The most embarrassing choir practice ever turned out to be the best. It was last winter, and practically the whole town had the flu. When I got to practice, I was the only soprano. So whenever I sang the soprano part, it was like a giant solo. So if I hit a wrong note, everybody would know that it was me.
At first my voice was small and squeaky, like a mouse. Halfway through the song Mr. Jenkins stopped us. I knew he wasn’t going to be happy, and it was all my fault.
But instead, he started talking about why we sing at church. He talked about how singing was a miracle, and if you managed to lose yourself in it, it was beautiful no matter what.
For the next song, I just closed my eyes and pretended that I was home alone, singing where nobody could hear me. And it worked! I just lost myself in it and it felt great.
When the song ended, I was a little bit dizzy and breathless, but I didn’t even care. And then—this had never happened before—everybody started clapping and cheering. For me!! Mr. Jenkins was smiling so big.
Then, after practice, Brody came up to me. I had just started noticing how incredibly cute he is, which made me feel a little nervous around him. Brody said, “Rachel! That was amazing! I didn’t know you could sing like that!” And then Brody asked me why I wasn’t in glee club at school.
I wanted to tell him why not—that I wasn’t allowed to even try out—but I couldn’t. The last thing I wanted was for Brody to think my dad was crazy strict. Not too many people would understand how much things had changed after Mom left.
So I just said, “Oh, I’m kind of busy during the week,” like it was no big deal.
“You have to join glee,” Brody said. He was totally serious. “I’ll talk to Mrs. Serang about a special audition, if you want. Seriously, Rachel, we need you!”
I had to keep saying “No, that’s okay,” and I felt really bad . . . like I was hurting his feelings. He finally let it go and said, “I’ll see you later, Rachel.”
It meant so much to me that he thought I was good enough to be in glee club with him . . . but of course I couldn’t tell him that, either.
Rachel put down her pen. If only Brody and I had been in glee club together too, she thought sadly. We could’ve hung out more. Gotten to know each other better. And maybe I’d be his secret crush. Maybe the message in the song would make more sense.
She carefully glued the pink paper with her writing on it at the center of the new page with the ribbon. Then, using some of the letter stencils that she had borrowed from Grandma Nellie, she traced and cut out eight letters from felt. When she was finished, she carefully pasted the letters at the top of the page, above the entry she had written.
MIRACLES.
Satisfied, Rachel moved the scrapbook page over to an empty spot on her dresser so the glue could dry. Then she returned to her desk and turned on her computer to check her e-mail. To her surprise, she had an e-mail from Brody himself!
From: [email protected]
To: friends [list]
Date: February 6
Subject: Party @ Chocolate Bar
Hey guys! Not too long till I’m back in town, and I can’t wait! I’ll be flying in next Thursday, a couple days before the concert, and it would be awesome to hang out with you guys that night before things get all crazy. My team booked the Chocolate Bar for a private event and you’re all invited. It’s at six p.m. and there’s gonna be an unlimited chocolate fountain (AWESOME). I really hope you can come . . . it wouldn’t be the same without you.
BRODY
Just seeing Brody’s name appear in her in-box made Rachel’s heart start pounding. A private party at the Chocolate Bar? With Brody?! It sounded too good to be true. Hannah Schwartz had her bat mitzvah party at the Chocolate Bar, and it had been the most sophisticated, elegant evening of Rachel’s life. Not to mention, all the chocolate treats were delicious. Rachel imagined sitting next to Brody on one of the velvet-covered couches, telling him about everything that was going on in church choir—
Then Rachel stopped herself. Who am I kidding? she thought.
Like Dad would even let me go.
Rachel glanced at the scrapbook page she had just made. Miracles. It looked like she was going to need a miracle to be allowed to go to Brody’s party.
Rachel felt her eyes fill up with tears. She knew it wasn’t very grown-up to cry, but she couldn’t help it. Sometimes it was hard to act like everything was going to be okay, when deep down she knew it probably wasn’t going to be.
How much more of my life am I going to miss because of Dad’s rules? Rachel wondered. I have to find a way to make him trust me. Otherwise . . .
