Meow or Never

by Jazz Taylor

  The cat blinks at me, and I put her down in my lap. She yawns and closes her eyes. Phantom it is.

  Phantom and I sit together for a long time, and she seems happy napping while I do my homework. Eventually, it starts to get dark outside and all my homework is done. I close my math book and put her back into her bed. Phantom meows loudly when I stand up.

  “Sorry, gotta go. But I’ll be back tomorrow. And I’ll bring food this time, promise.”

  She meows in response and I smile. I give a wave to Phantom and close the closet door.

  I put my earbuds in and shoulder my backpack, swaying with the music. I walk in time with the beat, humming. For the first time since moving, I can’t wait to come back to school.

  Lunch is the hardest part of the day.

  It used to be math, because honestly math makes no sense at all and it’s cruel that we have to learn it (everyone has calculators on their phones anyway!). But since I moved, lunch is the worst.

  The big cafeteria is crowded already, so crowded I want to choke. Kids stream in from the hallway beneath the colorful banners announcing school events and fundraisers. Sometimes I chicken out and just drink a lot of water for lunch, but not today. Today I have to get a turkey sandwich so I can give half of it to Phantom.

  I stand far behind the last kids in line, which is fine because everyone is talking to someone else anyway. I grab a turkey sandwich from the bar, along with a fruit cup, and carry it to the lunch lady. She punches in my lunch number, and I can breathe again. I did it. Now, to the theater.

  I’m almost out of the cafeteria when I stop. There’s Harper, the girl who wrote the play. She’s sitting at a lunch table at the very back of the cafeteria.

  She’s sitting all by herself.

  I look at the door and then back to Harper. She’s writing something in a notebook, not eating anything, her blonde hair covering her face. I look at my sandwich. My hands are sweaty again.

  Okay. I have two options. I can go and hang out with Phantom. Or I can sit with Harper. I can tell her I get nervous too, and the best way to stand in front of a crowd is to recite the lyrics to your favorite song or think about what you’ll have for dinner. I can tell her I like her play.

  I can attempt to make a human friend.

  I take a step toward her, but suddenly I’m frozen. The disastrous conversation with Nic from the start of the year plays in my mind, and the one at the bus stop. And then I’m turning around and running out of the cafeteria, sweating like mad, gasping for air.

  At least cats can’t tell if you’re a weirdo.

  “I ruined it,” I groan to Phantom. She’s not listening—she’s tearing into my turkey sandwich like she’s never had anything to eat in her entire life. I let her have as much as she wants. I’m not hungry anymore.

  “She was right there. All I had to say was ‘I like your play.’ And I do! It’s funny!”

  I roll over and scream into my backpack. It’s a little louder than I intended. My pillow at home is better at hiding the sound.

  I roll to my back again. We’re sitting together, beside Phantom’s closet. Dusty ceiling and dark stage lights are all I can see. “Why can’t I just talk, Phantom? They’re always right there. Right in front of me. But I can’t do it.”

  After Phantom is done eating my sandwich, she climbs onto my stomach and tucks her paws beneath her, purring. I scratch behind her ears, a little less miserable.

  “At least I have you.”

  I check my phone. Still ten minutes until lunch is over. I put one earbud in my ear and touch the YouTube app. I pick a soft song, humming at first, then full-blown singing as the beat picks up. Phantom listens, her ears pricked, purring. I can feel her rumbling on top of my stomach.

  Suddenly, in the middle of my third song, Phantom stiffens and charges off me, running into the closet and disappearing into the tunnel. I sit up, frowning. “Where are you going? Was my singing that bad?”

  “No,” a voice says from behind me. “It was beautiful.”

  I turn, slowly, like I’m in a scary movie. My ears are ringing and hot, and my breathing is ragged. I know this voice. It’s the worst voice it could possibly be. I look up, from the white tennis shoes to the ripped jeans to the new coat and into the face of the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen—

  Nic.

  This isn’t happening.

  “I had no idea you could sing, Avery! You sound so good!”

  This can’t be happening.

  “You have to try out for the play! I bet you could play Juliet with a voice like that!”

  I’m dying. I’m dying a slow, painful death. This is because I didn’t brush my teeth last night. This is because my room is a wreck.

