Eliza Bing Is (Not) a Star

by Carmella Van Vleet

  “And, ensemble.” Here Mrs. Delany paused and clasped her hands together. “Favorite. Save. Ever!”

  She went around to everyone who’d been onstage when things went wonky and gave them high fives. When she got to me, she put up both hands.

  “You get a high ten,” she said, and winked. Leaning in, she added, “A star knows how to help others shine.”

  Wait. Did Mrs. Delany just call me a star?

  * * *

  —

  After I hung up my costumes in the dressing room, I headed down the hallway. It was blocked off, so only the cast and crew were there, and parent volunteers. We were supposed to meet our families in the lobby.

  “Hey, Eliza!” JJ called.

  I turned around and waited for him to catch up.

  “Nice job tonight!” he said. “That was good thinking. About the scene thing, I mean.” He’d already told me this backstage, but it was nice of him to say it again.

  “Thanks! I really liked your ad-lib,” I told him.

  He twirled his imaginary pig-stache, which cracked me up. “I think I have an excellent shot at the title this year,” he deadpanned.

  He didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands after that. Or his feet. He started shuffling them.

  “I, um, have something for you,” he said.

  “Yeah?” I wondered if I’d forgotten or dropped something.

  He reached into his jacket and pulled out a box “Here. Sorry the bow got smooshed.”

  The box wasn’t wrapped, so I could see what it was right away. A package of mechanical pencils.

  I was confused. “Thanks,” I said.

  “They had yellow ones, but I liked the colored ones better. Plus, that way you can pick out your favorite color. Or whatever.”

  “Thanks,” I said again.

  JJ shoved his fidgeting hands into his pockets and looked down at the ground. “You’re welcome. I saw them at the grocery store and figured they might be nice since you don’t like dull pencils. This way, if the lead breaks, all you gotta do is push the button on top and fresh lead comes out.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “I hate dull pencils. But how did you know that?”

  JJ looked up. “I remembered it from that time at rehearsal when you had to use the pencil sharpener backstage.”

  “Oh yeah! Wait. That was like forever ago,” I said.

  He shrugged. “I pay attention is all.”

  I wondered if he meant he paid attention to everyone and everything all the time. But I didn’t want to ask and find out. If it was an all-the-time thing, that meant I wasn’t special. Maybe he liked liked me and maybe he didn’t. Was this “the sign”? If it was, how come I didn’t know? Grass stains! This stuff was confusing.

  All I knew was that I liked being around JJ and he seemed to like being around me. That was good enough.

  “The pencils are awesome,” I told him. “I can’t wait to use them.”

  JJ grinned. “So. Everyone is heading over to the ice cream shop down the street. Are you going?”

  “Probably,” I said. “I’ll have to ask my parents first.”

  “Cool. I’ll save you a seat,” JJ said. “If that’s okay.”

  I smiled and told him it was.

  I made my way through the crowds outside the cafeteria. I was looking for my parents and not really paying attention to where I was going, so I was startled when a group of boys stepped in front of me. I skidded to a stop. There were four of them, and if I’d been going just a little faster, I would have smacked right into the tallest one.

  “Look. It’s Nimmm-bus,” the tall guy said, and sneered. “Nice job,” he added sarcastically.

  I froze. Almost running into him made me think of Sophia plowing into me. Master Kim said you could use your opponent’s momentum against them. I couldn’t quite get that in class. But when my partner came at me at my gold-belt test, I didn’t resist. I moved when he moved and then he went past me and stumbled.

  Wait! It made sense! Being like water didn’t always mean ignoring your opponent or getting out of their way. Sometimes it meant moving with them.

  Or, in this case, agreeing with them.

  I looked the tall boy in the eye and smiled. “Thanks! We worked hard on the play. Glad you came to see it.”

  The group snickered. The leader sized me up. “I’m not complimenting you,” he said. My whole body tingled with adrenaline.

  “Oh. Sorry,” I said. “I thought ‘good job’ implied something positive.”

  The rest of the group laughed again, but the tall boy was determined. “You’re weird, you know that?” he snarled.

  I nodded. “I’ve heard that before.”

  “Don’t you care?” the boy asked.

  I shrugged. “Weird is interesting.”

  Before the boy could figure out how to respond, I skirted my way around the group and floated down the hall.

  This being-like-water thing might just work out.

  Mom and Dad were waiting for me by the lobby doors.

  I could tell Mom wanted to run over and hug me but remembered my rule about No Mothering in Public.

  “You were amazing, Eliza! Oh rules, schmules,” she said when I was within arm’s reach. I was in such a good mood, I let her hug me. It didn’t take long for Dad to join in.

  “You’re a star!” Dad said after they stepped back and let me breathe. “Can I have your autograph?”

  I blushed.

  It turned out that several of the car-accident victims got rerouted to another hospital, so Mom got to sneak out early.

  “I’m sorry I missed the first act,” Mom told me. “And that I didn’t have time to stop for flowers.” She gave Dad a look. I guessed he was supposed to be in charge of that. Dad told her about Sam getting me flowers instead. She was shocked. But in a proud, happy way.

