Eliza Bing Is (Not) a Star

by Carmella Van Vleet

  —

  It was a little tricky doubling the cake batter recipe, but I managed. I had to make sure not to turn the mixer on high so the batter didn’t come splashing out.

  Next, I used a measuring cup to scoop my batter into cupcake liners. In one of her TV-show episodes, Sweet Caroline said she liked using measuring cups for batter because then everything was even.

  I turned the muffin pan halfway through the bake time (like Sweet Caroline does) and then set the cupcakes out on the kitchen table to cool. I even moved the chairs away so Bear wouldn’t jump up and eat all my hard work.

  I got out my recipe for fluffy frosting. It was my favorite even though it took forever. First I had to cook the sugar, water, and cream of tartar on the stovetop. Then I had to whip the egg whites and vanilla, add the sugar mixture, and beat it for ten minutes, until stiff peaks formed. I chose green food coloring and added extra because green is Annie’s favorite color.

  Next, I got the piping bags and decorating tips that Mom found at Goodwill and used them to frost the cupcakes. By the time I was done, my hands ached from all the squeezing. Afterward, Sam helped me find a box and line it with foil so I could carry the cupcakes to school. Dad said he would drop them off when he drove over to school to give me my medication. Now that rehearsals were going longer and I really needed to focus, I was taking one of my quick-acting pills in the afternoon.

  I stood back and admired my handiwork. The cupcakes looked good.

  But not great. They were missing something.

  On a cupcake show I liked to watch, they always have a decoration round. So even though it was almost bedtime, I baked a double batch of sugar cookies. I used my cookie cutter that looked like a Christmas stocking and frosted them with a white glaze.

  “What are those?” Mom asked when she saw them.

  “Casts!” I told her.

  She looked confused for a minute. Then she figured it out. “Ah! I get it!” she said. “Break a leg! That’s clever.”

  I smiled and took a bow.

  Even with the halls mostly empty, maneuvering the box of cupcakes after school was a challenge. Thankfully, someone was around to open the door to the cafeteria for me.

  I walked over to the snack table and carefully slid the cupcakes onto one end. I couldn’t wait for everyone to see what I’d made. Especially Annie. I’d told her I had a surprise for her. She was curious.

  At snack time, I darted over to the table before everyone else and pulled off the foil cover. I was careful not to rip it so I could save it for later. I didn’t think I’d need it, though. I’d made just enough cupcakes for everyone to have one.

  “What are those for?” Paige asked, eyeing my box.

  “They’re for fun. They’re cupcakes.”

  “I know what cupcakes look like,” she said. “I mean, it was Monica’s turn to bring snacks.”

  I saw that Monica had already spread out a plate of cheese and crackers and fruit. People were making themselves plates.

  “We’ll just have more snacks, then,” I said, and smiled.

  “That’s inconsiderate to Monica, don’t you think?” Paige asked.

  I looked at Monica. “I’m sorry. I just thought it would be a nice surprise. I didn’t mean to butt in.”

  Paige made a humph sound.

  “I don’t mind. They look good,” Monica said. “Are those supposed to be casts?”

  I beamed. “Yep! You know, like ‘break a leg.’ ”

  “I can’t wait to try one,” Monica said. Paige shot her a warning look.

  “Well, I’m not eating any,” Paige announced. “Look at all that gross green frosting. It’ll stain my mouth for sure.”

  “It won’t stain,” I told her. Even though I wasn’t sure if that was true or not. (I had used almost half a bottle of food coloring.)

  “The play is only three days away. I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m not taking any chances,” Paige said as she helped herself to cheese cubes and fruit slices.

  A few minutes later, I sat down to eat with JJ and Vivian. When I looked over at Annie, I noticed she’d taken a cupcake. Yay! She saw me watching and gave me a smile.

  But when she thought I wasn’t looking anymore, she scraped off the cookie and frosting and picked a few bites off the top of cake part before covering her plate with a napkin.

  I felt like a fallen soufflé.

