The Year of Living Awkwardly

by Emma Chastain

  To give you the full picture, I must tell you I’ve been forced to take a job at the yoga studio. I make change for customers, I restock the juice bar, and I do a weekly deep cleaning. It’s humbling work, but it’s a necessity for me, as my financial future is, to put it lightly, unclear, and I can’t rely forever on the kind of support I’ve come to expect (and indeed, in my view, to deserve) from your father. Given my new duties, I have very little time in which to continue querying, much less work on a new project, so you can imagine how soul-starved and desolate I’m feeling and you will, I hope, forgive my recent petulance.

  —Mom

  Mom is deep cleaning a yoga studio?!?!? I don’t think I ever even saw her wiping down the kitchen counter! She considers all menial labor demeaning and anti-feminist.

  I’m kind of impressed. And I feel bad for never responding to her. But the longer my email strike goes on, the more impossible it seems to call off. How would I end it after keeping it up for so long? What would I even say?

  Sunday, January 15

  You know what, she can eff right off. She’s the one who left, and now here I am motherless, Hannah-less, and loveless, and the person who should be helping me has no clue what’s going on. And why should Dad subsidize her while she works on her tan and pretends to write a novel? Keep swabbing those yoga mats, Veronica! See if I care!

  Monday, January 16

  Martin Luther King Jr. Day. I have to stop being so self-obsessed. I’m wasting my entire life fixating on myself when I could be fighting for social justice. As soon as I’m done getting ready for this audition, I’m going to focus on not being such a despicable waste of DNA.

  Tuesday, January 17

  Tris came over and we ran lines and practiced our songs for hours. I didn’t even think about looking at my phone the entire time, which hardly ever happens, and which feels so good, like I’m getting a short break from being a cyborg.

  We invited Hannah, but she said she had plans, which was a relief. She was in the chorus last year, and Tris and I both had leads, and if we were all getting ready for auditions together, I’d spend the whole time thinking, Does she think I’m showing off? I’m not going to half-ass it to avoid hurting her feelings. Is that a diva-ish thing to think? But I’m not being a diva. I just want to do my best. Etc., etc. When it’s me and Tristan alone, I can belt it out and not worry.

  Wednesday, January 18

  These are Nellie’s songs, in descending order of how excited I am to sing them.

  * “Honey Bun”: I’ll be pretending to be Nellie pretending to be a bro, and I’ll get to sing about a pretty girl while wearing a comfortable sailor uniform. Also, the melody of this one really lets me show off.

  * “I’m Gonna Wash That Man Right Outa My Hair”: Breakup anthem! Truly the “Single Ladies” of its day. I’ll think about Mac while I’m performing and amaze everyone with my acting chops.

  * “I’m in Love with a Wonderful Guy”: This is the one that gives me chills every time I listen to it. But that’s because when Kelli O’Hara sings, you can hear the joy in her voice. I’m pretty good, but I’m no Kelli O’Hara.

  * “A Cockeyed Optimist”: Nellie knows it would be cooler to be jaded, but she can’t help looking on the bright side all the time. I think I’m like this. Or I want to be.

  * “Twin Soliloquies”: I’m worried Miss Murphy will cast Rob Newell as Emile, because he’s the bassiest bass in school, and I cannot stand Rob. He’s a nerd, which, great, everyone wants to be a nerd these days, but he’s a mean one. He loathes everyone at our school for not caring about veganism as much as he does, and he’s never not rolling his eyes. I can’t imagine faking chemistry with him.

  * “Some Enchanted Evening (Reprise)”: See above, plus it’s a reprise, so everyone’s like, “We already heard this one; move on already.”

  Thursday, January 19

  Hannah found me between classes today, which felt unusual, and that’s so depressing. At first she pretended she wanted to catch up with me, but after a few minutes of small talk she said, “By the way, have you heard Grady’s going to audition for the musical?”

  “No,” I said.

  “And so is Reese,” she said.

  “What? Really?”

