“Have you talked to Maddie yet?” Mom asks as we all clean up the kitchen after dinner. It’s our usual assembly line: Mom washes the pans, Dad dries them, and I put them away.
“No.”
She frowns. “Why not?”
“I just…I don’t know what to say. It’s all going to come out wrong, and then I’ll just make it worse.”
Mom and Dad exchange glances. Mom hands him the last pan and dries her hands on a dishtowel. Without a word, she opens the kitchen junk drawer and rummages through it. Seconds later, she hands me some paper and a pen. “Then why don’t you write her a letter? If you can’t say the words, put them on paper.”
“Mom! I already t-tried that, remember? She crumpled it up and left it on my seat.”
“Then you try again. I’ll help you.” She sits down at the kitchen table and pats the seat next to her.
I drop down into the chair with a sigh and pick up the pen. It probably won’t do any good, but I write,
Dear Maddie,
I stare at the words while I tap a drumbeat on the table.
Mom leans over. “What do you wish you could say to her right now?”
I lean over the paper and write:
I’m sorry.
“And?”
I shouldn’t have stopped sitting with you. It was all because of Tristan and Josh. I made a mis—
She clears her throat. “I know they’re part of the story, but Charlotte…” Her voice is gentle. “You need to take responsibility for what you did. Don’t blame someone else, or your apology won’t mean anything.”
Tristan and Josh started it, yeah. But I made the choice that got us here. I broke my friendship with Maddie by leaving her to face the bullies alone. I return to the letter.
It was all because of Tristan and Josh. I made a mistake. I knew it the second it happened, but it was too late. I couldn’t take it back.
I click the end of my pen over and over again, making the ballpoint disappear and reappear. If only I could find the magic words to somehow make things right again. “I don’t know what else to write.”
Mom leans over the letter. “Let’s see…. Apology, check. You told her you made a mistake. Check.” She rests her chin on her hand. “Isn’t there something you need to ask Maddie?”
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
“Oh yes, you do,” Mom says with a pointed look.
She’s right. I do know. But that doesn’t make it any less difficult to ask. I write.
Do you think you could ever forgive me?
“There ya go,” Mom says. She gives my arm a reassuring pat. “Anything else you want to add?”
I shake my head.
“Then you’re ready to sign it.”
My hand wavers just a bit as I write:
Your friend, Charlotte
Maybe I can still be her friend. Maybe there’s still time.
Mom smiles and hands me an envelope and a stamp. “You’re all set. Put it in the mailbox tomorrow.”
I look down at the letter and frown. I’m glad I wrote it, but it feels like it’s too late. “What if Maddie thinks I’m just trying to be her friend because of all the attention she’s g-g—” I pause and take a breath. It helps when I exhale as I say the word I’m having trouble saying. “Getting from famous people?”
Mom’s smile fades. “She might. You can’t control how people see things, Charlotte. All you can do is say you’re sorry and hope she knows how much you care about her. That’s it.” As she stands to leave the table, she leans over and drops a kiss onto my head.
“What was that for?”
“For being you.”
I look down. “I don’t know how that’s a good thing.”
“Don’t you talk about my daughter like that.” She wraps her arms around me. “It’s hard to admit when you’re wrong. It takes a lot of courage to do something about your mistakes.”
I sigh. “It’s still not the same as saying ‘sorry’ out loud.” If I were really brave, I’d walk right up to Maddie in front of everyone and apologize. I know it. My mom knows it. Maddie knows it.
“This is how you get there,” she says. “One step at a time. You’ll see.”
I give her a tight smile and go up to my bedroom. I hope she’s right. I’ve felt helpless about Maddie for so long, and now part of me thinks that maybe this could fix things. This note is better than my last one. “I’m sorry” doesn’t really mean much until you put more words and real feeling with your apology.
The right words really are powerful. I glance at my script for The Wizard of Oz on my dresser. What if my letters to save musical theater class could be just as powerful? I pick up my pencil. Before I know it, I’ve written three more letters, and my wrist hurts from writing so much. But I don’t stop there. After I write lots of random notes of kindness for kids and stuff them into my bag, I crawl into bed. In the moment before I drift off to sleep, I ask myself, Have I done enough?
* * *
The next morning, I stick four letters into our mailbox on my way to the bus stop. One for Maddie and three to save musical theater class. The notes for other kids are folded in my pockets and in my backpack.
I reach the bus stop and drop my backpack to the sidewalk.
Lyric puts away the phone she begged for the whole time she was in fifth grade. I’m guessing it was her birthday present last year, but I don’t know for sure.
“Why’d you stop sitting with Maddie?” Lyric asks.
I stare at her. Last year Lyric’s birthday party balloons appeared on their mailbox, same as always. I watched the older kids arrive for twenty minutes that Saturday. My mom said maybe my invitation had gotten lost in the mail and they’d give us a call when I didn’t show up, but I knew the truth. I wasn’t invited. Until then, I’d hoped we’d be friends again. But it never happened. And now she wants to ask me about Maddie?
