Say It Out Loud

by Allison Varnes

  You might say, “Wow, Charlotte, what were you thinking? How could you have done something like that?”

  That’s what I would have thought if I’d been there watching it happen. I’d think, I would never do such a thing. I’d stop it.

  And yet, here I am. I never stopped it. I stepped out of the way.

  I didn’t even think about it. I made a choice. A terrible choice to not do anything at all, because doing something would hurt me too much. But friendship doesn’t work that way.

  I’ve felt awful for weeks now because I did nothing. And when you keep doing nothing, it just gets worse.

  So I finally did something. Not a big something that might make anything close to the way it was, but a bunch of little somethings that might make the world a tiny bit better for someone. I also started the letter-writing campaign to save musical theater. The letter in the newspaper was mine.

  I hope that counts in the whole scheme of things. I don’t know what else to do.

  “Time’s up!” Ms. Harper says.

  I hope not.

  * * *

  “So, tonight’s the night?” asks Ms. G when we’re sitting in her office.

  “Yeah.” I’ve been queasy since last night, and my stomach is in total knots today. I can’t believe opening night is already here.

  “Are you nervous?”

  “No.” Yes.

  “You’re going to be great.”

  I shrug it off. “It’s not like I have a lot to d-d”—I pause and take a breath—“do.”

  “There are no small parts.”

  “Just small horses.”

  She laughs. “Let’s get started. I guess we’ll need to find a new play after this one, won’t we?”

  “Maybe.” That would be okay with me.

  We start at the beginning. She sits in her swivel chair, the manuscript in her hands, and I read all the good parts. I know every line. Every action. Everything. And I say it all while looking her right in the eye.

  When the bell rings, she claps and cheers. My cheeks burn, but it feels really good to hear applause. I don’t think I’ve ever performed and been clapped for in my entire life.

  She says, “Break a leg!”

  I grin. “Thanks!”

  I take my time going to the auditorium. By this time tomorrow, opening night will be over with, and I’ll always get to say that I was part of it. That’s something. I’ve also managed to scatter every single note I have all over the school. They’re in lockers, in backpacks, on seats, in bathrooms. I put a few more in library books. It makes me smile to think of someone opening a book and reading something kind stuck between the pages. Leaving a note only takes a second, just like the Bad Thing only took a second. And with each note, I wonder how many it would take to make up for what I did to Maddie. If you put enough good into the world, does it cancel out the bad you’ve done?

  I walk through the auditorium doors, and the full stage lights are already on. Ms. Harper is adjusting the sound levels. This is it. Our last run-through.

  The rehearsal goes just like it’s gone every day this week, except I’m finally spot-on with the silly apples. I don’t even think about where I’m throwing them. Trees don’t think about their aim. They just think about making Dorothy go away. As for the horse, Sophie and I have it down. When we hear the line about the horse being a different color, Sophie and I both prance and neigh, and we exit the stage. Everyone seems to think it’s great, and I’m having a blast!

  “Listen up,” Ms. Harper says. “Be back at five-thirty sharp! I know that’s not much time, but we have a lot to do to get ready, and we can’t be late. Try not to overuse your voices this afternoon. Glinda’s understudy just came down with laryngitis, and we need everyone healthy tonight! Yes?”

  We nod.

  She continues, “I will see you all very soon!” Then her eyes meet mine, and the space between her eyebrows wrinkles. She frowns and turns away.

  That’s not like her. Was I not very good today? Maybe she talked to Ms. Garrett and she’s worried that I’ll stutter onstage. That’s what I’m worried about.

  “Hey, Aubrey,” Ms. Harper calls. “I need to speak with you a moment.”

  My eyes widen. Or maybe Ms. Garrett told Ms. Harper that I wrote the letter! I don’t really mind if she did. Ms. Harper will know everything after she reads my journal. It’s my truth, not Aubrey’s.

  The bell rings, and I steal a glance over my shoulder. Aubrey approaches Ms. Harper, who holds a newspaper in her hand, and Ms. Bishop joins them. They look so serious.

