Definitely Daphne

by Tami Charles

  And I posted it almost 24 hours ago! Mr. Davis watches to the end and then marches backstage with Nicholas’ phone still in his hand.

  “What is he doing?” I ask.

  “Looks like somebody got jacked for his phone!” Clairna teases.

  “Not funny, Clairna! I just got that for my birthday.” Nicholas crosses his arms like a toddler.

  Mr. Davis returns with a television on a cart with wheels, rolls it to center stage, and connects Nicholas’ phone to the screen.

  This isn’t happening.

  He clangs the bell, making everyone stop what they’re doing. “Everyone gather around,” he says. “Take a seat in the first few rows.”

  This can’t be happening.

  The cast and crew fly to the seats. John beckons for me to sit next to him, which also happens to be beside Rachael.

  “It seems that our set designers have found a lovely video of an actress performing a scene from our play. And I wanted to share it with you.”

  I whisper to no one in particular, “I didn’t find anything! Leave me out of it!”

  As soon as he presses play, every single body part of mine loses functionality. Any second now, I’m going to vomit. In three… two…

  The video ends right before I spontaneously combust.

  Everyone starts clapping. I feel Rachael’s eyes on me. This is it. She knows.

  I shift my gaze on her. Rachael whispers, “I’ve never even heard of that girl.” The five-hundred-pound weight on my shoulders poofs away.

  “This, dear cast, is commitment!” Mr. Davis is all riled up. “The characterization, the accent, it’s flawless! We can all learn from this.”

  Mr. Davis seems to look at Rachael, and she sinks into the chair.

  Meanwhile I look around at kids and hear them whisper:

  “What’s the name of that YouTuber?”

  “Oh, the I-hate-sports girl?”

  “I liked the school lunches video better.”

  “OK, enough of the chit-chat, guys!” Mrs. Gironda, chief cell phone snatcher, yells out. “We have to finish up rehearsals.”

  “Yes, now run along! Back to work!” Mr. Davis shoos everyone off to their various locations in the auditorium.

  John leans in to Rachael and me. “That was really good. She kind of reminded me of you, Annabelle. Right, Rachael?”

  Before I can even answer, Rachael says, “I’m not going to take pointers from some wannabe YouTube star! You know what I’m saying?”

  She looks straight at me.

  On the inside, I feel myself breaking, piece by piece. That wannabe is me.

  But I just nod, because I think that’s what you do when the most popular girl in school offers you a breadcrumb of attention. Then I say, “You got that right, girl!”

  19

  Daphne Does Drama

  Nine views. Zero shares. Zero new subscribers.

  I didn’t think it could get much sadder than this. But then I saw the comment. Yup. Not plural. Just one:

  TooCoolForSchool: Go back to your Daphne Doesn’t format. Quick!

  Point taken!

  20

  Group Project

  The next day Mr. Davis starts off history class with a special announcement. “This week we will focus on the Age of Exploration.” He paces up and down the rows of seats. “Now, who can name some famous explorers?”

  Nicholas raises his hand. “Ooh, Christopher Columbus!”

  “Aka civilization destroyer,” John blurts out, and the whole class laughs. John straightens his shoulders like he’s proud of himself.

  “There is truth to that, John,” Mr. Davis says. “Christopher Columbus’ expeditions ushered in a movement that began the transatlantic slave trade and wiped out millions of indigenous people.”

  I don’t want to speak, I try not to speak, but ACK! This was Mae’s and my favorite history topic, and I just have to say something! “Columbus wasn’t the only one, though. There were other people before and after him.”

  The whole class is staring at me. Mr. Davis stops walking and leans back a bit. “Do tell, Miss Louis.”

  Oh dear. Here come the eyeballs. Lots of them. And they’re all pointed at me. I clear my throat and try to block them out. “Well, there were several European countries that wanted to find new trading routes so they could discover new lands, silks, and spices. So people like Amerigo Vespucci and Marco Polo were responsible for enhanced methods of navigation and mapping, which sort of turned geography into science, and—”

  “This ain’t science class, girl!” Rachael says a little too loudly.

  And cue laughter and not-so-whispery whispers!

  “Annabelle is a real nerd.”

  “How does she know all that stuff?”

  “Because she’s not from this planet.”

  That last comment sends a cold shiver down my back.

  “Settle down, everyone.” Mr. Davis claps three times. “What a nice tie-in to this week’s assignment, Annabelle!”

  As soon as Mr. Davis turns his back and walks to the front of the room, John holds out his fist for me to pound it. Then Mr. Davis says two fatal words that remind me of reason number 391 why I never liked going to regular school: “group projects.”

  Note to self: Here’s your next vlog! “Daphne Definitely Doesn’t Do Group Projects.”

  For the two and a half years I went to school in Spain, I would get stuck doing all the work. Every. Single. Time. By the time we moved to the UK, I was over it.

  “OK, class, stand up and step away from your chairs,” Mr. Davis orders. “Now, because I like to make things as democratic as possible, I’m going to give you exactly thirty seconds to create a group of three. In four… three…”

  I can feel John’s eyes piercing my skull, but he’s not the only one.

  “Two… one!”

