by Sasha Dawn
With everything going on in my family life, I need a character to slip into. I need the escape. And now . . .
There’s no escape on the horizon.
I get it. I’m a little too tall to be a Pepper. Not quite old enough to play one of the leads. I’m in that strange in-between age. But to not make even ensemble?
This must be how Mom felt on those few auditions when she attempted a comeback: not quite right for any particular role. I look at the ballet shoes on her feet. Someday, I’ll be dancing only in my apartment, too.
I swallow my disappointment and go back to “Raspberry Beret.”
Me: Congrats, guys.
Me: But I wasn’t cast.
Brendon: Ummm, yes you were!
McKenna: . . .
I look again, reading more slowly this time. Then I see it.
July: Madelaine Joseph.
I let out a little yelp. I’m in. My name will be on a program. Not where I wanted it, but it’ll be there. I’ll have another production to put on my résumé. One step closer to NYU. One step closer to my dream.
I swipe back to “Raspberry Beret” to see that McKenna sent a screenshot of my name circled. I type a quick OMG YES! and look up at Mom and Nana. “I’m in! I have lines! I have a singing solo!”
Nana kills the music. “Oh, Lainey!”
“Now there are two reasons to stay home from school!” Mom says. “Let’s celebrate!”
“Wait. You already knew!”
Mom’s eyes are sparkling. “You went shopping with your dad. I had a drink with the casting director. She said she’d call if she had any news.” Mom grins and gets to her feet. “She called half an hour ago.”
I catapult into her arms.
“Let’s go to that little pastry shop you used to like.” She leads me in a spin with all the grace and control I’ve seen on the old footage of her performances.
I watch her step across the floor.
I hear the notes of my song, pairing with every footfall.
Chapter 23
Dad: What do you mean you’re not at school?
Me: I stayed home today.
Dad: Why?
Me: I needed the sleep.
Me: Couldn’t sleep last night
Me: I was so nervous about the callback.
Dad: I guess I can understand that.
Dad: And congrats again on the role. I knew you’d nailed it.
Dad: But I’m not paying private school tuition so you can ditch.
Dad: That’s twice this week.
Me: Wait. How do you know I wasn’t at school the other day?
Dad: Same way I know your mother’s no longer working.
Dad: I pay attention.
Dad: I knew she wasn’t supposed to be off work last night.
Dad: I made some calls.
Dad: Found out she quit.
A sickening feeling spins in my gut. I’m either going to have to defend my mother to my father, or I’m going to have to try to ignore his little jabs.
Dad: Do you see what I mean, Maddy?
Dad: If your mother would commit to a job, maybe you’d be going to the academy.
I feel the panic starting to squeeze at my heart. But I know nothing I can say will make any difference.
Dad: I was going to pick you up from school on the way to O’Hare.
Dad: Now I have to make other arrangements.
Me: I wouldn’t have had my bags with me anyway.
Dad: I would have sent Giorgio to pick them up.
Me: Here’s an idea:
Me: Brendon, McKenna, and I will meet you at the airport.
Me: Done.
Me: No more arrangements to be made.
Dad: I don’t want my daughter lugging suitcases on the L.
Dad: I’ll send Giorgio.
Me: Sure
Me: whatever you want
I know he won’t register my sarcasm, but it still feels good to put it out there.
Two hours later, Brendon, McKenna, and I are in the back of Dad’s limousine, singing show tunes.
“Angelica!” McKenna belts.
“Eliza!” I sing.
“And Peggy,” Brendon croons.
I can only imagine what Giorgio must think of us. But he unloads our baggage at the curb, and we go inside to check it and get our boarding passes.
One foot past security, I stop in my tracks.
The Sophias are there, waving enthusiastically at me.
“What the hell is this?” Brendon murmurs. “It’s like the cast of Toddlers in Tiaras grew up.”
“Can you believe it?” Sophia 1 says, running up to me.
