Show Mode

by Raquel Rivera

  I shake my head. What’s she talking about? And by the way, thanks for the apology for smashing up my knees. They’ll be fine eventually.

  “I mean, it’s not just this. It’s everything. Fashion Show.”

  I sit up. Where’s she going with this?

  “I mean, Dawn trashes your two best friends, and you don’t even care. All you think about is your precious show.”

  That’s not quite true. As the line moves forward, Sandra rummages through her jacket for cash. All of a sudden she looks like she might cry.

  “We could’ve reported it,” I say. “You didn’t want to.” I’m not trying to argue, but that’s what happened.

  “Who cares about reporting? You didn’t care! What kind of friend doesn’t show sympathy? I know I’m fat”—Sandra’s face goes red—“but I have feelings.”

  I don’t know what to say. I guess I was thinking about our act. But I put up with stuff from Sandra too. I’ve got the throbbing patellas to prove it. And there was my humiliation in singing class, don’t forget (although, trust me, I’ve been trying to).

  “Willow was mad for me. But not you—you’re too busy wanting to be perfect!”

  I can feel my mouth hanging open. I stop rubbing my knees. Too much is whirling through my head. Sandra and I have always been different. Together we balance. We make a good team. But these days we just get on each other’s nerves. Is this what people mean when they talk about friends growing apart? Am I turning into a priss? Is Sandra becoming a mean brute?

  I close my mouth. The greasy air in here is making me feel sick. Can’t we all just get along? At least until Fashion Show? I remember Seth’s advice when we were making costumes. Be cool, he said. Eyes on the prize.

  Sandra looks at me as if she can hear everything in my head. She jams the flight mask into her pocket, steps out of line and stomps out the door.

  “Sandra, wait—”

  Just. Freaking. Perfect. I take a deep breath, push myself up and hobble back to drama class.

  * * *

  I arrive late. Another partner team is bragging how they made twelve dollars in change by sitting on the corner, holding out a cap.

  “So why do you call this theater and not begging?” the teacher asks while giving me the hairy eyeball. Willow tucks up her legs so I can lean back against the armchair she’s sitting in. We hold drama class in the so-called lounge off the cafeteria. Kids are sitting everywhere—on the arms of sofas, on the side tables and on the floor, like me.

  “Oh, that’s easy, man. I was singing. I had my eyes closed,” one partner explains.

  The other joins in. “Yeah, he was doing a Stevie Wonder head sway and everything, ha-ha!”

  They both break down in laughter, fending off a flurry of high fives and fist bumps from their neighbors.

  “All right, all right,” the teacher says, looking around the room. “Anyone else?” His gaze rests on me. He’s picking on me because I got back late. I consider showing the injuries sustained in our little drama, but Sandra jumps in.

  “Adina and I both took a turn being blind.” She’s staring hard at me, like I’m going to say something different. “I think we both see a little better now.” She makes it sound like a threat.

  But the teacher likes her answer. He thinks it’s profound.

  “Look, I’m sorry.” I finally catch up with Sandra by our lockers. “You’re right, okay? I should have stood up for you—or stood by you—before with Dawn. I didn’t realize she hurt your feelings. But I should’ve, because what she said was messed up.”

  Sandra looks into my eyes for a while. She’s trying to figure out if I mean it. Well, I do, because it’s true. And someone has to apologize first, right?

  Thirteen

  We’re all in Seth’s rec room, resplendent in our costumes. Sandra and Willow love them as much as I do. How could they not? We’re fabulous in them!

  They’re twirling and twisting to see if the fit is all right. Their necklines slip like mine did, so Seth starts upstairs for a needle and thread.

  “Can you do that later?” I plead. He knows I don’t have long to practice. My brother has a hockey game, and my parents are forcing me to go with them.

  I turn on Seth’s mix and we do a quick run-through. We’re not too bad.

  “Willow, you lag on your way back to the line,” I tell her. “It’s got to be bam, bam, bam.” I snap my fingers at each beat. “Let’s try that bit again.”

