“Who do they think they are?” Meghan snarls as she darts past me. “Kanye West?” Snapping out of my trance, I scurry after her.
But I’m not needed. Meghan runs up to Jamil and whacks him on the head with her clipboard. “You won’t ruin my show!” she shrieks. The crowd goes nuts — cheering and screaming.
Artie watches the entire thing, white-faced and shell-shocked. Tears are spilling down her face. Omar tries to keep rapping, and all of a sudden, I’m filled with rage. There’s a wastepaper basket by my foot. I grab it and dart onstage behind the chaos. Omar hasn’t noticed me, which is how I manage to shove it over his head.
“That’s not funny!” Jamil shouts as Meghan smacks him again. “Stop it!”
But it is funny. It’s hilarious. The audience cracks up as Omar stumbles around with a trash can on his head, and Jamil is being attacked by a frenzied eggplant.
Thankfully, Marco manages to keep it together enough to think of lowering the curtain.
Once the curtain is down, we’re in our own little world. The audience’s laughter is muffled by the fabric.
“Get this off me!” Omar shouts, struggling with the trash can.
Meghan yanks it off his head. “Get out of here!” she shouts at him, then wheels on Jamil. “Both of you!”
Jamil throws up his arms, like he’s trying to fend off a bear attack. “We were just trying —”
“You were trying to ruin the show!” Meghan screeches. “You were trying to make this whole thing about YOU! Well, it isn’t about you! It’s about everyone! So get out — GET OUT!”
I swear, I didn’t realize those guys could run so fast.
I turn to Artie, who is as still as a stone. Tears flow down her face, and she doesn’t even wipe them away. They collect beneath her chin. “Artie,” I say gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Do you want to —” I was going to say, “start over,” but Artie yanks away from me and runs — right off the stage, through the wings, and out the rear exit.
“This is a disaster,” Meghan says. Her hair got messed up in the fight. She looks like a crazy Muppet. She puts a hand to her forehead. “What should I do?”
“Do?” Seriously, I can’t believe Meghan is asking me this. “Go out there and announce the next act!”
“Really?”
“On with the show!” I say, pushing her toward the curtain.
Meghan nods, and takes a deep breath. “Okay,” she says. “You’re right. Would you let the dramaramas know they’re up?”
“Get Marco to do it,” I say as I rush toward the wings. “I’ve got to go find someone.”
Meghan clenches her teeth. “Dead or alive,” she says.
“Not those guys,” I tell her. “Artie.”
“Oh. I guess that makes more sense. Good luck.” She gives me a quick hug, and the two of us hurry in opposite directions — Meghan toward the curtain, and me toward the rear exit.
∗ ∗ ∗
The rear exit opens onto a courtyard. It’s cold and clear, and the sky is stark black above me. The moon is a round, cool pebble high in the sky. A thin layer of snow crunches beneath my feet as I walk over to Artie, who is shivering and crying beside a pine tree.
“Artie.” I give her an awkward little pat on the shoulder, and she surprises me by throwing her arms around my neck and pulling me into a hug.
“Did you see Chang and Devon? They were standing right there — right by the exit as I walked out. They didn’t even” — she shudders, and her face twists — she’s having trouble forcing out the words — “they didn’t even … look at me.”
I hadn’t even noticed them there. “They’re losers.”
“But I love performing,” Artie says. “And now … Ms. Lang will never let me into a show again….”
For a moment, I don’t know what to do. I rub her back a little. “It’s okay,” I tell her. Then, suddenly, a memory flashes into my mind. Very softly, because my voice is usually pretty uneven and croaky, I begin to sing a little song that Artie made up when we were small. “Don’t be sad,” I sing, “don’t be sad … everything will be okay….”
I expect Artie to laugh, but instead she pulls the hug tighter and whispers, “I’m so sorry.”
“That wasn’t your fault,” I tell her. “Omar and Jamil would’ve interrupted anyone. They just love the attention.”
Artie shakes her head, and her soft hair rubs against my neck. “Not that.” Her tears are trickling onto my shoulder, freezing in the cold night air. I hear her swallow.
