Dada yelled from the kitchen, “Anybody hungry back there? Come get it, or this hungry white boy and me are gonna chomp it up like a couple of harbor sharks!”
Mom and I chuckled, and we squeezed each other tighter for a moment, before relaxing. Mom sat up first. “You know, I’ll be on you like green on peas if I hear anything about you misbehaving or breaking my rules, you hear me?”
“Yes.” I smiled.
“And you know your Aunt Zendaya thinks she’s some kind of Zulu warrior rebel woman, and I don’t want none of her habits rubbing off on you. You are going to call me every night at bedtime, ten o’clock.”
“Ten? In the summertime?”
“You’re going up there to work, so you can’t be staying up all hours. You hear me?”
“Yes, Mom.”
“Now that you’ve got a phone, I can keep close tabs on you, and believe me, that’s just what I’m gonna do. You understand?”
“Yes, I understand you, I hear you, and I love you.” I wrapped my arms around her again, breathing in her scent, happy and grateful to know how deeply she cared.
Dinner was hilarious. Bob kept us laughing with stories about the New York auditions and how wonderful most of the performers were, but the few weirdos that came through were the ones he’d never forget. “There was a young woman who came in to sing for us. She looked like she’d make a fine Juliet, but when she started singing, she did a headstand. Larry and I were completely baffled! After she finished her song, she explained that it was easier for her to stay on pitch while upside down. She thought it would be a cool idea, to play Juliet with a new perspective on her world.” Bob wound up with a stomachache, because of how fast he was talking and eating at the same time. He hardly chewed his food, he was inhaling it so fast.
Dada got Aunt Zendaya on speakerphone, and she enthusiastically agreed to let me spend my summer vacation with her. She was so ecstatic, she started gabbing on about all the things we would do and all the places she had to show me. “Girl, I’mma take you over to Flatbush where me and your mama grew up. We’ll go shopping at King’s Plaza Mall. Remember how we used to haunt that place, Marj? Walk around for hours not buying a thing, just pretending to shop ’cause we ain’t had two nickels to rub together. Oh! And then we have to spend some time up in Harlem and down by Washington Square Park and NYU in the Village, my old stomping grounds—”
“Pump ya brakes,” Mom called out, “Dor—uh . . . Zendaya, Mango is coming up there to work. I’m gonna put her on a strict schedule and expect you to hold her to it.”
“Yes, ma’am, sister-mama. Aye-aye, sir! Roger that! I aim to please, captain!”
Dada, Bob, and I laughed. Mom gave us a tight smile and laid out the rules she expected me to follow. “Hold on,” Zendaya said. “You don’t expect me to memorize all of this?”
Mom joked, “I don’t expect you to remember your name as many times as you’ve changed it.”
“Don’t start with me, Marj.”
“Remember that time you changed it to Eczema, until you found out it was a skin disease?”
Everyone burst out laughing, even Aunt Zendaya. She said, “Do you really want to take this stroll down memory lane over the phone? ’Cause I got plenty stones to kick in your path if you do.”
“Never mind all that. I’ll send you an email with all my instructions tomorrow. You still have an email address, don’t you?”
“Actually, texting me works better. Email is so ten years ago.”
Mom rolled her eyes, “Texting it is, as long as you get it.”
The mention of texting reminded me of Izzy—and how I totally stood her up today. I said goodbye to Aunt Zendaya and Bob, and as I started clearing off the table, I went over my plan. First thing in the morning: make blueberry scones, take them to Izzy’s house, and fall on my knees and beg, kiss her feet, lick the soles of her sneakers, whatever I had to do to win her forgiveness. I knew I wouldn’t have a good time in New York unless I made things right with her.
CHAPTER FOUR
Me and My BIG MOUTH!
Okay, so I didn’t wake up as early as I had planned. It was hard to fall asleep with visions of New York City dancing in my head! Mom and Dada had taken me there to visit a few times, but that was all before I was five so I didn’t remember much. Most of the things I knew about New York came from movies. I knew next to nothing about Brooklyn, the place where Mom and Aunt Zendaya grew up.
