Summer in the City

by Fracaswell Hyman

  CHAPTER NINE

  All Kinds of People, All Kinds of Kooky

  I didn’t mean to be ungrateful or snobbish or critical, but living with Aunt Zendaya was going to take some getting used to. For one thing, studio apartments in Brooklyn were beyond small. I mean, her kitchen was the size of Mom’s bathroom back at home. There was one kinda-sorta large room that had two windows looking out onto the brick wall of the building next door. One side of the room was Aunt Zendaya’s jewelrymaking workspace. There were large spools of gold and silver wire, and boxes on top of boxes, filled with what she called “semiprecious stones” but looked like polished rocks to me. I went to the only other door and opened it, expecting to see a bedroom, but it was just a closet-size bathroom. Actually, there was no bath in the room, just a shower, a toilet, and the smallest sink I had ever seen. Someone had worked really hard to squish everything in there.

  I asked, “Where do you sleep?” She pointed to the sofa. “If you sleep on the couch, where will I sleep?”

  She laughed. “Sweet child, it’s a futon. By day, it’s a couch, and by night, it converts into a bed.”

  She pulled on a bar, and the futon flattened out into what looked like a queen-size bed. But when it was fully converted, it bumped right up against the workspace table, leaving no room to walk on that side of the room. As I looked around, I didn’t notice my hands were on my hips until Aunt Zendaya said, “Umph. Standing there with your fists on your hips, you’re the spitting image of your mama when she gets all judgy. Are you judging my place, sweet child?”

  I dropped my arms immediately. “No! No, of course not, Aunt Z. I think it’s really, really . . . crisp! Super crispy with a dash of salt.”

  “What do you like about it?”

  I had to think fast. What did I like? Well . . . “I like that it’s . . . I mean . . . you could never get lost in here. Everything is within reach . . . all the time.”

  She shrugged. “That’s New York for you, honey. This building used to have big apartments with three to five bedrooms, but then they split them up into studios and jacked the rent up three times higher than it was for the families who used to live here.”

  “Oh.” I wasn’t sure what else to say, so I added, “I like the way all your lamps are covered with scarves. Makes the light real pretty.”

  “I change the color of the scarves to fit my mood. The orange represents excitement, because you’re here for six weeks, and I couldn’t be happier. You hungry?”

  “Starved!” I sniffed the air. “Something smells great. What’s cooking?”

  Aunt Zendaya waved her hand as if dismissing the aroma. “Ugh, that’s something my neighbors are making. Turns my stomach the way they’re always cooking swine or some other meat.”

  My eyebrows took flight. “You don’t eat meat?”

  “Oh no. Never! I don’t eat meat or any products that come from our animal cousins. It breaks my heart that people would ever eat anything that once had a face. How could you look into the eyes of a cow or hog or even a fish and not feel that there was a soul in there crying for equality, humanity, and fraternity?”

  I nodded, wishing I hadn’t thrown up the last real people food I’d have for six weeks. If Aunt Z looked into my eyes right now, she’d see a soul crying for some bacon, a burger, a butterfly shrimp. I sighed. “Don’t you sometimes wish for a slice of pizza?”

  “Oh, I love pizza, but not with cheese. Cheese is made with milk which comes from a cow or goat and so it’s off limits. Don’t worry, sweet child, you are going to love eating cruelty-free. It will double your energy, cleanse your body, and free your soul from all the tortured energy stored in the fibers of an animal murdered for food.”

  For dinner we had organic carrot sticks, a really thick, flavor-free, multigrain bread smeared with nut butter, green pea purée soup, and banana chips for dessert. I didn’t want to appear ungrateful or disrespectful, so I kept a smile on my face as I cleaned my plate. But lying on the futon next to my aunt, I found myself staring at the ceiling, counting bacon cheeseburgers to help me fall asleep.

  I didn’t know how I slept, but I did and surprisingly well. When my phone alarm started buzzing at seven, I leapt out of bed, excited for rehearsal starting at ten. Yes, I knew I had a couple of hours to kill before my rehearsal escort arrived, but I wanted to be ready. Super ready. The more ready I could be, the less nervous I would be—at least, that was my plan.

