I feel pretty
Oh, so pretty…
To be fair, I’m probably not pretty enough to play Maria. I’m okay, but Lucy would definitely be a better choice. She even looks more like Maria. How can I play a Puerto Rican girl with blond hair?
As I sing, my voice gets louder and less shaky. Thirty seconds in, I hit my stride and the notes are coming out perfect. I sound good. I feel good. I love singing—this is what I’m meant to do.
When I finish the song, I look out at the audience expectantly. Unlike the applause that Lucy got, I only receive a handful of claps. Sympathy claps.
Oh God, I guess I wasn’t that good.
“Thanks, Jessie,” Derek mumbles.
I do an awkward bow for some reason before I race off the stage. I honestly feel like crying right now. I can’t believe I thought I would be good enough for the lead in a musical when the only singing I do is in the shower. I just made a complete fool out of myself.
I’m shoving the doors of the auditorium open to escape my humiliation when I see an unexpected but familiar face. Nick Moretti. What’s he doing here? Is he trying out for Tony? Actually, he’d make an excellent Tony, but school plays aren’t his style. I can’t imagine him getting up onstage and belting out “Cool.” The thought of it almost makes me laugh.
I can’t help but notice Nick looks really good today. He’s been letting his dark hair get a little longer lately, although not too long, because we all know Angelo Moretti would never stand for that. And he still has those penetrating dark eyes that make my heart flutter in my chest every time he looks at me. Nick might very well be the handsomest guy at school. Hell, he might be the handsomest guy in Bensonhurst. That’s the popular consensus anyway. I can’t blame him for going out with other girls. They’re probably throwing themselves at him left and right.
I dab self-consciously at my eyes. “What are you doing here?”
Nick smiles at me. His smile still gets me. That’s why no matter what I’m hoping for, it will never work out with Evan. Even though Nick and I aren’t together, we’re still friends. He’s careful not to be seen with me around school though because he doesn’t want people to talk. Some days he still walks me home, but he parts from me a good five or six blocks before we reach my building. Always.
“Actually,” he says sheepishly, “I was walking by the auditorium and I heard you singing so… I stopped to listen.”
I stare at him. “You heard me singing? How’d you know it was me?”
He laughs. “You sing all the time. You think I don’t know your voice?”
“Oh God.” I drop my face into my hands. “I’m so embarrassed. I thought… I don’t know. I thought I was a decent singer but…”
“You are.” Nick nods emphatically. “You got a great voice, Jessie. You should get the part of Maria.”
“Nobody even clapped for me.”
He shrugs. “So what? Listen, I got ears. You were really good. I’m telling you.”
“Thanks.” I’m still not entirely sure I believe him. “It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s all a popularity contest. Lucy Monteiro will get the part because Derek likes her.”
“Well, who needs ‘em?” Nick says. That’s easy for him to say—he’s got more friends than Lucy and Derek combined. If he decides to run for student body president next year, he’ll probably win without even campaigning.
“Well,” I say, “I should probably get going…”
Walk me home, Nick.
Hold my hand.
Kiss me.
“I’ll see you later then,” Nick says. “I still got some stuff to take care of here.”
I nod and reluctantly tell him goodbye. As badly as I want it, it will never happen between me and Nick. There’s no point in thinking about it. I should just enjoy my date with Evan.
Chapter 10
Nick
I managed to stay away from Jessie Schultz for two years. I deserve a goddamn medal.
I don’t entirely stay away from her. We still talk. But I don’t touch her. I sure don’t try to kiss her. I can’t risk her father taking out his anger at me on Jessie. It will wreck me if she’s got more bruises that are my fault. So I’m careful.
After Jessie leaves the school, I go out back, sit down on the steps behind the school, and light up a cigarette. I started smoking a few months ago, mostly because Kevin kept offering me cigarettes and I got sick of saying no. Pop would murder me if he caught me smoking, even though he smokes himself and Tony’s been smoking since he was eleven—and I’m talking about stuff much worse than cigarettes. Pop says it’s a “filthy habit,” so I just make sure he don’t catch me.
