Summer in the City

by Fracaswell Hyman

  I waited until after dinner to call Izzy, which was a good idea, because plotting kept my mind off what my stomach was trying to digest. Aunt Zendaya had made vegan tofu burgers. They didn’t taste that bad, actually, but I just wished she wouldn’t call them burgers. The word burger got my digestive juices flowing in one direction, but the vegetarian tofu part made my taste buds feel like I was playing a trick on them. They weren’t as open to the interesting flavor as they would have been if she’d called them, I don’t know, maybe vegan-fu flat round disks? Anywho, as I said, they didn’t taste that bad, but not that bad isn’t the same thing as good.

  But back to Izzy. It was time to set my plan in motion. I grabbed my phone and opened my text app, thinking for a minute. I had to word this just right—these things had to be handled delicately as the Wicked Witch says in The Wizard of Oz. After typing and deleting and typing again and deleting some more, I finally landed on the right words:

  I waited. And waited some more. And then . . . pulsing dots! She was answering me. I almost didn’t realize I was holding my breath, but it was taking her so long to answer, I started to become light-headed! Just as I let myself breathe, I got a response:

  Okay, so I finally got a response out of her. Now what? The door was open, but just a tiny crack. Could I pry it open more? I decided to give it a shot.

  I added a bunch of crying emojis. Then I waited. And waited . . . and no response at all. I slumped back on the futon. Then suddenly, my phone started buzzing and vibrating. It was Izzy. She was face2facing me! I accepted the call, and as soon as we saw each other, we both burst into tears and apologies.

  We talked for hours. I gave Izzy a tour of the mini-apartment, filled her in on what it was like riding the subway and having rehearsals in Manhattan, and also gave her the deets on what had happened to TJ and how Gabriel Faust was replacing him. This part made her drop her phone while pretending to faint! I laughed so hard my eyes started watering again. I wasn’t laughing about TJ, but Izzy was so funny and wild, I couldn’t help myself. I was so glad we were talking again.

  Finally, around 11, Aunt Zendaya asked me to stand up so she could unfold the futon and we could go to bed. Izzy and I said goodnight, then I changed into my pajamas and joined Aunt Zendaya under the covers. She was already snoring. Not a harsh bulldozer kind of snore, but more like a little kitten, so it wasn’t that bad.

  Lying there with the day on replay in my brain, my thoughts floated back to Roz and Zippy laughing about how young they thought I looked. It kind of ticked me off. I was twelve. Why’d they have to act like I was ten or nine? So maybe I wasn’t as developed as some other girls, yet. Mom always told me to be patient, and that my time would come. But it was hard being patient when all of my girlfriends were already wearing bras. And now I was surrounded by all these women in rehearsals! I had to do something to at least make myself feel more mature, like I belonged.

  Aunt Zendaya didn’t wear much makeup, if any at all, but I thought I’d seen a small bag of cosmetics in the bathroom. I tried to get up quietly, but then I immediately banged my shin on the metal bar of the futon. “OUCH!”

  Aunt Zendaya lifted her head and without opening her eyes, croaked a groggy, “Huh?” Then her head dropped back onto the pillow. I stood there frozen, until the kitty-cat snoring resumed. Very carefully, I maneuvered myself around the tight furniture and into the bathroom, silently closing the door and turning on the light. I unzipped Aunt Z’s makeup bag. There was some mascara, a thing of blush, a pair of false eyelashes that looked like they’d never been used, an eyelash curler, and about six tubes of lipstick in different shades. With so many lipsticks, I figured it would be hard to miss one tube, and besides, I’d never seen Aunt Z wear lipstick anyway. I studied the colors and decided on a pale, soft pink. That wouldn’t be as noticeable as the red, cranberry, or black. Black? Hmm . . .

  I crept back into bed, stashing the lipstick under my pillow. Mission accomplished. Starting tomorrow, I wasn’t going to be a plain old Mango anymore.

  Then my thoughts wound their way back to Izzy. I was so relieved she and I were on the road to being besties again. Or maybe we were besties already? I guessed it was kind of hard to tell when I was so far away from home and we couldn’t hang out like we’d been doing at the beginning of the summer. I decided to give our friendship the benefit of the doubt—Izzy was my bestie! Done, did, and decided!

