Diva

by Alex Flinn

  I want to say yes. Call my mother. Save yourself. But I don’t. It won’t matter anyhow. If Arnold’s made up his mind, his wife knowing a few weeks earlier won’t matter. So I say, “Yes. I mean, I’m okay.” I feel a chill and hug myself with both arms. “I’m running an errand for my mom.” I tell her the address again, and she gives me the full directions. She even offers to get a sheet of paper to write them down, but I tell her that’s not necessary.

  I cry the whole way home.

  CHAPTER 27

  How’s the duet going?” Rowena asks at my voice lesson the following week.

  “It’s going.” I don’t add that I am completely getting into the Violetta character by developing a monster crush on Alfredo, a.k.a. Sean.

  “You and Sean getting along okay?”

  Huge understatement here: “He’s fine.”

  Rowena nods. “I thought you two would make a good pairing.”

  “Yeah, our voices sound great together.”

  “Yes, but more than that—Sean seems like a boy who knows what he wants and is willing to work to get it. You’re that way too.” She takes something from on top of the piano. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you. Have you thought about what you’re going to do this summer?”

  I smile. “Yes, actually. I was thinking about the University of Miami’s choral camp.” I bet she’ll be proud of me for thinking so far ahead. It’s only November.

  “That’s great. But I had another idea that I think is exciting. There’s a summer opera program in New York.” She shows me the flier in her hand.

  “New York?” I say. “Like, the State of New York—miles away? “Start spreading the news … That New York?”

  “That very New York. Not the city, though. It’s farther north. It’s opera for high school kids. I have a friend on staff there, and she says if you’re as promising as I say you are, you could come stay with her and her family. Of course, you’d have to audition.”

  “I’d have to fly to New York to audition? Mom would never go for that. She doesn’t even like me taking the train to school here.”

  “All taken care of.” Rowena’s looking pretty pleased with herself. “You can send a tape. It’s due by March—one piece in English, one in a foreign language. You can use the songs we’re prepping for competition in February. Think you can handle it?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Oh, you have no reason to be nervous. You’re the most talented student I’ve ever had, and that includes college kids. You’ll get in for sure.”

  “That’s not it.” My mind’s racing. I should want to do this. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. And yet, part of me just keeps thinking about a gazillion reasons why not. I’d have to try out, and possibly screw up like I did at the auditions for the show at school. And if I did get in, I’d have to go to New York all by myself, when it already took everything I had just to get to Miami High School of the Arts. And then there’s Sean. The choral camp is just a one-week thing, but I think I’d go through withdrawal without Sean. I wonder if he could go too. “How long is it?”

  “Six weeks. I thought you’d be excited. I know you don’t mind getting away.”

  “Right. It’s just … no way would my mom let me go for so long.”

  Liar. Mom’s going into Arnold overdrive. She probably wouldn’t even notice I was gone, until she got the credit card bill for the plane ticket.

  “I’ll talk to her.” She squints at me. “Is there some other reason. Like a guy?”

  “Of course not.” Liar, liar, pants on fire.

  “Caitlin, I remember when I was a teenager.” Rowena stops, like she’s thinking very hard about what to say next. “I thought the relationships I had were so important—thought they were forever. But they weren’t. Very few people end up marrying their high school sweethearts, so it’s not worth it to make major decisions—or miss out on important opportunities—for someone who is probably just temporary. And besides, if he’s that wonderful, he’d want you to do what’s best for you. Being a singer will mean making some sacrifices as far as friends and romance.”

  “It’s not a guy. You know I’m not seeing anyone at school.”

  Rowena nods. “Yes, I knew there was no one there. I just thought maybe … I’m sorry. It was wrong of me to assume.”

  That’s when I realize what she meant, why she’s so freaked out.

  “I’m not back with Nick,” I tell her.

  She makes a “sigh of relief” gesture with hand to forehead. “Okay. Then talk to your mom.”

  I’m not at all sure I will, but I nod.

