Skinny

by Donna Cooner

  “That’s a good thing, right?” I ask.

  “Yes,” she says, but it doesn’t sound like she believes it.

  “She’s so grown-up. It seems like yesterday she was just a baby. Such a beautiful, happy child. Always laughing. Always making everyone else smile. She grew up so fast and now she’s gone.”

  “She’s not gone. She’s just not here.” I’m surprised at the despair on Charlotte’s face. Lindsey’s just away at college. She’s three hours away. It’s not like it’s forever.

  “You don’t understand.” Charlotte stirs her coffee. “She left me,” she finally says. “It’s not just about going to college. She’s been so distant for so long.”

  Lindsey and I never talked much, but if I had the chance now I’d tell her that moms are a very hard thing to lose. “She’ll be back,” I say, and pat Charlotte’s hand awkwardly on the tabletop, searching for the right words of comfort. “For Christmas and weekends.”

  “It won’t be the same.” Charlotte smiles sadly. “She’ll never live here again.”

  I realize I never knew Lindsey enough to miss her. Charlotte never knew my mom, either, but we are both grieving.

  “I’m sure she misses you, too,” I say. “She’s just too cool to admit it.”

  Charlotte beams at me. By her expression, you’d have thought I’d given her a thousand-dollar shopping spree to Macy’s. I feel guilty and make a mental note: Be nicer to Charlotte. We have some things in common.

  “Thanks, Ever. I needed to talk to someone.” She stands to put the empty mug in the sink.

  “Sure,” I say. “Anytime.” Hearing Charlotte seems a little easier without Skinny’s constant voice in my head.

  Upstairs, I knock on the partially open door, making it swing into the room a few more inches. Briella lies on her bed, texting on her phone. Roxanne is on the pillow beside her. Both of them look up at me at the same time. Briella’s blond hair is scraped back into a ponytail and the only sign of the dance is the pile of pink dress on the floor by the bed. Her face is scrubbed clean, but her eyes are red and puffy. She’s been crying.

  “Can I come in?” I stand in the doorway, shifting from one foot to the other. She could say no. I wouldn’t blame her.

  “Yeah,” she says, and puts the phone over on her nightstand. I’m not sure what Briella’s thinking, but Roxanne looks really sad. She thumps her tail once in greeting.

  “Why is Rox in here?” I ask.

  “She’s in trouble. She ate half of Charlotte’s Chinese silk scarf and turned the couch pillow into feather confetti,” says Briella, “but she’s really sorry.”

  Roxanne thumps her tail twice in agreement, dislodging one lone feather, then puts her head back down on the pillow with a woeful sigh. Briella brushes away any remaining sign of tears, but we both know they were there minutes before.

  “What do you want?” she asks.

  “Can I sit down?”

  Briella pats her bed in response, and I sit. I don’t know where to start.

  “Are you all right?” I ask.

  “I’m fine.” She bites her bottom lip, her eyes darting over to the phone on the nightstand. “My dad isn’t coming on Saturday. He just texted me. Not a big surprise.”

  “I’m sorry, Bri. He’s the one missing out.”

  She looks at me like she’s trying to tell if I’m being sincere or not. I can’t blame her.

  “I know how you feel,” I say, but nobody really knows how anyone else feels. I know that now. “I mean, not exactly, but . . . I miss my mom. Every single day. And I wish she was here in my life, like you wish your dad was here.”

  “Your mom didn’t leave you on purpose.” Briella stares at a spot on the bedspread in front of her.

  “No, but I still know what it feels like to lose your parent. No one can fix it, and I’m really sorry.”

  “I thought when I moved in we’d be friends, but you never wanted that.” Me, friends with Briella? That’s what she wanted? Listening to Skinny all these years has cost me more than I ever knew.

  “I’ve been selfish and . . . blind,” I say quietly. What a hypocrite. I felt like nothing, but I made every thing all about me. I looked at the world around me through Skinny’s unseeing white, opaque eyes. Including Briella. “I didn’t see what you were going through. You were here in the same house, and I didn’t even know.”

