CHARLIE (V.O.)
I tried to imagine everyone in the world, all the zillions of people on this huge planet, living their lives and doing their own stuff every day, while all the time there’s other stuff happening, some of it good and some not so good, and sometimes we’re happy and sometimes we’re not, and none of it, not one tiny bit of it, will ever matter in the grand scheme of the Universe. Wow. Did I really want to believe such a depressing thing? Could I believe it?
Dissolve to …
EXTERIOR. OPEQUONSETT TOWN CENTER—LATE MORNING
A wide shot of the storefronts at the north end of Wampanoag Road. At one end of the screen we see Charlie ambling along the sidewalk toward Wen, who is half a block away, near the center of the frame. Wen is in his wiener outfit but he isn’t jumping around or anything. In fact, he isn’t moving at all. He’s staring into space looking depressed.
CHARLIE (V.O.)
We’d finished our recordings in Lyle’s garage, but now the days felt bleaker than ever because our brief moment of relief was over. The project had at least been something to work on, and now Lemonade Mouth’s future seemed nothing but empty. The weight on all of us was starting to show. Especially on Wen. A few hours after the five of us met at Bruno’s, I decided to take a walk into town to catch him before he finished his wiener shift.
Charlie is near Wen now, and the camera has been slowly closing in on them. They exchange nods of greeting, but otherwise Wen hardly moves and his cheerless expression remains. Charlie remains silent. The two friends gaze across the traffic together, a picture of quiet sadness.
CHARLIE (V.O.) (CONT’D)
It was pretty obvious to me that something was up with him and Olivia, and being the only other guy in the band, I wanted to let him know I was there for him if he wanted to talk about … you know … anything.
WEN
(softly, almost to himself, still not looking at Charlie)
What does it mean when a girl keeps so many secrets? Sometimes I don’t even know what to think. I have no idea where I stand with her.
CHARLIE
Dude, you’re nuts. She’s crazy about you. Anybody can see that.
WEN
Oh yeah? Then why did she stand me up last night? We were supposed to go to the movies together, but she didn’t show. She never answered my calls either. Or my texts.
CHARLIE
(takes this in)
Um, I don’t know. I really don’t. But I’m sure there was a reason. Something must have happened.
WEN
Right … well … maybe I’d feel better about it if she just told me what it was. Or maybe I could laugh it off if weird stuff didn’t keep happening all the time with her. But it does, Charlie. When something’s wrong she won’t admit it. She bottles herself up and won’t let me in. I don’t know if she’s mad at me or … or what.
CHARLIE
Listen to you. You’re driving yourself crazy. Wen, whatever this is, I’m sure she’ll tell you eventually. She’s just one of those people who has a hard time opening up about certain things. You know that. It’s how she is. It’s how she’s always been.
WEN
(unconvinced)
Yeah, I know. I know …
(sighs)
… and I get it, I do. She doesn’t have to tell me what’s going on. Why should she? It’s not like I’m even her boyfriend or anything. To her I’m just another friend, I guess. A regular friend, and that’s better than nothing, right? Why should we have to be more than that? It’s no big deal.…
CHARLIE (V.O.)
This was even worse than I thought. Wen was a complete mess, and it was hard to watch. It was obvious he was hurting.
A passing car honks and somebody calls a greeting to them as they continue driving past. Wen dutifully holds up the WIENERS ON WHEELS sign and waves his huge rubber hand, but the effect is nothing less than pathetic. Through the wiener costume’s face hole we can see his expression. There’s no joy in him right now. As he continues to stare blankly ahead, Charlie looks on in dismay.
CHARLIE (V.O.) (CONT’D)
I wanted to help him. I wanted to fix this somehow, but I knew there was nothing I could say or do to make him feel any better at that moment. He wasn’t going to listen.
Wen’s cell phone alarm goes off, a short, complicated trumpet solo.
CHARLIE
What was that?
WEN
(yanking one of his gloves off)
“Salt Peanuts.” Dizzy Gillespie. It means my shift is finally over and I can go home.
As Wen starts taking off his other glove, we see Charlie’s mind working, still searching for a way to help.
CHARLIE
Hey, I know—why don’t we head over to Goldy Records and look through their old LPs? We both love that, and it’ll get our minds off … well, everything else.
Wen looks over at him. His expression changes. For the first time in the whole conversation he looks almost excited about something.
WEN
That’s actually a good idea, Charlie. Let’s do it.
CHARLIE (V.O.)
But it was not to be, because just at that moment, like an untimely grenade tossed at us by the fickle hand of fate, who was to appear over his shoulder but Olivia. She was rushing toward us with her accordion case gripped in her hand.
Wen notices the direction of Charlie’s gaze. Now he sees her too. His distant expression returns.
OLIVIA
(still approaching, a little out of breath)
Looks like I just made it in time! Guys, I have a new riff idea I want to play for you. Can you stick around a little longer and work on it with me?
CHARLIE
Hey, Olivia.
Olivia sets down her case and, crouching, starts to open it. Wen’s face is stony.
WEN
So are you going to tell me what happened last night?
(off her blank look)
The movies? Remember?