I shrug. “Just wanted to sit in the back, I guess.”
It’s like she’s looking straight through me. “Okay…. So, are you still friends?”
Where is this coming from? Why does she even care? “Uh, yeah, I guess so.” I don’t know what else to say.
“Could you ask her if she’ll introduce me to the band from that new superhero movie?” she blurts out.
I raise my eyebrows. Is she serious? “She doesn’t know them.”
“Does so.” She takes out her phone and scrolls through Twitter. “See?” she says when she finds the right tweet.
I guess she does know them. “I can’t ask her to introduce you. It would be weird.”
The bus whines its way up the hill and turns down our street.
She purses her lips. “I knew you weren’t friends anymore. Or you’d be sitting with her.”
My face grows hot. “We are,” I say, humiliation bubbling up in me. “B-b—” I pause. Slow down, Charlotte! “Uh, but you and I aren’t. You can’t just t-talk to me when you want something.”
Lyric’s jaw drops.
For just a split second, I feel a twinge of guilt, but it passes. I’m still angry about the way she treated me. “If you want to meet the band, ask her yourself.” It was weird when the older girls on the bus started sitting with Maddie, but now Lyric is asking for favors? It all makes sense. They just want to use Maddie. The thought makes me furious. Maddie is a person, and a really good one we used to be lucky enough to know.
I freeze. We used to be that lucky. Lyric and me. But Lyric made a choice last year when she dropped both Maddie and me as friends, and then…I did the same thing to Maddie! I’m just like Lyric.
The bus stops at the driveway and the door opens.
I can’t let Lyric hurt Maddie again by asking for favors after all this time. Maddie would know Lyric was just trying to use her. I glance over my shoulder on the first step and say, “Hey—don’t
ask her to introduce you.” I look her right in the eye. “Everyone wants something from her now. She doesn’t know who her real friends are anymore.” I cringe inside on the last sentence. Am I a real friend?
Lyric frowns and follows behind me. “I, uh, didn’t think about that.”
“Yeah.” I walk down the aisle, and Maddie’s there. Her braid is super neat for a change, and…is she wearing makeup? She makes eye contact with me for a moment and turns to an eighth-grade girl who’s never spoken to her before now.
Does this mean what I think it means? Josh and Tristan aren’t on the bus yet, but if people start sitting with Maddie, will the boys stop bullying her? I’d give anything to sit next to Maddie. But I can’t do that because she won’t let me. Not unless she reads my letter and forgives me.
But I can sit in the seat behind her so Josh and Tristan can’t. At least that’s doing something. I drop into the seat and put a neatly folded note with the words You’re stronger than you know next to me.
If someone new rode our bus this morning, they’d have no idea that anything horrible had ever happened. The most popular kids gather around Maddie. They offer her candy, play with her hair, and ask her when the pro wrestlers are coming to PE. It’s like that moment in Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer when his nose saves the day and just like that, BOOM. He’s in the club. All the other reindeer decide he’s awesome and let him hang out after making fun of him for so long.
Maddie glances at me over her seat and frowns.
My stomach drops. My timing is all wrong. She probably thinks I’m sitting here because of all the celebrities. But I just want my best friend back. Maybe we can pick up where we left off?
No, we can’t.
* * *
Ms. Harper starts English class with a piece of paper in her hand at the front of the room. “Before we get started writing today, I wanted to take a minute to share this with you. There’s been so much good writing in here. I’ve seen everything from comics to mysteries, and you’re all keeping me turning pages to find out what happens next! The other day, one of you wrote a powerful essay that I just have to share with the class.” She clears her throat and begins to read. I sit straight up in my seat at the sound of a few familiar lines. She says, “ ‘If you don’t speak up, no one will ever hear your voice. And you have a voice!’ ” That’s my essay! It sounds different from when I wrote it in my head. The words are stronger when Ms. Harper says them.
I feel a flush of heat rise up my neck and into my face. I’ve never been anything close to extraordinary, and now a teacher is saying my words are powerful? No one has ever read my work to the class before. I glance around at the other kids listening to my words.
Ms. Harper finishes the last line and looks up and beams. “This person really grasped the assignment. Keep up the good work, folks. Now let’s log some words!” She places the paper on her desk and settles down to write.
I lean back in my seat. Am I dreaming? I must be dreaming. I glance up at Ms. Harper, who, at the exact same time, looks up at me. She winks and goes back to her paper.
My face might split in two, I’m smiling so hard. She liked my work! I glance down at my blank sheet of paper and feel a small swell of panic. What do I write? If she liked my essay on speaking up, she probably wants something else that’s real. I can’t disappoint Ms. Harper, but it’s not like I can tell her about Maddie and the bus. I have other stuff I can write about, though. After talking to Lyric this morning, there’s so much in my head that I think it will explode if I don’t write down some of it. I can be careful. I’ll write in code, and she’ll never know I’m talking about Maddie! I write about kid celebrities, and how so many people must be super nice to them just because they’re them. And that it must be terrible to never know who your real friends are, and who’s just trying to use you.