“Hey, do your parents know you smoke, young man?”
Chrissy Cagliari is grinning at me as she leans against the side of the school building. I’ve known Chrissy since we were six years old, but these days I think of her more as Jessie’s friend. She got a lot different since first grade though. She didn’t have that ass or those tits back then. And I can see both really well right now in her tank top, short skirt, and ripped fishnet stockings. She’s got a streak of bright red through her hair that I’d think was sexy if I could think of anything besides Jessie right now.
“You gonna tell on me?” I ask her.
“I won’t if you give me one.” She plops down on the steps next to me. I hand her a smoke, and she leans in so I can light it for her. When she’s got it lit, she blows a smoke ring.
“Sexy,” I say with a laugh.
Chrissy nods at the cig in my hand. “You better never let Jess catch you with that. She’ll go crazy.”
I raise my eyebrows at her. “Yeah?”
“You didn’t know that?” Chrissy takes another drag and blows this one out through the side of her mouth. The girl’s made an art form out of smoking sexy. “Whenever I’ve had a cigarette and she smells it on me, she makes a big deal out of how bad I stink. She won’t go near me.”
Shit, I didn’t know that. I hand Chrissy the pack of cigarettes, which is half full. I throw the smoke I’ve got in my hand down on the steps and stomp it out. “I’m quitting.”
Chrissy busts out laughing. “Holy shit. So… your dad beating the crap outta you isn’t enough to quit smoking, but you hear one rumor about Jess not liking it, and you’re done?”
“It’s a filthy habit anyway,” I mutter. Even though she’s right.
“I say fuck Jess’s dad,” Chrissy says. “You like her that much, you go for it. What’s the worst he could do to you?”
I just shake my head. There’s nothing he can do to me—nothing that I care about. It’s what he can do to Jessie that matters.
“You guys are like Romeo and Juliet,” she muses. “It’s so sad.”
“We’re not really.” I should know because I got forced to read Romeo and Juliet in English class last year. Which is ironic, because that stupid play was barely even written in English. I had to read each sentence five times to figure out what the hell was going on. “Romeo and Juliet’s families both hated each other. But my parents don’t hate Jessie.”
“She’s not Italian,” Chrissy points out.
“Yeah, but she’s Christian.” I roll my eyes. “That’s all my mom cares about. That I marry a good Christian girl.”
“I’m a good Christian girl,” Chrissy says.
“Well, you’re Christian and you’re a girl…”
She smacks me in the arm. “I wouldn’t marry you anyway, you loser. You stink of cigarette smoke.”
I look down at my watch. Rehearsals gotta be almost over by now.
“Listen,” I say, “there’s something I gotta do. I’ll see you later, Chrissy.”
“Ooh, that sounds important.” She widens her heavily mascaraed eyes. “What do you gotta do?”
“Nothing too exciting.”
I just gotta threaten somebody. That’s all.
_____
When I get into the auditorium, there’s still a couple of kids left to sing. So I wait. I got time.
Eventually, everyone filters out. The last of the crew to leave is Derek, who’s running the auditions. He’s the one I gotta talk to. After everyone is gone, he’s still sitting in his seat, shuffling through papers.
Derek is scrawny with red hair and freckles. Does he really think he’s got a shot with Lucy Monteiro? He’s got to be out of his mind if he thinks that. It don’t matter if he casts her in the lead for every play for the next century. She’d never touch him with a ten-foot pole.
“Hey, Derek,” I say.
Derek lifts his eyes. When he sees me, he smiles tentatively. “Nick. Hi. Are you… trying out?”
I laugh. Christ, can you imagine? “No. I wanna talk to you about Jessica Schultz.”
“Oh.” Derek shifts in his seat. “Yeah, she tried out already.”
I raise my eyebrows at him. “You think she might get the part?”
“Uh, well,” Derek mumbles. “There were a bunch of girls who tried out for Maria, so I’m not sure yet.”
“She sounded good,” I say. “I heard her sing.”