  As the three of us headed out to the car, Dad said, “Speaking of Sam, I recorded the party scene for him to watch later.”

  “You weren’t supposed to record the play,” I told him. “Didn’t you hear the announcement?”

  Dad shrugged. “Hey. Like Mom said, ‘rules, schmules.’ ”

  * * *

  —

  The ice cream parlor people were prepared. Which was good, because everyone in the cast and crew and their families showed up!

  “Dad and I will be over there,” Mom said, handing me some money and pointing to where the grown-ups were.

  I met up with Vivian and JJ and some other people from the ensemble and we got in line. A lot of other people were already sitting down with their sundaes and cones. Everyone was laughing and eating and talking and planning what to bring to the strike party the next night. Someone asked if I could make more cupcakes. I wouldn’t have time, but I said I could probably get up early and make some “cast” cookies.

  I’d been right. Theater was my thing now, too. I belonged.

  Ice cream always made me thirsty, so I headed over to the water fountain. Paige and her parents were sitting at a nearby table. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but Paige’s mom was being loud.

  “You’re never going to keep landing roles if you continue to forget lines,” she said. “If you want to be a professional, act like one!”

  Her dad cleared his throat. “Are you just wasting money on acting lessons and head shots?” he asked. “Because I assure you, I can think of plenty of other ways to spend it.”

  “Acting colleges are extremely competitive,” her mom said. “If you think one commercial is going to get you in, you’re sadly mistaken.”

  Wow. Paige was only in eighth grade, and her parents were already worried about college. And her professional career. No wonder Paige wanted to make a good impression on the high school director who came to watch opening night.

  Paige caught me listening and scow
led. I wiped the water off my mouth with my hand and hightailed it back to the table. A few minutes later, Paige tapped me on the shoulder. I followed her into the bathroom.

  “Look,” she said, leaning against the sink. “I want you to know that you didn’t have to do what you did.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She snorted. “I wasn’t thanking you. I was about to get things back on track and you messed that up, too.”

  “What else did I mess up?” I asked her.

  “Everything!”

  Paige wasn’t making any sense. But I thought about how her parents had treated her. Especially her dad, who’d complained about the expensive acting lessons being a waste of money. I knew what it was like to have money be tight, but everyone made mistakes. Acting lessons weren’t a waste. Did they notice what a good job she’d done during the rest of the play?

  WWSCD—what would Sweet Caroline do?

  No. What was I going to do?

  “I know you would have figured it out,” I told her.

  She let out a gigantic sigh. “I know. I just said that,” she told me.

  She headed toward the door, but suddenly stopped and turned to me. “So. Are you going to audition for the spring play?” she asked.

  “I’m thinking about it.”

  “Well, keep thinking about it,” she said, and walked out.

  A little while later, the ice cream place started to empty out. The workers began wiping down tables. Mom and Dad were still in one of the corner booths, talking with Annie’s moms and a few other parents. JJ and Vivian had already left. Call time was noon the next day, and it was going to be a long day, with two shows and strike! I gathered up my trash.

  “Need a hand?” a voice said. It was Annie.

  “Sure,” I said with a shrug, even though I didn’t need help.

  She walked with me to the trash can. “What you did,” she said. “Helping everyone get off the stage. That was cool.”

  I smiled. “Yeah. It was fun.”

  “I wanted to thank you,” Annie said. “You know. For giving me a way to still come on.”

  “I just got you on,” I said. “You were the one who cracked everyone up with your oversized curlers and kitten slippers. The bows were a nice touch, by the way.”

  “Thanks. The bows were mine from when I was little. I found them under my bed.” (All I had under my bed was dust bunnies and the theater book. I’d dig it out when I got home.)

  “You could’ve left me in the wings,” Annie said.

  I shrugged again. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  I thought about this. “Because we’re friends.”

  “Still?”

  I thought about this, too. “Yes.”

  Annie looked down at her feet. “I haven’t been a very good friend lately.”

  When I didn’t disagree, she went on. “I’m sorry, Eliza. I really am. Especially about calling you a nimbus cloud and saying you ruin everything. It’s not true. I think I just got caught up with everything, and then I got a big head and thought being friends with Paige would get me an in into the business. Or at least with the eighth graders. And, well, you were right. I guess I was jealous, too.”

  “About the extra line?” I asked.

  Annie shook her head. “It wasn’t the line. Well, it was. But that wasn’t all of it. Acting was supposed to be my thing and then you turned out to be really good at it.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but Annie interrupted.

  “No. You’re really good. You are. Especially at improv. That’s hard and you make it look easy. And then it seemed like Mrs. Delany was always saying ‘Good job’ or ‘Way to go, Eliza.’ ” Annie blew a stray hair out of her face. “It just made me sad. Do you know what it’s like to never be noticed?”

  I did know.

  “It’s okay,” I told her.

  “No, it’s not. I was a real jerk. How can I make it up to you?”

  “I bet we can think of something,” I told her. “How ’bout wearing your old-lady costume out in public?”

  Annie’s eyes grew wide. “Um. I guess I could do that. Where—”

  I laughed. “I’m just kidding.”

