Sing Like Nobody's Listening
Page 14
I sit down on the window seat, tapping my fingernails against the back of my phone. Arden is right—this view isn’t exciting. It’s sweet, but it’s not exciting. The views in New York City would be exciting. The pictures I could take in New York? They would be amazing. It would be a huge opportunity. It would be something I’d be stupid to turn down, to ignore, to delete the e-mail.
It could be fun.
It could be fun, at least, if Celia were there too.
I moan out loud to myself, taking my phone out from under my legs and opening the camera. Aiming the lens out the window, to the same backyard I’ve seen nearly every day of my life, I center the abandoned swing set and snap a picture. I then open PhotoReady, load the shot into a frame, choose the black-and-white filter, and type a caption: Old view.
And as I watch the photo load onto my screen, I wonder if I’m ready to start looking at something new.
I march across the hall to Arden’s room and head directly to her wicker rocking chair. Collapsing into it, I announce, “I need to tell you something.”
Arden rotates around to face me, a questioning look in her arched eyebrows.
“Wait a second,” I begin, dropping my phone on the rocking chair to go shut her door.
“This sounds serious,” Arden says.
“It is.”
“Did Jelly side-swipe a vase again? Mom can’t keep claiming that every vase is her favorite. This is getting ridic—”
“Not about Jelly. About me,” I say, returning to the rocker.
“Go on,” Arden says, crossing her arms against her chest and leaning back in her seat. Arden is a year younger than me, but we’ve always acted more like twins—twins who look nothing alike, but twins nonetheless. As if I’m only three minutes older than her, instead of thirteen months. She is mostly my best friend, even more than Celia is—which means she can also drive me battier than anyone else in the world.
But for times like these, she’s exactly who I need.
“So . . . ,” I begin. “I told you how Celia and I applied for that PhotoReady retreat a few months ago? The one they’re doing in New York the week of our spring break?”
“Weren’t you wait-listed? Which you decided was their nice way of rejecting you?”
“Yes,” I say. “Only we were actually wait-listed. And now, I’m . . . not wait-listed.”
Arden’s eyes widen. “You got in?”
I nod my head slowly. “They just sent me an e-mail.”
“No way!” Arden shouts, leaping up from her chair.
“Shhhh.” I shush her. “I don’t want Mom or Dad to hear.”
“Why? That’s awesome! I guess you’re more talented with that silly camera than I give you credit for.” She says this last part with a smirk.
“I’m not sure I’m going to go,” I confess.
“Why? A whole week in New York with your camera? Sounds right up your alley.”
“Maybe if Celia were going,” I say. “But I haven’t heard from her, which makes me think she didn’t get an e-mail. And I would never go to New York by myself.”
Arden stares at me blankly, as if I’m speaking a foreign language. “Um, you have to go. This is, like, a big deal.”
“No, I’m not going,” I say matter-of-factly. “Unless Celia ends up going too, but otherwise, no way.” The skin on my arms begins crawling with goose bumps at the thought of spending a week with a bunch of strangers, away from everything—and everyone—I know.
“Seriously? We were just complaining about having to spend another spring break at the Retirement Ranch. This is your chance to finally do something different.”
“You’d want to suffer alone with the Pinochle Posse?” I ask.
“Of course not,” Arden answers. “But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t go to New York.”
It’s my turn to be surprised. “That’s awfully generous of you,” I tell her.
“Oh yes, that’s my middle name: Generosity,” Arden retorts. “Arden Generosity Kelly.”
“Okay, you’re no help to me.” I stand up to leave, but Arden blocks my path.
“You have to do it,” she says in her most serious voice. “You love taking pictures. You love New York.”
“We’ve only been there twice,” I point out.
“Yes, and both were over the holiday break,” Arden says. “You know what they say—if you can love New York during tourist season, you can love it anytime.”
“Who says that?”
“Everyone. Now promise me you’ll go. Whether Celia does or not. You will go.”
“I can’t promise that,” I say. “What am I supposed to do—sneak off to New York and hope Celia shows up too? I can’t go without her, but I also can’t ask her if she got in.”
“But you can tell her that you did,” Arden says. “Let me see that e-mail.” I hand her my phone with the letter displayed across the screen.
“ ‘Dear Avalon Kelly,’ ” Arden reads out loud. “Sounds so official.”
“Please don’t read it to me,” I beg, and Arden scans the rest in silence before fiddling with my phone. When she gives it back to me, Celia’s face is on the screen—the picture that pops up whenever I call her, or she calls me.
