Shrinking Violet

by Danielle Joseph

  When Derek puts down the phone, I ask him if I can go listen to them in the production studio. He gives me the go-ahead, and I set myself up in the next room.

  I place the stack of CDs on the table and randomly pluck one. Entrant Number 12, Treehouse Love. Let's hear what he has to say. Will he be good enough?

  I slide on a pair of headphones and hit play. A tinny sound fills my ears. "K-I-S-S-I-N-G, Sweet T and me, sitting in a tree . ." I want to like it, I really do, but halfway through the song, I have to pull the earphones off. He's practically screaming. There's a fine line between alternative rock and a guy sounding like he's trying to break windows. Good thing this room is window free.

  I move onto Number 8 with a little more hope. His voice is actually decent--it's the content of his song I'm worried about. "If you don't pick me, I'll slit my wrists into three.

  Oh, how I love thee . ." Eww, I hope he doesn't take it too hard when he doesn't win. This is kind of depressing.

  I listen to a bunch more. Some are pretty good. Love is a popular theme, but one guy sings about the environment and another blabs on about his mother. Nice, but missing that sexy

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  edge. Hopefully the next few days will bring in some good stuff. Maybe the soup and french fry caller will come up with something good--ha!

  I'm back in the studio just in time for Derek to do a live station ID. "Good afternoon, this is Dynamite Derek escorting you home on the afternoon drive. I've got Sweet T in the studio here, and she's waiting for all those love ballads to come in. She likes it down and dirty, boys . ." Derek turns to me and winks.

  Pig. I should run a contest on my show for hard-up men. Except the prize will be more of a punishment. They have to clean old ladies' toilets with their toothbrushes--something to teach them to be more respectful.

  Derek continues, "Don't forget, Monday at five is the prom contest deadline. Check our Web site for details. Here's PJ Squid on 92.7 WEMD The SLAM.

  "So, Tere, what did you think of the love songs?" Derek picks up a couple of CDs and waves them in the air.

  "I hope the next batch is better." I sigh.

  "Harsh critic."

  "Have you listened yet?"

  "Nope." He twirls one of the jewel cases round and round. "Promotions is going through all of them. Have a whole number system set up. They'll give you the top ten on Tuesday, then let you pick the winner."

  "I didn't mind listening to them."

  "Yeah, but I'm sure most of them are crap." He pushes the 220

  pile toward the edge of the console, and one CD topples into the garbage. "Whoops, sorry about that, Number 21." Derek waves to the can.

  I leap up and fish it out. "That's somebody's dream in there." He laughs. "You have quite an ego."

  "I'm not talking about going to the prom with me. I'm talking about the dream of hearing their song played on the radio." I plop back into my chair.

  Derek smooths the ends of his mustache. "They can keep on dreaming, baby!"

  "You know, the only good thing about this whole prom setup is that we're supporting local artists. Somebody in this stack really has a chance of making it." I run my finger over the jewel cases.

  "This isn't American Idol." He laughs.

  "No, but I believe nurturing talent at every level is important. If you can get your song played on one major radio station, then you're already ahead of the game."

  Derek picks up the entry that I saved from the garbage, air-kisses it, and says, "Number 21, I'm counting on you to cut me a deal when you're working delivery for Pizza Hut in ten years."

  Dream crusher. I so don't want to hear that. If my mom were here, she would've flashed a huge smile across her face. I think some people are just afraid to see others succeed.

  Well, I'm not. I'll make sure this winner gets his name out there. He may not be my soul mate, but at least his voice will be heard.

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  chapter TWENTY-ONE

  In a way it kind of bites that the presentation is over, because now the only thing I have to worry about is prom. Those four letters, P-R-O-M, could be the death of me. I wish I was going with Gavin, but I guess we're both locked in. He doesn't want to let down his brother and I don't want to upset the poor contest winner or Rob. I don't care as much about my mom, but I don't need any more grief from her either. My plan is to suck it up until August when I'm off to the University of Miami. Then I'll never have to see her again, even if I'll be less than fifteen miles from home.

