“Happy birthday!” he says.
“Thanks! What’s up?” I ask him as we walk to class.
“Nada,” he says, shifting the straps of his backpack on his shoulders. “Ready for the talent show?”
I nod, not looking at him. “I think so. I’m kinda nervous.”
“Don’t be,” he says, elbowing me. “We’ve practiced your act so many times.”
I laugh when he says that because my act is actually such a joke. “I hope people find it funny, and not too ridiculous.”
“I know three people will find it funny: me, Arianna, and you.”
“Well, that’s something,” I say, smiling. “Just make sure you laugh, like, really loud so it sounds like everyone is laughing even if they’re not.”
“I’ll practice my loud laugh.” He stops talking and walking and tries to laugh as loud as he possibly can.
I put a hand on his shoulder, looking around at all the kids staring at us. “Thanks. That was a tremendous effort!”
He bows, and we start walking again. “I’m excited about your party,” he continues. “Did you find out if Tyler’s coming?”
“I doubt it. He knows I don’t like him.”
All of a sudden it feels like the hallway is shrinking, like Jason and I are in a closet and it’s so tight and I can’t breathe.
I need space.
“Listen, Jason, I need to go talk to a teacher before class,” I lie. “I’ll see you later.”
He says, “I can walk you there,” but I shrug him away.
I don’t understand what’s happening.
I like Jason.
At least I thought I liked Jason.
When lunch rolls around, I get to the cafeteria and find Ari on the hot-food line. I’ve gotten much better at spotting her in a crowd; I have, like, Ari-finding GPS.
“I need to talk to you,” I tell her.
She gives me a look of concern, but continues getting her food.
“Now,” I say.
“I’m starving, Kaylan. I’ll meet you at the table.”
I huff away, wishing she’d drop everything and go outside and talk to me now.
I make it to my table, and everyone’s already eating their lunch. They look up, smile at me, and then go back to eating, and discussing what songs the orchestra is doing for the winter concert. I stare at my turkey wrap, but I don’t take any bites. My stomach feels like a gravelly sidewalk.
Finally, Ari taps me on the shoulder, in the middle of a bite of her apple. “Are you okay?”
“Can we go talk in the hallway?” I whisper.
She nods, and we walk out as quickly as possible trying to avoid the lunch monitors.
“What’s up?” she asks when we’re in the hallway.
“I don’t think I like Jason anymore,” I announce.
“What?” she screeches.
“I don’t think I do.”
“Kaylan.” She puts her hands on my shoulders and looks me straight in the eye. “You’re just nervous.”
“I don’t know,” I explain. “It feels different.”
“This is high-alert agita levels,” Ari says. “Like, mega-agita: the talent show, your birthday, our party; you’re overflowing with so much agita you can’t even feel your other feelings.”
I laugh at that. “I guess.”
“Trust me,” she says. “Just take deep breaths. You’re worried about the first kiss redo. But don’t be. If it happens, it happens. If not, it’s not meant to be. Or not meant to be right now.”
“You think?”
She nods. “Definitely. Jason likes you. And you like him. Not everything is neat and organized and figured out. As much as we want it to be. And we can plan and plan and make lists. And do all sorts of stuff. But it’s still gonna be a little chaotic.”
“You’re always so calm and wise. How do you do it?” I ask her, and then crack up. “I don’t know why I’m laughing. I’m being totally serious right now.”
She glares at me. “First of all, nervous laugh. Second of all, I’m not calm and wise all the time. Just sometimes. Hello—remember the beginning of school? But I realized that even though these weeks without you have been really crazy and sad, we can get through the crazy and sad times, and things can work out.”
“Hug?” I ask her.
“Of course,” she says.
So we stand in the hallway, and we hug it out, and I feel better. At least for right now, for this minute, I feel better.
An hour later, I could feel totally different.
But I guess I just have to accept that’s the way middle school is going to be. It’s a three-year-long seesaw ride, and there’s no getting down early.