  Aunt Zendaya rolled over and covered her head with the blanket, so I decided I better tiptoe around while getting ready. As I showered, I ran through my lines. I’d been studying my script since I found out I’d be coming to New York. Yes, I know, Bob told me some of the script had changed, but I didn’t think the changes would be very big. Since TJ and I had done the play already, we’d be miles ahead of the rest of the cast. It would be fun helping them learn their lines and dance routines the way Izzy helped me back at Trueheart.

  Izzy . . . the thought of her made me regret the way my inability to speak up had put a ding in our friendship. I had to find a way to break through to her. I was determined. I was not about to let my mistake ruin our friendship, not when we were so close to being besties. While eating a slice of the thick bread smeared with nut butter (it didn’t taste half bad after I sprinkled some sea salt on it), I decided I would include her in the whole process by taking pics and short videos of everything whenever I could, so it’d feel like she was there with me. I needed to able to confide in her—and I wanted to hear the latest gossip about how her crush on Hector Osario was progressing.

  First thing I did was take a video of Aunt Zendaya’s studio. That didn’t take very long. I texted it to her saying “tight quarters!”, then waited a second to see if the dots would start pulsating to let me know she was texting me back . . . but they didn’t.

  At nine sharp, the door buzzer went off, harsh and loud. Aunt Zendaya bolted upright from under the blanket. “What the . . . ? What time is it? What’s going on?”

  “I think that must be Miss Zippy. Bob’s sister. She’s supposed to pick me up and drop me off for rehearsal. Remember?”

  “Ohhhh.” She stretched and yawned. “Well, buzz her up. Your mama said I shouldn’t let you go with her if she looks untrustworthy.”

  Miss Zippy moved like a hummingbird in a penguin body. Her name suited her perfectly. She zipped around the studio, breathing hard from the walk up four flights and talking nonstop.

  “Holy bananas, your place is twice the size of mine. I mean, what is up with that? How much is your rent, if it’s not too nosey of me? I live over a restaurant, so forgive me if I smell like Ling Ho’s Chinese Food & Taco Palace. I can’t get it out of my clothes. Ohmigosh! Shut up! You’re the Precious Stone & Wire Jewelry lady! I’ve seen you at the farmers’ market at Grand Army Plaza. Your stuff is great but too rich for my pockets, if you know what I mean. Where do you get all the stones? Do you have any coffee? My brain doesn’t finish loading until after my third cup.” That’s when she took a breath.

  Aunt Z just kind of stared at her and asked, “What time will you be bringing my niece home?”

  “Well, rehearsals are over at six, so probably about six-thirtyish, unless we hang with the cast for a bit. I’ll text you if we’re going to do that. Of course, once we start doing dress and tech rehearsals, we might not get back ’til after midnight or one in the A.M., but that won’t be for a few weeks now. So, about the coffee?”

  Aunt Zendaya, her eyes wide, gave me a look as she guided Miss Zippy toward the door. “There’s a Starbucks two blocks away, near the train station. You all have a good rehearsal.” With that, she opened the door, gave me a kiss and a hug, and waved us out of the apartment, quickly closing the door behind us.

  We stood in the hall for a moment, kind of awkward. “Aunt Z is not a morning person,” I said.

  “That’s okay. You’ve got to develop a thick skin living in New York. All kinds of people, all kinds of kooky. Not that your aunt is odd but . . . you know.” We hea
ded down the stairs. “Listen, could we meet out front from now on? Hiking up four flights was not a part of our deal. We can have a signal so you know it’s me. Like . . . how about short buzz, short buzz, long buuuuuzzzzz, short buzz, long buuuuuzzzzz?”

  “Sure, that’s sounds fine to me,” I said.

  Zippy sighed, relieved. “Spectac! Besides, I already walked six blocks to get here and I don’t want to get my ten thousand steps in before the day really starts . . . you know?”

  “Okay, Miss Zippy, no problem.”

  “Miss Zippy? Honey, you have got to get way over that. You’re making me feel like an old lady and I haven’t even hit my mid-twenties yet—oops, I meant my mid-thirties. I gotta get out of the habit of lying to everyone about my age, you know? Anyway, just Zippy is fine.”

