The Daughters Take the Stage

by Joanna Philbin

  “It tasted amazing,” Hudson whispered. “Of course, my mom was a little annoyed, but it was worth it.”

  “Good,” Hillary said. “You passed the first test. I’m really proud of you.”

  “So, e-mail me the details about the bar mitzvah,” Hudson said, getting up from the table. “I gotta go study for a Geometry quiz.”

  “Uh, we’re not finished yet,” Hillary said. “Sit down.”

  Hudson sat down. “There’s more?”

  “Of course there’s more,” Hillary said. “You didn’t think that was it, right? A few slices of pizza and you’re your own person?” Hillary stared at Hudson and pursed her lips as she thought. “You said you have a quiz?”

  “Yeah,” Hudson said, playing with her silver hoop earrings. “Geometry, aka hell.”

  “Good. Don’t study for it.”

  “What?” Hudson said so loudly that the librarian sitting nearby put her finger to her lips.

  “Don’t study for it,” Hillary repeated.

  “But I can’t not study for it,” Hudson said. “I’ll fail.”

  Hillary shook her head. “You may not get an A, but you won’t fail.”

  “I’ll barely get a C.”

  “And that would ruin your month, right?” Hillary challenged.

  “Can I ask what the point of this is?” Hudson said, trying not to be annoyed.

  “The point is to know that if you do get a bad grade, you can survive it,” Hillary said, reclipping one of her plastic barrettes. “This is step two. You have to stop being afraid of bad grades. And I can tell that bad grades really freak you out.”

  “Is that a bad thing?” Hudson asked. “I mean, I’m not going to ruin my life just because I have a fear of bad grades.”

  “But you’re living your life in fear,” Hillary said. “You need to show yourself that getting a not-so-great grade isn’t the end of the world. And you are not going to mess up your transcript with one quiz.”

  “I’m sorry, Hillary,” Hudson said. “But I have to study.”

  “Then just do an hour,” Hillary shot back. “Study for it for one hour. That’s it. No more.”

  “Fine,” Hudson said reluctantly as she got up to leave.

  “You just said ‘fine’ again,” Hillary pointed out.

  “Whatever,” Hudson said grouchily, walking back to her friends. Eating pizza in front of her mom was one thing. Now Hillary might be going a little too far.

  *

  That night, at her desk, Hudson checked her antique French boudoir clock. She’d been trying to solve sample Geometry problems for the past fifty-eight minutes, and by now her stomach was clenched into a knot. Geometry tended to do that to her. In class, finding the area of this triangle and that polygon made perfect sense, but as soon as she faced a problem on her own, everything she knew just melted away like snow. She looked at the answers Miss Evanevski had given them. She’d only gotten one on the first try. To make matters worse, she couldn’t stop picturing Chris and Holla in some kind of romantic clinch. They were probably out together right this minute, drinking champagne out of glasses they clinked together like cheesy honeymooners. Ugh.

  She eyed her piano across the room. Whenever she’d been stressed about something in the past, she’d sat down at it. Maybe she just needed to play right now.

  She walked over and carefully lifted the heavy lid from the keys, then sat down on the polished bench. Her book of Chopin nocturnes still leaned against the sheet-music stand. She breathed in the smell of polished wood and touched the soft, velvety keys. Over the years she had spent hours here every night, first practicing the classics and then writing her own songs. Music had been the only thing she thought about. Until lately. She hadn’t played in almost a month. As soon as she’d decided to turn her love for music into a career, everything had changed.

  She decided to play an old game. She closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind. When a song appeared, she didn’t question it or try to think of another one. She just started to play and sing the words.

  Birds flying high you know how I feel

  Sun in the sky you know how I feel

  She finished the song, then sat quietly on the bench, just breathing. The knot in her stomach was gone, and her lungs were no longer tight. Thank you, Nina Simone, she thought. She felt exhilarated and relaxed, like she’d just dived into the Atlantic with Carina in the middle of summer and bodysurfed for an hour. How had she gone so long without playing her piano? No wonder she’d been feeling so anxious lately.