  “They thought it would be a fun thing to do together.”

  “But Grady doesn’t like old music,” I said.

  “Well, Reese really wants him to do it with her.”

  I tried not to ask, but then I couldn’t stop myself. “How’s her voice?”

  “It’s good!” Hannah said, but that doesn’t mean anything. She can’t perceive talent clearly through the fog of her own niceness.

  Something occurred to me. “Are you telling me this because you didn’t want me to freak out when I saw them at auditions?”

  She looked uncomfortable. “I wanted you to know, that’s all.”

  Our friendship may be struggling, but at least she’s still looking out for me.

  Friday, January 20

  I saw Grady standing by the traffic circle, one foot on his skateboard, one hand on his head. He’s always messing with his hair or scratching his abs or putting his palm on his chest while he makes a point. It’s like he wants to make everyone think about touching him.

  Saturday, January 21

  I spent the entire night scrolling through Reese’s accounts in the hopes of finding a video of her singing, which of course I didn’t. She must suck, right? She can’t be popular and be a musical-theater phenom.

  Only nine days until auditions.

  Sunday, January 22

  Tris and I were watching TV at his house and I said, “I’m going to get a Diet Coke. Want anything?” and he yawned and said no, he was good, but could I grab the blanket on my way back? I said the striped one or the blue one? and he said the striped one.

  Sometimes I feel like we’re married, and it’s so nice.

  It’s going to be terrible when one of us gets a boyfriend.

  Monday, January 23

  Exactly one week until auditions. Tris and I have started texting each other a palm tree emoji every night before bed, for good luck. But we won’t need good luck; we have great voices.

  I’ve been trying to convince Noelle to try out, but every time I bring up the topic, she rolls her eyes and says something like, “Theater is not cool, Chloe. I’m sorry.” Today I made another attempt while we were walking across the field to get to the clearing so she could have a cigarette. I reminded her Reese is trying out, and she’s the most popular person in our grade, so by the transitive property, theater is cool.

  “Nope,” Noelle said. “It doesn’t work like that. Reese is slumming. She’s descending to the level of the musical. It doesn’t rise up to meet her.”

  “You are the biggest snob I’ve ever met in my life,” I said.

  She shrugged, smiled, and put on her sunglasses.

  “Also mean,” I said. “I’m a music theater dork, remember?”

  “ ‘Dork’ being the operative word,” she said.

  I pulled her hair a little, and she laughed and pulled mine back.

  I wish Noelle wouldn’t smoke, but it’s actually nice having a reason to sit outside on a log on a freezing, snowy day. She wanted me to give her the latest gossip on Hannah and Zach, but I couldn’t, really, because I’m hardly even friends with Hannah now. I know she and Zach are together, but that doesn’t mean anything; the whole school knows that. All the interesting little details about their relationship—I don’t hear those from her. Reese does, I guess.

  Tuesday, January 24

  Mr. Tansel showed us a Werner Herzog documentary about texting and driving. I wanted to watch it, but a few minutes in, I started shaking and sweating. I asked Mr. Tansel for a hall pass, whispering so I wouldn’t distract the other kids, and he whispered back, “Can’t it wait, Ms. Snow?” On the TV screen a bald guy who’d caused an accident while looking at his phone was talking about getting out of his car and seeing bodies lying in a ditch. He was
struggling not to cry, and I got choked up and left the class without waiting for the hall pass. I thought I might get in trouble, but after I’d walked around for a few minutes and pulled myself together, I went back in, and Mr. Tansel only said, “Everything all right?” He is a good man. He’s not trying to scare us. He wants to keep us safe and alive.

  After class Noelle looped her arm through mine and said, “That’s not going to happen to you.”

  “I’d rather die myself than kill someone else,” I said.

  “Stop! Shut up,” she said. “Don’t even let the thought into your head. I’m going to remind you we had this conversation when we’re both 95.”

  I wish I could extract some of Noelle’s strength with a syringe and shoot it into my heart.

