“Well, hello there!” Mom says.
Maddie stares at me without speaking, her face totally blank.
“Hi,” Maddie’s mom says with a smile.
Mom glances at me, and then at Maddie. The silence between us is so awkward, I can almost reach out and touch it.
“We’re just picking up a few things to celebrate. Charlotte got cast in the musical!”
Maddie’s mom says, “That’s great!” There’s a hint of sadness in her eyes when she looks at me, as though she’s disappointed. Almost like…she knows everything I’ve done.
My heart leaps into my throat. Is she going to tell my mom? Is Maddie? They could do it right here.
Maddie says nothing.
Mom says, “It’s too bad Maddie can’t come with us to see Wicked!”
I gulp. My lie is out. We’re nowhere near the frozen foods, but it feels like the temperature just fell twenty degrees.
Maddie’s jaw drops. She quickly recovers with a shake of her head and narrowed eyes. She’s never going to forgive me now. How do I keep making this worse? It’s like the Bad Thing keeps getting bigger.
Her mother gives Maddie’s shoulder a light squeeze. “Oh?”
“Well, yeah.” Mom stares at me with raised eyebrows. “Isn’t that what you said, Charlotte?”
Maddie and her mom turn to me.
My pulse quickens. If Maddie seemed mad this morning, it was nothing compared to now. I’m not getting out of this alive. Not a chance. “I, um…yeah. Some k-k-kind of family thing.”
I look into Maddie’s eyes. She can do anything she wants right now. She can tell them I’m lying, tell my mom about the bus, whatever. I can take it. It might feel good to just confess everything.
Almost mechanically, Maddie breaks into a forced smile and says, “Maybe next time. Thanks for the invite, Mrs. Andrews.”
I release a sigh of relief. And just as quickly, I’m confused. Maddie actually covered for me after what I did? I search her face for answers. What does it mean? I don’t deserve it, but maybe she hasn’t completely given up on me and our friendship?
Mom studies us, sensing that something isn’t quite right, but she can’t put her finger on it. “Of course. You’ll have to come over again soon. We haven’t seen you in a while!”
Maddie’s mom nods. “We haven’t seen Charlotte lately, either. You know you’re welcome anytime!” Her eyes meet mine, and there’s not a doubt left in my mind. She knows.
We mutter our awkward goodbyes. As soon as we’re in the parking lot, Mom says, “Charlotte, what is going on with you two?”
Tell her, you big chicken. I shrug. “It’s nothing.” I ditched Maddie, and now she’s really upset and probably hates me, but no, nothing’s going on. We’re all good here.
“It seemed like something to me. You know,” she says while she buckles her seat belt, “you two have been good friends for a long time. It would be a shame to let something come between you.”
I stare down at my feet. I feel hollow, like a chocolate bunny without insides. I don’t want things to be this way. I want to pick up the phone and tell Maddie how sorry I am, but if she wouldn’t talk to me before, there’s no way she’ll talk to me now.
* * *
When we get home, I start to set the table, and Mom says casually, “Why don’t we invite Maddie to go to a movie this weekend?”
I freeze, the plates forgotten in my hands. What do I say? “Uh, I’m going to be busy practicing for the play.” Please let that be a good enough excuse.
Mom takes the plates from me and sets them on the counter next to the pizza. “You’re not going to be that busy.” Her gaze practically cuts me.
I look away.
“Charlotte, what happened?”
I open the pizza box and study the pepperoni slices. “Nothing.”
“That wasn’t nothing at the grocery store. You can tell me, you know.”
My shoulders fall. I can’t ever tell her. She’d be so disappointed in me.
“Did you have a fight?”
I shrug.
“What was it about? Did Maddie say something that hurt you?”
I shake my head.
She sighs. “Charlotte.”
“Yeah, Mom,” I say, steeling myself for more questions.
“I’m right here.” She squeezes my arm. “Whatever it is, I’m sure you can fix it.”
My heartbeat quickens. I can’t fix it. That’s the problem. Some things are just too big. “I, um, okay.”
“To be continued,” she says with a wink as she helps herself to pizza. “But only because I’m hungry. One way or another, I’m going to get to the bottom of this!”
I gulp. My mom always keeps her promises. I grab a slice of pizza and walk into the den right as a car commercial plays on the TV. I shriek and point to the screen, shaking my finger as Aubrey says, “Gee, Dad, look at all the legroom!” Then her TV dad shakes the car dealer’s hand and says, “We’ll take it.” Aubrey doesn’t even get out of the car. The screen zooms in until her smiling face is all that we see, and right when I think it can’t get cheesier, a big cartoon sparkle appears in her right eye.
I put down my pizza.
“Isn’t that the girl from the music video?” Dad asks from his recliner.
“No! She’s not in a music video!” Is she?
“Which part did she get in the musical?” Mom asks.
I sigh. “Glinda.” I guess that’s a good thing—I’d be too nervous anyway.
Mom pats my shoulder. “She’s been doing this way longer than you.”
