Definitely Daphne

by Tami Charles

  Right before the first-period bell rings, Mr. Davis gets on the loudspeaker and announces: “Will the winter ball decorating committee report to the gym during lunch?”

  Perfect. I’ll see them then and get this confession over with once and for all!

  Rachael stares at me all through homeroom, and I sit there feeling her eyes pierce holes in me, waiting for her to say something. But she doesn’t.

  I get through the morning periods without so much as Rachael saying one word.

  The rain starts up right before lunch. No outdoor recess today, which means some students will trickle their way into the gym to hang out. I grab some of the decorations from my locker and zip down the halls to get there first.

  Nav is waiting when I arrive.

  “Where were you this morning? I’ve been looking for you,” I say.

  “Doctor’s appointment. My parents just dropped me off. The band is just finishing up,” he says, “then we can start taping the snowflakes to the walls.”

  I find my friends nestled in the band on stage. John is on the trumpet. Clairna is on the clarinet. She spots me and waves just as the band plays the final note of “Walking in a Winter Wonderland.”

  Mr. Reyes directs the band to stand up and take a bow. “Excellent work!” he says. “Practice will be again tomorrow morning during homeroom, and first and second periods. You may go, but don’t forget to take your instruments with you.”

  Then Mr. Reyes gathers his things and exits the stage. Big mistake! Kids are starting to pour into the gym, and they’re bringing in a lot of noise.

  I see Rachael come in alone, like a one-woman show. Our eyes meet, and the slyest smile grows on her face.

  Quickly, I place the box of decorations on the floor and ask Nav to follow me. I run up onto the stage where John and Clairna are packing up their instruments.

  More kids pour into the gym, a few of them bouncing basketballs.

  “What’d you think of our performance, Annabelle? It was lit, right?” Clairna asks.

  “Yeah, totally. But guys, can we go in the hallway? I want to talk to you about something.”

  “Oh, about the social dance class? John mentioned you wanted to invite us to it tomorrow night. I’m in!” Clairna says.

  “Sounds fun… and embarrassing!” Nav says.

  John snaps his fingers as if to say, “You better hurry up and say something!”

  Rachael is drawing closer, down the aisle. And now she’s got a few of her friends trickling in behind her.

  “Just who I was looking for! Hello, Daphne!” Rachael says loudly.

  The kids stop playing basketball. Rachael’s friends look at each other in pure confusion.

  I scan the room for Mr. Davis, Mr. Reyes — really any teacher to magically appear and tell Rachael to shut up and for everyone else to sit quietly on the gym floor.

  But who needs a teacher? Rachael’s large and in charge and has everyone’s attention.

  She inches closer to the stage, where I’m standing with my three amigos, behind the microphone… that’s apparently still on. Thanks, Mr. Reyes.

  The sound of my pounding heart can be heard. That I am sure of.

  “What did you just call her?” Clairna asks while I turn into a shriveling pile of dust.

  Rachael places her hands on the stage floor and then vaults herself on it to stand with us. Meanwhile the crowd gathers and moves closer, eager to see the show.

  “Oh, you heard correctly. I called her Daphne.” Then she faces the audience with her arms spread out like wings. “Ladies and gentlemen of McManus, allow me to introduce you to the one, the only… the biggest liar in school, Daphne, YouTube star of the vlog Daphne Doesn’t!”

  Rachael is in her element now, with her shoulders rounded out and the biggest, meanest smile planted on her face. Meanwhile, my heart is pounding at top speed, and I’m looking for something, anything, to say.

  The whispers from the audience begin.

  “Is she for real?”

  “Annabelle is a little weird… just like Daphne.”

  “They kind of look alike.”

  “No, they don’t! Annabelle’s from Germany. Daphne is British!”

  My heart is in full panic attack mode. In and out, my chest heaves. John, Clairna, and Nav stand there waiting for me to say something. Clairna steps in. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I watch that show, and Annabelle is nothing like Daphne!”

  Then Nav steps in. “I think you’re wrong about this one, Rachael. You’re just trying to stir up drama, like always.”

  Something comes over Clairna, and she turns into someone I’ve never seen before. “Yeah, girlfriend, your braids must be too tight.”

  That sends the whole audience into a frenzy.

  “Whoa!”

  “She roasted you!”

  “Can’t come back from that!”

  Rachael’s whole face drops. She places her hands on her hips and gives Clairna the death stare.

  Clairna raises her hand to slap me a high five. It’s the weakest high five ever on my part. “I’m tired of this girl thinking she can just bully people,” she mutters.

  Rachael lifts her finger in the air, prompting everyone to shut up once again. The power this girl has, I tell you!

  “Use your brains, doofuses!” she begins. “Annabelle started school a few weeks after we’d already been here. She comes from Germany and speaks all these languages, so accents probably aren’t a big deal for her. And how funny is it that I caught her reciting the same lines from that same ‘Daphne Does Drama’ video? I even heard her mom slip and call her Daph! And then in her last video, she wore that same necklace.…” Rachael looks me over frantically. “Where’s the necklace, dorkface?”

  Everyone is staring at me, and I can’t take one more second. This is it. I have to say something… now.

