I smile. It really is.
“Charlotte!” Ms. Harper beckons for me to approach.
She hands over a floor-length brown dress with long sleeves.
“This is a tree?”
“It will be,” says Ms. Harper. “Sophie! Where’s Sophie?”
I turn to go to the dressing room. It could still be okay. The material feels soft, so at least it’s not going to be itchy.
Right inside the dressing room door, there’s a long counter with stools where some girls are already changing into Munchkin costumes. Mirrors line the space above the counter, and just above the mirrors is a long row of lightbulbs that illuminate the room in a warm glow. To the right, there’s a table, a few cubbies, and a costume rack. Just past the corner of the cubbies, the room flows into a wider space with benches and racks to hang clothes on, and the entire wall is a mirror, like the kind in a dance studio. On the opposite wall is a row of lockers. But the coolest thing is that there’s a star on each one. I smile. I’ve always wanted my own star.
Grace says, “Hey, Charlotte! What do you think? Isn’t it awesome?” She holds her arms out wide and poses in her Dorothy dress.
I almost gasp. The blue pops against her tawny brown skin, and the sequins on the slippers sparkle. “It’s too perfect. You look amazing.”
“Thanks! Gotta go show Ms. Harper!”
I take my dress off the hanger and examine it closely. It’s like crushed velvet, and there are these long things hanging from the arms. Hmm. I slip out of my jeans and shirt and pull the dress over my head. It goes all the way past my shoes and down to the floor. I could wear slippers under it, and no one would ever know! What in the world is this? I hold my arms straight out to my sides, like I would if I were doing jumping jacks. There’s this lighter brown netting hanging down under each arm, like the connective tissue on a bat’s wing. The sleeves go way past my arms, like some kind of wizard’s robe. There’s even a brown hood. I pull it up over my head and see only my face peeking out of the opening, my cheeks slightly flushed. I look like a bat-wizard. I definitely don’t look like a tree.
I sigh and walk back to the wardrobe closet and Ms. Harper. Most of the kids have already changed or are still in the fitting rooms. Aubrey sizes me up in my bat-wizard nonsense and gives me a spectacular eye roll.
Ms. Harper says, “You’re good to go, Jack!” He turns around, and I’m struck by how much taller he looks—and it’s not just the upside-down funnel on his head, either. He’s wearing a long-sleeved silver shirt and, over it, what looks like silver medieval armor. On his shoulders, there are shoulder pads that look like they were part of a football uniform and someone painted them metallic silver. His pants look like shiny silver sweatpants.
He half cringes when he sees my costume, and tries to cover by fist-bumping me as he passes by. Too late! I know I look ridiculous.
I step up to the doorway. “Ms. Harper.”
She turns around. “Oh, wow! Look at you!”
“I don’t look like a tree.”
“Of course you don’t!” She turns and goes to a box in the corner. “You don’t have”—she turns back around—“THIS!”
Oh. My. Gosh. It looks like she’s holding a fake potted plant that’s been loaded down with apple ornaments. Before I can say a word, she plops it down onto my head.
“PERFECT!” she says.
I object.
“Take a look!”
I glance over at the long mirror on the wall, and it’s as bad as I thought. It looks like one of my mom’s hanging plants exploded on my head. I’m still stunned when Sophie approaches in her brown bat-wizard robe. Ms. Harper plunks a plant thing onto her head, too, approves, and says, “Thank you, ladies. The apple trees are ready for Oz!”
We hand over our houseplant hats and turn to leave.
“Hang on!” Ms. Harper calls after us.
I look over my shoulder.
“You still have to try on your horse costume!”
Sophie and I exchange glances while she goes to one of the tables and returns with two huge stacks of purple fabric.
She gives Sophie a stack, along with a huge horse head with bulging eyes. Then she hands me a smaller stack.
“You forgot the head,” I say.
“No, I didn’t. It’s right here.”