I shrug. “It’s fine. Whatever.” I peek over at Dad. “You’re the best dad in the whole world. Did anyone ever tell you that?”
Dad laughs, making the skin around his eyes crease. “Out with it. What do you want?”
“What makes you think I want something?” I open my eyes super wide and hope I look innocent.
He tilts his head and waits.
“I was just thinking, since you’re the best dad and all, that we could watch The Wizard of Oz.”
“Again?”
“Please?”
He hands over the remote. “Go ahead,” he says, padding into the kitchen for pizza.
“Yes!”
We all watch the movie for the millionth time. When Dorothy picks apples in Oz, I pay close attention to the trees. I wonder how you go to the bathroom in a costume like that.
I kind of thought that Ms. Harper wouldn’t read our writing project until report cards are due, but today when I pull my journal off the shelf, I flip to the last page, where I wrote about how the beauty of lightning bugs gets them crushed by kids who want to catch them. There’s a note just for me in the margin. It says, Very nice, Charlotte, but does it mean anything to you? What’s something you really care about?
Well, duh. How about how I’m only in musical theater because my parents made me, and I stutter, which makes everything harder, and I thought I could be good enough to play Glinda but…I’m not. But I can’t write about that because she did the casting and I don’t want her to think I’m mad. And I care a lot about Maddie, but I can’t fess up to that, either. So I guess I’ll be the weird kid writing about lightning bugs because everything real is off-limits.
I write back in the margin, I don’t know yet. And I write a new story about a sock that gets lost, and no matter what it does, it can’t get back to where it was. It’s trapped in another dimension! While there, it has to relive every step starting from the moment it got lost, but it never gets to find out where the portal is. (It’s in the dryer! Ha ha!) Every time it’s about to get the answer, it goes all the way back to the beginning. At the top, I write: Where Missing Socks Go. There. That’s creative. And I care about socks. They’re important for foot hygiene. What’s not to like?
Somehow, though, I don’t think Ms. Harper wants a goofy story about missing socks.
* * *
When musical theater rolls around, Ms. Harper says, “Hi, everyone. I’ve just received a bit of news today, and I’ve asked to be the one to tell you.” She sighs. “This will be the last year that musical theater is offered as a class.”
The room immediately buzzes. Musical theater is a big deal here. Our school wins awards for it.
“But why?”
“We’ve always had musical theater!”
“That’s not right!”
She holds up her hand for silence. “The school is going in a new direction. Next year we will have to use this time for enrichment reading classes.”
“I’ll bet it’s because of our test scores!” someone blurts out near the back.
Grace says, “Yeah, I think my cousin’s school made them do that when their scores dropped.”
Ms. Harper clears her throat. “Regardless of the reason, this class won’t be offered again. So, let’s make the most of our time together and put on the best production this school has ever seen!”
I slump in my seat. This can’t be it. I glance over at Aubrey, who looks like she’s about to cry. I feel that way, too.
We work on the first few scenes for the rest of class. When the bell rings, I hang behind.
“Everything okay, Charlotte?” Ms. Harper asks from the door.
I fiddle with the zipper on my bag as I approach her. “It’s just…Isn’t there something we can do to save musical theater?”
Her face softens. “I wish. It would take a miracle to change it.”
I shove my hands into my pockets and push my toe into the floor. “D-don’t you believe in miracles, Ms. Harper?”
She smiles down at me. “I do.”
“Me too.”
She glances at the clock on her wall. “And unless you leave right now, you’re going to need one to make it to your bus in time.”
I gasp and run out the door as fast as I can. I only stayed an extra minute or two, so maybe it’s not too bad.
But it is that bad—there’s no one else around except for some older teacher who yells after me to slow down. I tear through the hallway, my backpack thumping hard against my shoulders. I have to make it, or I’m going to be in so much trouble! The double doors are just ahead. I push them open with the full force of my run behind me, and there’s my bus, still there. I keep running and make it barely in time. I breathe a sigh of relief. And now I don’t know where to sit. All of the seats at the back will be full. Ben sits to my left in the first seat. I glance back at Maddie, who crosses her arms over her red notebook and stares at me. Turning to Ben, I say, “Can I sit with you?”
He raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Sure.” He swings his backpack onto the floor.
I slide into the seat and breathe big, raspy breaths. Sweat trickles down my neck.
The bus driver closes the doors and pulls away from the curb.
“That was close,” Ben says.
“Yeah.” I smile at him, and I realize I’m a much easier target in this seat, and the only good thing about sitting here is that it’s right next to the bus driver. I want to check how close Tristan and Josh are sitting. Are they still behind Maddie? Or maybe next to her? I didn’t notice, and I don’t want to turn around to look. It’s better if I don’t know where they are.
The windows are slightly cracked, allowing the hot breeze to lift the stray pieces of my hair and wave them around. I gather my hair in my hand and hold it in place behind my neck.
Ben pulls a pencil out of his pocket and starts doodling in a notebook.
I run through a mental list of things I can’t say.
Hey, sorry about your hair.
I told the truth.
“I haven’t talked to you in forever,” he says.