FORTY-SEVEN
ARI AND I DECIDE TO wear all black for the talent show. We don’t want the outfits to detract from the act itself, and all black just looks so theatrical.
We plan to meet at the front door to the school twenty minutes before the show starts.
Me: On the way! Eeep!
Ari: Me too! Double eeep! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!
We’re halfway to school when Ryan tells us that he’s doing some kind of jazz duo thing with new kid Brian.
“Wait, what?” I ask. “You’re just telling us now?” I turn around from the front seat to look at him.
“I kind of wanted it to be a surprise,” he says.
“You never even went to rehearsals!” I look at my mom. “Did you know about this?”
“Nope,” she says, turning down the radio.
“We just decided on Friday,” he tells me. “Mrs. Bellinsky said we could join at the last minute. Brian just moved here, like, two weeks ago!”
“Brian and Ryan!” I crack up, looking at him again.
“Stop, Kaylan,” Ryan says. “Not funny.”
“Fine.” I turn around and face forward. “It’s my birthday; you have to be nice to me!”
“He was rejected from the jam band at his old school,” he says. “So we’re starting our own thing, recruiting some other kids, too.”
“I love that, Ry,” Mom says. “Proud of you for being so innovative!”
Maybe getting rejected (ahem, my sabotaging) wasn’t such a bad thing after all, even though I still feel guilty about it.
We’re almost at school when Ryan says, “I invited Dad to come tonight.”
“What?” I gasp. “What is with you and these sudden surprises?”
We haven’t seen my dad since early last summer, and I haven’t missed him. I know that sounds mean, but we’re finally getting into a groove, the three of us. Dad’s not coming back. I don’t want to get my hopes up. I don’t want him to upset the order of things now.
“I wanted him to come,” Ryan says.
“You could have told me!” I yell. “It’s my birthday, doofus!”
“I am telling you right now!” he huffs.
“Kaylan, please relax,” my mom says. “It will be fine. Your father will enjoy the show. He’ll be happy to see you perform, especially on your birthday.”
I don’t understand how she can stay so calm about this.
“I’m not going to talk to him,” I say.
No one responds to that. I take it as a sign that they’re okay with it, and I put this whole conversation out of my head. I pretend it never even happened.
I need to peel my clementines and get the whole audience to crack up. I can’t be focused on anything else. I think back to Petey G’s show—where it seemed like all of my words just clicked and everyone laughed and I was, like, crushing it.
I need to do that tonight. I need to make that happen again.
My mom drops us off in front of the main entrance to school, and we run in and head straight to the backstage area. I only look straight ahead. I don’t want to see my dad lingering anywhere. I don’t want to see him talking to anyone.
Thinking about my dad makes my stomach hurt. And I do not want my stomach to hurt right now.
My phone buzzes and I look down to see a
text from Ari.
Ari: Mrs. Bellinsky asked me to come backstage, so meet me there!
Me: OK!
I walk through the double doors and the lobby, looking straight ahead, not making eye contact with anyone.
I get backstage and Ari asks, “Are you ready?” as soon as she sees me. She’s biting her lip.
“Not yet. But I will get there.”
Ari grabs my hands. “You have to get there now.”
“What?” My heart pounds. I put my hand to my chest to calm it down. “Why?”
“There was a last-minute change. Mrs. Bellinsky wants us to go first.”
I gasp. “Are you serious?”
I kind of feel happy about this because at least it means we can get it over with. But I also hate that I was excited about this, and now all I want to do is get it over with. Life shouldn’t be a series of things that you need to just get done.
“You girls ready?” Mrs. Bellinsky asks us. “I’m about to go introduce myself and start the show!”
Ari says, “Yup!”
I’m frozen all of a sudden, unable to talk. I stand there and stare at Mrs. Bellinsky.
My whole body feels shaky.
“You okay, Kay?” is the last thing I remember hearing.