  I can't wait for English today because I really need a dose of Gavin. He always puts me in a good mood. He's so calm and never

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  lets anyone piss him off. I'm so at ease with him, the words just roll off my tongue when we talk. Of course, this does mean I'll get a dose of Stacy, too, and I need that as badly as I need to smell Derek's cheesy cologne every day. They both clog up my pores.

  I pass Kayla in the hall right before lunch, and she has a huge smile on her face. "Tere, we did it."

  I stop short and nearly run over a puny ninth grader. "What?"

  "I just talked to Ms. Peters. We got an A on the project."

  "For real?"

  "Yeah." She shakes me. "She said we were a dynamic group and our delivery was superb."

  "Wow." I've never done well on an oral report before. "Thanks for organizing everything, Kayla."

  "It was a team effort." She hands me a pink flyer.

  "Another script?" I joke.

  "Just read it," she says, then keeps on walking.

  I unfold the paper. Join us for the annual Deutsch Klub Partei at the German Institute at 4150 Brickell Avenue ... Then, in purple pen, she wrote, You don't have to be a member to come to the party, just a German enthusiast.

  That is 50 Kayla. She should've been a cheerleader. I can't believe she saw me going into the lab once and I'm already an enthusiast. It's pretty sad that besides a few childhood birthday parties that I've attended, this is my first real partei invite. But I'm not sure if school functions really count as parties. I'll have to check with Audrey on that one.

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  I stuff the flyer into my backpack and head to lunch. I have no plans today, but that's fine with me. All I want is some fresh air.

  I see Gavin by the far wall, sitting in his favorite spot with his usual crew. I'm dying to go over and say hello. If I don't, I'll be kicking myself all day about it. Before I chicken out, I casually walk toward him.

  Gavin's holding a piece of notebook paper and his friends are hovered over him. Maybe they're studying for a test. As I get closer, I see that they're all smiling, and I swear Gavin's blushing. Okay, if they're not cramming for a test, then what else could it be? My heart drops. Don't tell me, it's a love note. But from who? Did our kiss at the picnic table mean nothing to him?

  I can keep on walking, take the shortcut through to the band room. I've never approached a guy before and especially not one surrounded by his buddies. My heart speeds up. It's no big deal, I tell myself. Gavin's only a boy. A hottie, but still a boy. His friends seem nice, too, not the kind that would slam me once I left. He looks up as I'm about to pass and waves. "Hi, Tere."

  "Hey, Gavin." I stand there with my hands in my pockets, trying not to stare at the note that proclaims someone's undying love for him.

  He spies me looking at the paper and quickly crams it into his pocket. "Wanna sit down?"

  Me alone with three guys. I try not to think about it and drop to the ground. Maybe I'm jumping to a conclusion about the note. It could be his shopping list or a treasure map.

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  As if on cue, we all pull out our lunches and the guys start blabbing about school--about how they never thought they'd leave Ridgeland.

  "Me, too," I say. "I feel like I've been here for a hundred years."

  Gavin laughs. "Well, we know some of the teachers have."

  The guys try to figure out who the oldest teacher in the school is. I mostly listen as they playfully argue back and forth. It's a com
fortable feeling sitting with them--I don't feel any pressure to talk. Gavin's friends are just as laid-back as he is.

  I see Audrey heading toward the oak and I wave and yell, "Over here!" After the third yell, she finally spots me and strolls toward us.

  She has a big smile on her face and I know it's for me. Me and Gavin.

  Audrey introduces herself, then takes the spot next to me. She joins us in synchronized sandwich eating. Nobody talks for a few minutes while we all chew.

  Finally Audrey breaks the silence. "So what do you guys have planned for the big night?"

  Everyone stares at her, including me. This is so not good. If my heart was beating fast before, it's in overdrive now. Breathe in, breathe out. I will not turn bright red and burst into flames.

  She puts her peanut-butter-and-fig creation down. "The prom."

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  "I'm going with my girlfriend, Anna, from Deerwood," Ted says.

  Wow, he has a girlfriend. Maybe Gavin would like one, too. At prom crunchtime, peer pressure is a good thing. I eye him, but he doesn't see me. He's busy wrapping the cord of his iPod around his finger.