  “I’m gonna tell Mrs. Thompson! Hang on, be right back!” Nic rushes off and disappears behind the stage’s curtain.

  I’m dead.

  There’s only one thing to do—run. I slam Phantom’s closet door closed and grab my backpack and I’m gone, running as fast as I can away from the school and Nic and everything.

  I only stop when I’m at the playground near my house, wheezing, my heart tap-dancing against my ribs. Oh man. Oh man, she heard me. I pace in a tight circle, my chest aching. Nic heard me and now she’s gonna tell Mrs. Thompson—did she see Phantom? No, definitely not, since Phantom ran away.

  Okay. I have to be calm. I sit down on one of the plastic yellow swings and try to breathe. It’s hard when there’s a hand around your heart, squeezing. Dad says he used to get stressed like I do, but he “grew out of it.” I wish I would hurry and grow out of this.

  I cradle my head in my hands. I don’t know what Nic is going to say to Mrs. Thompson. I can’t audition for the play. I’ve never sung in front of anyone, not for real! Even during the recitals at my old school, I just mouthed the words. I can’t do this.

  But then again … Nic looked so happy. My cheeks burn in my hands. This is bad. All of it. I don’t need to see Nic smile, or to sing, or to have friends. I need to think about what I’m going to do, right now. I check my phone—12:24. Lunch is over and I’m a mile down the road.

  I call Dad.

  He answers after one ring. “Avery?” His voice is high-pitched and scared. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know.” I try to take a deep breath, but it’s hard to breathe. “I need you to check me out of school.”

  “Are you sick?” Dad sounds so worried.

  “No. I’m just … I ran away.”

  There’s a long pause. “From school?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Where are you now?”

  I tell him.

  Dad sucks in a sharp breath. “Okay. Why are you not at school, Avery?”

  I want to tell him about Nic, and what she heard, and that I can’t ever see her again because I’ll die of embarrassment, but it’s no good. My tongue is made of peanut butter and stuck to the roof of my mouth.

  “I had to get away,” I manage.

  “Okay.” I can imagine Dad pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re gonna go back to school, and we’ll talk about this when I get home tonight. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Text me when you get back. If you don’t, I’m coming to get you.”

  I stand up, my legs wobbly but determined. I shouldn’t have called. Dad’s really stressed about his new job and Andrew and me, so I need to get it together. I can do this. I’ll go back to school and avoid Nic for the rest of my life and everything will be fine. I nod, shouldering my backpack. “Okay. Thanks, Dad.”

  Everything is not fine.

  I avoided Nic in English and we don’t have science together, so I thought I was going to be okay. Not even close. As soon as I step into the theater, Nic ambushes me, a huge grin on her face.

  “Where’d you go earlier? I came back to get you, and you weren’t there! Come on, we gotta tell Mrs. Thompson!” She grabs my hand and practically drags me to Mrs. Thompson’s office. It would be nice to be holding her hand, if mine wasn�
�t so sweaty, and she wasn’t dragging me to my certain death.

  Mrs. Thompson looks up when we burst in. “What is it, girls?”

  “Avery can really sing and you should hear her,” Nic says, her words tumbling out like collapsed building blocks. She looks at me, grinning. “Right, Avery? You sound amazing! You could even get the lead part!”

  Oh no. No, no, no—

  “Is that so?” Mrs. Thompson raises her perfectly manicured eyebrows. “What’ll you sing for us, Avery?”

  I shake my head wildly. Nic laughs. “She’s just shy! Come on, Avery, sing the one you were singing earlier.”

  I look at Nic and her cute freckles and frustrating smile, and I finally say something.

  “Why don’t you do it?”

  Nic blinks at me, and I’m immediately mortified. Not a word to the prettiest girl in my grade for six months and the first thing I say is “Why don’t you do it?”?!

  My life is over.

  Nic recovers and lets out a loud laugh. “I’ve already tried out! And I can’t sing lead anyway. Altos don’t lead.” It’s just for a second, but she looks away from me, her smile fading. Nic is a good actor, the best in our class, in fact. Why wouldn’t she be lead?