“Are you sorry that you didn’t help out with the show?”
Artie sucks air deep into her lungs. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a bad friend.”
My whole body feels limp, like a rag doll. I’m not cold anymore. I just feel like I’m suspended, floating over this whole scene. “Oh, Artie,” I say.
“I’ve missed you so much,” Artie says.
“I’ve missed you, too.” I really mean it. I really miss the way we used to be — friends who knew everything about each other. And then, because I’ve never really understood it, I ask, “What … happened?”
Artie pulls away from me, wiping the tears from her face. She leaves her hands against her cheeks and looks up at me. It’s dark, so I can’t see well, but her eyes are wide as she looks at me. “Do you remember — what I told you about Marco?”
Artie had told me that she had a crush on him. “Yes.”
“I saw him kiss you that day…. And I didn’t know what to think.”
“You saw?” I can’t believe it.
“I can see your backyard from my bedroom, Hayley, remember?”
Now my hands fly to my cheeks. I feel them burning beneath my fingers. It had never, ever occurred to me. Never. “Oh my gosh … Artie, I —”
“I wanted to talk to you about it, but the next time I saw you, you told me that your parents were getting divorced,” Artie said. “And I felt like an idiot for wanting to talk about Marco, so I didn’t. But I didn’t know what to say about your parents, either….” Her tears are flowing again. I’m surprised to realize that my fingers are wet, too. “And I felt like a horrible friend, but I was also so angry and jealous….” Her chin quivers and she shakes her head. “And then you moved away, and I couldn’t go over to your house anymore when I wanted to escape from mine…. I didn’t have anyone to talk to about Marco. I didn’t have anyone to talk to about … you.”
I wrap her in a hug again and hold her tight.
“It isn’t easy to find a friend like you, Hayley,” Artie says. Then she hiccups, which makes us both giggle.
“I know the feeling.” But, of course, I’ve been luckier than Hayley. Meghan is a good friend. And things with Marco are different, but I haven’t lost him completely.
We stand there in silence for a moment, until Artie hiccups again.
“I think we’d better go inside,” I say.
“I’m freezing,” Artie agrees.
So we go back to the exit door, holding hands.
Too bad it’s locked.
I never, ever thought of my parents’ divorce as something that happened to anyone outside of my family. I knew it affected the two of them. I knew it affected me. I knew it affected Chloe.
But Artie?
I never thought about her.
I mean, okay, there are a lot of ways in which she was a bad friend to me when I needed her.
But I guess I wasn’t so great, either.
I was so worried about the fact that we were growing apart that it never occurred to me to wonder if Artie was sad about it, too. I didn’t even think about her at all.
Here’s another funny thing: Artie’s parents hardly ever even talk to each other. They never laugh. They’re very efficient and intelligent, but they aren’t warm.
And Marco’s parents are strict and downright cold at times. Marco’s mom always looks tired.
When Artie’s and Marco’s families would come over to our house, everyone got along fine — but I was always glad that I got the be
st parents. I never thought they would break up.
Artie’s parents? Maybe. Marco’s parents? Probably. But mine?
It just goes to show that no matter how well you know someone, or how much you love them, you never know what’s going on in anyone’s mind.
Everyone’s just a living, breathing, walking mystery.
Artie and I knock on the door, but nobody opens it. We don’t want to bang on it, because the show is still going on, so we have to run around the building to get in the front door. This is actually kind of fun and it feels good to move, though the icy air is cold in my chest as I drink in deep gulps of air.
“Please let this be open,” Artie says as she reaches for the door.
It swings open, and we blink in the surprising darkness of the auditorium. Onstage, a screen has been lowered, with a large image of Kyle seated at a piano. A moment later, he’s talking to the camera. “I could play that piece blindfolded,” he jokes, and the audience goes wild.
I realize we’re watching Marco’s mini documentary. I smile at how well Marco has captured Kyle’s sense of humor as the scene switches, and suddenly I’m behind the counter at the Tea Room. I let out a little squeal as I watch myself mixing cupcake batter, and Artie elbows me in the ribs. Onscreen, Marco asks, “Will you be in the show?”
