Say It Out Loud

by Allison Varnes

  Just ahead, I can make out Maddie in the middle of all those kids. Aubrey stands to her left, hanging on every word, along with the rest of the older middle schoolers. Is this real life?

  I squeeze through the hallway as quickly as I can, and when I’m almost to my homeroom door, some girl’s elbow catches my arm and I drop my binder. Papers fly everywhere, quickly disappearing under students’ feet. I duck down and gather them up as quickly as I can. I’m leaning over into the main traffic when there’s a tap on my shoulder. Tristan kneels next to me, holding out several pages. His blue eyes are full of guilt and hope all rolled into one. It’s the same thing I see when I look at myself.

  I gape at him for what feels like forever before I manage to say, “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome,” he says, his face reddening slightly.

  I glance at the pages he hands me, and my heart sinks. They’re covered in my secret notes to kids. I know he saw them. How could he not have? I hope he doesn’t say anything.

  We both rise to our feet as the warning bell rings.

  “I…um…see you later,” he says. He hesitates, almost as though he wants to say something else, but then he doesn’t say any more.

  This is so weird. “See you later,” I say, trying to sound cool. I walk into homeroom totally stunned. If it hadn’t just happened to me, I would never believe it. Tristan actually did something nice! And he did it where everyone could see. I sink into my seat. This sort of thing doesn’t just happen, does it? I know I gave him some lunch money, but that was weeks ago. He wouldn’t be going out of his way to help me now just because of that. Unless…I sit up straighter. I know he read my note to him. What if my words actually helped him like I’d hoped?

  If one note can do that for one person, there are so many more notes I need to put out in the world. I pull out a fresh piece of paper and write:

  Someone would be so lucky to have a friend like you.

  You are more than enough.

  Go be awesome.

  When we go to the library in English, I open a book that I see kids reading all the time, and I tuck a note into the first chapter. I leave one in each of my classes, in empty seats, on the small shelf under some desks, in open backpacks in the hallway. In social studies, I write more notes while Ms. Yang locates the Sahara Desert on a map.

  I hope you see something so beautiful today, it takes your breath away.

  You matter.

  Whatever it is, you’re going to get better at it. Keep trying!

  Ms. G calls me out of PE. I hurl my bag into the corner of her office and drop into the cracked plastic chair in front of her desk.

  “Rough day?”

  “Different kind of day.” No one is who I think they are. Tristan, Maddie. Who else is going to surprise me today?

  “Oh! I brought this for you!” She hands me a newspaper clipping and beams. “It’s the most amazing letter! Did you know—”

  “Yes.”

  “So you saw it?”

  “Yeah.” I sigh.

  “I thought you’d be excited about it, Charlotte! Think of all the people who will probably come to the show after reading that letter!”

  “I know.”

  She shakes her head. “Well, I think it’s wonderful, and I hope you get to keep performing—if that’s what you want!”

  “I do want that.”

  She knows there’s something wrong. She has the same look in her eye that my mom has had since this whole mess started with Maddie. “Why don’t you tell me what’s really bothering you?”

  I wish I could. I shrug, my eyes glued to my feet. Maybe I could tell her. What’s the worst that could happen? She might understand.

  She studies me a moment. “Let me know if you change your mind. You can talk to me.”

  Why do I always have to get so hot when I’m upset? The heat rushes to my face, but I don’t cry. My anger spills over, and the words come pouring out. “It’s my letter. I wrote it!”

  She gasps. “You?”

  I nod and push the letter back across her desk. “I gave it to the k-kids in my class to use as an example for their own letters. She wasn’t supposed to steal it!”

  “How much did she take? Part of it? Most of it?”

  “Almost every word.” I clench my jaw. How do I even tell her what that means to me? Would she understand? When you’re afraid of your own voice, you’re left with the words you put on paper. It’s the only time you can make sure they come out the way you want them to. Aubrey stole my words.

  “Oh, Charlotte.” Ms. Garrett shakes her head. “I’m so sorry. That’s terrible.”

  I stare at a spot on her wall. “Thanks.”

  She says, “Do the other kids know the letter was yours?”

  I scoff. “Yes! They all know!” My eyes flood with tears, which makes me even madder. I don’t want to cry over this. The tears drip onto my jeans, leaving dark splatters. “You know what Aubrey said at the auditions?”

  “I’m afraid to ask.”

  “She said I shouldn’t be disappointed when I don’t get cast as Glinda.” I shake my head. “I didn’t think I would, and she doesn’t know that I’m in speech or anything. It’s just…It was—”

  “A rotten thing to say. Don’t you listen to a word of it.” Ms. Garrett passes me a box of tissues. “And this letter…” She sighs.

  I take a handful of tissues and blow my nose.

  “It’s not fair and it’s not right.” She studies the newspaper clipping. “You really have quite the voice, Charlotte.”

  I look up at her, my heart fluttering with hope. “You think so?”

  She smiles. “I know so. And no matter what anyone says or does, it’s unmistakably yours.”

  The tears come again, but this time for a totally different reason. I wipe my face.

  “What do you say we get started so you can have a voice onstage, too?” Ms. G asks.

