Sofia’s own phone starts ringing then, with Ella’s name appearing across her screen. “I guess this is it, then,” she says before answering. She does some silent nodding, says, “Okay,” a few times, and then hangs up. “I have to meet her now.”
“Where’s your family?” Kensington asks me. “Are you walking to the dorm with us?”
“Arden says to meet them by the fountain in Washington Square Park,” I say. “So . . .”
“Listen, no big sappy good-byes—let’s go,” Kensington says, holding out her arms for a three-way hug. “I’ll talk to you goofballs later.”
“I hate this,” Sofia says. “I had the best week with you guys. It was the greatest first trip to New York in the history of the world.”
“Remember our college plan,” I remind them. “In five years, Room six-oh-nine will live on, forever in infamy.” We pull apart and stand there, none of us wanting to walk away first.
“One more picture?” Sofia suggests, and we all lean our heads together dutifully.
“Wait, I want to take one too,” I say, and I snap a photo with my own camera.
“Last one,” Kensington says, whipping out hers. Once we each have a picture, we move apart from one another, standing in silence. “Okay, enough of this. Avalon Kelly, get to your family. Short Stack, let’s go collect your eighty-seven suitcases.”
“Wait, then you two will have another good-bye without me,” I whine as they walk away.
“Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened,” Kensington calls over her shoulder with her typical smirk.
“Who’s the cliché now?” I yell back to her. I watch them round the corner and then I take a deep breath, trying to prepare myself for my family’s onslaught of questions. How could I ever answer them? And tell them how great and how terrible, how amazing yet unexpected the week truly was?
“Avalon!” I hear my name being called, and for a minute, I think Sofia and Kensington must be returning. “Avalon!” Another voice this time.
I turn around and see Arden and my parents rushing toward me.
With Celia right beside them.
“What are you guys . . . ?” I begin, but Arden and Celia have descended and embraced me in a tight hug, both squeezing me hard. And even though this morning I hadn’t necessarily been looking forward to seeing them, and even though I didn’t want to leave all that Sofia and Kensington and I had created this week, I find that once they’re back with me, I can’t imagine how I ever left.
“What are you doing here?” I say quietly to Celia, in between greeting my parents. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Your parents asked me, so I thought I’d surprise you,” Celia explains. “I hope that’s okay.”
“Of course it is,” I say. “I’m sorry if I was a bad friend this—”
“You’re the best friend,” Celia says. “You’re my best friend. I think I was afraid of losing you to your new best-friend roommates, and I freaked out.”
“You didn’t, and you won’t,” I assure her. “Now, what’s with all the bags?” They each have a large shoulder bag slung across their sides, and Dad is dragging a suitcase behind him.
“We decided to book two hotel rooms for the night,” Mom tells me. “So that we have the whole rest of the day for you to take us to some of the places you’ve been this week. Arden was showing us the pictures you were posting.”
“You created a PhotoReady account?” I ask her incredulously, as if this is the biggest surprise of my day.
“I caved,” Arden says. “I couldn’t bear the curiosity of what you were up to, since you were barely sending any news. But don’t expect me to use it from now on.”
“But where are we going to put my stuff from the dorm room?” I ask my parents. “We have to get it out today.”
“The hotel is right down the street,” Dad says. “We’ll make a couple of trips if we have to. And then you can decide where to take us first.”
I begin leading my family and Celia down the sidewalk, taking the Kensington–New York–expert position at the front of the pack. And though I had feared I wouldn’t know how to tell them what I saw, what I learned, and what I loved this week, the memories pour out of me as we make our way through the city. These are my people—the ones who bring me to my comfort zone, and with whom I can most easily be myself. The ones who will share new experiences with me, and help me reflect upon the ones I’ve had without them. But if this week has shown me anything, it’s that there are many people out there in the world—more than I ever thought possible—who can genuinely make me smile, this time with my full face, and all at once.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Big Apples of thanks to Alyson Heller, whose Broadway marquee would read EDITOR EXTRAORDINAIRE!
Avenues of gratefulness to Charlie Olsen for being an agent as dazzling as Times Square!
Skyscrapers of appreciation to Mara Anastas, Fiona Simpson, Faye Bi, Kayley Hoffman, Jessica Handelman, Carolyn Swerdloff, and the rest of the Aladdin team for making books as merry as the Central Park carousel!
HERE’S A SNEAK PEEK AT THE NEXT BOOK FROM ALLISON GUTKNECHT:
Sing Like Nobody’s Listening
When I reach Jada’s locker Monday morning, she is nowhere to be found. I lean against it, watching the bustle of the hallway move past me while pulling out my phone to text her.
Where are you?
I wait a minute, then two, with no response. This wasn’t like Jada. She usually arrived at school before me, or at least at the same time. And if she was running late, she always told me, but I hadn’t heard a peep from her since Saturday.