“Your dad called us,” Sophia 2 says, right behind her.
No, Dad. You didn’t.
“We’ve been trying to message you, especially when you didn’t show up at school today,” Sophia 1 says.
“Yeah, why weren’t you there?” asks Sophia 2.
“I needed a break.” Unspoken: from people like you. “Why are you here?”
“Your dad invited us,” Sophia 2 says. “He said he talked to you.”
“Come on, we’re good friends, right?” adds Sophia 1. “It’s time to put all that other bullshit behind us.”
Brendon clears his throat. “Bullshit?”
“It’s nothing,” I say. “Forget it.”
“Oh no you don’t,” Brendon says. “Do tell.”
I look from the Weekes twins to the Sophias. I could smooth it over. I could grit my teeth and pretend everything’s okay, so that we can have a nice weekend, free of awkwardness.
But that would be a lie. I’m so sick of secrets and lies and things that aren’t what they seem to be. I take a deep breath. “I caught them talking about me on a group text.”
McKenna gasps—nice and dramatic—and loops an arm through mine.
“They don’t think I’m talented,” I continue, looking from one shocked Sophia to the other. “They think I’m bratty, and they think my dad’s gotten me every role I’ve ever landed.”
“Outrageous,” Brendon says.
“Her dad didn’t set foot in the casting hall for Annie,” McKenna says. “And she freaking landed it!”
“Annie?” Sophia 1 says. “Like, the lead?”
“Here’s the thing,” McKenna says. “There’s nothing more prestigious about a lead than a supporting role. The prestige is in the art form itself. You’re impressed only if she lands the mothership, but we love her even if she’s in the orchestra pit.”
“Look, if we’re going to have a good time this weekend?” Sophia 1 says, “we should start off on the right foot? So maybe we should start over?”
My heart is hammering, and I’m half-thrilled and half-horrified that I’ve been so blunt. “I don’t know why my dad invited you,” I say. “I didn’t ask him to do that. And I’m not going to pretend we’re friends. But since you’re here, I agree: we should make the best of it.”
“Great!” Sophia 2 says brightly. “We’re going to have so much fun.”
“Or we’ll go our way,” Brendon says, “and you go yours.”
“Perfect,” I say.
“So rude,” Sophia 1 mutters as the two of them saunter off toward the gate. “We come all this way, and he has the nerve—”
“Oh my God,” Brendon says. “Is that what you deal with every day at school?”
“Yes. Every day.”
“You so need to get out of that place.”
I get a text from my dad.
Dad: Karissa and I are already in the first-class lounge.
Dad: Come on up.
My jaw drops. “He brought Miss Karissa.”
“Who’s Miss Karissa?”
“His girlfriend. The one he’s been with for years. And for some reason, he usually keeps us far away from each other. So this is a big deal. I have to tell my sister.” I’m already texting Hayley.
“Interesting,” McKenna says. “Let’s go meet her.”
A sense of calm washes over me. None
of it matters—not the Sophias, not Miss Karissa. I’m heading to New York with my two new best friends—my colleagues.
And someday soon, we’re going to take a bite of that apple ourselves.
Chapter 24
You know Miss Karissa.
Younger than my mom, and since Mom’s too young for Dad, Miss Karissa is definitely too young.
Very thin. Long dark hair with a part down the middle. Cheekbones so sculpted you’re looking for the plastic surgeon behind the curtain.
If I were looking at her profile picture, I might read something like this on her bio.
Occupation: gold digger.
Location: nearest Tiffany’s.
Philosophy: smiling gives you wrinkles.
“She’s gorgeous,” Brendon whispers as we enter the VIP lounge.
I shrug. “She is.”
“Do you think she’s sucking on a Lemonhead?” McKenna asks. “Or do you think her lips are just naturally puckered?”
Dad and Miss Karissa are in the depths of a conversation that looks rather pinched. Maybe that’s why she looks like she just ate something sour.