“I mean the one for me!”
Ms. Harper looks blankly at me. “Charlotte, this is a two-person job. Sophie is the head; you’re the tail.”
I’m a WHAT? My mouth drops open.
Sophie nods. “C’mon.”
I drag my feet behind her. This can’t be happening. I’m supposed to be a horse, not a…I can’t even say it.
Inside the fitting room, Aubrey is already practicing sitting at the makeup area. She’s fluffing up her costume’s sleeves as high as they’ll go, saying, “Look! It doesn’t even fall! They won’t go down!”
“Let’s go in there, okay?” I say, gesturing to the other room.
Sophie nods.
I sit on the bench and sort through the pieces in my stack. There’s a pair of shimmery purple pants with horse hooves built in at the bottom. I pull them on under my tree costume. My feet look like a stuffed animal’s. I wish I could wear something beautiful onstage. Just once. But maybe this horse costume won’t be so bad. At least the hooves are comfortable. I slip out of the robe and pull on my T-shirt.
Sophie picks up the purple horse head and sighs. “Are you ready?”
I nod.
“Okay, hold the end, would you?” She puts on the horse head. “Okay, now you go under the fabric.”
Oh my gosh, it has a tail. A long, purple one covered in glitter, of course. I duck under the fabric, and it settles over us like a tablecloth. I giggle trying to picture what we look like.
“Charlotte! You’re supposed to bow down. Your head can’t be sticking up. We look like a camel!”
I laugh again. “Okay, okay.” I bend at the waist and feel the fabric drape across my back. “Ugh, I can’t see anything. Do you think it looks weird?”
A squeal of laughter rings through the air. I know that voice. I stumble out from under the fabric right as Sophie takes off the horse head. Aubrey stands with her hands on her hips, looking like one of those princess cakes from when we were little. She covers her face with her hands and squeals again. “This is the best thing I’ve ever seen! Don’t take it off,” she says with a smirk. “You look ridiculous!”
Sophie stuffs the horse head under her arm. She turns to me. “C’mon, Charlotte.”
“Maybe you were cast as the wrong witch,” I say without a backward glance as we walk out the door. I hear several girls say “Ooooh” as the door shuts behind us, as if I’ve said something unforgivable.
“Oh my gosh, Charlotte! What’s gotten into you?” Sophie says.
I shrug. “I guess I’m a horse’s butt.”
We both crack up while we wait for Ms. Harper to finish with a group of Munchkins. Ms. Bishop is busy adjusting sleeves on the Scarecrow while at least six other kids try walking around in the shoes she picked out for them.
I still wish I had a role where I could at least get a little glammed up, but watching the other kids get into their costumes reminds me that every role is important. And I’m going to be the best apple tree and horse’s butt there ever was.
When it’s finally our turn, Ms. Harper says, “Oh, come on! Let’s see the whole thing!”
Sophie puts on the horse head, and I bend at the waist under the fabric.
Ms. Harper claps. “This is great! You two are just wonderful. Hang on….” She adjusts the fabric on one side. “Aaah, you need to see this. Hang on, don’t move.” There’s a click, and then she says, “Okay, Sophie, can you see out of that thing?”
“Yes,” comes Sophie’s muffled voice.
“Perfect. How are you doing, Charlotte? I hope you’re not claustrophobic!”
I snicker. It’s pitch-black under here, but if I look down, I can see my feet. “I’m okay.”
“Can you two walk around a bit? Just to see how it’s going to work and make sure the costume doesn’t need adjustments?”
Sophie says, “Ready? Just go straight?”
“Yeah.”
“Go.” We take a few steps together. This is actually working! I keep my eyes on my shiny purple hooves, and I can see exactly where I—
Sophie comes to a sudden stop, and I keep going. The impact makes Sophie pitch forward, and I tumble after her, landing in a tangled heap in the wardrobe closet. Our hooves stick out in every direction.