  She closed the lid and went back to her desk. Her math notes were still spread all over the place. She’d done only four of the eight practice problems Miss Evanevski had given her, but she closed her textbook and got ready for bed. Hillary was right: She could survive one stupid quiz. She was sure of it.

  *

  “H, you okay?” Lizzie asked from beside her as she got out her protractor and graph paper. “You look like death.”

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” Hudson said, taking out her pencils. She’d decided not to tell her friends about this latest life-coaching move from Hillary. “Just a little nervous.”

  She’d barely thought about the quiz as she sat through English and History. But as soon as she walked into Geometry, everything changed. All around her, people were studying—frantically. They sat bent over their books, working out problem sets, erasing and starting over. Hudson sat down, her heart pounding in her chest as if she were about to bungee jump without a cord. She’d been crazy not to study. And now she was going to pay the price.

  “Hey, relax,” Carina said, leaning past Lizzie. “You know this stuff. You’re gonna be fine.”

  I would if I’d studied last night, she thought.

  Miss Evanevski placed the tests on people’s desks. “Okay, you can start,” she announced to the room.

  Hudson turned the test over. It was five problem sets. She scanned the pictures of circles and rays and shaded triangles and her mind went stubbornly blank. She was going to fail this quiz, and it was going to be long and drawn out and painful.

  She worked through the first problem, the pencil slipping around between her sweaty fingers. Somehow she came up with an answer, but she had no idea if it was right. She moved on to the next one. Then the next one, and then the next, letting herself erase and start over only once for each question.

  “Time!” Miss Evanevski called.

  Breathless, Hudson looked up at the clock, sure that there was no way forty-five minutes had passed, but they had. People put down their pencils and protractors. Hudson looked down at her graph paper. It was covered with frantic scribbling. She was sure she’d failed.

  “All right, hand them over,” Miss Evanevski said, pacing through the room, collecting the quizzes. She smiled encouragingly at Hudson as she gestured for her quiz.

  Hudson placed her paper in Miss Evanevski’s carefully manicured hand. There’s no turning back, she thought.

  “That wasn’t so bad,” Carina said as they walked out of the classroom.

  Hudson didn’t say anything. She could imagine the big red F on her quiz already, throbbing like a cheap neon sign. But by the time she’d gotten to her locker, she felt oddly okay. The world hadn’t ended. She was still basically herself. And whatever her grade ended up being, she knew that she would probably survive it.

  A small note was sticking out of one of the air vents of her locker. She yanked it out and opened it.

  You rule!

  HC

  “What’s that?” Carina asked.

  “Just a note from my life coach,” Hudson said, stuffing the note in her bag.

  “Is that stuff actually working?” asked Lizzie.

  Hudson opened her locker. She felt anxious and exhausted from the Geometry test. But she also felt brave, and that was something she hadn’t felt in a while.

  “I think it actually might be,” she said, and slammed her locker closed with a smile.

  chapter 12

  The next day
in Geometry, Miss Evanevski passed out the corrected tests. “All in all, everyone did well,” she said, placing Hudson’s quiz facedown on her desk. “Though there were a few surprises.”

  Hudson turned over the quiz. In bright red marker, at the top, was her grade: 77. A C plus.

  “Yes!” Hudson said out loud. She hadn’t failed. It was a miracle.

  Miss Evanevski gave her a quizzical look from across the room. Hudson immediately got rid of her smile.

  “And let’s go through it, shall we?” Miss Evanevski said, giving Hudson one last weird look.

  “I got a C plus,” Hudson confided to Hillary later that morning, in the library. “I didn’t fail!”

  “Told ya,” Hillary said. “Congratulations on completing step two.”

  “So what’s step three?” Hudson asked.

  Hillary pulled two lipsticks out of her square backpack. “Before we get into that, which one do you think I should wear tomorrow?” she asked, uncapping them. “This one’s Frisky Fuchsia and this one’s Blushing Berry.”

  “Wait. Tomorrow?” Hudson asked cluelessly.

  “The bar mitzvah!” Hillary said, slightly annoyed. “You’re still coming, right? You have to tell me what Logan thinks.”