  So I step closer to Rachael, near the microphone. “Rachael is right.…” The whole audience gasps. “Sort of,” I add. “I know Daphne.”

  Some of the kids in the audience start jumping and clapping. Even Clairna looks amused.

  Then I add one more lie to seal the deal, “She’s my cousin.”

  That makes everyone scream except for two people. John and Rachael.

  I can’t even bear the look of disappointment on John’s face. That’s two strikes now.

  “If Daphne the YouTube star is your cousin, prove it. Bring her to the dance. I saw the YouTube comment. She lives right here in Jersey!” Rachael says loud and clear on the mic.

  Someone from the audience screams, “DO IT!”

  Then another person joins, “DO IT!”

  Next thing I know every. Single. Student. Is chanting.

  “DO IT! DO IT! DO IT!”

  Mr. Davis walks in from the back of the auditorium.

  “Hey, what’s all the commotion about?” He joins the crowd near the stage, and everyone quiets down.

  “Annabelle is related to that famous YouTube star from Daphne Doesn’t!” Clairna shouts, then she turns to me. “And holy moly, why didn’t you tell me, girl?”

  I don’t have an answer for that, other than a shrug and a fake smile.

  Rachael jumps in. “Annabelle told us that she’s bringing Daphne to the winter ball.”

  My imaginary camera zooms in to Rachael’s eyes and the special effects make them glow red. I know that Rachael is waiting for me to fall apart right there so she can prove her point and further embarrass me.

  “Why, that’s GREAT!” Mr. Davis yells, and everyone starts up all over again. “We can have her perform for us!”

  The kids hop up onto the stage and circle me, pushing Rachael back farther and farther away from me. Her face looks angrier by the second as even her groupies surround me and hug me, saying:

  “Oh my god, I can’t wait
to meet your cousin. This is going to be so cool.”

  “Annabelle, you’re going to be the most popular girl in seventh grade.”

  “No way! Make that in the WHOLE school.”

  That sends Rachael stomping off the stage, down the steps, and to the double exit doors. But not a single person notices. The knots in my stomach return as I see John’s face, knowing the real secret that lies between us. But for that one moment it sure does feel good to see Rachael crumble to ashes for a change.

  41

  Mone-who?

  “Annabelle, come upstairs, please. We need to talk!” Dad yells as I’m hanging out in my girl cave.

  That sends a shiver down my spine. I didn’t tell him what happened in school today with Rachael.

  “Yes, Dad.”

  He’s sitting at the kitchen table with dinner spread out for us: pepper steak, baked potatoes topped with sour cream and chives, and a garden salad. Dad could give those chefs on the Food Network a run for their money!

  “Have a seat. Let’s have dinner together. I want to show you something.”

  The front door slams just as we dig in. Mom’s been working double shifts lately, preparing for her TDY to Afghanistan.

  “Smells good, Ruben. I was dreaming about your food all the way up the turnpike.” Mom washes her hands at the kitchen sink and joins us at the table.

  Dad holds up a piece of paper. “You will never believe the email I received today about your Daphne channel.”

  “What is it?” I ask, confused.

  “Because a number of your viewers have either watched or clicked on the ads featured in your videos, your channel has reached monetization status.”

  Mom starts choking on her steak and quickly reaches for water. I’m mid-bite, trying to translate whatever language Dad just spoke in.

  “What does that mean?” I ask between chews. “Mone-who?”

  Mom snatches the paper out of Dad’s hand and starts breathing loudly.

  “Schätzchen, mi amor!” Mom screams. “It means your channel made some money, honey!”

  Now I’m snatching the paper out of Mom’s hand and reading through the email. My eyes dart straight to the numbers, the comma, and the ZEROS. Far more than any allowance I’ve ever gotten! Tension builds in my shoulders. I toss the paper away from me like it’s some contagious disease.

  What the heck am I supposed to do with all of that money? Daphne was supposed to be just an experiment. I didn’t ask to be viral or famous or rich!

  Dad and Mom each grab one of my hands to calm me down.

  “We need to talk about what to do with this money. It’s not millionaire status, but at a couple thousand dollars, it’s bound to keep increasing,” Dad says.

  “Sweetie,” Mom says, “I’m not going to tell you what to do. This is your choice.”

  Lots of thoughts flood my brain. How am I supposed to handle all of this pressure? And my big fat lie! How am I supposed to continue to be a regular kid by day and a YouTube star by night? And now there’s money involved too? I guess most kids would be screaming, Take the money and run! But suddenly I don’t feel good anymore. I leave half of my plate uneaten, which is a first for me, especially when it comes to Dad’s cooking.

  “May I be excused?” I ask.

  “Of course,” Dad says.

  I walk upstairs to my room, close the door, and drift off into a sleep where YouTube and vlogs and fans and money don’t exist.

  42

  Too Cool for Tutus

  John and Clairna are already waiting for me when I get to the community center the next night for our dance class.

  “Where’s Nav?” I ask.

  “He texted that he couldn’t make it. He forgot he had karate tonight.”

  The class is packed with a lot of people… old people. We’re literally the youngest ones there.