  John dashes to my side, and Rachael does a ballerina leap over her seat, knocking it over to join him. Two seconds ago she was making fun of me. And now here she is, clinging to my side like we’re amigas.

  Other kids are bum-rushing their way to get to our group.

  “Don’t even think about it!” Rachael warns.

  A few sighs, followed by random mumbling. “Oh man, I wanted to be in Annabelle’s group!”

  The thirty-second time limit ends, and there are still a few stragglers walking around with disappointed faces. That doesn’t stop Mr. Davis from reminding them they have no choice but to team up and make it work.

  “Excellent!” he says once everyone has found a group. “Now, every group will pick out of a hat. Your card will have the name of the explorer you will research. You’ll have a week to pull together your project. For the presentation, I’ll let you decide how you will share your information. Act, sing, dance, make a Prezi — whatever you can creatively come up with.”

  Rachael picks out of the hat for us. “Amerigo Vest… poo…” she has a hard time getting the name out.

  “Vespucci,” I finish for her. “America’s actually named after him.”

  Mr. Davis smiles. “You really know your history, Annabelle.”

  On the inside, I’m whispering, “Thank you, Mr. Tanaka.” Mae’s dad is the biggest history buff I know.

  “Guys, we’re gonna need to set up some time after school to get this done,” John says.

  He’s right. Between other homework, play rehearsals, and making Daphne videos, I’m definitely going to need some outside time to work on this.

  “Good idea, but where?” Rachael asks. “Umm, we can’t meet at my house because…”

  “My house works!” The words come out so fast, they surprise me.

  John shrugs and gives a nod. “Fine by me. When?”

  “Let’s shoot for tomorrow, after play practice,” I say.

  “OK, cool,
” Rachael says.

  The bell rings, the classroom empties, and just like that it hits me: tomorrow the most popular girl at McManus will hang out… with me… at my house.

  21

  Curry and Conversation

  Tonight’s dinner scene is brought to you by spicy food and a spicy mood.

  Going live in four, three, two, one…

  ME

  I have some friends coming over tomorrow after play practice. Can you pick us up at 4:30?

  MOM

  Oooh, friends — I like the sound of that! Dr. Varma will too. Which reminds me, I need to make another appointment soo—

  DAD

  (cuts Mom off)

  Who exactly are these friends?

  (loosens tie around neck)

  ME

  Rachael Myers and Johnathan Lopez. We have a social studies project to work on.

  MOM

  Ah, history was my favorite in middle school. What topic?

  ME

  European Age of Exploration. We’re researching Amerigo Vespucci.

  DAD

  (complexion deepens two shades)

  Is he ugly?

  ME

  Dad, all of those ancient explorer guys were weird-looking, if you ask me.

  Cue theme music for the movie Jaws.

  DAD

  (half-choking on a chicken bone)

  The boy. Is the boy ugly?

  Zoom in on Mom laughing, me grabbing water to mellow out Dad’s famous curry chicken.

  ME

  Um, no. Wait, I don’t know. Maybe. What kind of question is that?

  (morphs slowly into a glob)

  MOM

  Aww, I think Annabelle has a little novio, Ruben.

  ME

  Don’t do that, Mom. He’s not my boyfriend.

  DAD

  (transforms into a human habanero pepper)

  I’ll pick you up from school, but I need parent phone numbers. You can work in the living room. But he’d better be ugly.

  End scene!

  * * *

  For the record, Johnathan Lopez is not ugly. He’s… OK… I guess.

  UGH!

  22

  A Connection

  When play practice is over, John, Rachael, and I walk out of the building just as Dad is pulling up.

  We hop into Dad’s black Equinox, and I’m praying he doesn’t say or do anything to embarrass me. “Dad, this is John. John, my dad,” I say.

  “Hello, Mr. Louis.” Johnathan gives Dad a proper greeting, handshake and all.

  “Nice to meet you,” Dad says. “And good to see you again, Rachael. Buckle up, guys.”

  Dad turns on the radio, and Rachael immediately says, “Mr. Louis, can you turn it up? This is my song!”

  It’s the same one with the rapper bragging about his expensive coat. Rachael is singing along and dancing in her seat. And even though I think the lyrics are ridiculous, I start bopping my head up and down like I’m into it too. Dad throws me a smirk, knowing how much we despise this nonsense. But it’s almost like he gets it. Like he knows that this is what it takes to make friends.

  Minutes later, we get to the house, and I tell Rachael and John to get set up in the dining room. The table is extra long, which will give us plenty of room to spread out our notes.

  I walk into the kitchen and find Dad sitting at the breakfast bar, pretending to read the newspaper. But I know better. He keeps peeking out and staring at John.

  “Dad, please don’t be weird, OK?”

  “I thought you were supposed to be meeting friends, like girl friends… not boys,” he whispers.

  I laugh and pat Dad on the shoulder. “It’s just a school project. Relax.”

  I pull out a tray from the cabinet to make a quick snack. I line the tray with carrot sticks, hummus, trail mix, and chips. Then I grab a few water bottles from the fridge. As I walk out of the kitchen with my hands full, I notice the door to the basement is wide open. The lighted stairs are screaming, Come on down!