  After rehearsal, I went over to the snack table to help clean up. I figured I’d just throw the cupcake box out.

  Only it was still half full.

  The cupcakes were good,” Annie said.

  “Thanks,” I replied. I thought she might tell me she had changed her mind and was done hanging out with Paige for good.

  But she didn’t. She did the next best thing, though.

  “Wanna work on our list?” she asked. She pulled out the Rules to Surviving Sixth Grade notebook.

  We came up with a new one and she wrote it down. No. 37: The bathroom near the art room is always cold.

  I was in the middle of brainstorming another when Annie said, “I’ve been thinking about the Paige thing. About her wanting you to ask Mrs. Delany to ditch the new line.”

  “You said I should do what I want.”

  “Yeah, but I changed my mind,” Annie said as she doodled on the cover of the notebook. “I think Paige made a good point. It’s distracting.”

  “What changed your mind?” I asked. “Did Paige get to you?”

  “Nobody got to me,” Annie said. “I can think for myself.”

  “So why did you change your mind?’

  “I just did, all right?” she said.

  Skunk stew. This was not how I wanted things to be going. I wanted the two of us to be sitting here, eating our lunches, and writing in our notebook. And definitely not talking about Paige. Again.

  “It isn’t up to me,” I told Annie. “Mrs. Delany is the director.”

  “Yeah, but she might listen to you. Say you don’t want to do it.”

  “Can we talk about something else?” I said.

  Annie put a big bite of mashed potatoes in her mouth.

  “What did you do last night?” I asked to get things rolling.

  Annie swallowed her food and seemed to brighten a bit. “I added more curlers to my wig. I want to make a funnier entrance, and my book says audiences like visual humor.”

  Okay. It was still about the play but at least we weren’t talking about you-know-who anymore.

  “That’ll be funny,” I told her. “Well, funnier. Your entrance already gets a laugh.”

  It was true. In Act Three, after Paige said “This barn is a-bustin’ and this party is a-poppin’,” Annie stepped onstage and said, “No. It’s a rumpus!” while wearing her lime-green bathrobe and kitten slippers.

  Annie’s entrance was a very important part of the play, too. Her character calls the sheriff because of all the party noise, and when the sheriff shows up, he brings his son along. And that’s the guy Cinder Ellen saw in town earlier and has a crush on. So, really, there was no happily-ever-after without Annie.

  I reminded Annie of this.

  “Yeah,” she said. “But my entrance still isn’t as funny as the snout line.”

  Whoa. Hold the donuts. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before!

  “Annie, are you jealous?” I asked her.

  “What? No!”

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “Yes!”

  “You’re acting like it,” I told her.

  “No I’m not.”

  “You are too. That’s why you want me to ask Mrs. Delany to leave out the ad-lib. You’re afraid it’ll get a bigger laugh than your entrance.”

  “I can’t believe you said that,” Annie fumed.

  “I’m not even in the scene when you come onstage,”
I told her. “No one will remember the funny thing I said.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Annie said.

  “Why can’t we both be funny?” I asked her.

  “Because I’m the one who cares about it,” she said, her voice rising. “It was my idea to audition for the play in the first place. I’m the one who wants to be a professional actor someday. You just tagged along.”

  “Because you begged me to.”

  Annie scoffed and then she shoved the Rules to Surviving Sixth Grade notebook at me. “Here! I don’t want this anymore.”

  I pushed it back.

  “Fine,” Annie said. She got up and grabbed the notebook off the table. I followed her as she marched over to one of the giant trash cans by the exit and threw the notebook in.

  “Don’t be such a diva,” I said.

  Annie whirled around to face me. “Oh. I’m being a diva?”

  “Yeah,” I told her. “You kinda are.”

  Annie pointed her finger at me and her face grew dark. “You know what you are? You’re a black cloud that follows me around and ruins everything. Everybody was right. Nimbus is the perfect name for you!”

  I told the nurse that I had a really bad headache, and she called Dad to come pick me up from school.