  Briella raises her pale blue eyes, bright with unshed tears, to meet mine. I watch one single tear slip out and slide down her cheek, but she doesn’t try to hide it this time. Her eyes search my face and, when she finds the truth she’s searching for, her shoulders relax. I finally see a small, crooked smile.

  “Thanks,” she says, twisting a strand of her long hair around and around one finger. “So, what happened at the dance?”

  “Jackson doesn’t love me.” I dive right in, my voice pinched and tight.

  “I know,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

  I guess everyone knew but me.

  Briella takes a breath, and looks over at me. “You can’t make someone love you. No matter what you do.” Something about the way she says it makes me think she’s not just talking about me and Jackson. It’s about her father, too.

  “I did it all for him,” I say, but now I’m not sure.

  “Did you?” she asks. I have no idea what she is talking about. Or maybe I do. This isn’t about Jackson anymore.

  “It’s okay if you like Rat,” I say, but the words hurt coming out. It’s definitely not okay.

  “That’s good,” she says, “because I do like him. He’s smart and kind.”

  “I know,” I say, feeling like my heart is being chewed up by Roxanne.

  “And funny.” Okay, just keep kicking me when I’m down.

  “And he likes me, too. He never makes me feel stupid.”

  “You’re not stupid, Briella.”

  “I want to believe that,” she says, “but sometimes there’s this voice in my head that tells me something different. Know what I mean?”

  Her eyes meet mine.

  “Yeah,” I say. “I do.”

  “What happened with Jackson?” she asks.

  “He likes Gigi,” I say, and she nods. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You were so happy about the dance and all. I didn’t want to ruin it for you.”

  I can’t believe this is Briella. She’s full of surprises. Skinny’s lies kept me from seeing the real person behind the pretty face. How did I miss what was right there in front of me all along?

  “The dance didn’t make me happy,” I say, but then I remember dancing with Rat and feeling better than I’d ever imagined feeling. Now that’s gone, too.

  “So, you and Rat?” I ask.

  “Rat would be a great boyfriend. . . .”

  “But?”

  “He doesn’t think of me that way. We’re just friends.” She smiles gently at me like I’m a little child. “Besides, he likes me, but he doesn’t love me. He’s crazy about someone else.”

  “Who?” I ask, in a small voice. IhopeIhopeIhope.

  “Oh, Ever, sometimes for being so smart, you are incredibly dumb.” She laughs. “Rat’s in love with you. He’s always been in love with you. You’re the only one who can’t see it.”

  The heat rushes to my cheeks. Rat’s in love with me. I could hear it a million times and never get tired of it. Could it actually be true? I want to believe it so bad.

  “And now I’ve messed it up.” My voice sounds like it’s coming from way far away.

  “Maybe not. Rat has stuck with you through a lot. He’s not the type of guy to disappear when things get rough.” Briella reaches down to scratch Roxanne’s dark head, and Roxanne immediately stretches out onto her side for a tummy rub. “You should talk to him.”

  “I will,” I say, but I don’t know what I’ll say.

  “So what about the audition? The musical tryout is coming up, right?”

  “It was.”

  “Was?” She squints at me.<
br />
  “I don’t know if I want to go through with it now. The last time I was on a stage in front of a lot of people . . .” My voice trails off at the memory of sitting on top of that broken chair.

  “A lot has changed since then. You’ve changed.”

  “Maybe I haven’t changed enough.”

  “So, you want to give up?” She places both hands on her knees and leans in to stare intently into my eyes.

  “It’s not giving up,” I say, but I know it really is.

  “Do you want to be on a stage singing for people? Do you want a part in the musical?” She considers me for a moment, and then hits me hard with the last question. “Do you still want it?”

  “Yeah,” I say, without even pausing to think about it. “I do.”

  My answer surprises me, but as I say it, I know it’s true.

  “Then all of this wasn’t for Jackson. It was for you.”

  I think about it. “Yes, it was.”

  “Then get up on that stage and show them what you can do. You’re going to wow them.”

  “Look at you. Being all cheerleader.”

  “God, no.” She laughs. “Don’t ever call me that.”