  I smiled as I started to drift off. Tomorrow was going to be a big day. First, I’d call TJ and do everything I could think of to make him feel better so he’d stay in New York. Then, I’d get to meet my idol crush, Gabriel Faust. I shivered with excitement. How lucky could I get?!

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Mister Car Tunes

  I woke up early, and texted TJ. No response. So I took a shower, then texted TJ. No response. While brushing my teeth, my phone buzzed and vibrated. Yes, it was him! Nope. It was Mom. Even though my mouth was full of toothpaste, she insisted on having a conversation with me before she had to leave for work. I finished talking to Mom, rinsed my mouth and gargled, and texted TJ. No response. I ate a cup of high-protein, low-carb oatmeal, then texted TJ again. Still no response. Ugh! How could I convince him to stay if he wasn’t talking to me?

  Just before Zippy picked me up for rehearsal, TJ finally responded to my nonstop text messages! He apologized for not answering all of my morning texts, saying it wasn’t diva behavior, but he’d had a hard time falling asleep and didn’t close his eyes until just before dawn. He agreed to meet me before rehearsal, at the coffee shop next door to the building where we rehearsed. As we emerged from the subway, I turned to Zippy. “I’m going to go to the coffee shop and grab a water. Meet you upstairs!”

  Zippy said, “I’ll go with. I haven’t had my quota today.”

  Remembering how snarky she was yesterday, I didn’t want her there when I met with TJ. “What do you want?” I asked her. “My treat. I’ll get it for you.”

  “Oh, you’re sweet, kiddo. Get me a large double shot dyno with steamed milk, whipped cream, and extra cinnamon. Oh, and I’d love a biscotti. Two if it’s not too much.”

  “Sure.” I stretched my lips into a sort of smile, already regretting my offer. It wasn’t like I had a lot of money to spend. My parents had given me a strict budget of twenty dollars a day, and after paying for my subway rides to and from rehearsal, that didn’t leave me a whole lot for lunch, which I had learned was not cheap in New York! But it was the price I had to pay for privacy, so I sucked it up.

  I spotted TJ right away, even though he was sitting with his back to the door. It was easy to recognize him by his fro-hawk hair. I ordered Zippy’s coffee and one biscotti, and decided I’d use the water fountain instead of splurging on a bottled water for myself.

  I came up behind TJ, carrying the coffee. “Hi.”

  He turned to me and smiled, but there was a pained look in his eyes. I could tell he wasn’t over what had happened, not yet.

  “Hi, Mango.”

  I sat across from him. “How’re you doing?”

  “Not so great. You know . . .”

  “Yeah. It’s a total toilet situation.”

  He smiled. “Nice way to put it.”

  “So . . .” I took a deep breath. “Are you going to stick around and understudy whatshisname?”

  “Come on, Mango, you know his name. Say it.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Then I will. Gabriel '700 gazillion followers’ Faust.”

  “I’m sorry, TJ.”

  “Don’t be. What they’re doing is good business. I barely crack 900 followers. It makes sense for the show. I don’t blame Bob or Larry. I just . . . I guess to be completely honest with you and only you, I’m kind of jealous.”

  “Jealous? Why?”

  “Well, he’s huge.”

  “Not anymore. At least, not as huge as he was . . . that’s what I heard.”

  “Yeah, but he’s sold millions of records, and I haven’t sold any. I don’t even hav
e a recording contract.”

  “But your music is better than his! Deeper and just way cooler. His music is for little kids.”

  “I bet you downloaded his music. Didn’t you?”

  “Yeah, but that was, like, a long time ago. I’m much more into your music now.”

  “Mango, remember when we were backstage at school and you admitted you had a life-size poster of the dude on your wall?”

  “Closet door! Inside closet door to be precise.”

  “Yeah, so this is kind of cool for you, to be acting with your crush. Isn’t it? Admit it.”

  “I’d much rather be acting with you.”

  “Aw, come on. Let’s keep it transparent, okay?”

  “Okay, okay! I admit it, it’s kind of exciting. But it stinks at the same time. I don’t want you to be hurt. We have fun together. And I need you to be here, to keep me sane! I don’t want you to go!”