“Performing isn’t my life,” says the onscreen me. “And it is Artie’s life. I don’t want to screw it up for her.”
I feel Artie’s head swivel to look at me, but the documentary has cut to one of Artie’s practice sessions. She’s rehearsing in one of the schoolrooms, and her voice sounds just as good as it did earlier. Marco has managed to capture the dramatic moment when she really reaches out with an almost impossible high note — it’s the part of the song that we missed, and it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. And, suddenly, we’re watching Meghan hang up posters in the bathroom. “Why are you working so hard for this show?” Marco asks.
“I just can’t wait to see what everyone has planned!” Meghan says. She beams into the camera for a moment, and then — black.
THE END flashes onscreen in white letters. A FILM BY MARCO DE LUCA.
The audience goes nuts, screaming and cheering. And then, suddenly, someone starts to chant. At first, I can’t make out the words. But I hear Artie suck in her breath, and then I realize that they’re chanting, “We want Art-ie! We want Art-ie!”
“What should I do?” She looks shocked.
“Go up there!” I tell her, nudging her down the aisle. She takes a step, then looks over her shoulder at me. “Do it!”
So she walks forward, and as people realize she’s coming toward the stage, the cheering gets louder and crazier until it’s deafening. Artie climbs the side stairs, and when Meghan sees her, she comes dashing from the wings with a microphone. Mr. Lao raises the movie screen and puts the spotlight back on her. Artie takes a deep breath and closes her eyes as the audience settles down. Then her eyes snap open, and it’s like there’s a whole new Artie there. She almost doesn’t need a spotlight — she’s magnetic.
And then she starts to sing.
Her voice is huge. It’s almost like a physical thing — a rope you could catch in midair, or maybe a cloud that could lift you and carry you away. It’s so beautiful that I feel my throat close. My breath is wheezy.
If Omar and Jamil appear, I think, I will seriously go ballistic all over them.
But they don’t. Instead, the song reaches out and pulls me in and I want it to go on and on. But, of course, it can’t, and suddenly, it’s over.
The auditorium is silent, as if everyone needs to just breathe for a moment, and then the place explodes. People jump to their feet. Electricity shoots through the crowd. Artie looks shy and embarrassed, but she curtsies and everyone just keeps cheering. Finally, she waves and walks off, but the crowd keeps cheering.
Meghan leads everyone who was in the show out onto the stage for a bow, and the audience goes wild. I’m still standing in the aisle, and Meghan manages to spot me in the crowd. She gives me a grin and a thumbs-up.
I grin back.
Sometimes, the craziest ideas really are the best ones.
∗ ∗ ∗
The scene backstage is nuts. Everyone is crying and hugging, or squealing and hugging, or high-fiving, or running around in circles and barking (that last one is just the Corgi).
Meghan grabs me and gives me a huge squeeze. “We did it!”
“It was a great show,” I tell her, even though I only saw part of it.
Just then, Artie comes over. Her mascara is all smeary, but she’s beaming. “I’m so glad you made me go up there!” she says.
“You were great,” Meghan tells her, her voice warm.
“Thank you — so were you,” Artie gushes, and I let out a little snort of surprise. Artie twirls the end of a lock of hair that has escaped her updo. “I don’t know if I’ll get another chance to perform anytime soon, though.”
“Why not?” Meghan demands. “You were amazing. You should be performing every week!”
Artie rolls her eyes a little, but she’s smiling. “Well, I don’t think Ms. Lang was impressed.”
Meghan sniffs. “What does she have to do with anything?”
“Meg’s right,” I agree. “You could put on your own show, couldn’t you?”
Artie bites her lip. “I’d need Ms. Lang’s permission.”
“No,” Meghan corrects her, “you’d need permission from someone in the drama department.”
“How about Mr. Lao?” I suggest.
“Bingo,” Meghan says.
Artie cocks her head and looks at Meghan in a way I’ve never seen her look at Meghan before. It’s as if — for the first time ever — Artie can see why someone would think Meghan is cool. “That’s a really good idea.”