Whenever someone was rude to Mom or if someone cut her off in traffic, she’d have to hold herself back from cursing, saying, “Please, don’t make my Brooklyn come out—not today!”
That was what she called her aggressive side, and what Dada called her fire breath. I once saw the full force of her Brooklyn side when Mom and Aunt Zendaya got into a huge argument—Aunt Z had borrowed money from Dada but then forgot or neglected to pay back. This was the year Mom was pregnant with Jasper and, well, let’s just say I wished on a star that night that the baby would be a boy, because sisters could really go at it when they fought.
Eventually, they forgave each other. They always did. They were family, more than sisters, because after their parents died in a horrific fire when Mom was seventeen and Aunt Z was ten, Mom practically raised Aunt Z on her own. Mom didn’t like to talk about it, but Aunt Z loved telling stories about the way they grew up. When I got to New York, I wanted to find out as much about that time—and Mom—as I could.
I crawled out of bed at around 11:30, unplugged my phone, and gave texting Izzy another shot.
I waited. And waited. Finally, I got up and went to the bathroom. How was I going to get Izzy to respond? She couldn’t stay mad at me forever. We were this close to being besties. I was being careful about whom I gave that title to, especially after what had happened with Brooklyn.
I had truly believed Brooklyn and I would be best friends forever. We were alike in so many ways. Neither one of us had phones, we both had the same favorite TV show, Cupcakers, we both liked to run and joined Girls On Track together, and my dad was the chef in her dad’s restaurant. It was like fate had brought us together. But then Brooklyn got a phone, and the rest was misery. We just couldn’t be friends anymore, especially after I accidentally drowned her phone in the girl’s bathroom sink and she wouldn’t or couldn’t forgive me. Then she tried to set me up for humiliation by putting my name on the list to audition for the school musical. But I showed her—I sang anyway and got the lead role in the play. Her plan backfired, and she wound up transferring to another school. And I promised myself that I would be very careful about choosing my next bestie.
Izzy was cool, and we had so much in common now that we both were wild about theater and being actors and singers and stuff. Also, Izzy was teaching me how to flirt with boys. She was good at it, and even though I was N-O-T ready to have a boyfriend, I wanted to learn so I could be ready for when I was ready.
When I checked my phone, there was still no response from Izzy. I decided to text a juicy headline. Something she couldn’t resist.
It took less than one second for the dots under my text to start pulsing, letting me know Izzy was texting me back.
When I emerged from my room, Dada was in the kitchen sharpening his cooking knives on the big stone block he had brought with him from Jamaica. He had taught me how to do it when I was little, so I knew my way around knives and how to slice meat and veggies like a professional chef. Seriously, my knife skills were on point fa true! I usually liked to help Dada when he was doing stuff like this, but I had to get ready to see Izzy, so I said a quick good morning and hustled toward the bathroom for a shower.
“Breakfast, Sleeping Beauty?”
“No thanks.”
“I made crème brûlée French toast.”
That stopped me in my tracks. Why did anything with the word “French” in the name always taste so good? French fries, French dressing, French bread, French dip, and best of all, French toast. But Dada only made crème brûlée French toast when there was something to
celebrate, so I said, “What’s the occasion?”
“Your mom. She was such a good sport about you going to New York, I wanted to celebrate her before she left for work.”
“But she’s on a diet.”
“Not this morning, she wasn’t.” He laughed.
I looked at the golden brown wedges of French bread and my mouth watered, but I resisted. “No thanks.”
“You sick?”
“No, I’m meeting Izzy for lunch and she hates going out to eat with people who don’t eat.”
“Fine. Turn down a chef when he’s sharpening his knives.”
I went over, got on my tiptoes to give him a kiss on his bristled cheek, and asked, “Can I borrow five bucks? Pretty please, with crème brûlée on top?”
Izzy was placing her tray on a table when I rushed into McDonald’s. I had run all the way, because I didn’t want to be late. I was held up because of the French toast I couldn’t resist sampling—if you could call three pieces drizzled with maple syrup sampling. I jogged over to the table. “I made it!”
