by Cynthia Lord
“Thank you, Amber! That was very moving and quite spirited!” Bob Kiddle said. “And now Salma has something to show us! We’ll give her a minute to get ready.”
Salma turned and left the stage. I took a deep breath. My legs bounced, all my worries and nervousness bobbing with them.
Except Salma didn’t come right back.
Any second now, I kept thinking as the seconds piled up. Now.
“So, um, let’s go on to Hannah’s song,” Bob Kiddle finally said. “And we’ll come back to Salma. While Hannah is setting up, let me tell you about some of the wonderful events at the festival tomorrow.”
My heart clenched. Salma wouldn’t leave, would she?
“I’ll go check on her,” I whispered to Mrs. Santiago. Being in the middle of the row, I had to climb past a whole bunch of knees to get out. “Excuse me. Excuse me.”
Hannah was singing “Over the Rainbow.” I hoped she was so busy singing that she didn’t see me sneaking out the side door.
I opened every door in the hallway until I found the right one. Salma was sitting on a chair, holding her bee houses on her lap.
“What’s the matter?” I asked, kneeling beside her.
“I don’t think this is a real talent,” she said.
“Of course it’s a real talent! Do you think ‘Amazing Grace’ sung like you’re on a roller coaster is a real talent?”
But Salma didn’t look convinced. She held out one hand so I could see it tremble. “My hands are shaking. At first, I thought the pageant would just be fun. Then I really wanted that savings bond. But I’m not like Hannah. I wasn’t born here, and this isn’t the right kind of talent to win. So why am I doing this? The judges would never vote for me. I’m just going to look silly.”
I couldn’t believe how scared she seemed to be. And I suddenly realized that this was about more than winning a savings bond for her—it was about showing she mattered. That she belonged and had a place here, even if she couldn’t stay.
I stood up. “Remember that day we were swinging at camp? I was feeling a bit scared, and I realized something. To do brave things, you don’t have to be hugely brave. You only have to be a little bit braver than you are scared. Give me your hand.”
Salma held out her hand. I put my fist on her palm and opened my fingers. “I pretended that little bit more brave was a rock. Here it is.”
Salma wrapped her fingers around as if she were holding it.
“You said people want migrant workers to be invisible,” I said. “Show them that you aren’t. I’ll be your assistant, just like those ladies on TV game shows. I’ll hold up your bee houses and show them off. All you have to do is tell about them. Okay?”
I could hear applause and Bob Kiddle’s muffled voice congratulating Hannah.
And to my relief, Salma stood up.
Bob Kiddle looked quite surprised to see me. As I walked across the stage holding Salma’s bee houses, my head suddenly woke up to what was happening. My heart had been so intent on helping that I hadn’t thought about the fact I’d be onstage in front of the whole audience. My mouth went dry.
I wasn’t dressed for this in my jeans and T-shirt and sneakers. Passing the line of chairs, I couldn’t even look at Hannah.
I stood in the middle of the stage next to Salma and placed two of the bee houses on the floor. I held up the other one—covered with multicolored bees. I turned it, first to face the judges, then to the audience on the right, in the middle, and on the left.
“My friend, Lily, sells these bee houses for mason bees. This summer I’ve been helping her paint them,” Salma said quietly, her hand fisted, like she was holding my pretend stone. “What I love about art is that anything is possible. Bees can be pink. Trees can be purple. It’s like taking the world as it is and then swirling it around to show how it could be.” Her voice grew stronger as she spoke.
I looked down at Pépère grinning at me. Mrs. Santiago was wiping her eyes. In the row behind Pépère, Brittany was proudly elbowing another hairdresser from Glorious, like it was her big moment, too.
My gaze strayed to Hannah’s mom and dad, and I gave them a tentative smile. They smiled back, though they looked a bit confused. The boy with them wasn’t paying attention at all. He had his head down, looking at his phone.
The second bee house was covered in Salma’s exuberant flowers. As I showed it off, Marty Johnson caught my eye and gave me a thumbs-up. Dr. Katz waved to me. Salma’s dad and the people from the camp were standing up at their seats in the back to see better. Everyone was smiling or looking thoughtful as Salma talked.