  “Dad, please don’t forget to close the door,” I whisper.

  “Why?” he asks. “You don’t want them to see your awesome girl cave?”

  His voice is almost a little too loud. I give him a Rachael-level eye roll. Code for: “I would die!”

  Dad gets the message and closes the door as I walk into the dining room.

  John and Rachael bum-rush me as soon as I get there. “Snacks!” they scream together.

  This is what the next two hours look like: John reciting key points about Amerigo Vespucci’s life and expeditions, me taking that information, adding my own notes, and typing it into the Prezi tool on my laptop, and Rachael paying us zero attention.

  “Geez, girl.” Rachael studies every picture hung on the walls of our living room and dining room. “How many places have you lived?”

  “A lot.” I keep typing, wondering when she’ll actually join us to put in her two cents, but I don’t say anything.

  John doesn’t bite his tongue. “Do you feel like joining in on the fun here, or what?” he asks, taking over my computer to type the next-to-last slide.

  “Looks like you guys got it.” Rachael brushes John off. “Just make sure you spell my name right. I can’t stand it when I’m working in a group and they write my name wrong.”

  “Funny how you mentioned work, especially when you—”

  “I’ll just do it,” I cut John off, grab the computer, and type all three of our names on the finished product.

  Delicious smells from the kitchen begin to travel into the living room.

  “What is your dad cooking in there?” John asks.

  Nosey Dad, who apparently has been listening all along, yells out, “Schnitzel, with a Puerto Rican twist! You guys can stay for dinner if it’s OK with your parents.”

  Please say yes, please say yes!

  Just then, Rachael’s phone buzzes in her pocket. “Oh shoot! It’s already six o’clock. My mom’s outside.” She looks genuinely disappointed — or maybe I’m imagining it. “I’ll take a rain check on that… what’s it called again?”

  “Schnitzel. We ate it a lot in Germany. It’s like a breaded meat, and Dad makes rice, beans, and plantains to go with it.” My stomach gives a roar of approval.

  “See you at school, Rachael,” John says, “Annabelle, where’s the restroom?”

  “Down the hall, first door on the right,” I say, then I walk Rachael to the porch.

  “I saw those pictures of your mom in her Air Force uniform,” she says. “My dad’s in the military too.”

  “You never mentioned that before. What branch?” I ask.

  Rachael pulls two braids behind her ear. “Army.”

  “I bet my mom would love to meet him.”

  “Yeah, that probably won’t happen for a while. He’s been deployed for a year. Sometimes it feels like he’s never coming home.”

  I know that feeling all too well, even though Mom’s assignments have never lasted more than a couple of weeks.

  For the first time, I see something different in Rachael. Not the flashy, diva, non-project-helping, popular Rachael I’m used to seeing at school. This one is open, vulnerable — but that only lasts for a split second. Rachael shakes it off and says, “Whatever. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  If I’m not mistaken, Rachael and I totally just had “a moment.” I might be making another friend at McManus. One who’s got adoring fans and who “puts her face on,” but one who also just might have some things in common with me. In my mind, I take a picture so I can remember this.

  Rachael’s mom’s car cruises off down Madison Street, and a white minivan pulls up out front immediately after.

  “John, I think your ride is—” I can’t finish the words because John is already behind me.

  Giggling. And holding my wig.
Yes, that wig. “I found this on the bathroom floor,” he says.

  Panic takes over. I snatch it from his hands.

  “You know, your wig reminds me of that Daphne girl on YouTube.”

  I laugh a nervous, get-out-of-here laugh. “Oh yeah, I never noticed.”

  “Why do you have that? Got some secret identity I don’t know about?” He winks.

  I do a quick brain scan for a good lie. “No!” There’s my fake laugh again. “It’s part of my Halloween costume.” My shoulders lower half an inch.

  John nods a believing OK!

  Outside, his abuela grows impatient and honks the horn. John grabs his backpack and starts walking down the stairs. Then he stops short and turns around.

  “For what it’s worth, I think you’d make the perfect Daphne for Halloween.”

  He throws me a smile, that left dimple sinking in all the way to his skeletal system. And there I am, with my mouth slow-falling toward the steps, watching him walk to the car. John hops in the passenger seat, waves goodbye, and he and his grandmother drive off under a full moon while I stand there wondering, What the heck just happened?

  23

  Last Call

  Things have been going beyond amazing at school. My grades are good (Mr. Davis gave us an A on the Amerigo Vespucci project). I have some cool friends: John, Clairna, Navdeep. Even Rachael talks to me a little — like in the halls passing by, never at lunch when she’s at her diva table. But still, it’s something.

  And the best part of all is that after a few mix-ups and a couple of paper cuts, the set for Little Shop of Horrors is complete. Everyone knows their part. Tomorrow is the day we’ve all worked these few weeks for: showtime!

  Because tomorrow is Halloween, Mr. Davis says that everyone on the stage crew can dress up in a costume of our choice.

  Just as our final play rehearsal ends, I get a text.

  Dad: Belle, going to be five minutes late.

  Me: OK, I’ll hang here. Text me when you’re outside.

  Everyone has gone home, and the auditorium is empty.