  “Can I get you anything?” Dad asked. When we got home, he had set me up on the couch. I shook my head. Pillows and blankets weren’t going to help. Neither was the ice pack that Dad brought me. The pain wasn’t in my head.

  “I’m just in the other room if you need anything,” Dad said as he closed the curtains. He had to finish homework for one of his classes. “I’ll bring you something to eat in a bit.”

  I was pretty sure I’d never want to eat again. After Annie left, I thought about digging out our notebook. I didn’t know why I still wanted it, but I did. But before I could grab it, some boy walked over to the garbage can and scraped off his leftovers. And then dumped out the rest of his milk carton for good measure.

  The notebook was gone. One big, soggy mess. Just like Operation BBF. Who was I going to talk to before homeroom or in the hall? Who would care when something funny happened or help me with my taekwondo flash cards? Who was I going to eat lunch with?

  It wasn’t just that I’d be lonely. I was going to miss Annie.

  I used the corner of the fuzzy blanket Dad brought me to wipe the corners of my eyes. The blanket made me think about Annie’s kitten slippers. And the play.

  The thought of having to be around her for dress rehearsal and the shows after she’d called me that name made my throat ache.

  I still couldn’t believe she’d said it. The worst part wasn’t the nickname, either. It was her telling me I was a dark cloud that ruined everything. Maybe it was true. I mean, I’d ruined the chemistry lab. I’d ruined things with Tony. And now I’d ruined things with her.

  I should quit the play, I thought. I’ll probably ruin it, too. Someone else could take my place. Or maybe the show could just have two little pigs, instead of three. It’s a weird, mishmash play anyway. I could tell Mrs. Delany I’m sick.

  I hid under the covers and tried to be quiet so Dad wouldn’t find out I was crying.

  Mom gently shook me awake a while later. She was still wearing her hospital scrubs and smelled faintly of rubbing alcohol.

  “Hey, sweetie,” she said. “How’s my favorite girl in the world feeling?”

  I pushed myself up. “Okay,” I said, even though my eyes felt puffy. I was sure my nose was red, too.

  “Headache better?” Mom asked as she studied my face.

  “Yeah,” I said. Except now I kinda had a real headache from crying. “Wait. Is it nighttime?”

  Mom shook her head. “No. My boss let me clock out half an hour early is all.”

  “You didn’t have to come just for me,” I told her. (Now I felt even worse about faking with the school nurse.)

  “Of course I did,” Mom said. “I have to make sure you’re better in time for opening night.”

  “So you’re definitely coming?” I asked.

  “With a bright shiny face and a camera!” Mom said.

  After she left to put the ice pack away, I thought more about it. Sam wasn’t coming to the opening night. But Mom and Dad were. I didn’t want to disappoint them. Plus, there was JJ and Vivian to think about. They’d probably be disappointed. And if I bailed on the play, it might make things harder for them. Mrs. Delany would be disappointed, too. She said my ad-libbed line was her all-time favorite.

  It was my favorite line in the play, too.

  I was really looking forward to being onstage with JJ and Vivian. And to saying my funny new line. If I quit, I’d be disappointed. I might have auditioned because Annie wanted me to, but it turned out I really liked theater. And I was good at it. I worked just as hard as everyone else and I deserved to be there on opening night. So even though Annie had said what she said, I was going to enjoy my moment in the spotlight. After all, a good martial artist never quits.

  After warm-ups, Mrs. Delany had everyone gather for a pep talk. Annie was on the other side of the stage standing with Paige and Monica. She wouldn’t even look in my direction.

  “This is it, friends!” Mrs. Delany said. “We have one final rehearsal before the big show. So get all the mess-ups and flub-dubs out of your system now.”

  We were doing the show as if there was an audience. Costumes, makeup, set changes, everything. So Mrs. Delany told us to keep going. No matter what. And stay in character.

  Cole cued the stage crew to open the curtain, and the “show” started.