When we approach them, Dad jumps up. “There you are, honey. And the infamous Weekes twins!”
“Dad, this is Brendon and McKenna. We were all cast in Annie together.”
“Ah, excellent,” Dad says. “Congratulations all around. And July!” He puts up a hand for a high five. “You’ll kill it, kid.”
I slap his hand—can’t leave him hanging—although it feels childish.
“July’s a little lost,” Dad says. “Sad. But she knows there’s a better tomorrow out there. It’s the perfect role for you. You can play melodrama to the hilt, you know.”
“She’s fabulous,” Brendon agrees.
“Got that right.” Now Dad offers the high five to Brendon.
“Dad,” I mutter. I know my dad thinks I’m awesome. He’s supposed to think so. And I know he can talk roles to death, but this is hardly the place. My cheeks grow hot with embarrassment.
But Brendon slaps him five anyway and says, “Thanks for having us.”
“Of course, glad you’re here. Where are Sophia and Sophia?” Dad asks.
“I don’t know,” I say stiffly. “I’m sure they’ll be here soon.”
Miss Karissa stands up next to Dad. “Good to see you all,” she says. She has a surprisingly deep, serious voice, like she’s about to negotiate a merger with us or something. I don’t know what she does for a living, but I assume it’s not that.
She shakes hands with the Weekes twins and introduces herself, but just as she’s turning to me Dad says, “Karissa and I are in the middle of something.” He pulls his wallet from his pocket and hands me a few hundred-dollar bills. “Go grab some dinner, and we’ll meet you at boarding.”
Brendon’s jaw drops. Once Dad is out of earshot he says, “Girl. That was cold.”
“Sorry,” I say to my friends. “This is just the sort of thing he does.”
“There are worse things,” McKenna says. “Might as well work it, right?”
“Yeah, I just wish he were more . . . genuine. I wish he actually wanted to spend time with me.” I almost can’t believe I’m speaking the words aloud. Admitting that he’s been placating me with gifts, while withholding everything that matters ever since he and Mom split, seems rather pathetic.
“Well, our old man doesn’t want to spend time with us or give us money,” Brendon says. “You can’t control what they do. Just make the best of it.”
I nod. “Not a bad life philosophy.”
“And speaking of life philosophies . . . cheese fries, anyone?”
Chapter 25
We get to Manhattan really late, and by the time we’ve settled into the suite at the Marriott, we’re all exhausted.
I’ve barely spoken to the Sophias, and I think that’s just fine with them. They accomplished their goal. They’re here, and my father paid their way.
The suite is large enough that the Sophias can hang in one room, and Brendon, McKenna, and I can occupy the rest, so that’s what’s going to happen. Brendon’s chosen a bedroom, the Sophias have chosen another, and McKenna and I will share the third.
My father sends up dinner for us to share, but even for that we don’t attempt to mesh. The Sophias make plates for themselves and eat in their room, while we eat in the living room in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Times Square.
Despite the fact that this weekend is turning out much differently than I expected, it’s absolutely perfect.
The uninvited girls from Saint Mary’s lean out of their lair. “We’re heading out in pursuit of alcohol. Want any?”
“No.”
“No.”
“No thanks,” I say.
“Suit yourself,” Sophia 1 says.
“Be careful,” McKenna says. But she rolls her eyes when she says it, and once the door is closed she punctuates with, “Or don’t.”
“I can’t believe your dad did this to you,” Brendon says. “I mean, it’s great that he’s trying to give you these experiences, but after the way those girls treated you . . .”
“Well, in his defense,” I say, “he doesn’t know about it.”
“How could you not tell him?” McKenna demands.
I shrug. “We just don’t talk about that stuff.”
“Why not?”
“You don’t talk to your dad,” I say. “You already told me he’s not super involved in your life.”
“Right,” McKenna says. “But your dad is involved in your life. He’s your manager. You should be able to be honest with him.”