A knock at the door interrupted Rachel’s thoughts. “Come in,” she called.
It was Grandma Nellie, carrying a bowl of popcorn and a mug of steaming cider. “I noticed you were so busy scrapbooking that you forgot to have a snack,” she said. “Can’t say I blame you. I’ve felt the same way!”
“Thanks—that smells good,” Rachel replied in a dull voice.
Grandma Nellie could tell right away that something was wrong. “You okay, sweet pea?” she asked.
Rachel didn’t know where to begin. “Do you think I act mature?” she asked.
“Mature?” Grandma Nellie repeated. “What do you mean?”
“Like . . . not like a little kid anymore,” Rachel tried to explain. “Like somebody who’s old enough to go to a concert. Or a dance. Or a party on a school night.”
Grandma Nellie’s eyes brightened. “Well, which is it, honey? A concert or a dance or a party on a school night?”
Rachel couldn’t help smiling back. “Grandma Nellie, it’s all three!” she said. And then the words came tumbling out as Rachel told Grandma Nellie all about Brody’s big concert, the Valentine’s Day dance, and the private party at the Chocolate Bar.
“And your whole class is invited?” Grandma Nellie asked. “And the concert tickets are free?”
Rachel nodded.
“Oh, Rachel, you have to go!” Grandma Nellie said at once, clapping her hands enthusiastically. “What an experience! And Brody Warner is such a nice boy. His mother used to drive me to my doctor appointments after I broke my ankle. The Warners are good people, there’s no doubt about that.”
“But . . . what about Dad?” Rachel asked.
Grandma Nellie waved her hand in the air dismissively. “Don’t worry about your father. Tell you what—there isn’t supposed to be any snow tomorrow, so he’ll definitely be home for dinner. We’ll make a special meal . . . maybe chicken stew? And you can make his favorite dessert—an apple pie! We’ll have a lovely family night and then, after dinner, you can ask permission. And I’ll be right there to help you convince him. Not that I think he’ll need it, sweetheart.”
“Really?” Rachel gasped. She leaped up and threw her arms around Grandma Nellie. “Thank you, Grandma Nellie! You’re the best!”
“Oh, honey, no need to thank me,” Grandma Nellie replied as she hugged Rachel back. Then, smiling, she pushed Rachel’s hair back from her face. “You really are growing into such a lovely young woman. So mature and responsible. Don’t think I don’t know how much you do around here . . . for everybody. And life is getting so exciting for you. I can’t wait to see what happens next!”
“Me neither,” Rachel said. Grandma Nellie’s enthusiasm was infectious, just like Taylor’s. Rachel could hardly believe how hopeful she suddenly felt. Even if Rachel couldn’t convince her dad to let her go to all the upcoming events, he would surely listen to Grandma Nellie.
chapter 7
“WE’RE HOME!” MR. WILSON CALLED OUT the next night as he walked through the door, carrying Robbie on his shoulders.
“Hey, Dad!” Rachel exclaimed as she poked her head out of the kitchen. She was wearing one of Grandma Nellie’s aprons. “I feel like I’ve barely seen you for days.”
“Me too, kiddo,” Mr. Wilson said, smiling at Rachel. “We’ve had a pretty rough winter so far. It’s good for the bank accou
nt, but bad for family time. Luckily, we should have clear weather for the rest of the weekend, at least.” Then he paused and sniffed the air. “Wow, what smells so delicious?”
“I can’t tell you,” Rachel said mysteriously. “And don’t come into the kitchen until I say so!”
Leaving her dad in the entryway, Rachel hurried back to the stove. “He’s home,” she said to Grandma Nellie. “How much longer until dinner?”
Grandma Nellie lifted the lid off the pot and tasted the broth. “The stew is ready,” she replied. “And it’s delicious!”
“I’m worried about the pie,” Rachel said anxiously. “What if the crust is dry? Or the apples are mushy?”
“The pie is going to be perfect,” Grandma Nellie declared. “You did a great job on it, and I should know. I’m a pie expert, after all.”
Rachel smiled at her grandmother, but she still looked a little worried.