  “Oh, right,” Hudson said, drumming her fingers on the library table. “Hillary, don’t read too much into this, but my mom can be a little weird about me leaving the city,” she said. “Especially with people she doesn’t know.”

  “What about summer camp?” Hillary asked. “Haven’t you ever been to camp?”

  Hudson shook her head. “My mom says there are too many crazy people in the world. But she lets me go to my friend’s house out in Montauk. That’s about as close as I’ve gotten to camp.”

  “Well, no one’s going to kidnap you at my cousin’s bar mitzvah,” Hillary snapped. “I promise. Just ask her.”

  “I’ll try, Hillary,” Hudson said, “but I can’t promise anything.”

  “That’s why you’re doing all this stuff,” Hillary said. “We’re trying to help you become your own person, remember?”

  That night, when she was finished with her homework, Hudson got up from her desk and sat down at her piano. Holla was still at the studio, recording with Chris. Just thinking about them together in the studio made Hudson feel weird, almost as if they were at a party she hadn’t been invited to. She needed to distract herself. She closed her eyes and a song popped into her head—an old Fleetwood Mac song she’d always loved. Tentatively, she touched the keys, and then she started to sing.

  For you, there’ll be no more crying

  For you, the sun will be shining

  A knock on the door made her stop.

  “Honey?” Holla called, opening the door a tiny bit. “Can I come in?” She stepped into the room lightly, with a dancer’s grace. She looked impossibly sleek and thin in an off-the-shoulder electric green top, black denim leggings, and ankle boots, and her hair fell in soft waves to her shoulders. “Did you have dinner?”

  “Yes,” Hudson said.

  “Finish your homework?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Great.” Holla headed to Hudson’s walk-in closet. “You mind if I borrow something?”

  “Go ahead,” Hudson said. She needed to ask Holla about the bar mitzvah, so it could only help to let her mom peruse her wardrobe. “How was your day?”

  “Long. And that new guy from the record label has to second-guess everything. As if I’ve never done this before.” Holla walked out holding a hanger. “What about this?”

  Hudson stared at the orange sherbet–colored cotton shift dress. It was from the line Tocca had put out in the mid-nineties. But Hudson had worn it only twice because it was so short. “Um, that’s a summer dress,” she said.

  “I’m wearing it inside,” Holla said casually, folding it over her arm. “And how are you doing, sweetie? How’s school?”

  “Okay.”

  “How’s Geometry?”

  Hudson took a deep breath. “It’s fine, Mom.” She didn’t want to tell her about the C plus.

  Holla glanced at Hudson’s piano. “What are you doing?”

  “Just playing a little.”

  “Well, keep going,” she said, perching on the arm of Hudson’s battered leather armchair and crossing her legs. “You know how much I love your voice.”

  “That’s okay,” Hudson said. “My voice is kind of weird tonight.”

  “No, go ahead,” Holla urged. “I want to hear. I think it’s great you’re playing again.”

  Hudson knew exactly what would happen if she started to sing, but there didn’t seem to be any way out of it. “Okay.”

  She found the opening chords and started playing.

  For you, there’ll be no more crying

  For you—

  “Honey, fuller,” Holla cut in. “Don’t rush it. Fill out the word. Youuuuuu.”

  Hudson stopped playing and swung the lid closed over the keys.

  “What?” Holla asked. “What happened?”

  “Nothing,” she said.

  Holla frowned. “I just want you to get the most out of practicing. And correct phrasing is very important. Why do you have to be so sensitive? Don’t you think I know a little bit about this?”

  “My friend wants me to go to a bar mitzvah tomorrow,” Hudson said, changing the subject. “Can I go? It’s in Westchester.”

  “Westchester?” Holla asked, wrinkling her nose as if she’d just smelled something bad. “Where in Westchester?”

  “Larchmont, I think.”

  Holla shook her head as if this were utterly ridiculous. “What friend is this?”

  “Her name’s Hillary Crumple,” Hudson said. “I kind of owe her a favor. Fernald can take me in the car, and I’ll be back by five.” And I promise, nobody’s going to kidnap me, she wanted to add.