  I cue the music and hurry into place. “There, like that.” Snap, snap, snap. “Better—good!” Willow could lighten up on the scowling, but I don’t say anything because at least her time is tighter. Besides, the costumes are making our moves really swing. “Let’s keep going—looks good, Sandra!”

  As Sandra sashays by, she flashes me a massive eye roll. “Take it easy, Cheer Squad.”

  But I’ve got bigger problems than Sandra being snotty, because Seth is flubbing his helicopter move. This happens about half the time, which makes me nervous.

  So long as he’s swinging his leg forward, it slides under each arm and the other leg, fast and smooth, over and over. But he insists on changing direction too. When he tries spinning his leg in a backward circle, it catches. It’s weak.

  “Seth, forget it. Just do it forward. It will look worse if you mess up.”

  “Then how ’bout you shut up, so I can get it right?” he says through gritted teeth.

  No problem. We’ll keep two-stepping forever, while you struggle on. Fine. I won’t mention it again.

  But if I were to say something more, I’d tell him the problem is not only the helicopter move itself. What I’d tell him—even though he snapped at me—is how frustrated he gets when he flubs his helicopter, and how it ruins his concentration for the rest of the act. In front of the judges, we can’t afford to have Seth dancing as if he’d rather be anywhere else.

  “We need more water,” I say instead.

  Rushing upstairs to the kitchen, I remind myself we have a great act. I go through it in my head, step by step. I see us moving down the runway, the judges watching from the side. Sandra, Seth and I are in a row, doing a slide-dip-slide move, as Willow shimmies in front, making her flashlight shine.

  I know our act is as good as anything I’ve seen in all my years watching Fashion Show. Especially when you include the flashlights and costumes. If we can perform it slick and sharp, I know the judges will choose us for the show.

  But then I see Willow flaking out, doing all her moves backward or something equally Willowesque. I see Sandra hardly trying when she’s in backup position—overdoing her ambitious-singer character and messing up the act as a whole. And I see Seth dancing like a sulky zombie because of a helicopter fail. I’m so wrapped up in my thoughts, I’m already at the kitchen sink before I notice the Prima Donnas are here too. I screech.

  “Sorry!” My laugh sounds like I’m choking. “I didn’t see you guys.”

  Jill’s at the table, her long legs tucked up, crumbling a half-eaten muffin. Sofia’s sprawled across from her, most unballerina-like. Dawn’s leaning against the counter. As I reach for the tap to refill my water jug, Dawn puts her finger on her lips, like I should be quiet. Ghostly scraps of conversation are coming up through the heating vent.

  “…driving me up the wall…”

  “…tell her to chill.”

  “I doubt she’s gonna go for that…”

  I put my hands against the sink to steady myself. The Donnas are listening to how much my friends hate me right now. I think this is a new low for me.

  They’re all staring at me. I can feel my face wobble into a weak smile. I pray to dissolve into nothingness before their eyes—at least it would be a spectacular exit. Then I wouldn’t have to go back downstairs either.

  When that doesn’t happen, I refill the water jug instead. I’ll go back down and face the music. I’m sure it’ll make excellent heating-vent entertainment for the Donnas.

  “You’re right, you know.” Dawn leans ove
r to grab some of Jill’s muffin. “They’re not taking it seriously. And they need to, if they want to be good.”

  What did she say? The water’s spilling over the jug, but I’m too frozen with shock to move. No one’s ever agreed with my turbo ways before—except maybe my parents.

  “You think?” My voice is tiny. I switch off the tap and slowly turn around. Maybe they’re making fun.

  But they’re not. They’re looking at me like I’m a human being—like we share a common interest. Which I guess we do—the fine art of Fashion Show.

  It feels like three beautiful guardian angels have descended. Or like I’m Dorothy, new in Oz, watching the approach of three good witches, floating in glowing bubbles.

  “Yeah. Right?” My voice is louder this time. I feel strong again. Buoyant and bouncy. I can do this. I can make the act perfect. I can make Seth, Willow and Sandra see the light.

  “You’ve got some nice ideas going down there,” Sofia concedes.

  Jill gives me a smirk. “We were spying.”

