by Alex Flinn
It was a deer, standing in the middle of I-75. Michigan sure is different from Miami.
“Sorry.” I asked Phoebe if she was nervous.
“Not really.” She told me she’d read that the best way to combat preaudition nerves was by telling yourself you’re excited, not scared. “I’m excited,” she said three times in a row.
“Me too,” Brooke said from her seat. “I’m excited to have the chance to prove myself, since I never get solos at school.”
Phoebe looked at me and rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you give it a rest, Brooke?”
I said there was room for all of us to do well.
But I hope Brooke does her absolute best and still doesn’t get picked. Am I awful?
The sun is finally up, so I’m going to look over my music one more time.
Love, Jacaranda
To: [email protected]
Date: February 6, 1:09 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
Subject: Waiting . . .
Dear Mr. Smith,
Waiting. There are about 40 people here. They divided us into two groups and had half of us (including me, David, and Brooke) do the dance call first.
Ugh! Dance is my weakest skill, and I know it. The goal in musical theater is to be a “triple threat,” someone who can sing, dance, and act. Phoebe definitely is one. So are Nina and David.
“Smile, baby,” Phoebe said when I went in for my dance. I grinned. It’s a reference to an old musical, Gypsy. Harry says that smiling, acting excited, and acting in general are almost as important as getting the steps perfect.
Almost as important.
But Phoebe’s steps are always perfect.
And so are Brooke’s. I sort of hate her for that. She thinks she’s a triple threat, but that’s because she thinks singing loud is the same as singing well.
She’s definitely one of the best dancers in our class, though.
When we went into the dance studio, I tried to stand far away from her, so I wouldn’t suffer by comparison. But she must have moved right before we started because suddenly she was right there.
The dance instructor, Julie, showed us the steps at 100 mph. I felt Brooke watching me the whole time.
And yet, she did the combination perfectly. I was in back, so I could watch her. She and David took spots in front, the better to showcase themselves.
Not me. At one point, I bumped into the girl next to me, and I couldn’t get my arms right.
I did remember to smile.
Then they divided us into three groups of five and called us up.
There was no good group to be in. If I was in Brooke’s group, I’d look bad. If I was in a different group, I’d see her snickering.
I tried to be in the last group so I could watch it two more times.
I think I got the steps right. I glued a smile onto my face. Still, I saw Brooke whisper to the girl next to her. Why does she hate me so much?
Now we’re waiting to sing and do our monologues. I try to remember what Phoebe said about being excited.
I’m excited . . . about blowing Brooke away.
They called me in!
They called me in, and then, when I came out, I spotted Brooke touching my laptop. More than touching—she was holding my laptop.
I yelled, “What are you doing?” Step away from the laptop.
“Oh, sorry,” she said, shamelessly. “Some people were walking around, and I was worried your laptop would get stepped on.”
She handed it back.
But, when I picked it up, my unsent email to you was right there, not behind some other apps, the way I left it.
What had she been looking at? And how dare she touch my stuff!
The audition went well. The three judges let me do both songs and my whole monologue. I think they liked me.
But I’m still kind of freaked about Brooke touching my laptop. Like what kind of person thinks she can just pick up someone else’s stuff?
When Phoebe came out of her dance call, I was shaking. I tried to act normal. I asked her how it had gone.
“The dance? Easy.”
“How about singing?” I asked her.
She shrugged. “It wasn’t the best I’ve ever sung, but I did it. How about you?”
I said that dance would be my downfall.
“Yeah, you look upset,” she said.
I didn’t tell her it was because of my laptop. Instead I said, “I hope we both get in.”
I’m going to hit Send and shut down my computer . . . like I should have before.
Love, Jacaranda
To: [email protected]
Date: February 6, 9:16 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
Subject: Back at school
Dear Mr. Smith,
#%&*!
When we got out of the van, Brooke said, “Bye, Jacaranda!” She’s never called me that before.
I’ve been feeling stabby since we left Detroit, during the 3-hour car ride and a dinner stop where I could barely eat.
What did Brooke see on my laptop?
And how does she intend to use it against me?
Worriedly, Jacaranda
To: [email protected]
Date: February 6, 10:11 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
Subject: Okay, I’m an awful person . . .
Dear Mr. Smith,
Jarvis just texted me! I’ll give you a rundown.
Jarvis: Why are you mad at me?
Me: Mad?
Jarvis: We haven’t talked in over a week
Me: . . .
Jarvis: Are you mad I didn’t call you last Friday?
Jarvis: I’m sorry . . . I had a family thing
Jarvis: And before that I was a little freaked out.
Me: Family thing?
Jarvis: My dad got engaged
Jarvis: Yeah we went to dinner Friday with him and his fiancée
Jarvis: To celebrate.
Me: Your dad and his fiancée?
Jarvis: Yeah Wendelin and her sister
Jarvis: Whose name is Faun
Jarvis: Can you believe that?
Me: Faun? Like a goat-headed deity?
(I was secretly jumping up and down at this point.)
Jarvis: Right she’s a model or something
Jarvis: Torture.
Jarvis: We went out to dinner and a concert.