When I open my eyes, I’m lying on the floor backstage, and there are kids all around me.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“You passed out,” Ryan says.
“I did?” I sit up and feel dizzy, and Ari hands me a cup of pink lemonade.
They all nod.
“For how long?” I ask.
“Like, ten seconds,” Ari says.
“Luckily the nurse was in the audience,” Mrs. Bellinsky says. “She’s coming to check you out.”
I hear murmuring in the audience, and I feel terrible for delaying the start of the show, and causing all this chaos.
I guess my nerves got the best of me. The agita actually won.
“What’s happening here?” The nurse bends down and checks my pulse and feels my forehead at the same time. She smells like flowery perfume. Like way, way, way too much of it.
I almost gag but I hold it back.
“I think I just got nervous, Ms. Sellers,” I tell her. “I pass out sometimes. I think that was in my health file.”
“I seem to remember that.” She looks at me. Takes my blood pressure, my temperature, asks me to move my head around, my arms around.
“She’s fine.” Ms. Sellers stands up. “Rest a little, Kaylan. Maybe go on toward the end of the show?”
“I’m fine,” I say, and I think I mean it. I’m almost positive I mean it. “I can go on now. Really.”
“You sure?” Mrs. Bellinsky asks.
I nod. “Let’s go, Ari.”
“You sure?” Ari asks the same thing.
“Yes!” I shout.
“Wait! I need to introduce you!” Mrs. Bellinsky runs through the curtain and out onto the stage. She says, “So sorry for the delay, everyone. We’re all set now. I’d love to start off our show with one of the most unique acts I’ve seen in the twenty-three years I’ve been running the West Brookside Middle School Talent Show. Without further ado, please welcome Kaylan Terrel and Arianna Nodberg.”
“Ready?” I whisper to Ari.
“Ready!” She grabs my hand and we walk out on the stage, waving. It feels like we own the world right then. Like we own this talent show and this stage, and it’s all about us. We’re going to show West Brookside Middle School just how awesome we are.
“Hi, everyone!” I say into the microphone.
“Thanks for coming!” Ari says.
I ask, “So most people love clementines, right?”
There’s murmuring, clapping, laughter.
“But I challenge anyone out there tonight to do what I’m about to do—peel as many clementines as I can in the time it takes me to sing ‘Here Comes the Sun’ by the Beatles. And I will keep every peel in one piece.” I pause. “Ari, I mean, Arianna here will be handing me the clementines. I could not do this without her!”
Then more laughter.
Making other people laugh is the ultimate best feeling in the world.
“So without further ado, whatever that means.” I pause for effect. “Arianna, please hand me a clementine.”
She bends down and gets one out of the crate and hands it to me.
I hold it up.
I do a quick, successful one-piece peel, as I start singing the first line of “Here Comes the Sun,” and then—in an unexpected addition to the act—Ari sings the doo, doo, doo, doo part.
We sing together, “Sun sun sun, here it comes.”
She hands me another clementine, and then another, and another.
Twelve one-piece clementine peels! It’s a record! We grab hands and bow.
There’s cheering and clapping, and I’ll admit—being onstage with Ari feels so good. Not only am I making people laugh, I’m having fun, and I’m doing it all with the help of my BFF.
“I loved your doo, doo, doo, doo,” I whisper as we walk backstage.
“I had a feeling you would,” she says. “I thought about doing it the other day at the run-through, but I wasn’t ready yet.”
“You rocked it, Ari.” I pull her into a hug.
“No, we rocked it,” she says.
FORTY-EIGHT
THE WEST BROOKSIDE MIDDLE SCHOOL Talent Show turns out to be a mixed bag.
Some acts are good (Triona Hanely singing songs from Disney movies was amazing) and some acts are terrible (I wouldn’t say this to his face, but Elliott Chafer is really not so good on the clarinet). My brother’s jazz duo actually sounds pretty awesome, and I’m proud of him for that. He’s been practicing more, and it’s really helped with his chords.