  I rub Roxanne’s tummy, and she stretches her head back on the pillow in ecstasy. “You know, I always thought Rat would be in the audience during the audition,” I say. “Now I’m not so sure he’ll want to be.”

  “You should ask him,” Briella says. A little hope unfurls somewhere deep inside me. “That might be all he’s waiting for.”

  “I don’t know if I can,” I say doubtfully. “What about you? Will you come?”

  “You want me to be there?”

  I nod, and she claps her hands together, startling a short bark out of Roxanne, who hops down off the bed, ready for something exciting to happen.

  Briella leans over and hugs me. “I’ll be your biggest fan,” she says softly over my shoulder, and I laugh because it is so different from the voice I usually hear whispering in my ear.

  EVER AFTER

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Briella drives me to the audition and walks in with me. People are spread out in individual seats throughout the auditorium, but there’s a pretty good crowd. The audition is open to anyone who wants to listen, but I recognize quite a few kids from drama class, including Kristen Rogers, who is sitting in the second row, literally biting her nails. I see Gigi and Jackson near the front left-hand side of the stage, his arm draped across the back of her shoulders. She smiles up at him, and he tucks a strand of blue hair behind one ear. I wait for the jolt of jealousy to hit, but it doesn’t.

  “What happened to you at the Ball?” Whitney stands in front of us with her two hands placed firmly on her hips, blocking the way to the seats. “One minute you were dancing and the next you were nowhere to be found. Jackson said you left.”

  “I wasn’t feeling well.”

  “Was it your stomach?” she asks. Her brow wrinkles and her eyes narrow.

  “Just forget it,” Briella says. She grabs one of my arms and tries to pull me around Whitney. “Let’s go. It’s going to start in a minute.”

  “Wait. Was it . . .” Whitney’s voice lowers and she grabs my other arm to keep us from leaving. She looks around quickly to see who might be nearby and then whispers dramatically, “Dumping?”

  “No,” I say. “It wasn’t anything like that.”

  “Because I told Jackson that punch was way too sweet.”

  Whitney is rigid, her eyes unwavering. “I should have known.”

  She’s concerned? About me?

  “It wasn’t that,” I say quickly.

  Briella rolls her eyes, but I pull my arm out of her grasp. I feel like I need to say something.

  “I’m sorry about the dance, Whitney. You went to a lot of trouble,” I say. “I know you wanted it all to be special.”

  “I did.” Her lower lip sticks out and quivers just a bit. She glances over at Briella. “I really did.”

  She’s not going to actually cry, is she? Oh, God. I can’t leave the powerful, popular Whitney Stone looking like that. Even Briella looks a little taken aback.

  “You did an amazing job,” I say, patting Whitney’s shoulder. “I never thought I could look like that in a million years. It felt wonderful.”

  The auditorium lights blink on and off.

  “I have to go,” I say to Whitney. “We’ll talk later, okay?”

  “Okay.” She sniffs once, straightens, and throws her hair back over one shoulder. The Whitney Stone I know is back in an instant. The curtain of perfection drops to cover her emotions, and I’m left wondering if I ever actually saw it in the first place.

  Briella pulls me away from Whitney and toward the aisle leading up to the stage.

  “This is for you,” Briella says, and pushes something into my hand. “Go ahead and sit up front. I have a seat saved for me right in the middle. You’ll see me.”

  “Wish me luck,” I say, reaching out to grab her hand.

  “I’ve heard you sing. You don’t need luck,” she says, and gives my hand a quick squeeze.

  Three people sit about ten rows from the front with clipboards and pens. One of them is Ms. DeWise, her red hair tied up with a yellow ribbon into a massive curly knot of escaping frizzy corkscrews. I think the balding man with the green bow tie is the choir teacher, and the other one is a girl with shoulder-length black hair who barely looks older than me. Maybe some former high-school theater star? I’m not sure. They all look serious, heads together, talking in whispers as they flip through the papers in their laps.