“We just don’t have that kind of relationship. I mean, we do talk. We have fun. But none of it’s all that deep, you know? I think if Dad’s really careful,” I say, “we can go this entire weekend without seeing him.”
The Sophias return to the suite with a snagged bottle.
“Ah,” Brendon says. “Fruitful mission.”
“Got it off a room service tray in the hallway,” Sophia 1 says. “It’s warm, but we’re gonna get ice. Last chance. Want any?”
“We’re good,” I say.
“Okay, then,” Sophia 2 says. “More for us.” They disappear into their bedroom.
“We have an early day,” McKenna says. “I’m gonna hit the hay.”
“We won’t be up too much later, either,” Brendon says.
But once McKenna’s gone, I stare out at Times Square at the Jumbotron flashing pictures and ads, and it feels so amazing to be here again. “I don’t want this night to end.”
“It’s a pretty unbelievable place,” Brendon says.
I imagine my picture flashing up on that large screen. Madelaine Joseph IS . . . Thoroughly Modern Millie!
“Do you think it’ll happen for us one day?” I ask. “Do you think someday, some group of wannabes is going to be sitting here, in this room, looking out at the square and saying: I can’t believe I’m going to meet Brendon Weekes tomorrow!”
“I can’t believe Madelaine Joseph just shook my hand!”
We laugh.
“I just don’t see any other way to do life,” I say. “I love performing. I love being onstage, and—” I think of my mom. “I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t be onstage anymore.”
“Then we have to make sure you’re always there.”
He’s sitting beside me now, and together we gaze out at the glowing lights. “I love this city,” I continue. “And it’s not that I don’t like Chicago, because I do. But this place . . . it feels like home.”
He puts an arm around me.
I tense at first, but after a moment I relax against him. He’s done this before, but always when McKenna was with us and in on the group hug, so it felt less . . . intimate.
“I think you truly belong here,” he says.
“I just hope this city eventually learns to love me as much as I love her.”
“She will. McKenna adores you, you know, but when she saw she was r
eading for the same parts you read for . . . she about lost her cool. Girl, you’re legendary.”
“Shut up.”
“We saw you in Mary Poppins when we were kids, and McKenna was all . . . I want to be that girl.”
I laugh.
“I’m serious. You’re the reason we’re here now. The reason we audition, the reason we go to the academy.”
I look up at him. He looks down at me.
“You know what?” I say. “I want to play you a song.”
He smiles. “What a coincidence. I want to listen to a song.”
I tap on the Lyrically icon and find my song. My notes fill the room, and if I block out the rest of the world, it seems even the lights on the square below are flashing in time with the riff of my guitar.
Just you and the stage. Mom’s voice is in my head. As always.
And I sing, staring out at the city I love.
By the time I finish the song, Brendon has a hand over his heart. “You. Are. Talented.” With his other hand, he touches my knee briefly, in a kind of pat-slash-squeeze, and while it surprises me, it doesn’t bother me. “This is a whole other side of you.”
“I know. It’s the me side of me. It’s still a performance, but it’s different from, say, pretending I’m July. It’s more like performing the truest, deepest version of myself.”
Brendon nods. “That takes a lot of work. And guts. And—”
“Oh, sorry to interrupt.” The Sophias rush through the room with the ice bucket. They snicker as they bolt out of the room.
I realize how close Brendon and I are sitting and lean back a bit. “I think they just got the wrong idea,” I say.
“Wouldn’t be the first time that happened to me.”
We laugh, and suddenly I think of Mom, of how she’d love to be here. If she were here, she’d be in this suite with us, enjoying the view, watching movies, talking, telling stories about her days on stage until we couldn’t keep our eyes open any more.
I miss her.
“None of this is happening the way it was supposed to happen,” I tell Brendon. “My sister, Hayley, stopped coming along on these trips, and it’s never the same without her. And since then, I’ve come with people I don’t really fit in with because I don’t really fit in with anyone at my school.”
“Thus, you should come to our school.”