  Wednesday, January 25

  After school I walked past the art room, which I’ve never been inside, because I’ve never taken art as an elective. The sun was shining through the windows. There were canvases and watercolors and sketchbooks everywhere, but no people except for Mrs. Kingsley, the teacher, who was washing out jars in a utility sink and humming, and Grady, who was sitting on a stool in front of an easel, working on a painting. I think it was a self-portrait, and I think it was set at the pool! It showed a guy with dark hair wearing a gray suit, floating on his back in turquoise water. It was interesting to see Grady handling his palette and brush so expertly. He looked as natural with them as I probably do with my phone. As I stood there, he tipped his head back and groaned. “Mrs. K., can you come look at this?” he said. “I think the foreshortening is all messed up.” He sounded like himself, not like the cold robot he’s been to me since our fight. I wanted to keep watching and listening, but I made myself hurry away.

  Thursday, January 26

  Apparently Miss Murphy is coming over for dinner tomorrow. I keep bracing myself for the big sleepover, now that I gave them the official go-ahead, but it hasn’t happened yet. I wish they’d do it and get it over with.

  Friday, January 27

  Dinner would have been fun, but my fear of driving kind of ruined it. Miss Murphy brought sushi, and we were eating at the dining room table when she told us about almost getting into a fender bender on the way over, which made my heart start racing. Then Dad told a story I’d never heard before. Apparently when I was five and he was driving me to a playdate, speeding along Route 2, I managed to get out of my car seat, then stood in the foot well behind him and put my hands over his eyes. “I don’t see what the big deal is,” Miss Murphy said. “You weren’t on the rotary, right?” Dad laughed, but I thought I was going to pass out. The room was getting dim and kind of flickering. I almost killed Dad and myself in a car when I was five. What if it’s foreshadowing? What if it’s like Final Destination, and death is waiting for me and will get me as soon as I start driving? It sounds like I’m joking around when I write down these questions, but I’m not. I’m scared.

  I couldn’t finish my food, which I think Dad and Miss Murphy interpreted as evidence that I was having a bad time. I wanted to make up for my lack of appetite with vivacious conversation, but I couldn’t, because I was so distracted by thoughts of an alternate past in which my five-year-old self kept her hands over Dad’s eyes for a second longer, Dad crashed into the guardrail, and we both died.

  Saturday, January 28

  I asked Dad if he’d consider biking to work, and he said he’s not up for a two-hour ride in both directions.

  “Why do you ask? Do I look like I’m on the verge of a heart attack or something?”

  “Driving is so dangerous,” I said.

  He shrugged. “It’s one of the risks we live with. Also, I’m an excellent driver. I survived the great Route 2 disaster of 2006, right?”

  He seemed so unconcerned that I feel better. A little better, anyway.

  Sunday, January 29

  Auditions are tomorrow. I’m not nervous; I’m really not. I’m just excited. I can’t wait to make everyone sick with jealousy when they hear me sing “Honey Bun.” I can’t wait to go to rehearsals every day and complain about how exhausted and busy I am. I can’t wait to play Nellie and knock the audience’s socks off.

  Monday, January 30

  Reese sabotaged me. I don’t know if I even did well enough to get called back. Too upset to write. More tomorrow.

  Tuesday, January 31

  I showed up feeling so good. Maybe that was the whole problem. Maybe this is my punishment for being conceited.

  Tris and I were sitting in the third row, chatting casually, feeling superior to the terrified freshmen around us. I imagined they were sneaking glances at me and whispering, “That’s Chloe Snow. She got the lead last year. She’s a shoo-in for Nellie. And see that guy next to her? That’s Tristan Flynn. He was Rolf. His voice is amazing.”

  Hannah was on my right, and next to her was Reese, who was making a big display of her ignorance. “Wait, what do I write under ‘Previous Experience’? Do my hip-hop classes count? Ugh, I’m so nervous. You guys have to promise not to make fun of me when I sing.”