  I hold on to a small piece of folded paper Briella slipped into my hand a few minutes ago. Then I start to plan where I can sit — where there’s room for me — in these small, folding auditorium seats. Then I remember. I can fit anywhere now. I slide into the seat next to Kristen, and she glances over with her index finger still in her mouth. She spits out a bite of nail and keeps chewing.

  “Congratulations,” I say. Even the butterflies in my stomach can’t keep me from noticing the space between me and Kristen. “You decided to go through with it.”

  “I think I’m going to throw up.”

  “No, you’re not. Take some deep breaths.”

  She takes her finger out of her mouth and breathes in and out obediently. I notice her left leg is jumping up and down like it’s disconnected from the rest of her body.

  “Relax. You’re going to do fine.” I lay my hand on her knee and push down on her leg to stop the jerking. “What’s your monologue?”

  “It’s from Guys and Dolls.” She clenches her fists together in her lap, digging her fingers into her palms to keep from being able to access her nubby, well-chewed nails. “My mom hates it when I bite my nails. What are you doing?”

  “It’s a piece from Beauty and the Beast.”

  “Beauty?”

  “No, the Beast.” I grin at her. “I can relate to the part.”

  “Why?” Kristen looks confused. Although I’m surprised she doesn’t get it, I don’t explain. She asks, “Do you think we sing first or do the monologue first?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “This is my first audition.”

  “Me, too,” she says, her clenched fists now tapping on her shaking knees.

  Shocker. Somehow I’ve figured that out.

  The stage is empty except for a piano and the accompanist, who is ruffling through the selection of music they handed her a few minutes before. One spotlight circles center stage front.

  Waiting. I swallow once. Twice. I. Can. Do. This.

  I open my fist and stare down at the tiny piece of paper neatly folded into a perfect square. Slowly, I open it and stare down at a tiny picture. It’s an intricate pencil drawing of a mouse. Not a cartoony mouse with cute, human-like features, but a scientifically perfect sketch of the species. There’s no mistaking Rat’s handiwork. This mouse will go perfectly with the pumpkin on my bedroom wall. I smile down at the tiny picture and the butterflies in my stomach
land for a minute, their wings stilled. Glancing up quickly from the paper, my eyes search the seats until I see Briella and Rat sitting near the middle of the center row.

  He came. Even though I didn’t — couldn’t — ask him. He flashes me a brilliant Rat grin and lifts a hand in salute. He’s here. Watching. And knowing that makes me smile, too. I wave back, the scrap of paper fluttering in my hand. I want him to know I got it and that I knew it was from him. I turn back to the stage and inhale deeply. I’m going to do this.

  The first name called is Chance Lehmann. His mop of curly brown hair is stuffed under a top hat, and he sings from Les Misérables. It’s not bad, but he really has to stretch for the high notes. Then he recites a monologue from Bye Bye Birdie, and the audience laughs at all the right spots. With his sexy smile, he’d make a great Prince Charming. I try to imagine him singing directly to me, all eyes on me, and feel heat flush up my cheeks. The applause is enthusiastic as he walks back to his seat, waving to the crowd. I glance back over my shoulder for the judges’ expressions. Bow-Tie Man smiles as he writes notes on his pad, and the other two are deep in conversation.

  Kristen is called next. For a minute, I don’t think she’s going to get out of her seat.

  “You can do this,” I whisper, and give her a push to get started.

  She stumbles up the stairs and to the microphone.

  “Tell us about yourself,” Ms. DeWise says.

  “I can tell you that I’m really scared to be here,” says Kristen, and the audience laughs. She looks surprised at the reaction, but that’s all it really takes. After a few minutes, and a quick monologue and song, she’s practically running back to her seat. Her face is flushed with excitement and her curls bounce with every step.

  We slap high five as she sits down beside me again. “Good job!” I whisper.

  My name is called, and I go up the side steps to the stage. I look back over my shoulder for Briella and Rat. My stepsister waves and gives a thumbs-up. I stop mid-step. Rat nods his head slowly, up and down, encouraging me. This is it. I step up onto the stage.

  Walking slowly into the spotlight, the audience is instantly blacked out. I take a deep breath in and let it out slowly.