“Here,” Arden says. “Talk to her. She’s your best friend. She should be happy for you.” Before I can protest, I hear a faint “Hello?” coming from the phone. Celia’s voice. I mouth a silent I hate you to Arden before darting out of her room and back to my own.
“Hello?” Celia repeats.
“Hey, sorry,” I say, shutting the door behind me. “I was running out of Arden’s room.”
“No problem,” Celia says. “What’s up?”
I think about how to answer. I suppose Arden is right—I can’t keep this news from Celia forever. Especially not now that I’ve told Arden, who is never going to let me keep it a secret.
“So I got an e-mail,” I begin.
“Mmm-hmm,” Celia says, sounding distracted.
“From PhotoReady,” I continue.
“Oh, yeah?” Celia asks, a little more interested.
“About the retreat. Did . . . did you get one?”
“No,” Celia answers. “What about the retreat?”
I sit on my bed stiffly, as if bracing for impact. “I got in.”
There are a few seconds of silence on the other end of the phone, and then a few more. The quiet goes on for so long that I’m convinced the connection must have failed.
“Celia?” I finally ask.
“I’m here,” she says. “Wow. That’s . . . great.”
“But listen . . .” I begin talking quickly. “You should totally be the one to go—you’re the one who found out about the retreat. I’ll tell them I want to transfer my invitation to you.”
“No.” Celia stops me. “You can’t do that. It said all over the application that invitations were nontransferable.”
“Oh,” I say. “Then I’ll decline it, and maybe they’ll let you in instead. Maybe they only want one person per town, so if I say I’m not going—”
“You don’t have to do that,” Celia interrupts me. “You should go if you want to.”
“But I don’t, not without you,” I tell her. “Promise.”
“You shouldn’t give up your spot. That would be a waste.”
“Well, maybe you’ll still get in.” I try to say this hopefully.
“Maybe,” Celia says, sounding about as confident as I do.
“And if you do, we can still go together,” I say. “You know, if our parents agree and everything. But if you don’t, I won’t go either. I don’t even want to go—it wouldn’t be fun without you.”
“ ’Kay,” Celia says absentmindedly. “Listen, I’ve got to have dinner. I’ll talk to—”
“I’m not going on the retreat,” I insist before she can hang up. “I’m going to write back and say no, thank you. Plus, it’s next week—it’s not like they gave me much warning. I already have plans.”
&nb
sp; “Don’t do that. Not yet,” Celia says. “Going to your grandparents’ lame retirement home doesn’t count as ‘plans.’ No offense. And like you said, maybe I’ll still get in. And then we really can go together. Give it a few more days.”
“But I don’t even want to go,” I say.
“You’re scared to go,” Celia tells me. “But I think you want to. That’s different. Hey, now I really do have to hang up. Just please don’t say no yet. Let’s see what happens.” The line goes silent.
I toss my phone onto the pillow next to me and trace the pattern on my bedspread with the tip of my finger. I had thought keeping the news to myself would be harder than sharing it, but now, the more people that find out, the more nervous I feel.
And the more I wish I had never applied to the PhotoRetreat in the first place.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Allison Gutknecht is the author of Spring Break Mistake, The Bling Queen, and the Mandy Berr series, beginning with Don’t Wear Polka-Dot Underwear with White Pants (And Other Lessons I’ve Learned). After graduating from the University of Pennsylvania, she earned her master’s degree in Children’s Media and Literature from NYU. Allison grew up in Voorhees, New Jersey, and now lives in New York City with her rambunctious toy poodle, Gypsy, and her literate cat, Folly.
Visit us at simonandschuster.com/kids
Authors.SimonandSchuster.com/Allison-Gutknecht
Also by Allison Gutknecht
Spring Break Mistake
The Bling Queen
Pizza Is the Best Breakfast (And Other Lessons I’ve Learned)
Never Wear Red Lipstick on Picture Day (And Other Lessons I’ve Learned)
A Cast Is the Perfect Accessory (And Other Lessons I’ve Learned)
Don’t Wear Polka-Dot Underwear with White Pants (And Other Lessons I’ve Learned)
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ALADDIN M!X
Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division
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First Aladdin M!X edition January 2018
Text copyright © 2018 by Allison Gutknecht
Cover illustration copyright © 2018 by Lucy Truman
Also available in an Aladdin hardcover edition.
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Cover designed by Jessica Handelman
Interior designed by Heather Palisi
Library of Congress Control Number 2017957606
ISBN 978-1-4814-7157-2 (hc)
ISBN 978-1-4814-7156-5 (pbk)
ISBN 978-1-4814-7158-9 (eBook)