By her expression it’s clear that she’s only now remembering and feels terrible about it. She stands up again.
OLIVIA
Oh no. Wen. I’m so sorry. I completely forgot.
WEN
And the messages I left for you? You didn’t get those?
Olivia appears confused at first, and then suddenly realizes …
OLIVIA
Oh no. I’d turned my phone off …
(checks it)
… and look, it’s still off. Oh … hey, you must be mad. I get that. I deserve it. Listen, I really am sorry. I never meant—
WEN
(holds up his hand to cut her off)
It’s no big deal, Olivia. It’s okay. You don’t have to explain what happened or where you were. Now or ever. It’s not like I have any special claim to your trust or your time. You were busy, that’s all. The details are none of my business. I don’t want to pry.
OLIVIA
What? No, Wen … I—
WEN
Look, I gotta go. There’s a bunch of stuff I gotta do. See you guys later.
He spins his still-costumed body around and stalks away.
OLIVIA
Wen …
CHARLIE
Come on, Wen. Don’t.
But he’s still going. Olivia’s frozen, staring at his back.
CHARLIE (CONT’D)
Are you okay, Olivia?
OLIVIA
(quiet, looking away from him)
Yeah, I’ll be fine. I … I have to go now, though. Bye, Charlie.
She snatches up her accordion, and before Charlie can stop her she’s already disappearing down the sidewalk, head low, rushing back the way she came.
CHARLIE (V.O.)
There I was, stuck in the middle as two of the closest friends I’d ever had stormed off in opposite directions, furious with each other. I wanted to shout, “Wen! Olivia! Stop! Please don’t fight!” But it was no use.
The camera backs slowly away as the distance between Wen
and Olivia widens.
CHARLIE (V.O.) (CONT’D)
Sometimes you can be right there watching while your friends, who you know care deeply about each other, make a big mistake, but there’s nothing you can do to fix the situation. Stuff happens. That’s just the way life is. I was sad not only for them, but for all of us. This was bigger than any lost contract. Before my eyes, Lemonade Mouth was falling apart.
WEN
One Burning Question
“What’s going on, Wen? It’s a beautiful day and you’ve been flopping on that sofa doing nothing for ages. It’s kind of dark in there too. Everything okay?”
“Peachy,” I answered, not even bothering to look up. “Everything’s just grand.”
In my peripheral vision I could see Sydney considering my answer for a moment, but that was when the person on the other end of the phone (Sydney was on hold during a long business call with an antiques buyer) must have come back, because Sydney ducked into the kitchen again and started talking about Victorian chamber pots. Which was good. I didn’t want to speak with her or anyone else. My trumpet was nearby, but I didn’t want to play it. I didn’t want to do anything. Which was why I’d retreated into my dad’s little office off our kitchen, pulled down the shades and thrown myself onto the ancient excuse for a couch my dad kept in there.
Nothing in my life was working out.
Lemonade Mouth? A complete wash with no future. My dad’s business? Failing. Nobody was admitting it out loud yet, but despite how hard my dad was working, it was pretty obvious from his phone calls that selling hot dogs wasn’t bringing in enough money to pay all the bills. My own personal prospects? Ha. Put it this way: despite everything, I was still a big goofy frankfurter waving at traffic on a street corner. ’Nuff said.
And then, of course, there was Olivia.
My concern for her had been growing through most of July. There was something happening with her, but I couldn’t do anything to help if I didn’t know what it was. And then she disappeared for a whole day and conveniently forgot to mention it to me, even though we had plans? What was up with that? Did I do something wrong? Was she mad at me? I just think that if a person who cares about you is upset with you they ought to tell you so. Was that asking too much?
But at the center of it all was one issue, the burning question I kept coming back to even though it was eating me up inside: how can anybody ever get close to a person who keeps you at a distance? Okay, so maybe I wasn’t her official boyfriend or anything, but I cared about her. A lot.
And that’s why, when there was a knock at the door, I was sitting in a dark room staring into space and wondering if anything in my life would ever make sense. I noticed George padding past, and a minute later his head reappeared in the office doorway.
“Somebody’s here for you,” he said.
“Yeah?” I asked, only vaguely curious. “Who?”
“Olivia.”
The information worked its way through the fog of my brain, and then I leapt up from the sofa so fast that it made me dizzy. When that passed, I straightened my T-shirt and went out to meet her. There she was on the front steps. As soon as she saw me her forehead wrinkled. She was looking at me like I had an extra nose.
“Olivia. What’s wrong?”
“Your hair,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it do that before.”
I touched it with my hand, immediately realizing that one side of it was flat to my head and part of it was sticking up. “I was on the sofa,” I admitted. “Resting, sort of.”
She nodded.
“Um … want to come in?”
There was a blast of electronic sound behind me—George, firing up a noisy video game. Olivia leaned around my shoulder to glance inside.
“No, I don’t think so,” she said after a moment. “Not here. Come walk with me? We need to talk.”
My stomach sank. Whenever my dad said “we need to talk” it was never, ever good news. But I nodded.