“She has a good voice,” he admits. Fucking A. “But she… she’s not…”
“Not what?” I press him.
Derek is starting to sweat. He wipes at his forehead with the back of his hand. “She doesn’t have the right look.”
“The right look?” I stare at him. “Jessie is beautiful.”
“Well, she’s…” He looks like he’s measuring his words. “She’s pretty. For sure. But you know, she doesn’t look like a Maria.”
“That’s not such a good reason. She could wear a wig.”
He bites his lip. “Lucy Monteiro—”
“Lucy Monteiro don’t got a voice like Jessie.”
Derek doesn’t say a word because he knows I’m right.
I study Derek’s face, trying to figure out the best way to play this. Pop always says:
You’re better off making people happy than putting the squeeze on them. Make ‘em happy first. If that don’t work, you got no other choice.
I’m hoping he lets me make him happy. Because otherwise, I got no other choice.
“Listen, Derek.” I slide into the seat next to his. “I know you like Lucy, but that’s just not going to happen. But there are lotsa girls out there who you’d like just as much. I know plenty of them. I can put in a good word for you…”
Derek’s green eyes widen. “Yeah?”
“Sure.” I smile at him. “We’re buddies, Derek. I want to help you out.”
“Well, there’s still a callback and she’s got to read lines, but…” He returns my smile. “I think she might work out for the part.”
I trust Derek to do the right thing.
Chapter 11
Nick
Every Sunday night, Ma has the whole family over for dinner.
I don’t mind it so much. My grandparents—Pop’s mother and father—are getting old. They might not be around much longer. Then there’s Pop’s sister and her family. Ma’s family is all back in Sicily, and we only see them once a year when we fly out there.
Ma is a great cook. Nobody cooks like my Ma. She spends the whole day cooking her tomato sauce with the best meatballs in all of Brooklyn. You can’t get food like that in any restaurant. Maybe someday I’ll get Jessie over here and have Ma teach her some recipes, but I’m not expecting a miracle. Nobody’s ever gonna be able to make meatballs good as Teresa Moretti’s.
Pop loves it when the house is filled with people. He likes to entertain and be the generous host. He also likes to show off his family. He originally wanted to have at least five kids, but something went wrong when Ma was having me, and they couldn’t have more babies. So it’s just me and Tony. And Tony is off somewhere doing who the hell knows what.
“You know where Tony is?” Pop asks me.
I shrug. I never know where Tony is these days. He and I used to talk, but not no more. I only hear the rumors about Tony like everyone else does. And none of it’s good.
I wander into the kitchen, where Ma and my grandmother are cooking with my cousin Donatella. Donnie is fourteen and always making eyes at me, but she’s my freaking cousin so I don’t know what the hell is wrong with her. I always offer to help out in the kitchen. I don’t feel like chopping green beans, but I’m not worried on account of they always tell me no.
“You need help in here?” I say in Italian. Nonna speaks only Italian and I’m fluent thanks to summers in Italy when I was a kid.
“Aren’t you a sweet boy,” Nonna says back in Italian. She reaches out to pinch my cheek and I dodge her a second too late. “We’re fine, Nico. Thank you.” She looks at my mother, who is rolling a big fat meatball. “What a polite young man you raised.”
Ma gives me a look, maybe because she knows I only offer to help when the grandparents are around. But then she smiles. “Yes, Nico is a good kid. Did you know he spent the whole summer helping out Angelo at work?”
Nonna beams at me. “That is wonderful, Nico! You want to work with your father when you grow up?”
It’s all I want. Well, aside from Jessie. “Sí, Nonna.”
“Antonio, unfortunately, is a different story.” Ma shakes her head. “Where is your brother, Nico?”
It’s the question of the day. I shrug again.
Except about ten minutes later, I’m walking through the dining room when I hear a tap at the window. I glance over my shoulder to see if anyone is watching me—nobody is. I creep over to the window and my stomach sinks when I see all the blood. I wrench the window open and bend down so I can talk to my brother.