  I don’t have time to think about it. Mrs. Thompson clears her throat and looks right at me. “Now, Avery, I’ll listen to your audition if you want. But no one can force you. You have to make that decision.”

  Oh, thank God, I can back out after all. I open my mouth to refuse, but suddenly I’m thinking about Nic’s hand in mine and the way Dad sounded worried on the phone and Andrew calling me “pathetic.”

  I close my mouth.

  “Avery?” Mrs. Thompson prompts, one eyebrow raised.

  “You’ll do it?” Nice asks, her eyes shining with hope.

  I look at them both, my chest tight and my breath short. I should say no. But … I really do like to sing. If I get a small part in the choir, I can do my mouthing-the-words trick like I did at my old school and just enjoy practice. And if I do get cast in the play, Dad won’t worry. I can also hang out with Phantom more, since I’ll be in the theater a lot. And, maybe, I can be friends with Nic. This might just fix everything. I’ll get a small part, do the play, and it’ll be smooth sailing from there.

  I meet Mrs. Thompson’s eyes, fighting the fear clutching my lungs, and nod.

  “I’ll try.”

  Nic squeals and hugs me, and I’m pretty sure my soul leaves my body.

  “Avery, I knew it! You’ll be incredible!”

  “Okay, okay, girls.” Mrs. Thompson laughs. “Nic, you leave and tell the class I’ll be a few minutes.”

  Nic pats me on the back. Her hand is a lot stronger than I’m expecting. “You’ll do great!”

  And then she’s gone, and it’s just Mrs. Thompson and me.

  “Let’s start with a line reading,” Mrs. Thompson says. “Do you have your script?”

  I nod and fumble with the zipper on my backpack. “Wh-what part should I read?”

  “Any,” Mrs. Thompson says, smiling.

  Okay … I pick a smaller part, Juliet’s best friend, Amber. Mrs. Thompson reads all the other characters in the section I pick. I’m not great at acting, so when I read it sounds kinda flat. Hopefully it’s good enough for a small part.

  Mrs. Thompson nods as I finish the second page. “Okay, that’s good. Now, for the singing portion.”

  Sweat beads on my forehead. I know Mrs. Thompson can see it. I clear my throat, suddenly desperate for the bottle of water in my backpack. This was a terrible idea. Even if it will fix everything, can I really do this? Can I really sing in front of her? I tug at my shirt collar, burning up.

  “I’m just gonna take my coat off,” I tell Mrs. Thompson. She nods, and I shed it like a second skin. I’m still too hot. And light-headed. “I’m gonna get my water bottle, okay?”

  “Okay,” Mrs. Thompson says.

  I drink almost half my water bottle, then immediately want to throw it all up.

  “I’m gonna sit down, I think,” I tell Mrs. Thompson.

  Mrs. Thompson smiles at me, like she’s trying to stop herself from laughing. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, Avery.”

  “But I want to.” That’s what I say, but I’m trembling. It’s not that I want to; I have to. I think about Dad’s worried voice on the phone, and I clench my hands. Now or never, Avery. I can do this.

  “Is it okay if I turn around?”

  “No. I need to hear you.”

  I chew on my lip. “Can I close my eyes?”

  Mrs. Thompson does her funny smile again. “Sure.”

  Okay. I can work with that. I touch the YouTube app on my phone and pick the song Nic heard me sing, “Love on Top.” I take a shaky breath and press play, then close my eyes.

  At first, nothing comes out. I’m just standing there with my eyes closed, like a huge dummy. But then I get into the beat, feeling it thrum through my ears as it has a million times before. I can’t help singing, just a little at first, then louder and louder as the chorus swells, and for just a second, I’m not in Mrs. Thompson’s office, I’m in my room, in that tiny closet with Phantom, and I’m free.

  The song ends, and the illusion is broken. I open my eyes, and Mrs. Thompson is smiling at me. She claps her hands slowly, still smiling.

  “Good job, Miss Williams. I’m proud of you.”

  My face fills with heat, but it’s the good kind for once. Surely I did enough for a small part, way in the back? Surely this will fix everything.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Thompson.”

  Mrs. Thompson ushers me to the door, still smiling. “I’ll post the results tomorrow. Good luck.”