I wander down the seventh-grade wing, waving at Mrs. Nieska as I pass her door. I turn down the hallway toward the front of the school, where I spot Jada’s long licorice locks ahead of me. Relieved, I start to approach until I see who she’s standing with:
The theater people.
At least eight of them. Maybe twelve.
I walk past their circle quickly, half wanting Jada to see and run after me, and half hoping she doesn’t notice me at all. I make a left to circle back to our homeroom, where I see Libby coming my way. And at the moment, I’m grateful to have someone—anyone—to talk to. As if to prove to myself that if Jada can make new friends, then I can too.
“Hi, Wylie!” Libby calls brightly, brushing the strands of her French braid back and forth over her fingers like a tiny broom. “Have a good weekend?”
“I did,” I lie. “How about you?”
“It was okay,” she answers as we reach each other. “I was trying to get ready for the fall musical auditions, but I kept getting distracted.”
“You’re auditioning for the musical?” I ask, trying to shield the surprise in my voice. Was everyone auditioning for the musical?
“Shocking, I know,” Libby says, wrinkling the freckles on her nose. “My dad thinks it would be good for me to join a group to ‘find my niche’ in middle school.” She forms her fingers into quotation marks as she says this. “I figure, at the very least, maybe they’ll need someone to help with sets. I’m hoping I could handle painting a backdrop blue. As long as they didn’t want me to actually draw something. That’d put me back to the drawing board. Literally.”
I smile at her. “Jada is auditioning too,” I reveal.
“Jada’s auditioning and you’re not?” Libby asks. “But what if she gets a part?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, even though, in truth, I know exactly what Libby means. That Jada and I do everything together. And if she’s in the musical, then what will I do?
“Hey, maybe you should audition too,” Libby suggests, instead of answering my question. “That way, at least one person will be there for moral support when I look like a deer caught in headlights up there.”
I shake my head. “I’m definitely not auditioning.”
“Why not?” Libby asks. “It could be fun.”
“Trust me, it wouldn’t be,” I tell her. “Not for me. I’m
someone who’s meant to be in the audience, not onstage.”
“I don’t believe that,” Libby says. “I remember you and Jada doing the talent shows in elementary school. I know you can sing a thousand times better than me.”
At the mention of the talent shows, my toes curl in my shoes, as if they’re trying to grip the floor more tightly. “I haven’t sung in front of people since then,” I say, not explaining the details as to why, and hoping Libby doesn’t recall.
“Then it’s time to rip off the bandage!” Libby says. “Do you want to come to my house later? We can prepare together. Or we can turn on the premiere of Non-Instrumental, and say we prepared.”
“You watch that too?” I ask, but the morning bell rings before Libby can answer. “Here, give me your number and I’ll text you.” I hand her my phone, and as she plugs in her information, my thoughts swirl around like merging schools of fish. Maybe Libby’s suggestion wasn’t that crazy—maybe I should audition for the musical. The stage . . . thing—it had been more than three years ago. Maybe I should get over it, move on, put it behind me. Libby was right: prior to that talent show, I had enjoyed singing. I had even been okay with doing so in front of a crowd. Maybe it was time to try again.
Plus, if I auditioned, wouldn’t that solve the Jada problem? We could be in the musical together. I could become friends with the theater people too. I would have a group of friends of my own, plus my best friend. It could be ideal.
That is, of course, if I managed to stay on the stage.
Allison Gutknecht is the author of Don’t Wear Polka-Dot Underwear with White Pants (and Other Lessons I’ve Learned) and its sequels, as well as The Bling Queen. After graduating from the University of Pennsylvania, she earned her master’s degree in Children’s Media and Literature from NYU. Allison lives in New York City with her rambunctious toy poodle, Gypsy, and her literate cat, Folly.
Aladdin
SIMON & SCHUSTER, NEW YORK
Visit us at simonandschuster.com/kids
authors.simonandschuster.com/Allison-Gutknecht
Also by Allison Gutknecht
Don’t Wear Polka-Dot Underwear with White Pants (And Other Lessons I’ve Learned)
A Cast Is the Perfect Accessory (And Other Lessons I’ve Learned)
Never Wear Red Lipstick on Picture Day (And Other Lessons I’ve Learned)
Pizza Is the Best Breakfast (And Other Lessons I’ve Learned)
The Bling Queen
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ALADDIN
An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division
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First Aladdin hardcover edition March 2017
Text copyright © 2017 by Allison Gutknecht
Jacket illustration copyright © 2017 by Lucy Truman
Also available in an Aladdin M!X paperback edition.
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Jacket designed by Jessica Handelman
Interior designed by Mike Rosamilia
The text of this book was set in Arno Pro.
Library of Congress Control Number 2016960640
ISBN 978-1-4814-7154-1 (hc)
ISBN 978-1-4814-7153-4 (pbk)
ISBN 978-1-4814-7155-8 (eBook)
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