  That’s okay! That’s totally okay! I want to ask them for any notes they might have. In drama, notes are when the director tells you how much you suck. But I can’t make any changes to the act now. I’ve already got my hands full with the gang downstairs. “No, look, spying is great.” I really appreciate their interest. “I’m sorry about—all that—at the gym—” I wave my hands and make a crazy face to show how I go a little nuts sometimes.

  Dawn nods. “Yeah, I’m kinda sorry too. I shouldn’t be making fatty comments, especially when I’m such a tub myself.” She stares at the morsel of muffin in her hand and puts in on the counter.

  “You’re a tub? What about me?” Sofia sits up, lifts her shirt and struggles to pull a scrawny pinch of skin off her abs.

  Jill turns to me. Her eyes are massively crossed. She looks hilarious—I burst out laughing. Sofia and Dawn look offended.

  “Sorry,” I splutter. “She just—” I gesture toward Jill. Of course I’m not going to contradict the Donnas, not when they’re being nice to me, but they have clearly lost their minds. Then, as I turn toward Dawn, something worse pops out instead.

  “Maybe you should apologize to Sandra,” I say.

  I can’t believe I said that out loud.

  Dawn narrows her eyes at me. I hold my breath.

  “Maybe I will,” she says.

  I grab the jug and take off before I can open my big mouth again.

  * * *

  Downstairs, they’re waiting for me.

  “Adina, we have to talk,” Willow says.

  Things must be extreme if Willow is speaking for the group. The others probably don’t trust themselves to be civil. Well, they should be more mature, because we’ve got a fine act. We just need to get consistent with our performance.

  I remain standing. I hope my example will encourage them to get back to practicing. I try for a friendly yet professional expression. They don’t need to know I already heard what they think.

  “We think you can stop being bossy now. Nobody made you queen, you know.” Sandra takes the water jug to fill our cups.

  “That’s not what we said,” Willow blurts out, glaring at Sandra. “We just think that maybe you’re…” She’s tugging on her hair like she does when she’s giving presentations in class. It means she’s searching for words. “We’re not dancers, Adina, and you seem to forget that.”

  “Speak for yourself.” Seth leans back into the couch, his hands linked behind his head. “I’m badass at dancing. My moves be smooth.”

  I’ve got to smile. His moves be mostly smooth. But Seth’s done so much for this act, when I think of it. He mixed the music. He did the costumes—basically by himself. He brought in the flashlights, and his break-dancing solo is one of our highlights.

  Then my phone alarm goes off. There’s no time to argue. I’ve got to be outside on the front porch in five minutes, waiting for my family to pick me up.

  “Okay. I agree.” What else can I say? “But let’s have one last run-through. Let’s make it our best ever.”

  Fourteen

  Now, waiting for everyone at Coffee Hut, I’ve got butterflies in my stomach. It’s like the night before a big test. Or when the dentist is coming at your face with a giant steel needle full of Novocain. It’s not a good feeling. Fashion Show auditions are tomorrow.

  We’re not ready. We’re not good enough. I mean—maybe we’re okay.

  I wish I felt more confident about the act, considering all the stress and strife that’s gone into it. I feel like it should be…well, something more, you know? I should feel more cool, more accomplished. But instead I feel as insignificant as when I was a little kid in the audience, gazing up at the teenagers on the runway. The only difference is now it’s my butt on the line. Is this stage fright? Because none of this is how I dreamed it would be.

  And it’s not helping that all the other Coffee Hut customers are staring as they pass my table. I know I look like a doof. Here I am at a big table, just me and four large iced mocha lattes with extra whipped cream. I look like I have imaginary friends. Or, worse, that these fluffy drinks of sweet deliciousness are my friends.

  It’s not my fault the others are late. I sip the drink in front of me. I’m beginning to wonder if this was such a good idea after all. With my used-up Coffee Hut card, I tap out a beat against the table. Buying a round of special coffees seemed like a great way to get everyone in a team spirit again. I was trying for positivity and good leadership, but right now it feels more like a bribe. A bribe that no one seems to want.

  I almost don’t recognize myself. For the past while, the way my insides have been feeling and the way I’ve been acting—it hasn’t been matching up. I’ve been trying to be chill, like Seth says. I’ve been pretending I think the act is good enough when I know it can be better. How come Sandra gets to vent her usual snarkiness while I’m killing myself to smooth everything over?