  I smile the kind of smile that reaches up my tearstained cheeks all the way to my eyes.

  We make it halfway through the play before the bell rings.

  Ms. Garrett closes the script and says, “I hope your day gets better. And don’t you stop writing letters!”

  I nod shyly and exit her office. Something tells me she’d approve of all the letters I’ve been writing. As I make my way to musical theater in the packed hallway, I catch a snippet of conversation between two older boys in front of me. The taller one says, “It’s just so random. I opened my locker, and there was this note.” He hands it to the shorter boy, who reads aloud, “ ‘Everyone’s pretending to be someone they’re not. Just be you’?”

  I gasp. I haven’t heard anyone talk about my notes.

  “That’s it,” the taller boy says. “Like, who would do that?”

  The shorter boy hands the note back to him. “And why did they give it to you?”

  “No clue.”

  I smile and slip inside the auditorium, where Aubrey stands center stage and everyone fights for her attention. My smile fades away. I drop into a seat in the darkened room and wait for the bell. When it chimes, Ms. Harper says, “Before we get started, there’s something I want to bring to your attention if you haven’t already heard about it.” She unfolds today’s newspaper.

  “ ‘Dear Editor, my name is Aubrey Russell, and I am a seventh grader at Carol Burnett Middle….’ ”

  La-la-la, can’t hear you. Not listening. I try to picture kids’ faces lighting up over my notes, while Ms. Harper continues to read the rest of Aubrey’s—my—letter. Finally it’s over. Ms. Harper says, “Never have I had a student use their writing abilities to do something like this. This was…such a nice surprise. And it just goes to show what you can do when you put your mind to it. Now that it’s out there, who knows! We may get our miracle.” She beams at Aubrey. “You took a chance, and chances
are everything. Let’s give Aubrey a big hand, folks!”

  I clap once. That’s it. Everyone else claps and cheers. She’s hugging Jack. How could he do that when he knows I wrote it? The palms of my hands push together just like my teeth are grinding right now. Anyone who read my letter in the group message—and they all read it—knows it’s mine. So why are they clapping for her? Don’t they remember? But as I scan their faces, I catch Grace, Sophie, and several others frowning at Aubrey. Grace leans over to Sophie and mutters something. Sophie nods.

  “And—starting Monday, it’s tech week!” Ms. Harper continues. “For those of you new to musical theater, listen up! We will meet in full costume daily, with all lights and sound. You should treat each day just like you would a real performance. Something tells me that after the letter in today’s paper, we’re going to have even more people in the audience than usual. Let’s make it count!”

  Aubrey places her hand over her heart and sighs.

  Sophie and Grace make their way over to me as everyone keeps chattering about the newspaper.

  “That’s your letter!” Sophie says as soon as they reach me.

  I nod. “I know. My parents showed it to me this morning.”

  “We should tell Ms. Harper,” Grace says with her hands on her hips.

  I shake my head. “No, I don’t—”

  “We need our Dorothy onstage,” Ms. Harper calls out. Grace gives me a look and then turns to go to her mark. Sophie plops down in a seat near me, opens her script, and sighs.

  “Okay,” Ms. Harper says. “Let’s take it from the beginning. Ready, Ms. Bishop?”

  Ms. Bishop plays the opening of the show on the piano, and they begin.

  I pull out my notebook and do the only thing I can think of right now. I write more notes.

  My favorite part about tech week is seeing all the pieces coming together as we prepare for opening night. Seeing everyone in costumes makes us even more focused—our audience will be here before we know it! My classmates are all so talented. They can sing, dance, and act, which Ms. Harper says is a triple threat. I wish I could do that. And the thing is, if I had the chance to get more experience, I think I could! Well, maybe except for the whole dancing part. Let’s not go overboard.

  While everyone else does their hair and makeup, I have it easy. No makeup needed, and all I have to do is pull my hair back. I’m done in two minutes flat, as opposed to Aubrey, who needs at least twenty minutes. Her hair is off-the-charts huge. She has to put enormous curls in it with so much hair spray, it doesn’t move when she walks. Seriously. If a fly landed in it, it would die for sure.

  I do the best I can in all my scenes. I work on my timing, and practice moving at the same speed as Sophie in the horse costume. We keep getting better with each rehearsal. I’ve only knocked her over once since we tried it on the first time!

  What doesn’t get better is my aim when I throw apples. I don’t get it. Sophie’s apples roll beautifully to the opposite side of the stage. But mine land everywhere they’re not supposed to go—the audience, backstage, Dorothy’s head…. It’s not like I’m trying to do any of that. I’ve never been able to throw straight in my whole life, so why would anyone think it would be a good idea for me to throw fake apples? They don’t go anywhere near as far as real apples would, which I guess is a good thing, since I really don’t want to knock Dorothy out.

  Ms. Harper takes me aside midway through the week. “Charlotte, we’ve got to do something about those apples.”

  “I know. I’m trying.”

  “Are you nervous?”

  “No, I just—I’m trying really hard to stay on that tiny X on the stage, and I keep thinking of what my lines are ahead of time.” I’m also thinking about everyone else’s lines that I know so well, but she doesn’t need to know that.