  Annie breathed a sigh of relief. “You’re really good at keeping a straight face,” she said. “Will you teach me how you do that someday?”

  “Sure,” I told her.

  “So are we okay?” Annie asked. “Because I really miss you.”

  Half of the ice cream shop’s lights turned off. And we both jumped. Then giggled.

  “That’s our cue, girls,” Mo-mo called. “Time to get moving.”

  Annie and I headed toward the exit. “If you think about it,” I deadpanned, “I wouldn’t even have auditioned if it wasn’t for you. So in a way, this is all your fault.”

  “Yeah. That was a good idea.” Annie said. “I get those occasionally.” She paused. “Maybe I should see a doctor about that.”

  I laughed. “See! You’re good at improv, too.” Annie grinned and the two of us fell into step.

  “So,” she said when we got outside. “Now that we’re talking again, do you think you might like to come to my house for a sleepover? Not this weekend, but maybe next week? We have a lot of time to make up for.”

  I smiled wide. “Yeah. That sounds like fun.”

  Annie and I decided to start a new notebook.

  “I think we should do something about theater,” Annie said. “Maybe we could do a Rules to Surviving Your First Production.”

  “What about more of a self-help guide?” I suggested as I stretched out on Annie’s bedroom floor on top of my new sleeping bag.

  “Perfect,” Annie said. “It needs a great name, though.”

  “Oooo!” I said. “And when we’re done we should leave it in one of the suitcases in the costume closet. Like that letter we found.”

  Annie got so excited, she knocked over our popcorn. “So other theater kids can find it! That’s brilliant.”

  Even though Annie had the best handwriting, we decided each of us would take turns writing things down this time.

  Annie and I decorated the cover of the new journal together. Afterward, Annie said I should have the honor of coming up with the first entry.

  Eliza and Annie’s Super Secret Tips to Stardom

  Rule No. 1: Bring a friend—and always stick together.

  GLOSSARY

  In case you get confused or just want to know how to pronounce the taekwondo words in this book, here they are.

  Your friend,

  Eliza (gold belt)

  bah ro (bah ROW): return to starting position

  charyut (cha-RYUT): attention

  choonbi (chun-BEE): ready position

  danjun (don-JAHN): in martial arts, a space below your belly button believed to be the center of your energy or ki

  dobok (doe-BOK): uniform

  dojang (doe-JAHNG): training hall. (It means “house of discipline.”)

  hae sahn (hay SAHN): dismissed

  jong yul (jong YUL): line up

  kamsahhamida (gam-sah-hahm-mee-da): thank you

  ki (KEE): life energy

  kicho ee bo (ki-CHEW ee boo): basic form No. 2 (Ee means “second.”)

  kicho il bo (ki-CHEW ill boo): basic form No. 1 (Il means “first.”)

  kihap (KEE-hahp): spirit yell

  koomahn (khoo-MAHN): stop

  kyoonyae (kyoon-YEY): bow

  mejoomuk (mage-MAHK): hammer fist

  poomsae (poom-SAY]): form

  sabumnim (SAH-bahm-nim): master instructor

  seoreun (sah-ROON): thirty

  shijak (shee-JAHK]): begin

  shool (SHOOL): rest

  taekwondo (tie-KWON-doe): the South Korean art of hand and f
oot fighting. Tae means “to use the foot.” Kwon means “to use the hand.” Do means “art” or “way of life.”

  yursit (yur-SIT): stand up

  HOW TO COUNT TO TWENTY IN KOREAN

  hana (HAH-na): one

  dool (DOOL): two

  set (SET): three

  net (NET): four

  dasut (DAS-it): five

  yasut (YAS-it): six

  ilgop (ill-GOP): seven

  yuldol (yul-DOL): eight

  ahop (AH-hop): nine

  yul (YOOL): ten

  yul hana (YOOL HAH-na): eleven

  yul dool (YOOL DOOL): twelve

  yul set (YOOL SET): thirteen

  yul net (YOOL NET): fourteen

  yul dasut (YOOL DAS-it): fifteen

  yul yasut (YOOL YAS-it): sixteen

  yul ilgop (YOOL ill-GOP): seventeen

  yul yuldol (YOOL yul-DOL): eighteen

  yul ahop (YOOL AH-hop): nineteen

  seumul (SAH-mul): twenty

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Writing a book, like putting on a play, requires a large cast and crew. I’d like to thank some of my fellow ensemble members here.

  First, to my readers, and to the teachers and the librarians who connect them to stories: Books, like plays, aren’t complete without an audience. Thank you for coming to the show.

  I’d also like to thank all the amazing folks at Holiday House, who love what they do and do it so well—especially Sally Morgridge, for being the kind of editor who leaves comments like “I love this!” and “Yay!” in the margins of my manuscripts. I’m so glad you were with me on this journey once again.

  To my agent extraordinaire, Marie Lamba, who gives good Christmas cards as well as advice, and who holds my hand when I freak out: you rock.

  For Karen Donnelly, who brought Eliza to life on the cover: a huge thank you.

  To my mom (who bought me all the books I could read when I was little), and to my dad (my first editor): my heart is full.