Fortunately, all of the food was delicious, and everyone had seconds of the savory chicken stew—even Robbie. And when Rachel served up big slabs of pie crowned with creamy vanilla ice cream, she was relieved to see that Grandma Nellie was right: The pie was perfect! The Wilsons had such a nice dinner that it was twenty minutes past Robbie’s bedtime before Mr. Wilson glanced at his watch.
“Whoa, buddy,” he exclaimed. “Bedtime for you!”
Robbie opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, but a big yawn escaped instead. Everyone else laughed as Grandma Nellie helped him out of his booster seat.
“I’ll handle bedtime tonight,” she said. “Go give Daddy a big hug and kiss, Robbie.”
“I’ll get started on the dishes,” Rachel said as she began stacking the plates.
“I can do it,” Mr. Wilson said. He followed her into the kitchen.
“No way, Dad. I got it,” Rachel told him.
Mr. Wilson stood in the doorway for a moment before he said, “Well, I can put away the leftovers, at least. So what’s going on at school these days?”
“The usual,” Rachel replied. “Um, I got a ninety-two on my math test.”
“Great job!” Mr. Wilson told her. “But what happened to the other eight points?”
“Ha-ha,” Rachel replied.
“I’m just giving you a hard time,” her dad said. “You know I’m proud of you, Rach. But it’s my dad-job to push you to do better.”
How many times had Rachel heard that speech? But instead of sighing or rolling her eyes, she just said, “I know, Dad. I’ll try harder.”
“That’s all I ask,” Mr. Wilson said.
They finished tidying the kitchen in silence until Grandma Nellie joined them. “He sleeps!” she joked. “Carl, do you want some coffee? Another piece of pie, perhaps?”
“Coffee would be great,” he said.
“You go have a seat in the living room and Rachel and I will be right out,” Grandma Nellie said, with a sly wink at Rachel.
Rachel’s heart was pounding when she brought her dad a steaming cup of coffee a few minutes later. She tried to smile normally as she placed it on a coaster in front of him.
“Thanks, Rachel,” her dad said, without looking up from the newspaper.
Rachel hated to interrupt him—but she didn’t think she could wait another minute to ask him about the party. “Um, Dad?” she began. “Do you remember Brody Warner? From church?”
“Sure, he’s the big rock star now, right?”
“Something like that,” Rachel said as Grandma Nellie sat in the armchair across from them. “Well, he’s going to be in town next week, and he’s having a party at the Chocolate Bar on Thursday.”
That got Mr. Wilson’s attention. He folded the paper and put it on the table—but said nothing.
“So . . . I was hoping I could go,” said Rachel. “It’s at six o’clock, so I’d have plenty of time to get my homework done before it starts. And I’m sure it will be over by eight.”
Mr. Wilson still didn’t respond.
“But I could leave early,” Rachel said in a rush. “At seven thirty. Or seven. Whenever you want me to.”
“I’d be happy to pick her up,” Grandma Nellie chimed in.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Mr. Wilson finally said.
“Grandma Nellie picking me up?” Rachel asked in confusion. “Or leaving early?”
Mr. Wilson shook his head. “No, the party isn’t a good idea,” he said. “For one thing, Rachel, Thursday is a school night. I’m surprised you even asked. You know the rule: No socializing on school nights.”
“But, Dad—” Rachel began.
“For another thing, Thursdays are family night,” Mr. Wilson continued. “I go to a lot of trouble finding someone to cover for me on Thursdays so that there’s at least one night a week that we can all enjoy dinner as a family. And wasn’t that nice tonight? Didn’t we all have a good time?”
“Yes, but—”
“No buts, Rachel,” Mr. Wilson said firmly. “My decision is final.”
Rachel shot a desperate glance at Grandma Nellie.
“Carl, wait a minute,” Grandma Nellie spoke up. “Let’s hear what else Rachel has to say.”
Rachel took a deep breath. This was her big chance. “It’s just—Dad, this party is really, really important to me,” she said. “Brody hasn’t been home since last summer, and I didn’t even see him then because I had to miss his pool party. And all my friends are going to be there! I just—”
“All your friends?” Mr. Wilson repeated skeptically. “I find that a little hard to believe. I can’t think of a single parent who would let their child attend a party at a bar. On a school night.”