  She nods. “I want you to try this the next time you’re onstage.”

  “Okay.”

  “Hit your mark, look ’em in the eye, and tell the truth.”

  “What?” Ms. G wants me to look everyone in the eye, too!

  “That’s all you have to do. You do that, and it’s going to be so much better.”

  That makes zero sense. I still can’t throw worth a flip. “But what about the apples?”

  “It was never really about the apples,” she says with a wink. “It’s about what’s going on in your head when you throw them. Just be the tree.”

  It sounds so simple when she puts it like that. Just be the tree, Charlotte. Gosh.

  * * *

  After dinner, I’m helping Mom with the dishes when she casually says, “How’s Maddie?”

  I take a wet plate from her and dry it. “She’s fine. No one’s bugging her anymore. All they want to do is meet her new rock star friends.”

  Mom hands me another plate. “Wonder what she thinks about that.”

  I place the dry plate in the stack to put back into the cabinet. “That she lived happily ever after?”

  “She’s a smart girl, Charlotte. She has to know those kids are talking to her for the wrong reasons.”

  “I d-don’t think that matters to her. She’s like the most popular kid in school now.”

  “Of course it matters.” She rinses the last plate and hands it to me. “Charlotte…friendships like yours don’t just end overnight. I know it feels like it, but I think you might be surprised.”

  She’d be shocked to find that friendships can end in even less time. Like half a second. I dry the dishes in silence and put them in the cabinet. “I’m going to my room.”

  “Have you tried talking to her again?” she calls when I’m almost around the corner. “Her mom thinks you should.”

  I stop in my tracks and glance over my shoulder at her. “You talked to Maddie’s mom?!” My voice comes out higher-pitched on the last word.

  “Of course I did.”

  “What—” My stomach flips. “What did she say?”

  She wipes the countertop. “Just that you need to call Maddie.”

  I shake my head and bolt upstairs as fast as I can. Maddie hasn’t responded to my letter. What makes our moms think she’d talk to me on the phone?

  Once I reach my room, I close the door and hurl myself onto my bed. I glance over at the phone on my dresser. I could call Maddie. What’s one more try? I frown. Unless I can’t get the words out again. The only way I can make sure they come out right is if I write them. I’m out of options.

  I need to feel like I’m making a difference, to fix something outside myself. Writing is the only thing that makes me feel that way. So I write three more letters to the rest of the school board to try to distract myself. Do they even care what some kid thinks? I hope so. If I’ve learned anything at all this year, it’s that if you don’t say what’s important to you, you miss your chance. Maddie is gone. I can’t let musical theater pass me by, too. As I seal the last letter, I think maybe it doesn’t matter if the people in charge don’t want to listen. If enough of us write, they’re going to hear us whether they want to or not.

  I know my other notes have been heard. I saw Ben smile. Tristan helped me in the hallway, and even though it happened a while after I left the note for him, I think my words meant something to him. Aubrey definitely thinks she’s shining as Glinda, but honestly, that note was more about me trying to be a good sport. I don’t know what Josh thought about his note, but at least I tried. But the one I want to know about most is my letter to Maddie. I hoped so hard that it would fix what I’d broken, but there’s nothing. No response. No sign that she even got it. But she had to have gotten it. My mom probably made sure of it when she talked to Maddie’s mom.

  I pick up my pen, and all the words I wish I could say to myself and other kids come pouring out:

  It’s going to get better.

  You’re not alone.

  I love talking to you be
cause you’re awesome.

  You’re making a big difference.

  I write page after page, thought after thought. It’s silly, but I try to make each sentence a hug. Maybe it will help someone.

  You have the best smile.

  I’m rooting for you.

  It’s okay to cry. We all do it.

  Make it count.

  I think for a second, and then add one more line to the notes I’ve written:

  Being brave means doing the right thing even when you’re scared. Be brave anyway.

  I should follow my own advice.

  * * *

  In English, we skip reading novels and move straight to writing. I flip open my journal and find that Ms. Harper has been reading my work again. On my page about speaking up, Ms. Harper wrote, This is more like it, Charlotte! I knew you had it in you! Keep writing!

  In my journal entry about kid celebrities, she wrote, I wonder what made you write about this. I think there must be a story there—maybe a short story. Find the heartbeat. Can you feel it?

  No, I can’t. You have to have a heart for that. Ugh, I’m completely out of writing ideas. I’ve written about the most ridiculous stuff, and none of it has been real except for the essay about speaking up for what I believe in. Ms. Harper liked that one for a reason.

  I take a deep breath. Ms. Harper wants me to find the heartbeat. I guess that means I need to show her what’s in my awful heart. What was that she said? Oh yeah. Hit your mark, look ’em in the eye, and tell the truth.

  This is my truth. Here goes nothing.

  With a steadier hand than I thought I’d have, I write:

  Have you ever done something so bad, you couldn’t take it back?

  I have. I hurt a friend to protect myself.

  There are all these moments that happened so fast, each one worse than the one before. It was like watching a line of dominoes topple over, and once the fall started, it was too late. There was no going back.