As for “Cool Tyler,” well, he isn’t as cool as he thinks he is. His voice cracks, his wig falls off, and he forgets some of the words to his “Mad Mud” parody. Oh well. Karma’s a real thing. Better learn that sooner rather than later, Tyler.
When the show finally ends, I turn to Ari. “My dad is here.”
Her eyes look like they’re about to pop out of her head. “Really? What are you going to do?”
“Escape before he sees me,” I tell her.
“Maybe you should talk to him,” Ari says. “But on your birthday?”
“I don’t want to. I’m nervous. Can I just avoid?”
“I don’t think you can.” She shakes her head. “But don’t worry, I’ll stay with you.”
Ari grabs my hand, and we start to walk out of the auditorium. We don’t make it very far because people keep stopping to tell us how great our act was. They ask how I got started, how I thought of it, if my hands have turned orange.
I almost feel like a celebrity.
And then, right as we’re turning out of the auditorium, passing the water fountain and the glass cabinet that displays students’ art, I see my dad.
I try to look away, but our eyes lock.
He smiles his closed-mouth smile. My heart pounds.
This is my dad. He shouldn’t make me so nervous. But when I see him, all I can think about is him leaving. All I can think about is how sad Mom was, and still is, and how she tries her hardest to be strong, how I hear her quietly cry at night when she thinks we are asleep. All I can think about it is that he’d rather be away from us than with us. Seeing him makes me think that terrible things are going to happen. One after another.
“Happy birthday, Kay-Kay,” he says. “And great job!”
I wish he wouldn’t call me that. We’re past the point of nicknames. Nicknames are for people who like each other. People who stand by each other.
“Hey, Ari,” he says, all cheerful and friendly. “Or I guess you’re Arianna now, huh?”
She smiles, and then looks down at her feet. “Yeah. Arianna.”
We stand there staring at each other for a second before he asks us questions about how middle school is going, if we’re excited about our birthday
s, stuff like that.
I answer as quickly as I can and don’t offer much information.
I want to get out of here. I need to get out of here.
He left us. He can’t expect me to be his best friend.
I fold my arms across my chest, not looking at him as he tries to make small talk. I try to stay calm, but my insides feel like they’re being scraped with sandpaper.
Doesn’t he see that he made this choice? That he is the one who made everything so painful and awkward? He was the one who decided to move to Arizona. He was the one who thought that leaving us was better than staying. Doesn’t he see that he broke my heart into three zillion pieces, and I can’t put it back together? Nothing will ever be the same again. Nothing will ever be the way I wanted it to be.
Ryan comes around the corner, a stack of chocolate chip cookies in his hand. “Want one?” he asks us.
Ari and I shake our heads. Like we’d really want a melty cookie from Ryan’s gross, sweaty hands.
My dad takes one, though. Maybe he’s trying to be nice.
“So, I’m sure you guys are busy tonight,” he says. “But maybe I can take you all out for ice cream next week.” He looks at us. “I’ll be here for a few weeks, for work. I’m really glad the timing worked out, so I could see the show.”
I wait for Ryan to respond.
“Yeah, sure, sounds good,” he says. And I guess he means it. He sounds like he means it. Ryan looks at me, and I look at him, and there’s an ease in his face that hasn’t been there for a long time. It’s a look of calm, relaxed peace.
I guess Ryan needs our dad in his life.
I don’t know if I do. That would mean forgiving him. And I’m not sure I want to do that. Not yet.
“Sure,” I say. “Ari and I have to go now.”
“Okay.” He smiles. “Have fun.”
“Thanks for coming.” I turn away. Ari links arms with me, and we start walking.
I hear Ryan and Dad making small talk, and I guess that’s good. They’re going to the diner for a snack, just the two of them.
We find my mom in the front lobby. “Ready, girls?” she asks.
“Yup!” we answer at the exact same second.
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