“What the hell happened to you?” I hiss at him.
“Keep your voice down,” Tony mutters.
Tony is a mess. His face is swollen and caked with a combination of dried and fresh blood. He’s got a cut on his forehead that’s almost gushing—it probably needs stitches. His lip is swollen and split open. His left eye is turning purple and nearly swollen shut.
“I hope the other guy looks worse,” I say.
“Three of them jumped me,” Tony says. “I didn’t even have a chance. It was unfair.”
“Jesus,” I say. “What did you do to them?”
Tony wipes blood from his face. His hands are caked with blood. I wonder how much of it is his. “I need to get back in the house without anyone seeing me.”
“Impossible.”
“Nico…” His one good eye pleads with me. “Come on, I can’t walk into the house like this. Pop will never forgive me. I’ve got to get cleaned up.”
With those words, Tony winces and grabs his left chest. For a second, I’m scared he’s gonna pass out. He takes a second to breathe through the pain.
“You okay?” I ask.
“I think those assholes broke a few of my ribs,” he manages.
“Tony, you need to go to the hospital.”
“No.” He blinks at me. “Nico, you gonna help me or what?”
I sigh. I don’t know how I’m gonna get my bloody brother into the house without our seven houseguests seeing him. But I owe it to Tony to at least try.
“I’ll get Ma and Nonna out of the kitchen,” I tell him. “Then you can sneak in through the back. Okay?”
Tony nods and wipes blood from his nostrils.
I walk into the kitchen, not sure what I’m going to say to them until Donnie winks seductively at me. That’s when I get the idea. I hope it works.
“Donnie,” I say, “your dad says you been taking piano lessons and you’re getting real good.”
Donnie’s whole face lights up. “Yes, I am! Do you want to hear me play, Nico?”
I glance at Ma and Nonna. “I think we should all go into the living room and hear you play.”
They protest at first, but I know they’ll give in. They’re not going to say no to their youngest granddaughter.
I end up having to sit through five songs full of missed notes before I can disentangle myself from Donnie. I hope Tony had enough time to get back into the house. If I
have to create another distraction for him, I’m going to lose it.
When I get upstairs, I find Tony in the bathroom, looking in the vanity mirror on the back of the medicine cabinet and trying to fix his battered face. I notice now that his clothes are covered in blood too—both dried and fresh. I go grab a plastic bag for him. “We better get rid of your clothes,” I say. “You don’t want to throw those in the laundry.”
Tony nods as he fingers the cut on his forehead. “This one won’t stop bleeding.”
I look at the straight edges of the wound. “How’d they do that to you?”
“A knife.”
My mouth falls open. “Shit, Tony. You’re gonna get yourself killed.”
“They was just trying to scare me, that’s all.”
“Scare you why?”
Tony looks at me a long time. A crease forms between his thick black eyebrows. “Might be better you don’t know, Nico.”
I can only shake my head. I don’t see how we’re going to get Tony cleaned up enough to present him to our grandparents. I get the first aid kit from the hall closet, which has got some Band-Aids and gauze in it. There’s not much we can do about Tony’s black eye and the split lip, but we manage to get the blood flow from his forehead to ease up enough that we can make his face almost blood-free. I collect his bloody clothes in the plastic bag and stash it in my room to toss out later.
Tony takes a quick shower to get the blood off his body, and I head back downstairs. I don’t mind helping him out when he’s in a jam, but if I come down with him looking like that, I’m going to get my head bit off too.
When Tony limps down the stairs a few minutes later, he looks a hell of a lot better than he did when I first showed up at the window, but he still looks like a guy who had the crap beaten out of him. A vein pulses on Pop’s forehead and Nonno clutches his chest as the whole room goes quiet. Tony probably should have stayed in his room.
“What the hell mess did you get yourself into this time?” Pop yells at Tony.
“I’m okay,” Tony says as a drop of blood escapes from the five layers of gauze we packed on his forehead wound. It trickles down the side of his face, down his neck, and stains his T-shirt.
The Girl I Didn't Marry Page 5