“Let’s go say hi to him now,” Meghan says, grabbing Artie’s hand and dragging her off. Artie flashes me a panicked look over her shoulder, but I just give her a little wave.
“Good luck!” I call.
“Hayley?” someone says over my shoulder. When I turn, I see Kyle’s smiling face. “You did a great job on the show.”
“Oh, thanks. I didn’t really do anything.”
Kyle laughs. “Really? So — Meghan and Artie just really got along and enjoyed working together?”
“Well … not exactly.”
“Right. That’s your talent, Fred. You bring out the best in people.”
I feel every hair on my head. I hear the blood rushing through my ears. I bring out the best in people? “I’m sorry I missed hearing you play the piano.”
“You can hear that anytime,” Kyle says.
I giggle like a moron, and the sound makes Kyle laugh. But not like he’s laughing at me. More like he thinks I’m funny, or like I made him happy. I get this weird feeling — like someone’s watching me. When I turn, I see Marco. He’s standing off to the side, almost underneath the glowing red exit sign. He’s holding the video camera to his eye. When I look at him, he lowers it and pushes the off button.
Marco was filming me talking to Kyle. My heart throbs in my chest as he looks down at the screen.
And once again, I wonder what he sees there.
“That was fantastic!” Aunt Denise gushes once we’re home. “I really loved Marco’s film!” We’re in Gran’s tiny upstairs kitchen, and my aunt is helping me load a plate full of cupcakes. Raspberry flavor.
“Wasn’t it great?” I agree.
Marco blushes. “Aw, come on.”
“You’ve got talent, for sure,” my aunt tells him.
Mom pops her head into the kitchen doorway. “How’s it going in here?” she asks.
“Hayley’s got everything covered,” Aunt Denise assures her.
Mom takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. I can hear Ramon telling a story at the table. A moment later, everyone laughs. So far, this dinner party has been super fun. Mr. Malik and Ramon have been chatting away, and Aunt Denise — who has been seated
beside Uzma — can talk to anyone. Chloe can’t stop talking about the ballerina dog, and Rupert keeps repeating, “But how can you train it to appreciate the music?”
I was just starting to think that everything was going to be okay and I was just a paranoid nutburger when Mom did that slow breath thing.
“What’s up?” I ask her as Marco takes the seat beside Rupert.
She looks over her shoulder and rakes her fingers through her hair. “Nothing. You ready?”
“Almost,” Denise says. But she’s smiling a little smile that doesn’t look like it has anything to do with cupcakes.
“Why are you smiling?” I ask her.
Denise’s eyebrows shoot up, and she looks over at Mom. My mother gives her head a quick little shake and says, “There’s going to be an announcement, that’s all.”
“An announcement?” I repeat. My aunt is now smiling so broadly that her dimples are showing. It’s funny to see a grown woman with dimples.
“Ready?” Mom urges.
“Sure,” I say, and nobody but me seems to notice the quaver in my voice.
Denise actually starts humming as she picks up the platter of cupcakes. She gives me a wink, and now I’m sure, positive, certain that Something Big is happening. The lasagna we had for dinner is swimming around in my stomach, and so I try Mom’s technique — I suck in a deep breath and let it out slowly. It doesn’t help.
Don’t start bawling when he asks, I tell myself. Act like you’re happy.
It’sfineit’sfineit’sfineit’sfine, I repeat mentally, like a — what’s it called? That yoga term? A mantra? I repeat it all the way into the dining room. Mr. Malik’s wrinkles dance into a smile that uses his whole face. “Cupcakes by the master!” he says.
“Those are beautiful, Hayley,” Ramon puts in.
“Amazing, as usual,” Marco agrees.
Denise slides into her seat beside Uzma and grins at my mom.
Mom smiles back and takes in a shaky breath. “So — everyone — we, uh, I’m so glad that you all could join us here tonight. There’s, um, something very special …”
I don’t even realize I’m doing it, but I grab my sister’s hand. She looks at me, curious, but she doesn’t let go.
Confectionately Yours #3: Sugar and Spice Page 10