  “Just Zippy” walked really fast. I mean, she was hustling down the street and she could really move. Humidity hugged me like a glove. Everything about Brooklyn was bigger, faster, and louder than what I was used to—the sounds, the smells (some good, some horrific), just everything. Zippy heard a train coming, so we skipped the Starbucks and ran down the stairs into the subway. We didn’t have time to get me a MetroCard, so Zippy swiped me through, and I followed close as she rammed herself into the crowded subway car. As the doors slammed shut and the train bolted forward, I held on tightly to a pole. There was no place to sit. I checked out the people around me. They were dressed pretty cool for the most part, in a lot of jeans and black, even in the hot summer. Everyone was looking at their phones or reading or staring off into space, listening to whatever was coming through their headphones. No one was having a conversation or even looking at each other. Even the people that seemed to be together were apart. I turned to say something to Zippy, but she had her headphones on and was scrolling through her phone.

  Welcome to New York, I guess.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The Little Girl in the Mirror

  For some rookie reason, I thought we’d be rehearsing in a theater, but Zippy and I zipped into a tall office building and up an elevator to the sixteenth floor. When we stepped off the elevator, I was surprised to see the halls were crowded with dancers in leotards, stretching, and other people I assumed were actors, clutching headshots and mumbling quietly to themselves as they went over lines. The smell of sweat, coffee, and dust dominated the air. And a mixture of sounds flooded into the hall: piano-playing, singing, dance instructions, “One two three, one two three, plié, jeté!” I was so busy taking it all in, I kept walking when Zippy stopped at the door with “STUDIO H” on it. “Mango!” she said, waving me over. “We’re in here.”

  I hurried back to Zippy and entered a room with about forty people. Bob and Mr. Ramsey and three or four other people were seated behind a long table in front of a mirror. When Bob saw me, he stood, clapping his hands for attention and calling out, “Ladies and gentlemen, our star has arrived!”

  I turned to see whom he was talking about, but the applause quickly made me realize it was me! I didn’t know what it was, but my heart started beating really fast and my breath came in short gasps and suddenly I felt like I wanted to cry. Mr. Ramsey hurried over and gave me a hug, which was really weird because he was always so formal. I mean, he was the kind of teacher who always wore a suit jacket and tie, and here he was in jeans and a LOVE IS LOVE T-shirt. “A bit overwhelming, huh?” he whispered in my ear. I nodded into his shoulder, and he led me to a space in a corner of the room.

  He sat me down in a chair and took the seat next to me. “Listen, Mango, we’re thrilled to have you here. You are going to be great in this production. Don’t let yourself be intimidated because you don’t know anyone yet. You’ll all become a family pretty soon, the same way you did at school. Okay?”

  I nodded, trying to push down the urge to bite my fingernails. Around the room, everyone went back to what they were doing—talking in groups, stretching, looking at their phones. I could see that my arrival was a much bigger deal to me than it was to any of them.

  I saw myself in the mirror that covered the entire wall. I looked like a frightened little girl compared to all the other cast members in the room. The women were in sporty yoga pants and tops or leotards that hugged their curves. Some of them were wearing make-up and had hair extensions and stylish haircuts. I knew I shouldn’t compare myself to anyone, but right then and there, I did not feel like the star of a show. I just felt like a kid.

  Things started to come back into focus when I saw TJ ambling across the floor toward me. What a relief! I was happier than ever that he was also in the play. At least we had each other in this sea of strangers—professional actors, singers, and dancers who would be judging us to see if we were worth bringing to New York.

  Mr. Ramsey went back to the table, and TJ took his seat. We quickly reached for each other’s hands. He squeezed mine and said, “Did you know onions are poisonous to cats?” I laughed. Here we go again with obscure factoids. I guessed TJ was nervous too, because he always came out with these weird things when he was feeling off balance.