  "Not the dancing type. I'll probably work." Justin flattens his Sprite can.

  Poor thing. Actually, who am I kidding? I'd be in the same situation if I wasn't being set up for total humiliation by Dynamite Derek.

  "You should enter that SLAM radio contest and win Sweet T," Ted says.

  I immediately jerk my head up from my lunch. He should what?

  "Who's Sweetie?" Justin asks.

  "Sweet T is a DJ. If you win, you get to go to her prom with her." Ted winks at Jason.

  All the blood in my body has risen to my face. I feel like I have the words Sweet T

  branded on my forehead, like there is no way out of this moment.

  "Where does she go to school?" Jason asks.

  "Nobody knows," Ted says in a zombielike voice.

  I elbow Audrey to change the subject.

  "So Gavin, what about you?" Audrey points to him.

  Not exactly the save I was looking for, but it'll have to do.

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  "I've got Speed Bump tickets for that night," he mumbles.

  Audrey raises her eyebrows. "And you couldn't get out of it? Not even for prom?"

  I elbow her again in the ribs. Enough is enough. This is torture. And what if someone asks me if I'm going? I'll have to lie to the whole group. But there's no way I can break my cover now. Not five days before the prom.

  Gavin squirms. "It's complicated, but I'm going with my brother."

  I feel the need to rescue him and, quite frankly, myself. "So, who's psyched for summer?"

  Everyone nods. Ted says, "Summer rocks," and Gavin just smiles.

  I wonder what he means by "complicated." How complicated can it be? Unless it's his last chance to see his brother before he moves to Finland or enters the Witness Protection Program? Or maybe he just said that for me. To let me down easy.

  I peer over at Gavin's pocket, hoping the crumpled piece of paper will miraculously fall out, but it doesn't.

  Audrey's cell beeps. "Time for class."

  Justin grabs his bag. "Catch you guys later. Can't be late for Henderson again or I'm screwed."

  "Ready for more presentations?" Gavin asks me.

  "As long as we don't have to go up again," I say.

  Ted and Audrey leave, while Gavin waits for me to gather my stuff.

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  We weave through the lunch crowd. I keep pace with him so we're side by side. My arm brushes his by mistake. Then I do it again. I don't know if he notices, but it makes me happy.

  When we get to class, we find out that Stacy's group is presenting first. Since plain old revenge is out, channeling evil spirits might work. If only I knew how to summon the phantoms. It's probably one of those things that takes a lot of time and concentration, neither of which I have in the two minutes until class starts.

  I can muster up my evil stare for her. I purse my lips together and narrow my eyes but can't keep a straight face. How pathetic. I can't even look mean if I tried. I think it's something you're born with--you either have the mean gene or not.

  Stacy waltzes in just after the bell rings. She's carrying a bright pink poster board that reads Welcome to the Best Show in Town and lists all the names in her group. I'm sure Frank and Tim are thrilled.

  "Maybe she'll choke," Gavin whispers to me. "We can only hope," I whisper back.

  I should've known Stacy would pick a romance writer. She's Danielle Steel, Tim is Arnold Schwarzenegger, and Frank is The Rock. Is this some kind of joke? Because I could make a few jokes about this not being a remedial reading class. What was Ms. Peters thinking when she okayed this group? She probably just let them do it so they could pass, otherwise she'd end up with them again for summer school.

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  No surprise that Stacy is dressed like a slut in a short black miniskirt and a tight white tee. She shuffles toward the front of the class in her two-inch black heels. If her dad is so strict, you think he would've vetoed her outfits long ago. I've never seen her first thing in the morning, so I'm not sure if she's one of those people that wears one set of clothing out of the house and then has another hoochie outfit stashed in her backpack for school.

  Okay, I could be wrong, but I think Danielle Steel is ancient by now and doesn't dress like the characters in her books. Frank and Tim are both wearing sleeveless shirts and gym shorts. They get a couple of ooohs from their friends and flex their muscles. This only causes more ooohs and a few chuckles.