  I don’t know what happened. Maybe Mrs. Delany telling us to get our mistakes over with jinxed us. But it was a disaster.

  Here’s a small list of some of the things that went wrong:

  People mumbled lines.

  Someone backstage sneezed—loudly—in the middle of a scene.

  The curtain opened too soon and a stage ninja had to duck behind a hay bale and stay there until the curtain closed again.

  The guy running the spotlight had trouble aiming it.

  Someone’s shoe was untied and he tripped coming onstage.

  The stage crew rushed through the scene change for the farmer’s house and forgot the phone, so the characters onstage had to pretend instead.

  By the time it came for me, JJ, and Vivian to do our first scene, we were running way behind schedule. I knew this because Cole kept pointing at his watch and Mrs. Delany was out where the audience would be, pacing.

  I adjusted my pig-ears headband and made sure the buttons on my shirt were all buttoned. JJ, Vivian, and I had matching Western-style shirts. My fancy blue dress was for the party scene.

  Everyone positioned themselves onstage and the curtain opened.

  A tingling feeling traveled through my toes and up my body. Being onstage was so different now that everybody was in costume and the spotlights were shining.

  JJ, Vivian, and I pretended to shop and talk to each other. Pretty soon it was time for Paige to get “stuck” in the flower shop. There were a few bumps like someone was trying to open the door. Then Paige cried, “Someone let me out!”

  I said my new line. Even though there wasn’t an audience there to laugh, I felt like I’d just broken a board. Or two boards at the same time!

  At the end of rehearsal, everyone sat on the stage. Actually, collapsed is more like it.

  “Thank you all for hanging in there,” Mrs. Delany said. “I appreciate everyone’s patience and enthusiasm. I have just a few notes.”

  As Mrs. Delany started going through the list on her clipboard, I noticed there was a loose thread on the ribbon of my blue dress. I tugged it. Whoops. Bad idea. I sat on my hands to keep them from unraveling the entire piece of gold ribbon. That would have been bad. So long, good omen.

  Mrs. Delany ended the afternoon by tellin
g us her favorite theater superstition: a bad dress rehearsal meant a great opening. “So I look forward to a successful show tomorrow. Now go home and get to bed early, friends!”

  So, yea or nay on the hot dogs?” Dad asked, holding the refrigerator door open.

  I shifted my chin to the other hand and sighed. “Yeah, I guess.”

  Dad grinned. “Wieners are the winner!”

  I had to give him credit. He was doing his best to cheer me up about the news we’d gotten: Mom wasn’t coming to opening night. There was a huge car accident on the highway and it was all hands on deck at the hospital. “I’m so sorry, Eliza!” Mom said as she headed out the door. “I’ll do my best to be there before the curtain opens.”

  She wouldn’t make it. She almost never made it back on time when she got called in for an emergency shift. One time, when I was six and she’d missed one of my soccer games, I told her it was “the worst day of my whole life.” And then Mom explained that the people she’d helped were having a very bad day, too. I felt guilty. I still felt guilty. Even though I knew it wasn’t her fault, I was sad she was missing the play.

  I looked around the table: Sam, Dad, and me. There was always someone missing, it seemed. It wasn’t always the same person, but we were always minus one. Even opening night couldn’t bring us together. My plan was ruined.

  Sam was going to a dinner party at Megan’s house before the dance, but he hadn’t left yet. He wanted some of the mac-and-cheese with hot dogs. (He wasn’t worried about ruining his appetite; he was always hungry.) Dad had offered to take me to a fast-food hamburger place to celebrate, but I was afraid the greasy food would make me throw up. I’d been nerv-ited all day. (FYI, nervous + excited = nerv-ited.)

  “Time to carb up!” Dad said, placing the bowl of mac-and-cheese-and-wieners in front of me.

  “I’m not running a marathon,” I told him.

  “I don’t know,” he teased. “Maybe the play will be so terrible that the audience revolts and chases the actors into the street.”

  “Jeez, D!” Sam said. “Way to plant an image in her head.”