I rest my chin on my hand. I still can’t believe that Tristan and Josh actually left Maddie alone this morning. They sat a few seats back and acted like she wasn’t even there, like they hadn’t just spent the last few weeks making her life miserable. They’re not pretending to be her friends. Yet.
I write, It’s not real. They just want to say they know you. But what happens when no one cares anymore, and you’re just someone who was cool for five minutes?
* * *
It didn’t take much convincing to talk my mom into driving me to Jack’s dad’s house. Word of our letter-writing party spread quickly among the theater parents. Mom said, “What did I tell you? I knew you’d make friends in musical theater!” She was so excited that I would be hanging out with other kids, I’m surprised she didn’t leave tire marks in front of his driveway. Only one thing held her back. As I stepped out of the car, she said, “Wouldn’t it be nice if you called Maddie and asked her over for tomorrow?”
“Um, I g-guess?” I offered. “But, Mom, I can’t.”
“Sure you can,” she said, nodding with encouragement. Then she left me with a bowl of bean dip and a promise that she’d be back in two hours.
Before I can ring the bell, the door opens, and Jack’s dad whisks me inside. In the kitchen, kids from class stand around, snacking on cookies, potato chips, and vegetables. There’s a sweating ice bucket full of canned soft drinks at the end of the counter.
Sophie, Grace, and Jack sit at the table with a stack of paper and envelopes, and a growing pile of finished letters in the center. “Hey, Charlotte!” Jack says. “Is that bean dip?”
The doorbell rings, and Jack’s dad darts into the hallway. I tug at my sweater, which is all of a sudden itchy and hot.
“Yeah.” I set it on the table. Then I grab a drink, sit down, and pick up a piece of paper.
Aubrey strolls into the kitchen. “Hey, y’all!” she says, plopping down at the table with us.
The group chatters a few hellos.
Grace grins. “I’m loving your letter, Charlotte. It helped me a ton.”
“Thanks.”
“What letter?” Aubrey says.
Sophie hands her a copy of it. “I thought it was awesome and asked if we could share as a good example.”
“ ‘Awesome’ is right,” Jack says, holding out his fist. “Fist bump!”
I bump my hand into his, and he makes a “Boom” sound effect at the moment our knuckles touch.
Aubrey nods. “Oh yeah. I remember.” She folds up my letter, puts it into her pocket, and picks up a blank piece of paper.
“My favorite part,” Grace says, “is when you say”—she clears her throat—“ ‘But we put our whole hearts into it. The only way you’ll understand is if you come and see for yourself.’ ” She shakes her head. “That’s so great. How did you come up with it?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. It just— It’s true. We do put our whole hearts into it.” I reach for some chips. “And they don’t understand, or they wouldn’t be canceling musical theater.”
“It’s all about test scores,” Grace says. “It has to be.”
We all groan.
“How do you know?” Aubrey asks.
“My cousin said they did the same thing at her school. If scores aren’t at the top, bye-bye, art classes. I even called her to make sure.”
The pile of letters in the center of the table appears much smaller after that. We need to write more, and fast.
Aubrey dangles a finished letter in front of us. “Pass the stamps, please.”
Jack pushes the roll of stamps across the table.
One of the kids at the counter comes over for another sheet of paper and hums the first line of a song from the radio. Jack joins in, and in two seconds flat, we’re all singing. I glance up from my letter and take it all in. It reminds me of what I imagined my dream middle school would be like all those weeks ago. I return to my letter with a smile. If I doubted it before, I don’t anymore. I belong here.
Today it’s
finally time to do fittings for our costumes. We line up at the door to the wardrobe closet backstage in the auditorium. It’s next to the dressing rooms, so that’s convenient. The inside of it looks like a flea market exploded. There are suitcases, hats, scarves, and feather boas. Motorcycle jackets and taffeta. An entire wall of shoes. Ms. Harper and Ms. Bishop pace around the small space, calling out students’ names and plucking hangers off racks. They wanted to buy some new costumes for the show, but the budget was cut. Ms. Harper said they had to “get creative” with their wardrobe closet. I’m afraid to see what I’ll be wearing.
“Jack!” Ms. Harper calls.
Jack steps up.
She hands him a stack of silver clothing.
Jack holds it up, frowning. “Where’s the hat?”
Ms. Harper smiles. “We’ll add that once you’re wearing the costume.”
He disappears into the boys’ dressing room.
Ms. Harper looks at her clipboard. “Grace! Come on down!” She disappears and returns with a blue gingham dress and slippers.
Grace says, “Now, that’s what I’m talking about. Look at those shoes!”
“Go on, hurry.”
“I’m going, I’m going,” Grace says. She moves off to the girls’ dressing room.
“Aubrey!” A big ball of poufy pink appears, and somewhere behind it, Ms. Bishop.
Aubrey takes the dress and holds it up to her shoulders. “Oh my gosh, it’s gor-geous!”
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