“Charlotte!” Sophie says, laughing.
“Ugh, I’m sorry,” I say as I pick up my glasses and hold them up to the light to make sure they’re not cracked. “I didn’t know you had stopped!”
Sophie helps me up. “That’s okay. We’ll get it next time.”
Ms. Harper rushes over. “Are you two okay?”
“Fine,” I say sheepishly.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” Sophie says, rubbing her elbow.
Ms. Harper takes the horse head with the attached fabric and places it back on the table. “I think that move needs some work.”
Sophie and I exchange glances and grin. This part will be a lot of fun if we can work on our coordination.
“The extra practice will be so worth it. Check out how great you two look!” She fiddles with her phone and holds up the screen, beaming at us.
The teeth are big and cartoonish, the huge eyes have mile-high fake eyelashes, and with the shimmery light purple fabric draped over us and the deep purple hooves…we look like a My Little Pony reject. I laugh. “The audience is going to love it!”
“They will, won’t they?” Sophie says with a big smile.
Ms. Bishop places a few pairs of shoes back on the shelves. “Well! There you are!” she says to someone in the hall. “Let’s see!”
Aubrey’s dress is so poufy, she can hardly fit through the door.
“Aaaaah! Look at her, Ms. Harper!” Ms. Bishop squeals.
“The fit is amazing,” Ms. Harper says.
And then Aubrey twirls, like a little kid does in a fancy dress.
“Oh, wait!” Ms. Harper says. “You’re missing this!” She strolls over to a table and picks up the most beautiful crown I’ve ever seen. It’s small and delicate, with an elaborate swirl design on every square inch. The crown is topped with bursts of interwoven stars and flowers all around the edge. It’s spectacular. She gently lowers the crown onto Aubrey’s head, where it catches every color and shimmers in the light. “Take a look,” Ms. Harper says. “It’s really something.”
Aubrey takes in her appearance in the mirror. She stands up straighter and holds her head high. A smile curls at the edges of her lips.
“Mirror, mirror, on the wall,” I whisper. “Who’s the fairest—”
Sophie elbows me in the side and giggles.
Aubrey makes eye contact with me in the mirror, and then she smiles so big, I think that sparkle in her eye during the car commercial might be real.
She really does make a good Glinda.
“Hey, Ms. Harper! They need Grace in the office,” Jack calls.
Since when does Grace get called to the office? I thought that was just me.
Jack steps into the wardrobe closet and takes in Aubrey in her pink satin and taffeta glory. “Whoa.” And in that word, I hear everything I’m not. The perfect Glinda. But then he glances at me next to Sophie and says, “Oh my gosh, you two look awesome!” He laughs. “I can’t wait to see the whole costume!”
I’m the best horse’s butt of all time, and that’s more than I was a month ago.
I write letters during lunch, class changes, and homeroom. I address them to everyone I can think of who can help us: TV stations, radio stations, every newspaper in the state. I even write the governor! The word spread through our class, and now everyone is writing. Something is going to happen. I can’t explain it. It’s like the air before a storm, when it crackles with electricity and you can feel the change coming. They can’t ignore all of us. Then maybe, just maybe, I’ll get a chance to play more roles than a shrubbery and a rear end.
I think about Maddie all the time, and what it must have been like to have tea with a pop star last week. I think about Ben, and how we even got here. I think about how Lyric won’t talk to me because she thinks she’s not supposed to talk to sixth graders, and how ridiculous that is. If it doesn’t make sense, why do it? All it does is make other people feel bad. I’ve felt bad ever since school started. And I am tired of feeling bad.
I think that’s why I’m writing so many letters to save musical theater. At least I’m doing something about the situation. And writing a note to Ben was a small thing, but I felt so good afterward that I sent even more out into the world. Writing makes me feel better. At first I just wanted to help, but every time I write a note, I’m a little less afraid. This is weird, but…it’s changing the way I see other kids. I don’t think anyone is as confident as they pretend to be.