Rachel’s face burned with frustration. “Dad! It’s not a bar or a club or anything. It’s, like, a café that serves only desserts. Like a fancy bakery. Besides, I’ve already been there—it’s where Hannah had her bat mitzvah party!”
“But that wasn’t a school night,” Mr. Wilson reminded her.
“Okay,” Rachel said. “Is that the only problem? Because on Valentine’s Day—that’s a Saturday—there’s going to be a dance at school, and before—”
“Surely a school dance won’t be a problem, Carl,” Grandma Nellie interrupted Rachel.
Rachel glanced over at her, confused. Didn’t Grandma Nellie understand that she was about to ask permission to go to the concert, too?
Or maybe, Rachel suddenly realized, she did. And maybe Grandma Nellie had a very good reason for wanting Rachel to keep quiet about the concert.
“A dance?” Mr. Wilson repeated. “I suppose that would be all right, since it’s a school function. And on a Saturday, instead of a weeknight.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Rachel said stiffly. “I have a little more reading to do before Monday.”
Mr. Wilson nodded as he reached for the newspaper. “Your pie was great, Rachel,” he said. “Thanks again.”
Back in her room, Rachel stretched out on her bed and stared at the ceiling. She wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened. Somehow going to the dance was fine, but the party wasn’t? And why had Grandma Nellie stopped her from mentioning the concert?
A few minutes later, Rachel heard Grandma Nellie’s soft knock at the door. She entered the room with a shopping bag in her hands.
“I got these for you today,” Grandma Nellie said. “I thought it was time you had some of your very own scrapbooking supplies—you know, things that will reflect you and your interests.”
Rachel peeked inside the bag and found a hole punch in the shape of musical notes and a clef-shaped stamp. The shimmery paper was in her favorite shade of lavender. There was also a pack of seven glitter-gel pens and a pad of rainbow-colored lined paper for writing more journal-style entries.
“Thanks, Grandma Nellie,” Rachel said. “These are great.”
But even though Rachel meant every word, there was a flatness in her voice that made Grandma Nellie sigh. The bed creaked as Grandma Nellie sat next to Rachel. “Want to talk about it?”
“It’s a bakery!”
Rachel exclaimed, more loudly than she intended. “They sell fancy desserts and stuff! Gourmet hot chocolate! And he already let me go to a party there before! So why is he acting like it’s some totally inappropriate nightclub or something? Sometimes I think he likes to say no for no good reason!”
“I don’t think that’s what’s going on,” Grandma Nellie said in a soothing voice. “I know it’s hard to understand this, Rachel, but your father is just doing what he thinks is right. It’s hard for him that he has to make decisions on his own, and I think he just ends up being too cautious sometimes.”
“Can’t you talk to him?” Rachel asked. “You weren’t so strict with Dad when he was my age, were you?”
Grandma Nellie frowned as she tried to remember. “I don’t think I was . . . ,” she began. “But honey, when I moved in, I promised your dad that I would support the decisions he made for you and Robbie. I’m sorry that I couldn’t intervene more tonight, but it was very clear that his mind was made up.”
“So why didn’t you want me to ask him about the concert?” asked Rachel.
“Because I knew that he was going to say no,” Grandma Nellie said. “You know he doesn’t like to change his mind once he’s made a decision. He’s stubborn that way . . . like me. And, frankly, Rachel, I think you should go to the concert. So I’d rather you not ask and not get a firm no from your dad.”
“That makes me feel worse,” Rachel said quietly. “I don’t want to lie to Dad.”
“Look at it this way,” Grandma Nellie said. “Whenever your dad isn’t home, I’m the one who’s responsible for you. And I would give you permission to go. Okay?”
“I still feel like a liar.”
“Oh, sweetie, don’t,” Grandma Nellie said at once. “I’ll try to find a time to talk to him privately this week and see if I can’t convince him to give you a little more freedom. You know, it’s not always easy to watch your children grow up. Take it from me, I know. And your father might just need a little help with it.”
Rachel's Valentine Crush Page 5