“I think art can take ordinary things and show them to you like it’s the first time you’ve ever seen them,” she continued. “And you realize that even ordinary things aren’t really ordinary at all.”
Maybe that’s true, I thought. Maybe when we see things all the time, we stop really looking at them. And it takes an artist, someone who can look past the ordinariness, to remind us how special they really are.
I reached down and traded the second bee house for the last one. This one had all different sizes and colors of blueberries—each with a yellow star.
“Not everyone likes things that are different,” Salma said, sliding me a tiny smile. “In fact, when I first got to Maine, I received a pork pie as a present.”
The audience laughed.
“I didn’t think I’d like it. But Lily gave it to me, and she said it was famous. So I took a chance on it. In fact, my whole family did. And it was good!” Salma stood up straighter, looking right out at the audience. “It’s scary to try something different when you don’t know how it’ll work out, but that’s when the best things can happen. The things that surprise you and change you. Those things can make you different.”
There was a long pause and then the clapping started in the back row and surged forward, like a wave rolling up the beach, carrying along everyone as it came.
I reached down and picked up the bee houses, sure now that everything would be all right. Salma had finished the hardest part of the pageant. She had done really well.
Answering a few personal questions was the only thing left. All she had to do was tell the truth. This would be easy.
I should’ve known, though.
Real truth is never easy.
Back in my pew in the audience, I felt weak with relief as Bob Kiddle brought out a fishbowl filled with small folded pieces of paper. “Let’s find out a little more about our three finalists: Amber, Hannah, and Salma. Ladies, as I call your name, please walk over here and choose a question. Amber, you’re first.”
Amber came forward, smiling at the audience. She picked a little folded paper from the fishbowl and handed it to Mr. Kiddle.
“Amber, what is your favorite childhood memory?” he read.
“My favorite childhood memory is the time my family went to Disney World when I was eight,” Amber said. “I loved going on the rides. And we went in February, so we flew away from all the ice and snow in Maine. I changed from my snow boots into my sandals on the plane.”
“We can all relate to that!” Mr. Kiddle said.
I bristled. The migrant workers weren’t here in February. They couldn’t relate to it, and they filled up the whole back row.
Hannah walked up to take a question from the fishbowl. Even though she was beaming, I knew she was worried. I wished Hannah didn’t have to lose for Salma to win.
“How did you feel meeting the other contestants?” Bob Kiddle asked Hannah.
She kept smiling, but I could tell she was trying to figure out the best way to answer that. “Meeting the other contestants was fun! I knew some of the girls from school, but it was nice to meet the others, including Salma. We met over the summer. She borrowed a dress from me.”
Did she have to say that? I wondered if Hannah was trying to win by showing off her kindness. Loaning Salma her dress was kind, but it also showed everyone that Salma didn’t have what she did.
Salma came forward to
choose her question. I pointed at my mouth. Smile.
“What is your favorite subject in school?” Mr. Kiddle asked.
Salma finally smiled. “Art!”
Everyone laughed, because that was no surprise after seeing her bee houses.
“I like art because there are no wrong answers,” Salma said. “It’s all about how you see the world. So you can be completely yourself.”
Around me, the audience gave a soft appreciative hmm. It was a nice sound, a soft hum of approval.
Pépère leaned across to whisper to me and Mrs. Santiago. “She’s bee-dazzling!”
As Amber and Hannah took their next turns, I watched the girls who didn’t make it past the blueberry round, still sitting in the chairs behind Mr. Kiddle. They were smiling, but every now and then the smile was replaced with a big sigh or a look of boredom. And the littlest Strawberry Princess was pulling a string on the hem of her red dress.
Bob Kiddle unfolded Salma’s next question. “What’s something you’re still learning or working on?”
Salma rolled her eyes. “Fractions!”
The audience laughed loudly. I looked at the judges and was glad to see they thought it was funny, too. Salma was killing this, and she was doing it by being honest.