A minute later, after I took a few seconds to comb my hair, we were walking quietly down my street in the direction of the beach. And when I say quietly, I mean we weren’t talking—not at all. I was waiting for Olivia to begin but she wasn’t doing it, and the tension just got worse and worse. It was horrible. I could pretty much guess what was going on. I wasn’t even sure if it was technically possible to break up with someone you weren’t officially going out with in the first place, and yet I felt positive that that was exactly what was about to happen. My world was teetering and my mouth was dry and I wanted to curl up and hide. I told myself to put on a game face, as if I didn’t care about anything and nobody could hurt me.
If she wasn’t going to talk, then I wasn’t either.
Finally we reached the beach. We walked to the far end beyond the big boulders to an area where few people ever go, and that’s where we sat down in the sand. I tried to stay calm even as my throat was tightening and the world was about to fall apart. We were alone, just Olivia and me, gazing out at the water with the smell of sea salt in the air and a gentle breeze in our faces. Behind us, the sun was on its way down.
“I know I haven’t been very open with you,” she said at last, running her fingers through the sand, “but this has been a weird time for me. I’m sorry. I really am. But I want you to know that it’s never been about trust. I trust you. It’s just that having a hard time trusting others is something that’s been going on throughout my entire life and … well … old habits die hard.”
“Okay …,” I said, trying to understand.
“The reason I was away yesterday, the reason I forgot about going to the movies with you and ended up being so exhausted this morning that I slept through my alarm, was that I was in Massachusetts. I was visiting my mother.”
It was like an explosion that hit me in waves. At first I wasn’t sure I’d heard her right. Olivia’s mother had disappeared when she was really young. This was big. Huge.
“Your mother? Oh my god, Olivia.”
She nodded. “I told you. The past few weeks have been … weird.”
With her arms wrapped around her knees, she explained to me how she’d heard from her mom, whose name was Jess, and how her grandmother had known that she’d been back for a while but hadn’t said anything. I listened, but I had a hard time taking it all in. No wonder it wasn’t easy for her to talk about this stuff. A thing like this would have been an emotional roller coaster for anyone, but it must have tied Olivia in knots. I wanted to reach out to her, to somehow show her that she wasn’t alone.
“It’s okay,” I said, resting my hand on her shoulder. “I get it. You don’t have to say any more, Olivia. I understand.”
She spun on me, and without warning there was an edge to her voice. “No, you don’t, Wen. You really don’t. You have no idea what it was like to meet Jess after all this time. You have no idea how it felt—how it still feels. But I want you to understand. That’s the thing. I really do. Except I’m no good at this. For me, things don’t come across right when I just blurt them out. And that’s why I went back home after I saw you this afternoon. I had to go get something and bring it back to show you.”
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a little gray book. Its binding was frayed and some of the pages were folded at the corners.
“This is my diary. These are my thoughts. It’s all here,” she said, holding it toward me. “I want you to read it.”
I glanced at the scribbled handwriting. She’d opened it to an entry marked Tuesday, August 3, which was two days earlier. “Your diary? Are you … sure?”
“Positive.”
I felt kind of weird about it. I’d never kept a diary, but I knew they were supposed to be kind of sacred places where people wrote things that weren’t supposed to be read by anybody else. Looking into Olivia’s diary would sort of be like sneaking into her private thoughts. But the way she was looking at me, I could tell she wasn’t doing this on a whim. This really was what she wanted. So what could I do? I took
the diary.
And then for the next few minutes, with Olivia next to me staring at the ocean, I read.
OLIVIA
The Stranger
TUESDAY, AUGUST 3
It’s almost midnight and I can’t sleep. For days I’ve been thinking and thinking about Jess, and now I’m picturing her in my mind. She’s standing in front of a mirror brushing back her long dark hair, and when she notices me watching, she smiles. Every time I close my eyes I see her. Which is ridiculous, since I really don’t have any idea what she looks like now, or who she is, or anything at all about her. All I have is a faded old photograph, a few foggy memories I probably made up and the stupid letter she sent me a month ago. That’s it.
So why can’t I just forget about her and go to sleep?
I’m going to put down my pen and try.
WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 4
It’s past 2 a.m. Still awake.
Daisy’s curled up in the corner of my room. I see her eyes on me and I can’t help wondering what she’s thinking. There’s something very peculiar about that cat. Today she decided to claim all of the food bowls as her own, standing guard over them and hissing whenever the other cats tried to come near. But as much as Daisy drives Brenda and me up the wall, as selfish and wild as she can be, there’s also something special about her. I see it in her eyes right now, a look of understanding, as if she knows what I’m going through. She might be a baby, but she’s got a strong spirit, and I get the feeling she has an old, old soul.
I’ve given up on trying not to think about Jess. I’ve taken out the photograph of my parents again. I’m staring at it.
8:05 A.M.
I made up my mind. There are so many questions I don’t want to stay unanswered for the rest of my life. I want to know what happened. I have to find out why she left and where she went and what exactly was going through her head when she left me to grow up without a mother. Because no matter what else she is, she is that—my mother. And Pittsfield, Massachusetts, is only two and half hours away.
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