Izzy checked the time on her phone. “In the nick of time. Now get some food and spill the tea!”
I ordered a chicken wrap off the dollar menu, hoping I could at least force it down. When I got back to the table, Izzy hadn’t touched her food yet. She really hated to eat alone. As soon as I sat down, she bit into her Quarter Pounder and signaled for me to begin.
“Well, first of all, I’m sorry about yesterday, but so much happened that—”
“You forgot me. I know. You’re forgiven. Press fast forward and skip to the good part.”
“Fine. So, I saw Bob and he told me that he and Mr. Ramsey are not coming back to Trueheart next year.”
I shouldn’t have said this when she was sucking soda through her straw, because she almost gagged and some of her Dr. Pepper spewed out of her nose. It was gross. I ran for more napkins. When I got back to the table, Izzy was coughing, so I wiped up the mess.
“OMGZ, what, are you trying to kill me?”
“You said fast forward.”
“I know, but dang! You cracked my face and broke my heart all at once.”
“That’s not even the half of it,” I said.
“There’s more?”
“Lots.”
She held a finger out toward my lips. “Okay, hold on. Let me take a sip before you go on.” She took a long drink, sighed, and said, “Proceed.”
Izzy’s eyes grew wider and wider as I told her all about the New York showcase of Yo, Romeo! and how it might go to Broadway if it was a hit.
“Shut up, up and away! Are you serious?”
“Yes! And here’s the best part. I’m going to New York to be in the show!”
Her eyes sparkled with excitement. “That’s amazing! They’re taking you?”
“Uh-huh.”
“What about me?”
“You?”
“Yes, of course me. Don’t they want me to be in the show, too?”
I paused. “Oh. I don’t know.”
The sparkle in her eyes flickered a bit. “You didn’t ask?”
“No, I was too shocked that they had asked me.”
“So, you didn’t think about your friend? Just yourself. Wow. No wonder you stood me up.”
“Hey, you said you forgave me!”
“For standing me up, yes, but for forgetting about me, that’s a whole other crime.”
“It’s not a crime, Isabelle. Just a . . . I don’t know . . .” I trailed off, trying to figure out what to say. “I guess I just assumed he was going to ask all of us to go.”
“You did?”
“Yeah! I mean, you were a big hit in the show. We all were, so . . .” My mind swooped back to the stories Bob had been telling last night about auditions. He hadn’t really said anything about having cast the other parts yet, but . . . something told me I had just put my foot in my mouth and not mentioning the New York casting sessions tasted like a big fat lie.
“You’re right! OMGZ!” Izzy stood up and threw her arms in the air. “We’re going to be on Broadway!”
All heads in the McD’s turned toward her. She started pretending paparazzi and fans were stalking her. “No autographs, please! I love you! I love all my little Izzy-addicts! Okay, just one more pose! Make sure I get a copy of those pics, Joe!”
“Joe? Who is Joe?”
Izzy sat back down and pulled out her phone. “He’s a photographer from Variety I made up. I’ve been visualizing him following me throughout my whole career, taking pictures of me everywhere I go. For the publicity.”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m sending a group text to the gang, to let them know we’re all going to Broadway!”
All of a sudden, the crème brûlée French toast was trying to force its way up from my belly and onto my tray. I clamped my jaw and took a deep inhale, trying to calm my stomach.
“Hold on, Izzy. I don’t know if we’re all going for sure.”
“We better be. Why start all over when he already has a great cast? That doesn’t make any sense. Besides, remember how he kept telling us if we did our best we might make it to Broadway?”
“I don’t remember him saying that exactly.”
“Not in those words, but that’s what he meant.” Izzy’s phone started vibrating, and she glanced at it. “OMGZ, Braces Chloe is in Vermont at the camp she hates. She’s going to beg her mother to get her a ticket home right away.”