  I leave her office, feeling great. Good luck indeed. This is step one of everything falling into place. It’s all gonna work out.

  Nic waves at me frantically as I walk into school the next day. I try to wave back, a painful smile on my face, but before my arm can move, she’s right next to me.

  “Avery!! I knew you could do it!”

  I try to ask her what she’s talking about, but she flings her arms around me and suddenly I’m trapped in a tight hug.

  Well, maybe asking her can wait.

  “I knew it, I just knew it!” Nic squeals in my ear, and we do an awkward, swaying dance. She finally breaks our hug and holds me at arm’s length, a huge grin on her face. She searches my expression, her light brown eyes darting back and forth. Heat creeps to the tips of my ears—she’s never been this close to me.

  But I can’t get excited. My uncle Denny told me once that I should never fall in love with a straight girl. It only leads to heartbreak. Denny is the smartest man I know because he lives at home with his mom so he doesn’t have to pay rent, so I figure I better listen to him.

  “How do you feel?” Nic asks, her hand lingering on my arm. Warmth spreads from her palm to my face. “I knew you’d get the part, I just knew it! Aren’t you glad I told Mrs. Thompson you could sing?”

  Oh, so this is about the play. I must have gotten a part in the choir! Mrs. Thompson said the results would be up today, but I thought she meant in seventh period, not first thing. I muster the courage to say something. “What did I get?”

  Nic blinks at me. “You haven’t seen the list yet?”

  I shake my head. She pulls up something on her phone and shows it to me. The audition results. Nic is Amber, Juliet’s best friend. As expected! It’s the second-best part. She has a lot of fun lines. Thomas is Romeo (ugh). And then I see the top of the list.

  AVERY WILLIAMS—JULIET

  Oh no.

  Oh no.

  “Aren’t you excited?” Nic says, beaming.

  I hear a faint ringing in my ears, but I take a few gulps of air. Nic is wrong. This has to be a mistake. “Stop—stop kidding, Nic. There’s no way I’m Juliet.”

  “Oh, you definitely are,” Nic says. “I took a picture of the list this morning. This is so exciting!”

  The ringing gets louder.
I tug at my sweater, hot, burning. “But it could still … it could still be a mistake.”

  “Are you okay?” Nic says, frowning at me.

  I’m not okay. I’m burning up. I can’t breathe. It’s not a misprint.

  I’m really going to be the lead part in the play.

  I’m really going to have to sing in front of everyone.

  “Avery?” Nic’s voice is tinged with fear. She grabs my hands, and I hold on for dear life. “Are you okay? What’s—”

  “I have to go to the nurse.” I barely get the words out before I’m wheezing. I bend at the waist, black dots swimming over my vision. The walls are too close, people are staring—

  Nic squeezes my hand. “Okay, here we go. Hang on.” We stumble to the nurse’s office, me focusing on breathing and not passing out and making a fool of myself.

  Nurse Biles meets me at the door. She’s a bigger lady, and she always wears super-glamorous makeup. Not that I can see it right now. I’m on the edge of fainting.

  “Oh, Avery,” Nurse Biles says, clicking her tongue. “I thought we were getting better.”

  “C-can you help?” Nic’s voice is small and scared. Her fingernails dig into my skin. “I think she’s dying. Should we call 911?”

  “She’s not dying.” Nurse Biles guides me to a familiar cot. She gets to her knees in front of me. “Okay, Avery, look at me. Just like last time.”

  I nod, my throat too constricted to speak.

  “Tell me three things you can see.”

  At first, it’s hard to think about anything except the play and singing in front of everyone and Nic staring at me with a look of horror. But Nurse Biles is waiting on me, so I force myself to look around the room.

  “Coat.” I take a gulp of air. “Your watch. Umm, my shoes.”

  “Good!” Mrs. Biles smiles at me encouragingly. “What about your new shoes? Tell me about them.”

  “They’re not new. But I washed them over the break. So they’d look new.”

  “Well, you did a good job. They’re still so white.”

  My chest swells with pride and, with it, precious air. “Yeah, it’s really hard to do! But Dad says I can get new ones next year if I keep these clean.”