  “Do you think anyone will come?” I ask Grace, Sophie, and Jack as we step into the sunshine. It’s cool outside, and I catch a whiff of woodsmoke in the air. It smells like fall.

  “Are you kidding? The whole town will be here because the plays are always so good,” says Grace.

  “No, no. I mean all the people we wrote those letters to.”

  “Oh, I hope so,” says Sophie. “They have to see it to get it.”

  “They’ll be here, especially after Aubrey’s letter ran in the paper. Oh yeah. Just you wait,” Jack says.

  Grace shakes her head. “Actually, it’s—”

  I elbow Grace, and she sighs. “Never mind,” she says, exchanging a knowing glance with Sophie.

  I know it’s my letter, but I don’t even want to bring it up now. I just hope all our hard work means something. We tried to save musical theater class. How many other kids can say that?

  “See you later,” I say, and climb up the bus steps.

  Scanning the seats for an empty spot, I stiffen. Josh is in the seat across the aisle from Maddie, his shoulders turned in her direction. My already-nervous stomach plummets. Where are the kids who were chatting with her last week? They’re nowhere near her. Neither is Lyric, who’s sitting near my usual spot, but that’s no surprise. I study Maddie’s face as I get closer. She doesn’t look upset, really—more like she’s bracing herself for the worst. She’s in the seat by the window, but her bag is in the spot next to the aisle. I keep going.

  It’s never too late to do the right thing.

  I slide into the seat behind her so no one else can. Just in case. They’re not going to sit behind her and torment her anymore as long as I’m around.

  A moment later, Tristan plops down in the seat in front of Maddie. He turns to Josh across the aisle and doesn’t even look at Maddie.

  I lean back when I spot a small square of folded notebook paper next to me. That’s weird. I didn’t see it there when I sat down. I pick it up, unfold it, and read a message in pink gel pen:

  You’re not done yet. :) Keep going.

  Whoa! Who wrote this?

  I sit up straighter. No one is glancing my way. They’re all looking out the windows, reading, talking to other people, or playing on their phones. Who could it be? I steal a glance at Lyric, whose gaze meets mine when she looks up from writing something in a notebook. She rolls her eyes and turns her back to me. No, it’s definitely not her, I realize with a twinge of disappointment. If she had written this note, it would mean there’s still a part of her that’s my friend, but I know that’s not true.

  I look back down at the note. Someone copied me, but they didn’t do it like Aubrey did. They didn’t steal my words. They wrote their own and put them out there for kids who might need them. I need them.

  I refold the note and put it into my shirt pocket, right over my heart.

  The parking lot is completely full. Cars are parked on the sidewalk, in the bus loading dock, and even in the teachers’ parking spaces.

  Families dot the sidewalks as they walk toward the building.

  My heart pounds. This is it. People are actually going to be watching me throw apples and prance around as a horse. I feel sick and giddy at the same time.

  Dad pulls our SUV up t
o the sidewalk. “Why don’t you all go get tickets, and I’ll try to find a place to park?”

  I don’t need to be told again. I tumble out of the car in record time.

  Mom shuts the door, and we walk in together.

  “You’re going to be fine,” she says.

  I smile. “I know.”

  “I’m proud of you for doing this.”

  I reach over and pat her shoulder. “I love you, Mom.” No way am I going to hug her in front of everyone. It would be too embarrassing. “Hey, what time is it?”

  Mom checks her phone. “It’s five-twenty-eight.”

  “Oh no! Gotta run!”

  “Go get ’em, kiddo!” Mom says, raising her fist in the air when she says it.

  I dart away as fast as possible. Right in front of the auditorium, I gape at the crowd. There are parents with kids, grandparents, and a bunch of teachers. Is this normal? Would they have turned out like this anyway? Or…did we do this with our letters?