  * * *

  Opera_Grrrl’s Online Journal

  * * *

  Subject: Over the river and thru the woods, 2 Daddy’s mansion we go

  Date: November 26

  Time: 7:18 p.m.

  Listening 2: Vienna Boys’ Choir Xmas Album

  Feeling: Wiped

  Weight: 114 lbs. (Holding steady ......... I barely ate dinner. See below.)

  Spent Thxgiving with Daddy-kins. It was actually FUN b/c Courtney (a.k.a. my 1/2 sister, a.k.a. Thing 1) has become a vegetarian so she spent the *entire* time talking about the living conditions of turkeys & how they’re overfed 2 fatten their breasts & can barely stand up .......... and Macy spent the whole time yelling at her and saying she couldn’t eat the #@*! turkey she’d spent 5 hrs. cooking. LOL.

  I could barely eat either, but that’s not a bad thing.

  (BTW, did u know that turkey tetrazzini, a fattening use of leftover turkey, was actually named after a diva—Luisa Tetrazzini?)

  On the way out, Dad gave me my Xmas gift (a month early, as usual), a pink iPod mini. “Your mom says u like music,” he says.

  Très understatement!!!! Can u believe I thought he’d let me live w/him???? He knows nothing about my life!

  After dinner I thought about driving by Arnold’s house on the way back 2 see if he’s home w/his family (Mom lent me the car instead of driving me 2 Dad’s) but the tryptophan, that stuff in turkey that makes u sleepy, was already kicking in, so I’m here, sacking out.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 28

  Thanksgiving Friday, in keeping with my theme of avoiding Mom, I try to slip out early. I’m meeting Sean at Rowena’s to practice our duet. But Mom stops me.

  “Guess what?”

  “You’re up early.” Usually, she can’t peel her eyes open until long after I leave.

  “Guess I’m excited. You’ll never guess what happened.”

  “I don’t have time to guess. I have to go to Rowena’s.”

  “Okay, I’ll tell you. Last night, I talked to Arnold on the phone, and I reminded him of how much I wanted to go to the opera…”

  Note: On the phone. So he does spend major holidays with his family.

  She’s still talking. “… and he said he was planning on taking me to the very first one … La … something or other. La Trapdoor. Anyway, it’s two weeks from today.”

  “That’s great, Mom.” It’s also my opening night—not that I’ve told her about the performances yet. I also haven’t asked her about the summer program in New York. There just hasn’t been the right moment yet. There never seems to be a right moment with Mom.

  “And there’s another thing.”

  “Mom, I really need to go.”

  “But it’s important.” She’s practically jumping up and down. “I think he’s going to propose. He said he wanted to discuss something really important.”

  Outside, our neighbor Mrs. Dankes is taking a cereal box out to her garbage can in a pink housecoat and fuzzy slippers. This is what I think about at this point in time, so I won’t have to think about the fact that my mother is officially a homewrecker.

  “Caitlin?”

  “What makes you think he’ll propose?”

  “I told him I wanted to discuss where our relationship’s going. He said he did too, but first he had some things to take care of, so it would have to wait until December. Then I asked him
about the opera, and he said that was a good idea and we could talk then. He even gave me money and told me to buy something sparkly to wear … as if I don’t already own something sparkly.”

  He probably didn’t mean a belly button ring.

  “He probably meant a gown,” I say. “People wear gowns to the opera.”

  “Yes, a gown.” Mom sighs. “I feel like a princess. Caitlin …?”

  I’m mulling over the fact that my mother is actually taking money from a man she’s sleeping with, so at first, I don’t catch the incredible thing that comes from her mouth.

  “Caitlin, you know what to wear to this stuff. Can we go shopping together?”

  I stare at her. She’s actually asking me for advice?

  Rewind. Stop. Play.

  Yes. Yes, she’s asking me for advice. Sort of.

  “Please,” she coos. “You always know how to dress … less trendy.”

  Nerdy. Boring. Childish.

  “It will be fun, shopping together.”

  Fun’s not the word I’d choose, but I nod. At this point, I’d agree to anything to get myself out of here. “Gotta go now.”