I hoped Bob Kiddle would say that was the end of the questions, but they kept coming. “Amber, if you win, whom will you thank?”
“My parents, the judges, and the whole community!” Amber motioned with her hands to the audience, like she was an orchestra conductor.
“Describe your best friend,” Bob Kiddle asked Hannah.
She looked first toward her parents and the boy sitting with them, then I saw her gaze slide away and right to me. For a second Hannah’s smile slipped and she looked sad. “My best friend is Lily. We’ve been friends since we were little.”
My eyes locked with hers.
“Lily’s pépère always called us ‘two peas in a pod,’ ” she said, not even blinking. “We’ve both gotten busy and I haven’t seen her as much. I miss her.”
“It’s good to have a true friend!” Bob Kiddle said.
I watched Hannah as she walked back to her place in line. She didn’t look at me again, though. Maybe she just said the first thing that came to her mind. Or maybe she thought I’d be a better answer than the Amazing Brandon.
Or maybe she missed how things used to be, too.
“Salma, tell us something you’ve learned this summer,” Bob Kiddle said.
“I’ve learned lots of things this summer—especially about blueberries!” she said, and the crowd laughed. “But I’ve also been learning about blind dogs.”
Bob Kiddle took a tiny step backward. “Blind dogs?”
Salma nodded. “My friend’s dog is blind, and I wanted to know everything that could be done to help him. I had to do that research really early in the morning, though, because that’s the only time I could get a turn on the camp computer.”
“Did you find out anything interesting?” Bob Kiddle asked.
“Yes. I did,” she said.
I wanted to yell, “What?” but Bob Kiddle was moving on. “Now for the final questions. This is your last chance to impress the judges, ladies!”
She’d gotten up early to learn about Lucky? She’d done that without even telling me.
Beside me, Pépère blew out a loud breath. He’d been nervous for Salma, too. I grinned at him and he held up one finger.
One more question.
My legs couldn’t help bouncing again as Amber and Hannah answered their last questions. Finally, Bob Kiddle unfolded Salma’s. “Tell me something you’ll never do.”
Her smile fell, just like her lips were on a string and someone tugged it down.
Oh no, I thought. You don’t have to take it so seriously. I would never lie.
I would never cheat on a test.
I would never wear a plaid skirt with striped socks.
She answered so softly that if she hadn’t been right up to the mic, I don’t think anyone would’ve heard her. “I’ll never stay in one place,” she said, and she walked back to her spot in line.
When the winner was called, it was Hannah.
The next day was a picture-perfect, sunny day with a bright blue sky and fat white clouds. Before the festival opened, I set out our signs explaining what we were selling and how much they cost. I arranged all the bee houses at one end of our booth. I put my tiger lily house toward the back because it wasn’t anywhere near as good as Salma’s. But it was still nice to see it there.
At the other end, Pépère stirred the blueberry filling in a large Crock-Pot next to napkins, paper bowls, plastic spoons, and a can of whipped cream for anyone who bought a blueberry enchilada.
A few minutes before nine o’clock, Salma came by the booth, dressed in her pageant dress, carrying two bags of tortillas. “Mama made these this morning so they’d be extra fresh,” she told me. “I wish I could stay with you, but I’m supposed to help Hannah with the pie-eating contest.”
On his mat beside me, Lucky lifted his head and wagged his tail. If he could’ve seen Salma, Lucky might not have recognized her all dressed up in her pageant dress and runner-up crown and sparkly earrings, her hair in a side ponytail still curly from last night. But that’s one thing about being blind. What you look like doesn’t matter to Lucky. He sees you with his heart.
“Don’t you worry, Blueberry Princess,” Pépère said. “I’m here to help Lily. She’ll sell the bee houses and I’ll serve up those blueberry crepes.”
“They’re enchiladas,” I said impatiently. “Be sure you say that.”
“Oh, right,” Pépère said. “They’re a first cousin to crepes, though.”