  “I’ll have Little Jimmy go with you,” Holla said. “I don’t need him at the studio.”

  “I don’t need a bodyguard to go to a bar mitzvah.”

  Holla walked to the door and paused with her hand on the knob. “Fine, Hudson,” she said. “You can go, but Fernald will take you there and bring you home. And there’s something I’d like you to do for me.”

  “What?”

  Holla shifted the dress on her arm. “I’d like you to check in on your aunt. Maybe spend the day with her on Sunday? I know she’s finally back from Paris. For good this time,” she added. “And I’m worried about her.”

  “So why don’t you just go over there and see her?” Hudson asked. “I’m sure she’d love it.”

  “No, she wouldn’t,” Holla said, in a way that implied she’d given all of this a great deal of thought.

  “I’m sure she’s sorry about Christmas. You should just call her.”

  Holla shook her head. “Will you just do me that favor, please?” She walked over to Hudson and kissed the top of her head. “You’re my partner in crime. You know that.”

  “Holla? Where’d you go?”

  The voice calling from outside Hudson’s bedroom door was unmistakably familiar. And unmistakably male.

  “Are you up here? Where’d you go?”

  Hudson’s pulse raced. It was Chris.

  Holla went to the door and opened it a crack. “I’ll be down in a second,” she said.

  “Chris is here?” Hudson asked.

  “Oh, we’re just going to do some more work,” Holla said matter-of-factly. “We’ll be up in the office if you need us.”

  “Mom?”

  “Yes?” From the way her face was glowing Hudson could tell that her mom had already fallen in love. “What, honey?” she asked. “What is it? You look so worried.”

  “Nothing,” Hudson said. “I’m fine.”

  “Thanks for the dress,” Holla said, and then she was gone.

  chapter 13

  “Okay, there he is,” Hillary said, smoothing the front of her velvet dress and smacking her fuchsia-painted lips. “He’s over there, checking out the
dessert table.”

  Hudson looked across the spacious pink and blue–lit banquet hall, past the tables dressed with kelly green tablecloths and imitation roulette wheel centerpieces, and past the band onstage grinding out a cover of “Hey Ya!” For most of the ceremony, which had taken place at a synagogue a mile away, and then for most of the delicious meal they’d just eaten, Hudson had been waiting to spring into action as Hillary’s wingwoman, on alert for Logan the Mysterious. But Hillary had refused to point him out. Whenever Hudson asked, Hillary would whisper, “You can’t look now. He’s right there.”

  But now Hudson could see two boys checking out the dessert buffet. One was tall and skinny, with a mop of curly brown hair and a dark blue suit that seemed a little short at the ankles. He kept trying to shake a sliver of chocolate frosting off the cake knife, but he wasn’t having much luck. The boy next to him was shorter and stockier, with whitish blond hair. He was heaping his plate with everything on the table—brownies, cookies, and slices of three different cakes. “Which one is he?” Hudson asked.

  “The cute one!” Hillary said.

  “They’ve got their backs turned.”

  “The blond one!” Hillary exclaimed. “The other one’s my cousin Ben. You met him at the synagogue.”

  “Oh, right,” Hudson said, vaguely remembering Ben in the lineup of Hillary’s extended family.

  “Okay, I’m gonna go talk to him. How’s my hair?”

  Hudson looked at Hillary, who was still patting her hair and her dress. She looked good. Someone had mercifully whisked all of Hillary’s flyaway hair into a neat, chic bun at the top of her head, and the black velvet dress looked perfect on her, even though she’d chosen to wear a strand of big white pearls with it. “You look great,” Hudson said. “Go get ’im.”

  “Uh-uh, I’m not going alone,” Hillary said, grabbing Hudson’s hand. “Let’s go.”

  As the two of them marched across the banquet room, Hudson tried not to be embarrassed. She never liked approaching guys. That was Carina’s thing. Hudson’s thing was to wistfully stare at them and wonder about them and look up their astrological signs. But never guys her age. To her, it was hard to get excited about a guy who was just doing homework every night.