  Everything backstage is a blur of fabric and powder. Every light illuminates the front dressing room. The girls with the biggest roles sit at the counter putting on their makeup and doing their hair. I move on to the next room, where Sophie is chatting with several girls who play Munchkins. I slip into my tree costume robe just like I’ve done every day this week. After I pull my hair back into a low ponytail, I wipe my glasses on my sleeve, then put them back on. Done. I fold up my regular clothes and put them into my locker. With the star on it. But there’s a folded square of paper right at the edge of the locker door. I unfold it, and in familiar pink gel pen it reads Go Big or Go Home. I scan the fitting room, but no one is even looking my way. If anyone here put it in my locker, they’re not acting like it. Is the note for me? Or could it be for anyone, and I just happened to find it? I have so many questions! But that reminds me. I reach into the pocket of my folded jeans, pull out the other note that I found on the bus, and slip it into a locker several spaces down from mine. Maybe someone else in the play needs it, too.

  “Hey, Charlotte!” Grace says, poking her head around the corner, already in her gingham blue dress, with bare feet.

  “Hey, superstar!”

  “Oh, please,” she says. But her face glows with happiness. “Nervous?”

  “More excited than anything else. Are you?”

  “Are you kidding? I’ve been waiting for this my whole life.”

  I grin. I know exactly what she means.

  “WHOA!” Sophie yells.

  We all turn to see her looking down at her phone.

  “Check this out! My mom just sent it!” She holds up a picture of the auditorium, with crowds of people everywhere. It’s packed.

  I squeeze Grace’s arm, and we all jump up and down and squeal.

  The entire room buzzes with excitement. We might actually save musical theater class if we have enough support. We have one weekend to wow everyone with this play. One.

  We move into the front dressing room just as Aubrey stands in costume in front of the full-length mirror, Grace’s slippers in hand.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Grace says.

  “Relax. I’m just trying them on. I want to see what they look like.” She holds on to the counter and puts one shoe on.

  Grace crosses the room in record time and grabs the other slipper, still in Aubrey’s hand. “I don’t think so. You could stretch them out. Or scuff them. I don’t want anything to happen before we go on!”

  Aubrey tugs on the shoe, but Grace doesn’t let go. I never thought I’d see Dorothy and Glinda in a real-life showdown over slippers.

  “Give me my shoe!” Grace says. “This isn’t all about you, you know.”

  “Oh, don’t be such a baby! It’s just a shoe.”

  Grace’s eyes widen. “Oh yeah? Like it was just a letter in the newspaper?”

  Aubrey clenches her jaw.

  Grace continues, “Did you think no one noticed?” Then she turns to the whole room. “Listen up, everybody,” she says, gesturing with her open arms. “You know how Aubrey wrote a letter to the paper? Just in case you forgot—it was Charlotte’s! She was nice enough to share it to help us write our letters!”

  Everyone stares and nods.

  Aubrey tugs at the shoe again, but Grace is never letting go of it.

  “So now that we’ve reminded everyone that you like to take things that aren’t yours, how about letting go of my shoe?”

  Ms. Harper bursts into the dressing room. “WHAT is going on in here?” she says, rushing over to Aubrey.

  We all exchange glances.

  “Speak!”

  I step forward. “They were fighting over the shoes.”

  Ms. Harper’s expression doesn’t change. It’s like she didn’t hear me. “What?”

  “She was trying to take my shoes, Ms. Harper!”

  Aubrey holds her chin up, like she’s daring Grace to say another word.

  “Shoes,” Ms. Harper says, with an icy chill to her voice. “I need to speak with you in the hallway, Aubrey. Now.” Her face turns splotchy and red. I’ve never seen her so upset.

  “You should’ve just let me try them on,” Aubrey says, glaring at Grace.

  “Not another word,” Ms. Harper says. Her gaze falls on Aubrey’s slippered foot. “Give me the shoe, please,” she says, holding out her hand.

  Grace’s eyes meet Aubrey’s as though to say, See? Told you!

  Aubrey presses her lips together and hands the shoe to Ms. Harper.