  The teacher is a tall, ballerina-thin woman with a tight bun and a thick Russian accent.

  “My name is Madame Anastasia, and today… we dance!” She holds her arms out in a ballet position.

  “Um, Annabelle, what in the world have you signed me up for? Is this ballet?” John mutters through clenched teeth.

  “Ballet is your first dance style of the night,” Madame Anastasia announces. “Now, everyone, pick your shoes and tutu and let’s get started!”

  In front of the glass mirrors, there are two bins. One is piled high with used ballet shoes rubber banded together in pairs. The other is overflowing with tutus in pink, white, and black.

  John throws his hands in the air and huffs at me, “You gotta be kidding, right?”

  “Hurry along!” Madame Anastasia calls out, forcing the three of us into military stance.

  I give John a look that says I’m super sorry, while Clairna snorts loud enough for the whole class to hear.

  There’s no turning back now. We make our way to the bins to get ballerina-fied. But the old folks beat us to the bins, taking the best and leaving behind scraps. A black tutu for Clairna, a pink one for me, and John also gets a pink tutu because it’s the only one left.

  My stomach rumbles with laughter as soon as he puts it on. Clairna looks ready to burst out laughing too. And there we are: three amigos dressed in poofy tutus and ballet shoes, each one of us looking more ridiculous than the next.

  John gives us the death stare. It doesn’t take a genius to know he’s thinking: You tell anyone about this, and you will feel my wrath!

  Everyone else in the class is so serious. They’re standing at the barre stretching and warming up. We file in line to join them.

  Madame Anastasia claps her hands twice, getting everyone’s attention. Then she begins to pace the room as she speaks. “As many of you already know, ballet is the foundation of all social dance forms. This is why we begin tonight’s class with ballet. It takes precision, technique, and—”

  WHACK! Madame taps John on the butt with her pointer.

  “Oww!”

  “Posture!” She leans into his face, and I’m sure I see her eyes glow fiery red.

  Poor John! But Clairna and I are dying by this point!

  Madame reviews all of the ballet positions with us, first through fifth. And then she teaches us some basic moves like arabesque, pique turns, and plié.

  I move through the steps in true Annabelle style: dangly, wet-noodly legs and arms that refuse to listen to anything Madame Anastasia is saying. She says, “Feet together,” my feet say, “Nice try, lady!” No matter how hard I try, my body does the opposite.

  After the twelfth posture correction, Madame Anastasia throws me a shady, “Be sure you come back again next week. We’ll need lots more classes.”

  She walks to the other side of the room to check on the other dancers’ forms.

  “I can’t even begin to tell you guys how silly we look right now,” I whisper through a demi-plié.

  “Seriously plotting your demise right now, Annabelle!” John grunts as he lifts on his toes to relevé.

  Clairna’s whole face is red now from holding in her laughter. “Trust me, we won’t be doing any of these kind of moves at the dance on Friday.”

  When she says the word dance I feel a twinge in my whole body. I’m supposed to bring “Daphne” to the winter ball, and I still haven’t told Clairna and Nav the truth. This tiny voice inside me says it’s not the right time. I’ll wait until I have them both together, in private.

  “Good job, class!” Madame orders us to take off our tutus and ballet slippers. “The next style we learn is the ballroom classic waltz, a dance that requires you to be light on your feet and move with grace! Now, partner up!”

  Everyone finds a partner except me. There are an odd number of students in the class.

  Madame Anastasia comes over to us and says, “You three will work together. You, sir,” she says to John, “begin with
her.” She points to Clairna.

  Madame shows the class the moves and counts. “Sway your body to the left! Point your toes forward! Don’t forget to end in the promenade position!”

  For me it goes in one ear and out the other.

  When Madame tells us to switch partners, Clairna says, “This will be good practice for you. Rachael is going to be so jealous when she sees you dancing like the belle of the ball. I can’t wait to see the look on her face.”

  My stomach makes this loud gurgling noise, but then Madame Anastasia turns on the music, which thankfully covers up the sound.

  “How much longer before you tell her that you’re really Daphne?” John whispers.

  “I need more time,” I say, stepping on his toes.

  “Ouch!”

  “Sorry about that.” My feet turn outward like a duck’s, and I try my best to keep up with John, who is clearly much better at this waltz thing than I am.

  “Well, don’t take too long.”

  For the final dance, Madame says she has a guest teacher who will show us how to do hip-hop line dances.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I introduce to you master hip-hopper, JT!”

  The whole class goes wild when this guy walks in. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was on one of those dance shows I’ve seen on television.

  JT says we’ll learn three line dances: the Cha-Cha Slide, the Wobble, and the Dougie. But first he shows us the moves for each dance.

  Boom boom, kat, ske dee dow!

  That’s literally how he teaches the moves. No counting. Just shouting out these words as he dips and slips and slides. To me, none of it makes any sense. But John and Clairna already know all the moves. They’ve both done these dances plenty of times at weddings and birthday parties.

  The music begins and the singers tell us what to do — sort of — slide to the left, slide to the right. But everything is going so fast, and I start bumping into the other dancers. Meanwhile everyone is getting down with their bad selves like a bunch of professional back-up dancers!