  We were all in group A, and Grady was in group B, so I didn’t get to see his acting, just his singing (which was fine) and his dancing (which was pretty cute, I have to admit. He was seriously messing up the choreography, but he was grinning the whole way through. He never gets embarrassed and he always looks like he’s having fun. Except when he’s talking to or looking at me, that is). My scene went well, even though I was paired with Rob, just like I predicted. I learned the choreography pretty easily, and Nellie doesn’t have to dance that much anyway. And then we were halfway through our group’s vocal auditions, and Miss Murphy called out, “OK, let me have Nadine next, and then Chloe, followed by Izzy,” and I finally felt jittery, knowing I was about to go up onstage and destroy “Honey Bun.” And then, while Nadine was singing, Reese leaned over Hannah, gripped my arm, and whispered, “Don’t worry.”

  “What, about Nadine?” I whispered. “I’m not.”

  She smiled. “No, about everyone else.”

  A voice in my head said, Don’t ask her what she means, and I knew the voice was right, but I couldn’t help it. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, the fact that Miss Murphy is your dad’s girlfriend . . . Everyone’s saying it doesn’t matter how your audition goes. People think Miss Murphy and your dad were probably going out last year, too, and that’s why you got the lead as a freshman. Grady said you’re not even that great of a singer. And I was like, ‘Grady, you can be such a jerk!’ Seriously, Chloe, you have to just block out the haters.”

  She was staring into my eyes, looking completely sincere and kind. She’s such a good actress, better than I’ll ever be. She’d bided her time and knifed me right at the most effective moment, and she looked like an angel doing it. Hannah was nodding and looking sympathetic, as if Reese were actually trying to help me. How does she not see the truth about her?

  “Chloe, you’re up,” Miss Murphy called briskly. I glanced at Tris, and he looked at me like, Ignore her. You can do it.

  I walked up to the stage thinking, You can do it. You can do it.

  The accompanist played the opening bars of “Honey Bun.”

  I looked down at the kids looking up at me and thought, They all know. They’re sitting there resenting me for getting special favors. I have to show them I deserve the lead. This is my one chance to prove it.

  I opened my mouth and sang, “My doll is as dainty as a sparrow,” and it came out small and wobbling. You could hear tears around the edges of my voice. For a minute I thought I would have to stop, but after I got through the preamble and launched into the main part of the song, the swagger of it carried me along, and by the last few bars, I sounded like myself.

  “That was a train wreck,” I whispered to Tris as soon as I got back to my seat.

  “It wasn’t,” he said, and he sounded convincing, but of course he did. He’s not only my best friend, he’s also a wonderful actor.

  This girl named Izzy Briggs sang right
after I did. She’s a kooky, energetic clarinet player who didn’t audition last year and who turns out to have a voice like a happy bell. Fantastic. Well, I’ll get her during callbacks. If I’m called back at all, that is.

  Wednesday, February 1

  Not that it matters, but I can’t believe Grady said I’m not a good singer. I can’t believe it. Was he annoyed by me all those times I sang to him at work? I thought that guy was my friend for real. Did he ever even like me?

  Thursday, February 2

  Told Noelle I’m worried I won’t get called back, and she said, “Does that mean you won’t be in the show, or whatever?” without looking up from Instagram. Then she handed me her phone and said, “Look at those slides. Do you think I could pull them off, or would they make my legs look stumpy?” She couldn’t be less interested in my theater problems, and it’s a relief. Most kids are barely aware the musical exists! I need to stop acting like the fate of the nation depends on the outcome of these auditions. Who even cares if I get called back or not?

  Friday, February 3

  I GOT CALLED BACK. RELIEF. JOY.

  Also terror, because now I have to make up for my subpar performance on Monday and prove to the world and Miss Murphy that last year wasn’t a fluke.

  Tris got called back! Hannah didn’t. But Reese did. REESE. If she’s cast as Nellie, I’m going to have to transfer to a high school in Antarctica.