  Ms. Harper passes the slipper to Grace and whisks Aubrey out of the room.

  We file out of the dressing room while they disappear out the stage side door. Ms. Bishop should be calling us to our places, but then she disappears out the door, too.

  “What do you think will happen?” Sophie asks me.

  “If Ms. Harper doesn’t have a heart attack?” I ask.

  “Yeah.”

  “I don’t know,” I say.

  Sophie shakes her head. “I can’t believe Aubrey.”

  “Neither can I,” says Grace, coming over to stand with us. “Hey, um…you don’t think it’s my fault, do you?”

  “No!” we say in unison.

  “Maybe I should’ve just let her have the shoe.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t,” Sophie says.

  Grace doesn’t look so sure.

  Jack strolls up to us, the silver funnel securely in place with a clear strap under his chin. “Did I miss something?”

  The side door opens, but instead of Ms. Harper, it’s Ms. G. In her arm is a small bouquet of flowers. I rush over to her. I don’t want anyone to know who she is, but I’m really glad to see her.

  “Charlotte! I wanted to swing by and give you these.” She hands me the bouquet of flowers. “You’re going to be wonderful!”

  “Thanks, b-b—” I pause, take a deep breath, and try again as I exhale. “But I’m worried there’s not going to be a show.”

  “What? Why?”

  At that moment, Aubrey storms in through the side door. “Because there goes Glinda,” I say as quietly as I can.

  Ms. G takes in Aubrey’s crown in her hand and her mascara-stained cheeks as she slams the dressing room door shut behind her. “Oh no.”

  “Yeah, I’m not really sure what happened,” I say, and then I spill about the shoe fight.

  She glances around. “Where’s Ms. Harper?”

  “Beats me. Probably trying to figure out how to refund everyone’s money.” So much for our one big chance to show everyone what we can do.

  “Isn’t there an understudy?” Ms. G asks.

  I shake my head. “Yeah, but she’s sick!”

  Her eyes widen. “Okay. Hang tight,” she says. “I’m going to see if I can help.”

  “Thanks for the flower
s,” I say.

  As soon as she’s gone, Grace says, “Who was that?”

  Uh-oh. “Um, just this teacher.” It’s like Grace’s eyes are boring holes into me. I wipe my sweaty palms on my tree robe. “She helps me,” I add.

  “With what?”

  I can’t stand that they’re staring at me. This is too much. Maybe I should just say it. It’s not like they haven’t heard me stutter a million times already. “Speech.”

  “Oh, okay,” Grace says, but she doesn’t sound surprised at all. I knew everyone had noticed. How could they not?

  “Yeah.” My face feels like it’s on fire. My speech isn’t something that I talk about. Not even with Maddie. I always pretend I don’t do it, and she always pretends not to notice. “I stutter. I have since I was little.”

  Grace nods. “That’s okay. Doesn’t everybody do that sometimes?”

  “Not like I do. I hate it. That’s why I get called out of class sometimes.” I steal a glance at Jack, whose warm eyes seem to glitter against his silver stage makeup. He’s not laughing.

  “You shouldn’t be embarrassed,” Grace says. “I have to go to the clinic all the time!”

  “You do?” I remember her getting called out of class one day.

  “Yep. The school nurse has to help me check my insulin. I’m diabetic.”

  “I didn’t know that.” Maybe everyone is dealing with something, and we just don’t know about it.

  “Well, now you do.”

  Ms. Bishop walks briskly through the side door and disappears into the backstage area.

  Sophie turns to me and says, “So, like, what do you do when you’re onstage? Is it harder?”

  “Yeah.” I fidget. “I pretty much freak out every single second.”

  Jack shakes his head. “But you do it anyway! That’s awesome.”

  Grace says, “I never would’ve known you were nervous.”

  I look down at my shoes. “You’ll know it if I mess up. I’ll be known as the girl with the stutter.”

  “No,” Grace says. “You’ll still be Charlotte. And everybody messes up. We’re not on Broadway yet.”