  “I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t ask how it went yesterday with Dad. I’m just so excited.”

  “Yeah. You said that.”

  “I know. But please tell me.”

  “There’s nothing to tell. I came, we ate, he gave me an iPod because he heard somewhere that I was into music. It was fine.” I look at my watch.

  “Are you sure? I always worry that these visits with your father will tear off little pieces of your soul.”

  “No, it was okay.” Actually, what she said sounded really close to the truth, but I have to get out of here before I say something terrible to her. “I’m late.”

  “All right.”

  I pick up my sheet music and head for the door.

  “Caitlin?”

  “What?”

  “I know you don’t agree, but I really think this will be a good thing for us.”

  “Mom, I have to go.”

  She nods, and I shut the door.

  CHAPTER 29

  What are you doing the rest of the day?” I ask Sean after we finish practicing.

  It’s a gray day. Grayday, grayday, grayday … the kind of day when you just feel sad even if you’re happy. I should be happy, happy, happy because practicing for our duet went super-well—“It’ll be a highlight of the show,” Rowena said—and also because Rowena didn’t mention anything about the New York summer program in front of Sean. I still haven’t decided what to do about that. But instead of being happy, I’m bummed about what Mom told me about Arnold. I don’t want to go home—particularly because I don’t want to have to go shopping with her on the biggest shopping day of the year.

  “Um…” Sean fiddles with his car keys. “I’m meeting Rudy at around…” He stops. “What’s wrong, Caitlin?”

  And that’s all it takes for me to pour out the whole pathetic Mom/Arnold story. Even while I’m doing it, I’m thinking, What are you, stupid? I’d never have told any of my old friends something this personal and embarrassing. On top of the Nick thing too. But I’ve known Sean and Gigi a couple of months, and they already know all the gory details.

  When I finish, Sean says all the appropriate, It’ll be okays, then adds, “Know what I’m in the mood for?”

  “A break from me and my problems?” But I’m hoping he’ll say, I’m in the mood to kiss you or I want to scrape the dust of this sorry town off my shoes and fly with you to Paris. Not likely.

  He laughs. “A Slurpee. Is there a Seven-Eleven near you?”

  We drive to a 7-Eleven near the beach. They have a machine with eight Slurpee flavors, but two spigots are broken. Sean says we should both get a large and both get three flavors, so we can try them all. So I get white cherry, Coke, and blueberry, while Sean gets what he calls a “tropical blend” of lime, banana, and Spongebob piña colada. “You should work for Seven-Eleven,” I say. “In the flavor development.”

  “Right. And after I design the perfect flavor, they’ll pay me a lot of money and finance my opera career.” He holds out his cup to me. “Want some?”

  I take a sip, wondering if sharing his straw is the closest I’ll ever get to kissing him. Pretty gross, right, wanting to suck someone’s spit off a straw … Most girls I know would rather sleep with a guy. “Try mine too,” I say.

  “You kids plan on paying for those?” the counter guy asks.

  We do, and we decide to cross the street and drink them on the beach. “Should we drive?” I ask. “The weather looks pretty bad.” The clouds are hanging low, making different shades of black against the sky, so it looks like steps to heaven.

  “Nah, let’s walk. It’ll be okay.”

  So we do, skipping across the six-lane highway toward the roaring ocean. The clouds seem dark and the breeze is cool, cooler still with the Slurpee. I shiver.

  “You’re cold?” Sean asks.

  “I don’t want to go home.” BIG understatement. My teeth chatter. “I’m f—fine.”

  “Here.” He unbuttons the long-sleeved shirt he has on over his T-shirt and hands it to me. It’s old, soft, and smells like Sean, and as our feet crunch the sand, I hold the collar to my nose and know that, forever and ever, when I smell that smell, or even smell the ocean, or a piña colada Slurpee, I will think of him.

  “But take your shoes off,” he says. “No point walking on the beach with shoes.”

  I sit and remove them, obedient, and leave them by the roadside. I let my toes sink deep into the cold sand. Sean takes his off too. He stands and holds his hand out to me. I reach for his fingers, thinking, Kiss me. Kiss me.