  Because auditions are tomorrow, that’s why. Because my dream is to be in Fashion Show.

  “Take a picture, why don’t you,” I murmur around my straw. These two businessmen are staring at me. They’ve got Bluetooth phones coming out their ears. They start circling my table, as if they deserve it more than me. One of them is now closing in to say something. Please, please, I pray, let him be interrupted by an important call. I deserve this table as much as anyone.

  “Seth!” I jump up and practically knock whipped cream all over the businessman’s suit. “Over here!” I’m waving like a fool, I’m so relieved. How could I think no one would show up? These are my friends. Fashion Show is making me crazy.

  Seth puts his bundle on a seat, then comes around to sit next to me. I push a latte toward him. “Is that for Sandra and Willow?” I ask, eyes on the plastic bag. Seth must have finished the alterations on their costumes. Before he can answer, I tell him, “They’re late.”

  “Yup, I see that.” He takes a long pull on his straw. The whipped cream lowers in the cup. I go back to sipping my drink, eyes shifting to the door. Why aren’t they here by now?

  “How many coffees have you been drinking?” Seth looks at me sideways. He scoops whipped cream, using his straw like a lever.

  “Just this one. Why?” I can’t stop checking the door. It’s swinging open and closed, open and closed. People pass in and out, letting in a whoosh of cold air every time. None of them are Sandra and Willow.

  Finally, I have a sighting. “Oh, there’s Willow!” I pop up again, do my mad wave, and Willow floats our way. I push a latte at her as she takes a seat. “Where’s Sandra?” Sandra and Willow are both in the woodwind chamber-music group—I figured they’d be coming together after practice.

  Willow shrugs. She’s got this dazed, blank expression on her face. Seth hustles her back to standing, pulling out her costume. He takes her drink from her hand, putting it on the table.

  “Wasn’t Sandra with you at chamber group?” I raise my voice a little, because Willow may not be able to hear me wi
th the costume over her head like that.

  “What?” Her voice is muffled by ripples of gold.

  I try a little louder. “I said—”

  But a look from Seth stops me. He’s mouthing something—I have no idea what. But his eyebrows are low, practically crossing in the middle, so maybe I don’t want to know. I get the general message.

  I slump back in my chair and make straw noises with the melting ice chips in my cup. Seth is tugging on the costume and trying to get Willow to stand straight. Why is everyone being so difficult?

  I close my eyes and think of Florida. Not that Florida is my happy place or anything. It’s because when our family visited the Everglades, there was this murky, thick, still water. It was full of vines and weeds and general grossness—all tangling around snakes and alligators. At the time, I felt lucky to be skimming the surface of the whole mess in an airboat. Now it feels like I’m waist deep in it, calling everyone from their wanderings in the reeds, trying to shove them toward dry land. Don’t you hate it when people don’t understand what’s good for them?

  The whipped cream on Sandra’s coffee must be defluffing by now. I could open my eyes to check, but knowing would only make me feel worse. Has she decided to ditch us? No, I firmly tell myself, don’t think like that—Sandra wouldn’t do that. Sandra knows that if she bails, the act is ruined. The whole number leads up to her grand finale. If we have to audition without it, our act will end in a sad pffft. Sandra absolutely has to show.

  “Is Adina napping or something?”

  My eyes flip open. Sandra’s standing before me, hand on hip, slurping coffee. Relief!

  All my muscles go limp, like I’ve been holding my breath for the last half hour. Then I jump up, but since there’s nothing for me to do, I sit back down. Seth starts in with his costume magic, and Sandra submits as if she was born to be fussed over. Willow is finishing her coffee, gleaming in gold, while catching up Sandra on their music homework. Everyone’s finally here.

  So why am I annoyed?

  “You guys look great!” I’m trying for cheerful, but it sounds fake even to me. All three of them turn and stare. I want to dump coffee dregs over their heads, but that would ruin the costumes. I realize no one’s apologized for being late. No one has thanked me for the drinks. I realize I hate my friends.