dozen people at the tables behind the camera.
I turn back in my chair and see Phoebe on the other side of the room, looking a bit frantic. I assumed she would be here, since she is perfect for the girlfriend role. She had a lot of years of not booking anything, so I am totally happy for her. “Cassie, I’m so glad you’re here. Have you seen Liam?” Phoebe asks as she walks over to me.
“Have you seen you-know-who?” I ask, but my voice is almost a whisper.
“No,” she says, but I can tell she is really distracted. “Liam isn’t answering his cell, and he promised he would meet me before the callback. I’m going to see if he’s in the lobby. If they call my name, tell them I’ll be right back,” she says.
“Is everything all right?”
“Yeah, I guess. I just really need him here.”
“No problem. I’ll let you know if I see him,” I tell her, and she heads down the hall toward the elevators. As soon as she is out of sight, Rory appears from around the corner. I take a deep breath in and then let it out. He is wearing the same royal blue shirt he wore to the audition last week. At first I can’t believe he’s here, but then I realize that’s ridiculous. Casting directors absolutely love Rory as much as all the girls my age on the circuit do. How could Rory not get a callback? He signs in, and he can’t help but see me.
“Hi, Monique,” he says, his smile all teeth and charm.
What do I do? Do I correct him or do I just say nothing? “Hey, Rory,” I say, trying to find the right way to tell him that my name is actually Cassie. Before I can find the words, the door to the studio opens and Neil, my favorite casting assistant, announces the names of the people in the next group. The last name he says is mine. I stand up as if to go in, but then I don’t move. Neil is standing only two feet away from me but still, I don’t move. I can’t tell if this is a disaster or an opportunity.