It would be a lot more accurate if he said I haven’t talked to him in forever. The last time was two years ago, when we were in fourth-grade book club together and things weren’t so weird. Our group met in the library on Friday mornings before school. It was awesome. I didn’t avoid him on purpose then. “What are you drawing?”
“An alien encounter.”
I lean closer to his notebook. “Wait, is that supposed to be you?”
“Yep. It’s for Ms. Harper’s class.” All these snail-like creatures are surrounding a cartoon version of Ben, shaking his hands and smiling. He was always so good at art. Sometimes he’d draw scenes to go along with the books we read.
“What’s that about?” I remove my glasses, wipe the smudges off with my shirt hem, and put them back on.
“This is where they’re telling me that I’m really one of them, and they’ve come to get me,” Ben says.
A laugh bubbles up in my throat, but something makes me hold it in. I don’t want him to think I’m making fun of him.
He looks up from his drawing. “Don’t you ever feel like that?”
“Like an alien? No.”
“That’s not what I mean. More like you’re pretty sure you belong somewhere, and all you know is that it isn’t here.” He draws a top hat on an alien and adds some tentacles.
I stiffen. “Sometimes.” Or every moment of my life, but who’s counting? I wish I could tell him the truth—something real. Or do something besides just sit here. I think I have some candy stashed away. I reach into my backpack pocket and grab a pack of mints. Gum isn’t even allowed at our school.
“I think your drawing is really good.” I sit up and offer the mints.
He smiles and takes one. “Thanks. You think Ms. Harper will like it?”
“Oh, yeah,” I say. “What’s not to like?” It means something to him, plus he’s a really good artist. She’ll love it.
“I, um. I think I want to see if I can keep it going,” he says.
“What do you mean? Like a book?”
“Maybe,” he says. “I’d like to try it as a comic strip, and then see if I can make it longer.”
“You should totally do it,” I say without hesitation. Ben makes it look so easy.
I want to show Ms. Harper that I’m serious about writing, but it’s harder than I thought it would be. I have to think of something good to write about, and soon.
In English class a few days later, I flip to the last entry in my notebook and find Ms. Harper’s handwriting. Compelling! it says. I grin. I had heard two girls arguing in the hallway before class, so I imagined what would happen next and wrote about it. Below that line, it says, But I wonder what’s important to you, Charlotte?
I tap the pen against my cheek. How do I tell the truth without saying what’s actually happening? If I write something real, Ms. Harper will know everything. That can’t happen. But I can’t just ignore her question, so I answer by writing below it: Broken things that can’t be fixed. Like my friendship with Maddie. For the millionth time, I wish I’d had the courage to speak up. What if I write about that without actually talking about the bus? It’s important, and I think Ms. Harper will think so, too. I turn the page and write about why you should use your voice to stand up for what you believe in. If you don’t speak up, no one will ever hear your voice. And you have a voice!
I glance at Ms. Harper scribbling away at her desk, and I wonder what’s important enough for her to write about. All around the room, bookshelves are bursting with novels, and the walls are dotted with special issues of the school newspaper (she’s the faculty sponsor) and Broadway musical posters. If I were her, I’d probably write about how unfair it is that she won’t be able to teach musical theater anymore.
I think everyone was pretty upset about that, especially Aubrey. She was heartbroken, and honestly, I still feel bad for her. Maybe she could use some kind words. I know I could. I pull out a clean piece of paper and write:
Dear Aubrey,
I pause. It’s so hard to give her a compliment when she was horrible about me trying out for Glinda. But this is about making her feel better, not my hurt feelings. Even if it’s hard to say, I know that I still have to be kind. I swallow my pride and write:
You’re going to shine as Glinda.
* * *
It’s finally time for musical theater. Today we meet in the chorus room. I wasn’t sure about performing in the beginning, but now…I kind of like it. I won’t admit it to my parents, because they made me take this class, but I love the music. I love the story. And now I’m secretly disappointed because I know I’ll never be able to take musical theater again at this school. I wish things could be different.
I wait until Aubrey drops her bag in the corner and joins some of the older girls laughing together in the center of the room. After I glance around to make sure no one is watching, I place Aubrey’s note on her bag where she’ll see it. The bell rings, and we sing all the songs while Ms. Bishop plays the piano. Ms. Harper says it will be easier for us to stage the songs if we already know the music. I love every minute of it.
“Ahem!” says Ms. Harper. “I have an important announcement. It’s come to my attention that one of you has some very special news. Aubrey, would you like to share?”
Aubrey fans herself like she’s embarrassed, but she’s smiling so big that her face might crack. Or at least her makeup will. I’m not even allowed to wear makeup yet, and she looks like she robbed a Sephora.
Ms. Harper says, “Oh, it’s okay! We’re all friends here!”
Aubrey blushes. “I don’t know….”
“If you don’t tell them, I will!” Ms. Harper winks at her.
Aubrey smiles and says, “Okay, this is so weird, but I’m going to be in a music video for—”
“DOLLY PARTON!” Ms. Harper yells.
Say It Out Loud Page 7