Jarvis: Because just dinner wouldn’t have been long enough
Jarvis: My dad told me to stay off my phone because it was rude
Jarvis: I’m sorry I didn’t call . . .
Me: Your dad got engaged?
Jarvis: I knew it was coming but . . .
Me: It must be hard
Jarvis: I’m being immature
Jarvis: That’s what he says
Me: I’m not mad
Me: I was just busy with the play
Jarvis: Really?
Me: I don’t think you’re immature
Jarvis: Can you talk now?
Me: Yes!!!
Just thought you’d want to know. All those things I was thinking about Jarvis weren’t true.
Love, Jacaranda
To: [email protected]
Date: February 7, 11:00 a.m. Eastern Standard Time
Subject: Jarvis
Dear Mr. Smith,
When I talked to Jarvis, I said, “Remember how you told me you’re a jealous person?” And then I confessed I’d seen the photo of him and Faun.
$!%$# was what he said.
He’d seen the photo online and wondered if I was mad about that, but he couldn’t think of a good way to bring it up. He texted me another photo someone had taken of all four of them, same clothes, same setting, same everything. Wendelin was holding out a diamond ring big enough to choke an elephant. Faun stood by Jarvis with her hand on his arm, but they were all arm-in-arm for the photo, so it made sense.
“She’s 24,” Jarvis laughed. “And I’m not even mature for my age, according to my dad.”
I said I missed him.
&nbs
p; “Same,” he said.
There was a sudden silence, and then he said, “Tell me why you left at Christmas,” at the same moment I blurted out, “I’m sorry I left at Christmas.”
Then we both stopped talking and laughed.
“I am sorry,” I said.
“Why did you leave? I know what you told Phoebe couldn’t be right. You told me you and your mom aren’t close.”
I couldn’t talk for a minute, couldn’t even think of what to say, but finally, I settled on sort of the truth. “I was afraid.”
“Afraid of me?” His voice shook.
“Not, like, really afraid. But yeah. A little.” When he didn’t answer right away, I filled the silence. “You’re . . . a lot.”
“Why?” he asked. “Was it because I gave you that ring? Because I was too serious, and you didn’t feel the same way?”
“No.” I stared down at the ring, which I’m kind of obsessed with looking at. “I do feel the same way. That’s what scared me. We come from such different backgrounds. If you knew everything about me, you wouldn’t like me.”
He said, “I doubt that.” He changed the subject. “I really want to see you. When I’m with you, everything’s different. You’re not like anyone else.”
I remembered that day at Central Park, when he said the other girls he knew would think it was silly to dance in the gazebo. Was that what he meant? But there were so many reasons I wasn’t like the other girls at MAA, so many ways I felt less than them.
Jarvis never makes me feel that way, though.
I told him I wanted to see him too.
“I meant what I said in that text I sent you,” he said.
I told him to hold on a second, then put down the phone. I typed, I love you too. And I sent it to him. “Check your texts,” I said.
After a few seconds, he sent me a .
And then a .
“I never said that to another girl, if you’re wondering.”
I was, but I said, “Same. I mean, I’ve never said it to another guy either.”
“When can I see you?” he asked. “I can come there if you want.”
We settled on Presidents’ Day weekend, which is this weekend.
And it’s Valentine’s Day too!
So Jarvis is coming to stay in 5 DAYS!
Love, Jacaranda
To: [email protected]
Date: February 10, 9:48 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
Subject: Jarvis
Two more days.
To: [email protected]
Date: February 12, 4:00 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
Subject: Jarvis
Dear Mr. Smith,
He’s coming today! I’m taking a car to meet him at the airport. Someone from Jarvis’s father’s company is bringing him a car since he’s too young to rent one. I can’t wait!
I told Phoebe and Daisy he was coming.
“He’s spending a holiday weekend here in the sticks?” Phoebe said. “Boy’s in love.”
That made me smile.
“How are you sneaking out?” she asked.
I hadn’t thought about it. “I was planning on coming back every night at curfew.”
“Oh. Well, if you want to stay at his hotel, I could swipe your card for you.”
Instead of bed checks, the school uses a card system to keep tabs on us. We check in by scanning our access card before curfew and use the card when we go out. But I hadn’t thought about staying over. I wasn’t sure where we were in our relationship. When Jarvis spent the night at the Hodgkinses at Christmas, nothing happened. But Phoebe might not realize that.
“Not tonight,” I said. “I want to see how it plays out. Maybe tomorrow.”
I probably shouldn’t be telling you all this. But you know I’m not some wild girl who sneaks out. I’m a nerd. Also, you probably don’t read my letters, so it’s more like a diary.
And if you do read them, you know how I feel about Jarvis.
Phoebe suggested that she could let me out Saturday, and I could give her my key to scan. If I came back, she and Daisy would let me in. I said I’d think about it.
But now, I’m off to the airport!
Love, Jacaranda
To: [email protected]
Date: February 12, 10:22 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
Subject: He’s here!