“I’ll be back when the pie-eating contest’s done,” Salma said. “Mama’s bringing me some regular clothes so I can change afterward. I hope you sell lots of bee houses and enchiladas before I get back.”
“Thanks!” I said. “Good luck with the pies.”
She headed toward the pie-eating contest platform, holding up her dress so the bottom wouldn’t touch the grass.
My heart felt like someone had punched it. We’d both pinned a lot of hope on her winning. Maybe the judges wanted someone who lived here to win so she could visit the nursing homes and attend the parades after the festival. Or maybe Hannah just got better scores. Maybe singing is an easier talent to judge than art.
Or maybe Salma’s last answer was too honest, too hard to hear. But whatever the reasons, somehow the pageant didn’t seem as big a deal to me as it always had. It showed part of our community, but not the whole thing.
“Lily?”
I looked up to see Hannah standing in front of our booth, all glitzy in her silver pageant dress, wearing her huge crown. “I just wanted to say hi and that I hope you earn all the money you need for Lucky,” she said.
I swallowed hard. “Thanks. And congratulations.”
“Thank you,” she said. “You know what I said last night about you being my best friend? I feel like we’ve gotten sidetracked or something, but I really meant it.”
“I miss you,” I started, but there was something else I had to say. “But lately you only want to talk about the Amaz—um, Brandon.”
“I’m sorry.” She sighed. “Brandon came last night and then he spent the whole pageant playing games on his phone! He’s nice, but not my type.”
A giggle exploded inside me. Not your type? Since when? Five minutes ago? But I choked that giggle back down. Hannah was asking to try again, and I wanted that more than I wanted to be a smart aleck.
“Maybe we could do something tomorrow?” Hannah asked. “You, me, and Salma? I haven’t been swimming much this summer. We could show Salma how cold the ocean is in Maine.”
“Okay,” I said. “But let’s go all the way down to the point to go swimming. I want to make sure Salma sees at least one lighthouse before she leaves.”
“Great!” Hannah smiled. “That’ll be fun.” Watching her walk away, holding
her crown with one hand so it wouldn’t tip off her head, I wasn’t sure if we’d ever be the same kind of friends we’d been when we were little. Maybe being two peas in a pod was over, but maybe we could be more like two wild blueberries: two of a kind, but different, too.
When Sheriff Cotton cut the blue ribbon that stretched from one traffic cone to another across the festival entrance, a surge of tourists and locals rushed in. Old people with cameras, parents with strollers, kids with dogs. There were people everywhere.
Lucky stayed on his mat, but his nose kept sniffing. A little Pomeranian on a leash was so small that he could see under the booth. He yapped at Lucky.
Lucky wiggled his way forward, but he was tied to the table and couldn’t reach him. “We don’t know if that dog’s friendly,” I said, pulling Lucky back.
Marty Johnson was the first person at our booth. “I came here as soon as I could. I want that pretty bee house Salma showed at the pageant last night. The one with the colorful bees. I figured I’d better grab it before someone else does.”
Earlier in the summer, I might’ve felt jealous that Marty wanted Salma’s bee house and not mine. Now I was just happy to imagine her bee house in Marty’s yard, a little piece of her that was staying here.
“Marty, would you like to try a bite of blueberry enchilada?” Pépère asked. “We have samples on the plate here.”
“Those do smell delicious,” Marty said. “I’ve never had one of these, but I’ll try a bite.”
Dr. Katz was right behind Marty. “Tigerlily, I see you have a couple helpers!” She smiled at Pépère and Lucky. “Lucky is such a good boy to stay so patiently right here.”
Lucky’s head turned at his name and his tail wagged.
“That’s because I keep giving him bites of crepe—enchiladas,” Pépère said.
“He’s excited about the other dogs,” I told her. “But I can’t risk him getting hurt or running off and getting lost in all these people. I thought he should come, though. He’s the whole reason I’m doing this.”
Dr. Katz nodded. “I need to get to the Humane Society booth. But first, I came to buy some bee houses for my garden. I’d like two, and my eye goes right to those glorious flower ones.”