  He doesn’t. I take a sip of my Slurpee, a small one because I don’t want it to end.

  “Know where I was Thanksgiving Friday last year?” I say.

  “Where? Some football game with your cool cheergirl friends?” He mimes lame-looking pom-pom moves.

  I make a face. “Close. In Key West with them. We went snorkeling one day. I remember one of the guys saw a shark under the reef.” I’d almost forgotten about this. It seems so long ago.

  “Cool. Did you see it?”

  I nod. “It was just this little lemon shark, but I was freaking out. I was petrified. And Nick, my boyfriend, he was telling me don’t worry about it, I didn’t have to dive down if I didn’t want to, but…” I stop. It’s hard to explain so Sean will understand, and I don’t even really know why I’m telling him this. “But I wanted to see the shark, even though I was scared. I didn’t want to let being afraid make me miss out on something. I wanted to face it and know that I would be okay. You know? So I dove down and saw it.”

  “Yeah?” Sean offers me his Slurpee. “I like that story.”

  “Yeah, I do too.” I take a sip of his Slurpee and give him mine. “It makes me sound sort of brave.”

  “You are brave.”

  I feel a drop of water on my face. I don’t say anything, hoping maybe it’s just a spray from the ocean. But I feel another drop—a fat one—then another.

  “And … you were right,” Sean says. “We should head back.”

  “Guess so.” I turn real slow, as four more drops splash my face and shoulders.

  “We’d better run,” he says. “Sorry.”

  We begin to run. The drops are harder now, too many to count. I feel them soaking through Sean’s shirt, making it cling to me. It’s hard to run in the sand—harder still in the rain—and we’re really far from Sean’s car. I stumble and drop the Slurpee. It falls to the sand, and I fall after it. “Sorry. You go ahead! I’m sorry.”

  “Right. I’ll just leave you here.” He holds out his hand. The rain is getting into my eyes, my mouth. He pulls me up. I’m drowning, and Sean’s hand is pulling me to safety. “I don’t think we can get any wetter,” he says. “Let’s just walk.”

  We stumble along, holding each other, giggling.

  “I’m sorry,” he says again when we reach the car
. “I’ll remember from now on—take Caitlin’s advice on weather issues.”

  “I don’t mind. It was an adventure.”

  “I was hoping you’d see it that way, instead of seeing it as stupid Sean making you get all soaked just to drink Slurpees on the beach.”

  He turns on the car’s heater to dry us off. My shoes are still back on the sand, but I don’t bring it up. Instead, I move closer to the heat and to him. We’re so close, and I can feel how it was with his hand on me. Again, I think he should kiss me.

  He says. “Great practice today, huh?”

  “Yeah.” The rain is coming down outside, but the heat inside is warm and nice. I lean closer.

  He sits straight instead, and aims the vent toward me. “Want some more of my Slurpee?”

  “What?”

  “Do you want some of my Slurpee—since you dropped yours?”

  And suddenly it all comes together, and I get it: He’s never going to kiss me.

  I pull off the now-soaked shirt he lent me and look out the window, letting that piece of knowledge sink in like a thousand raindrops. I don’t say anything. Sean doesn’t either, and I’m glad. It’s like a head-slap moment. I’ve figured out what was right in front of me the whole time. Duh.

  I shake my head. “So you’re going out with Rudy today?”

  “What?”

  I’m still not looking at him—I can’t—but he sounds surprised, like he forgot I was there. “Oh, yeah. It’s his sister’s birthday. It’ll be me, Rudy, and a cast of thousands of his cousins.” He laughs. “I think they’re roasting a pig in the yard.”

  “How long have you and Rudy…” I make myself look at him and finish the sentence. “… been together?”

  He smiles. “Choral Camp last summer. We met the first day and it was … You ever meet someone and just click with them? Like, everything about them is interesting, and you know it’s the same way for them with you?”

  “Not yet,” I say. Except with you. Outside the car, the rain’s still pounding, drowning us, and I feel so completely stupid I can barely speak.