Dear Mr. Smith,
He’s here! He’s here! When I saw Jarvis at the little airport, coming out from behind the hot dog stand near the exit, the late-afternoon sun lighting his face through the skylights, and the Muzak playing a romantic song, I felt like I was hallucinating. He was too larger-than-life to exist in such a place.
Or maybe he was the answer to one of my wishes.
I said his name, softly at first, to make sure it was him. He turned, his smile like the sun on a bright, cold Michigan afternoon. I broke into a run. It was like a movie. Well, except for the fact that the airport here is tiny, not like movie airports, so there wasn’t much space to run. He ran toward me, dropping his duffel bag as he did. He swept me up in his arms and spun me around.
I’ve always wanted to be one of those airport girls who gets picked up and spun around.
Now, I am.
We went to a diner, a quirky one with hundreds of antlers hanging from the ceiling. We sat in a corner and talked and kissed and ate French fries until it got close to my curfew and Jarvis took me back to my dorm.
But he’s picking me up early tomorrow, and we’re going to go sledding.
Yes, sledding.
“You have a sled?” I asked him.
“That’s actually most of what’s in there.” He gestured toward his duffel. Apparently, there are inflatable sleds. Who knew? This Miami girl is learning new things every day.
Jarvis says everyone should try sledding at least once. “I’ve been researching sledding hills in the area.”
I asked him if it was scary, and he said he’d hold me tight. “I’ll take care of you.”
And I believed him.
But now I’m back in my dorm. It’s cold, and I’m thinking that I would be warmer wherever he is.
I think I’ll take Phoebe up on her offer tomorrow. It’s just one night.
Is that okay?
Love, Jacaranda
To: [email protected]
Date: February 13, 11:49 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
Subject: Lucky
Dear Mr. Smith,
Shh. It’s almost midnight. I’m sitting at a hotel-room desk. I can’t sleep because the day is dancing in my head like a million snowflakes. I had to get up and write this day down.
Jarvis, on the other hand, is dead to the world. He’s so handsome and peaceful when he sleeps, and I wonder how he could love me when no one else has in 16 years? There must be something wrong. Why would someone so perfect be in love with me?
And that’s not me having confidence problems. That’s just me, having lived 16 years in the world. I know when something’s too good to be true.
This morning, I asked him, “Why do you love me, Jarvis?”
And, without even thinking, he replied, “Because you wonder what it would be like if an omniscient narrator was narrating your life, like Dickens.”
I remembered that first night, and I smiled.
Today was a beautiful day, Mr. Smith!
Jarvis picked me up before sunrise. We drove to a diner (of course) for breakfast. This one had shiny red tables with maps of Michigan on the surface, shelves full of old milk bottles, and a jukebox full of old Elvis Presley songs. “Heartbreak Hotel” was on when we entered. We ordered (biscuits and gravy for Jarvis, fried eggs and bacon for me). We were the youngest people there. Some guy put on “Jailhouse Rock,” and I found myself tapping my foot.
“Elvis fan?” Jarvis said, clearly amused.
I told him my grandma was. I remember me, maybe 6, and her, near 60, dancing around the kitchen to his Golden Records album on vinyl. She showed me how to dance like “the sexiest man who ever lived.
”
So I like Elvis. He makes me happy. You’re old, so maybe you like him too.
Jarvis seemed to enjoy watching me dance in my seat and hum along with the line, “Everybody in the whole cell block was dancing to the jailhouse rock,” so when the song ended, I asked him for a quarter. He called the waitress over, and she stacked four quarters on my side of the table. I walked to the jukebox. When my first song, “All Shook Up,” came on, I didn’t sit down.
“All Shook Up” is my favorite Elvis song. I know all the words and can do the King’s signature hip-swivel. Suddenly, it was like that day at Publix all over again. I wanted to sing and dance and perform for the sheer love of making people happy, not for grades or adulation. I strutted back to the table, through that sleepy, old-people diner, singing along. Soon, I was getting appreciative whoops, and not just from my boyfriend, who had a huge grin on his face. I noticed a younger guy filming me (déjà vu!). I started swiveling and jiving, leaning in to Jarvis when I sang, “I’m proud to say that he’s my buttercup.” The old people clapped along, and I loved it.
The song ended, and the whole diner burst into applause. When the next song came on, I offered Jarvis my hand. He knew what to do. We slow-danced around the diner to “I Can’t Help Falling in Love with You.”
Jarvis is . . . um . . . not a bad dancer. He once said his mother taught him. He waltzed like he was on Dancing with the Stars, spinning me around, and he even dipped me! I could have danced danced danced all night.
An old couple got up and danced beside us, and we finished to more applause.
And then my eggs were there, and I sat down to eat them as if nothing had happened.
Jarvis sat too, laughing. “You’re an entertainer, Jackie. That was incredible! You’re probably tired of hearing how great you are.”
I said I wasn’t tired of hearing it, not from him.
Someone else put “Blue Suede Shoes” on the jukebox, maybe hoping for a repeat performance, but I was enjoying my fried eggs, and the company. When Jarvis tried to pay the check, the waitress gestured to the couple who’d been dancing and said they’d already paid our tab. As we left, some of the old people leaned over and told us how cute we were.