I wish I could tell every kid that things are going to be okay, that they can survive anything. That they’re awesome, that they have the best laugh when they’re not worried about hiding their braces, that they mean the world to someone just by being in it.
One note at a time, I’m going to try. I pull out my notebook and put my whole heart into it.
* * *
“Charlotte!”
I stop brushing my teeth for a second. “Yeah?”
“Come downstairs! Hurry!” Dad says.
The last time my parents shouted upstairs this early, they surprised me with pancakes. I rinse my mouth out, grab my backpack, and hustle down the stairs as fast as I can.
Mom’s leaning over his shoulder and looking at something on the counter.
“What is it?”
They step away and reveal the front section of the newspaper flipped open. Definitely not pancakes.
I rush over. It’s the Letter to the Editor section! I start to read:
Dear Editor,
My name is Aubrey Russell, and I am a seventh grader at Carol Burnett Middle. I’m going to be in a musical this year for the eleventh time. It might also be the last time I’m in a middle school production, because they’re taking away musical theater! They say it’s so we can have a reading enrichment program, and a bunch of the teachers have to teach it. But we already read in our other classes. And we read in musical theater—how do you think we memorize our lines?
Please help tell our story so that maybe, just maybe, whoever’s in charge will change their minds. I know I’m just a kid, but I hope you believe me when I tell you that we need this class. We don’t take big tests in musical theater, so no one thinks it’s important. There’s just us, a stage, and all the work we do in between the beginning and opening night. But we put our whole hearts into it. The only way you’ll understand is if you come and see for yourself. We’re performing The Wizard of Oz in one week, October 18–20. Hope to see you there.
Yours truly,
Aubrey Russell
My heart races so fast, there’s a thudding in my ears. Heat flames in my face. My letter. She sent my letter to the editor and the newspaper published it under her name! I mean, I did say my classmates could use it as an example to help them write letters, but I didn’t mean they could copy me word for word! I want to scream. How could she do this? It was the one thing that was mine.
“What’s wrong, Charlotte?” Mom asks. “We thought you’d be happy.”
“I would be, but that’s my letter. I wrote it. And she…” I don’t have the energy to finish. Why can’t anything ever work out for me? Just once. Would it b
e so terrible if I finally got a chance to shine?
Dad squeezes my shoulder.
Mom says, “Your letter?”
I nod. “I shared it because I thought it would help the kids in musical theater to see an example. I guess it’s my own fault. I just wanted to do something.”
“And you did.”
Dad says, “It might not be your name in the paper, but those are your words. People are going to be talking about this now.”
“And that’s exactly what you wanted,” Mom adds.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” But it doesn’t look the way I pictured it.
* * *
By now, Ben’s almost-bald spot has grown back enough that it’s not noticeable anymore. Everything is almost back to normal, except for me and Maddie.
I sit alone on the bus, scribbling on as many pieces of paper as I can. No one would ever know that I used to sit with Maddie, or what I did. I glance over at Lyric, who writes slowly in pink gel pen. When she meets my gaze, she turns her back to me so I can’t see what she’s doing.
That’s fine. I don’t want anyone to see my letters. Letters to important people. Letters to kids. Tiny, random notes to leave for someone who needs them. I try to think of the things I wish someone would say to me, and I jot them down as fast as I can:
You are so smart.
I think you could change the world.
There’s someone who thinks you’re amazing, and you don’t even know it.
I tear some of the notes into squares, fold them up, and stick them into my pocket.
On the way to homeroom, I slip the folded-up notes into random lockers lining the hallway. The rest of the notes are still in the pages of my binder.
But when I turn the corner, it’s so crowded that I can hardly get through. “What’s going on?” I ask a random girl pushing past me.
“It’s Maddie Hobson. She’s telling everyone what celebrities are like!”
“How do you know?”
She flashes her phone. “I got a text!”
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