  “There’s nothing for me to do here. Besides . . .” He leaned in, looked down at his hands and spoke softly, “I’m embarrassed.”

  “You don’t have anything to be embarrassed about.”

  “Uh, yeah! I just got fired.”

  “You’re not fired. Everybody wants you to stay. The whole cast heard what a great singer you are yesterday. And now we’re stuck with Mr. Car Tunes!”

  “Huh?”

  “Car tunes? You know, the stuff they use when they make records to make sure you sing on key and stuff?”

  “I think you mean autotune.”

  “Oh yeah . . . oops.”

  TJ started laughing, and he suddenly looked so much more at ease, so I started laughing, too. “You are so uber kooky,” he said. “That’s one of the things I love about you.”

  Wait a second. Did he just say, LOVE? Did my heart just pick up the tempo from a waltz to a trap beat?

  “Mango, there you are!”

  I looked up. Acorn was at the entrance to the coffee shop, carrying a cup holder with four coffees. “Hi,” I said.

  Acorn held up his watch. “Time. Don’t be late.”

  I nodded. “On my way.”

  Acorn smiled and left. I leaned back in my seat, not really ready to leave just yet. Had TJ actually said love and meant what he said?

  I couldn’t look at TJ. Not with those kiwi-green eyes. I noticed that my jaw was clamping and my cheeks were getting hot. I was desperate to do something, anything that would make me look less awkward for not looking at him so, in that moment of panic, I picked up Zippy’s coffee and took a big long gulp. Then I realized it wasn’t my coffee and Mom didn’t allow me to actually drink caffeinated coffee yet, and so I sort of coughed and it sprayed out onto the table. Yuck!

  TJ’s kiwi-greens opened really wide and he looked at me like he was in shock, but at the same time trying hard not to laugh. He was trying too hard. Suddenly, he couldn’t help himself and he just burst out LOLing.

  I picked up a napkin and wiped the table. He finally stopped laughing. I guess it was because I couldn’t even manage to crack a smile. TJ reached across the table and put his hand on mine.

  “I’m sorry, Mango. I shouldn’t have laughed, but . . . You sure do make me feel better.”

  I looked at him. “So, you’ll stay?”

  “I don’t know . . .”

  “TJ, listen, you should stay because you’re in New York! Duh! The music capital of the world. You’ve got lots of recordings of you and the Halfrican Americans. Maybe you can find an agent or get a record deal or some club dates while you’re here.”

  “I’m here, but my band isn’t.”

  “If you get a gig, they can come. The Halfrican Americans can totally take New York by storm. You can own this city! Come on, what are you waiting for? Think big!”

  He looked at his phone. “Actually, what are you waiting for? You’re late for rehearsal.”

  I remembered Acorn holding up his watch. “Oops! Gotta go! You should stay. In New York. Okay?”

  “You make a pretty good argument. I’ll think about it. I promise.”

  “Well, come to rehearsal with me.”

  “Not today. I’ll let Mr. Car Tunes get settled in first, then . . . maybe.”

  TJ stood up when I did and gave me a really big hug. “Thanks, Mango.”

  As I hurried away, I couldn’t stop thinking about what he said earlier. He said he loved me. He actually, really said it. Did he mean it? I mean, like, did he mean LOVE like IN LOVE, or love like “love ya bro” kind of love? OMGZ, this was all so confusing. I couldn’t wait to talk to Izzy and see what she thought.

  On my way into the building, I saw a big black SUV with tinted windows idling by the curb. I guess I noticed it because it looked kind of menacing. I was staring so hard, I wasn’t watching where I was going and I bumped into a guy in a chauffeur uniform coming around the front of the car. Zippy’s coffee went flying through the air and smashed against the car’s window. I froze, a deer in headlights. The window slid down, and that’s when I got my first glimpse of him.

  Gabriel Faust!

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The Ego Has Landed

  The chauffeur didn’t apologize for sending the coffee flying out of my hand. Okay, so I kind of bumped into him too, but still, he could have said something. Rude! I guess he was too busy to talk to me—he had to open the back door of the SUV.