I imagined myself grabbing Izzy’s phone and dunking it into her supersize Dr. Pepper, but I had been super careful about touching anyone’s phone since I’d drowned Brooklyn’s old one. So no, I didn’t snatch her phone, but I should have stopped Izzy and cleared things up right that second. I should have told her the truth about the auditions.
Then I started thinking that Bob should take Izzy to be in the New York show. She was great as Juliet’s agent! She got more laughs than anyone else. I decided to call Bob and talk him into it. Then Izzy could come with me and she wouldn’t be so mad when I told her the truth—I was pretty sure none of the rest of the cast was going to New York.
As soon as Izzy headed home, floating on cloud nine thousand ninety-nine, I called the number Bob had saved to my phone last night. As soon as he answered, I immediately launched into how great Izzy was in the play and how it wouldn’t be the same without her and how she should come to New York with me. I held my breath waiting for him to speak, hoping he would agree with me.
It seemed like forever, but finally he said, “Izzy is great. I mean, she’s wonderful.” Bob paused. For a second, I thought we had been disconnected, but then he cleared his throat. “I have no doubt she’s going to be a big star. Humongous!”
“Then you’ll invite her to New York to be in the show, too?” I pleaded.
“Mango, you don’t understand . . .” His phone beeped. “Uh-oh, my battery is dying. Listen, I have to explain quickly. This is not a middle school production anymore. Nobody is going to believe a twelve-year-old girl is a singing star’s agent.”
“Well, how come they’ll believe a twelve-year-old girl can be Juliet?”
“Because, Juliet and Romeo really are about twelve or thirteen years old. And we’ve already cast my sister, Zippy, as the agent and—”
I heard a loud beep as his phone died—along with my master plan.
CHAPTER FIVE
The French Lesson
My phone blooped and blooped for hours, alerting me to text messages. They were from Izzy, but I was too much of a coward to answer her texts. Then texts started coming in from other kids who had been in Yo, Romeo! All of them wanted to know when we were leaving for New York. Izzy even called! I didn’t pick that up either. I was a cramped muscle, and I didn’t know what to say or do. I needed time to gather the courage to break the news—and Izzy’s heart. And now, I also had to break the hearts of the entire rest of the cast because I hadn’t had the guts to stop Izzy from spreading news that wasn’t true earlier.
I literally could not sleep, so I was awake at four in the morning when my phone got a face2face alert. I glanced at the screen—it was Hailey Joanne calling from Paris, where she and her mother were doing a monthlong French immersion course. I accepted the call.
“Bonjour! Comment vas tu?”
“Huh?”
“Mango? It’s me, Hailey Joanne. Why is it so dark there?”
“Uh . . . because it’s four in the morning here.”
“Oops! It’s ten in the morning here in Paris. I wanted to chat with you over breakfast. I’m so sorry. Between the French lessons and couture fittings and Mother comparing me to all the petites and perfect French girls, I can’t keep the six-hour time difference in my head!”
“It’s okay, I wasn’t sleeping anyway.”
I reached over and turned on the lamp next to my bed. When I went back to the screen, Hailey Joanne gasped. “Sacré bleu! Someone has been having un très mauvais summer!”
“Huh? English please.”
“You look horrible!”
I looked at myself on the little video square on my phone, and she was right. I had forgotten to put on my sleeping bonnet, my hair was sticking up like the bride of Frankenstein, and I had dark circles under my eyes and crusty drool down the side of my mouth. That was weird, because I only drooled when I was asleep and if I wasn’t getting any sleep, how come I was drooling? Oh no! Don’t tell me I was becoming an awake drooler on top of all my other problems!
Hailey Joanne took a bite out of what she claimed to be the world’s best and flakiest chocolate croissant and said, “Honestly, I called to have a gripe session about maman, but it looks like you’re the one with the bigger problems, so . . . flush les toilettes, as they say. I’m listening.”
I didn’t quite know what she meant by flushing the toilet, but I just dove in and spilled all the tea about the play, going to New York, and how I’d ruined everything by not setting things straight with Izzy from jump.
Summer in the City Page 3