  Ms. Peters flicks the lights for them to begin, and Stacy announces everyone and says that Arnold and The Rock will be starting off with a few exercises from their books.

  "No pain, no gain," Arnold says in a really bad Austrian accent. Then lifts up a free weight.

  "That's for sissies," The Rock barks and picks up two weights with one hand. Everyone laughs. The muscleheads banter back and forth for a few minutes, trying to outdo each other.

  Gavin taps me on the shoulder and points to my desk. There's a little white piece of paper folded in half. For me? Besides Stacy, I don't have any other enemies in this class that I know of. So it's safe to open. Immediately I recognize the slanty writing.

  Isn't this lame?

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  I eye Gavin, and he pretends to be asleep.

  I let out a chuckle and quickly cover my mouth. I don't want Ms. Peters to confiscate the note. I write back and slide the paper over to Gavin.

  Stacy should've been Pamela Anderson. Then she could've shown up in a bikini.

  He whispers, "G-string."

  Eww, that's not an image I want to carry around with me. He writes something down on the note again and slides it to me.

  I'm just waiting for her to mess up. Liars like Stacy always get their payback.

  GUARANTEED!!!

  I gulp and reread the sentence. The word liar sticks out like a bloody corpse. Can you define the meaning of liar? Does that include little white lies? Or just big, fat, ugly lies? I don't know what to say, but I better write something. Surely my little radio contest is nothing like the evil lies that Stacy hatches every day. I'm about to write back when I see Ms. Peters looking over in my direction. I fold up the note and force myself to focus on the performance.

  "You want strong?" Arnold says to the class.

  "Yes!" some scream, while others cheer. Then he walks over to Stacy and scoops her into his arms. "Let me go," she cries.

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  He puts her down next to the table. "Sorry, sometimes I get carried away."

  The class erupts into laughter.

  Then Stacy takes a seat at the table where she has set up a small typewriter. This should be interesting.

  "I'm so glad you gentlemen could take a break from exercising to join me." She fans herself with a book.

  "At your service, ma'am." Arnold salutes her.

  "Here, let me help you," Frank says in a deep voice and pushes in her chair
.

  I know this is mean, but I keep on waiting for Stacy to slip and fall on her ass. I should've brought some Crisco oil; that would've done the trick. Unfortunately, she's doing a great job acting like a debutante. The guys keep on bringing her drinks and anything else she asks for. I could use one of those manservants.

  People are really laughing. This sucks. I was hoping that their performance would be so boring that the class would fall asleep.

  Stacy runs her fingers over the typewriter like one of those game-show girls caressing the grand prize. Then she tells Arnold and The Rock to pull up chairs. She's reading to them from her latest novel.

  "I want you boys to hear it first," she coos. "It has some bodybuilding in it."

  They both flex their muscles again and make grunting noises. Everyone laughs. Well, everyone except for me and Gavin. The muscleheads straddle their chairs on either side of Stacy. She pulls

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  out a couple sheets of paper and sets them up in the typewriter. Then she takes a deep breath and reads, "It was a steamy evening on South Beach when Stacy Barnes stepped out of her red Ferrari . ."

  Oh, brother. I look at Gavin, and we both roll our eyes. She's so full of herself, it's not even funny.

  Stacy continues, "She wasn't even out of her car for a second when dozens of men rushed over to make sure it was really her. One held out his hand to help her up the curb, while another handed her a bouquet of roses."

  I think Danielle Steel would quit writing if she heard this story. I take inventory of the class. Everyone seems to be enthralled. Brian is salivating, Amelia is at the edge of her seat, and Carrie keeps on giving Stacy the thumbs-up. Yes, it's true that a couple of guys are using the time to look up Stacy's skirt, but everyone is paying attention, whatever their motivation is.

  Stacy stops reading at the end of the page, tosses it aside, and starts reading the next one. "What's up, hoochie mama? You look hot!" Stacy tears away the sheet. "How did my note get in there? This isn't what I was supposed to read. Frank, Tim, um, ah, I mean, Arnold, Rock . .Where's the other page?" Her face reddens.