  As Gabriel Faust stepped out of the SUV, wearing oversize sunglasses that covered most of his face, everything went music video magical. Gabriel Faust’s biggest hit, “Rainbows, Lollipops, Gumdrops & You,” began playing in my head. It was like he was moving in slow motion. When his feet touched the sidewalk, I realized he wasn’t as tall as he seemed on television, but his hair, those golden locks, cascaded around his angelic face just the way they did in his music videos. A few girls who happened to be walking by screamed when they recognized him and tried to follow him into the building. The rude chauffeur held his arms out to keep them away, and whoosh—Gabriel Faust was gone. Music video magic over.

  Still stunned, I rebooted and began walking, zombie-like, into the building. Suddenly, Gabriel Faust wasn’t merely a two-dimensional pop star on the inside of my closet door that I used to practice kissing. He was a real, flesh and blood and golden locks human being, and he had just brushed past me as he went by, trailing stardust.

  Although I could’ve gotten into the same elevator as Gabriel Faust, I didn’t. I waited for the next one. I thought about getting in with him and introducing myself, but I was too . . . what? Starstruck? Thunderstruck? Too struck with something to assert myself. And anyway, the rude chauffeur probably would have blocked me from entering, so it was better to wait.

  When I got to the sixteenth floor, a thought occurred to me. I didn’t want to meet Gabriel Faust looking nine or ten years old! I ran to the ladies’ room. There were some dancers and actresses that must have been from other shows at the sinks, washing their hands or checking their hair in the mirror. I stepped into a stall. I wasn’t experienced putting on makeup, and I certainly didn’t want them watching me doing it.

  Sitting on the toilet, I took my cell phone and the pink lipstick out of my backpack. Then I opened my camera app and used it as a mirror as I applied the lipstick. I did it slowly, making sure I didn’t smear it like a clown, the way I did when I first got into my mother’s makeup when I was four years old. To this day, she still cracks up her friends telling them how shocked she had been when I crept up behind her, “looking like Boo-Boo the clown!” I rubbed my lips together, checked myself out in the camera, and my lipstick application was perfect. Maybe no one else would notice I was wearing it, but I knew and when I got up, I felt I was standing a little bit straighter and taller. How could I have known that tall was the last thing I should have been trying to be today?

  When I entered the rehearsal studio, everyone was crowded around Gabriel Faust. They were clapping and taking selfies and generally fawning—especially Zippy. Now, this was odd, because just yesterday she had gone on and on about how much of
a has-been Gabriel Faust was, how he couldn’t really sing, blah, blah, blah. But now, it was as though her pupils had been replaced by the Klieg lights used to sweep across the sky at movie premieres, and she was beaming five hundred watts worth of baloney. Interesting. I was beginning to think Zippy’s DNA was missing a sincerity chromosome.

  In the midst of all this adoration, Gabriel Faust was stone-faced. There wasn’t even a hint of a smile. It was as though he were a mannequin in a wax museum. None of the excitement he was causing seemed to be affecting him in the least. I was starting to feel a mango pit growing in my stomach, the same one I got when I was nervous or afraid or completely insecure.

  Bob clapped his hands together and used his booming voice to calm everybody down and proceed with the rehearsal. He thanked Gabriel Faust for joining the company. He introduced himself and Larry and then he scanned the room until his eyes found me. “Oh, there she is, your co-star. Mango, come on over here.”

  All eyes were on me as I walked across the studio toward him. I was torn between feeling like a star walking down the red carpet at a movie premiere and Joan of Arc on my way to being burned at the stake. But the most overwhelming thought running through my head was the realization that I should have actually used the bathroom before entering the rehearsal studio. OMGZ, it was not easy to walk across a room while trying to hold your legs together and keep your bladder in check at the same time.

  Finally, I was standing in front of Gabriel Faust. “Hi,” I squeaked.

  Gabriel Faust removed his oversize sunglasses, looked up at me, cranked out a forced smile, and mumbled, “Wow, she’s tall.”

  Uh-oh . . .

  He beckoned the rude chauffeur and whispered in his ear. The chauffeur nodded and hurried out of the room, and Gabriel Faust turned away from me as though I had vanished. Bob and Larry proceeded to introduce the rest of the cast as if nothing had happened, but I noticed Bob shoot a worried glance my way. I was left standing there, holding my long legs together and wondering if I was going to be fired.