  At exactly ten o’clock, Bob called for everyone’s attention. He introduced the producers, the designers, and our stage manager, Acorn Cao, a super-tall Asian guy with a blond man-bun. Then Bob began talking about the show, a modern day Romeo and Juliet set in the music industry of the nineties, the rehearsal and performance schedule, and how excited he and Mr. Ramsey (who was now Larry to everyone) were to bring their first collaboration to New York. “We’re very proud of this show, and I’m sure that if each and every one of you pours your heart and soul into this production, we’ll all have jobs on Broadway by next spring!” Everyone applauded. We went around the room, introducing ourselves and our roles or jobs, and then it was time to get down to work. First up, the table read of the script.

  Things were going along pretty well . . . except for me not speaking loud enough and mumbling through a LOT of unexpected new dialogue. When it was time for my first song, Bob asked me to get up and sing. I was uber nervous, but I went to stand next to Mr. Ram—I mean, Larry—at the piano. He began to play the intro, and just as I opened my mouth, Beyoncé started singing, “Who run the world? Girls.” It was my ringtone! How embarrassing! Some of the cast laughed and some groaned. I was not making a good first impression.

  I ran across the room to shut my phone off, but when I picked it up, I saw it was Mom face2facing me. Uh-oh . . . I had forgotten to call her this morning. I had promised I’d check in every morning, but with everything new coming at me, I had completely forgotten. I couldn’t just reject the call. I turned to Bob and said, “Sorry, it’s my mom.” Some people giggled, others rolled their eyes, and Bob told everyone to take five.

  After a minute of chewing me out for forgetting my promise to call every morning, I spoke with Mom, Dada, and Jasper, too. I gave them a quick face2face tour of the rehearsal space, then stepped out into the hall before mentioning how nervous I was and how I was having second thoughts about being here.

  “Well, you’re there now,” Mom said, “so just call up some courage, even if you have to fake it, because you committed and you can’t back out now, baby.”

  I should have known Mom would not be sympathetic to my worries. But she was right. All I could do was buckle down and do my best. After hanging up, I went back to the piano and sang my first solo, “Giving Him a Piece of My Heart.” At the end of the song, the whole cast and crew cheered, and all at once, I felt the warmth of their welcome. I was glad to be right where I was at that moment in time.

  When TJ and I did our song, “Duet Forever,” it seemed like the deal was sealed. Everyone in the room agreed that we deserved to be there among them.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Crushed by My Crush

  At lunch, Bob treated me and TJ to our first slices of real New York pizza. Now, there was a New York−style pizza place where I lived, but it was nothing like real New York pizza. The sauce, the cheese, the easily foldable pizza crust, and the oil dripping from it, OMGZ! It was a
slice of heaven—pun intended. Just as we were getting comfortable, talking in between bites about how exciting it was to be in New York, Bob got an emergency text from Larry and said he had to head back to the rehearsal studio right away.

  TJ and I stayed and finished our pizza and geeked out about how cool it was to be here together, working with professional actors and having lunch breaks like it was a real job—and getting paid!

  At one point, we ran out of things to talk about. There was an awkward silence. As I took a sip of my bottled water, I could feel TJ’s beautiful kiwi-green eyes watching me, and I didn’t know why, but I felt shy all of a sudden. Trying to look casual and cool and NOT think about the kiss, I took another bite of my pizza. A long, gooey string of cheese would not let go as I put the slice down. TJ reached across the table with a plastic knife and sliced through the cheese. That kind of lifted the cloud of awkward, and we took a selfie together biting into our slices. I immediately texted it to Izzy, tagging it with #worldsbestpizza. I waited for the dots to appear saying she was writing back, but they didn’t come. Ugh.

  TJ and I made our way back to the studio without getting lost, and as soon as we walked in, I could tell something was up. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Bob, Mr. Ram—uh, Larry—and the producers were huddled at their table in deep conversation. Bob and Larry seemed pretty upset, and it got me wondering if the show was being canceled. I went over to Zippy and asked, “What’s going on?”

  She shrugged. “Beats me. But whatever it is, from the looks of my brother, when his face is as red as his hair, it’s not good. Not good at all.”

  Acorn told everyone to take ten, even though we’d just gotten back from lunch. As we were heading out of the room, Bob asked TJ to stay behind. It was weird that TJ was being singled out. I looked at him and smiled, not wanting to seem worried, but from the look in his eyes, I don’t think he bought it.