I rushed on. “Some of the kids have started making fun of me, you know, because the whole town gives me a party. They’re calling me Little Orphan Annie.” More than once, I’d overheard kids in the hallway or in the cafeteria whispering about me.
Okay, it was only a couple of times. And they were only whispering about how they felt sorry for me or how their parents felt sorry for Daddy. I think, deep down, it might have felt better if they had been really mean and awful to me. At least then I could get angry. When people pity you, how do you fight back from that?
A noise at the edge of the table caught our attention. Mei-Mei was bringing us glasses of water. And Sophie Cohen was right beside her! She was carrying bowls of crunchy wonton strips.
Daddy reached out and grabbed his glass of water, taking a long drink. I looked at Sophie like what are you doing here?? and she made a face and mouthed, “Save me!” I almost laughed out loud.
Daddy was saying, “… foolishness. They must be jealous.” I realized he was talking about my pity party. The laugh died in my throat like a day-old donut. Instead of balloons, maybe I’d bring my keyboard and play the funeral song “Taps.”
He went on:
“Sofine and everybody at the diner love doing this. I told you, Mouse, your mama leaving brought out the mama feelings in a lot of folks.” I shut my eyes, trying to keep myself from screaming and screaming. Why did he seem to care so much more about what everyone else thought than about how I felt?
“You’ll see,” he said, grabbing a fistful of wonton strips. “Your party will be a lot of fun. We’ll have plenty of people there, and you’ll get lots of gifts. A young girl like you needs friends. Needs to be around people. You’ll see.”
Of course, the whole moment was interrupted. Another loud football talker.
“Jeremiah!” the man boomed.
“Hey, man, how you been?” Daddy boomed in return.
Next thing you knew, Daddy was booming along in one of his football talks. The Tigers are this. The Tigers are that. Yes, Junior is doing well. Yes, this is Junior’s last year. Yes, Junior is on track to go to State.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
I looked around the room. If I wrote “save me” in the condensation on the window, I wondered, who would come to my rescue? With my luck, it’d probably be Jones. Honk-honk-honk-honk!
Instead I focused on the large fish tank right beside our booth. Some fish were so colorful, shades of bright orange flecked with inky black, while others were a pale, translucent white, their tails rippling in the water. It made me think about Zara. I wondered if her grandmother was doing better. I sent her a quick text.
Mrs. Chin appeared at our table. She spoke to my father and his loud friend and asked how we were. Then she told us the specials, and we ordered. The loud friend had scooted into the booth next to me.
“You by yourself?” Daddy had asked. “Come on, sit with us!” He wore his big, goofy smile, the one that told the world he was happy and not at all sad that his wife had left him with a son and a mousey little girl.
“Your order will be here soon,” said Mrs. Chin in her clipped Chinese accent, thin lips smiling.
Soon as she was gone, I saw Sophie in the shadowy hallway that led to the bathroom. She was doing a frantic version of the “come-here” gesture. At me!
“Daddy, can I go talk to her?” I said, trying not to point. “She goes to my school.”
He craned his neck around to see, then nodded. “Don’t go far,” he said.
Can’t help himself, I suppose.
His loud football-talking friend grunted as he slid from the booth to let me out. But I couldn’t get away before the man called, “Hey, there, Little Miss Mouse, you gotta give me a hint ’bout your birthday. It’s coming up soon!”
Grrr!
I so wanted to be the Mouse That Roared. But I just did my usual whimper and rushed away.
“Save me!” Sophie whispered, the loudest whisper a whisper could be, soon as I walked over.
She was looking around from side to side. So I did it, too.
“Save you from what?” I whispered back. Already I felt my mood getting lighter. Sophie was funny, and I liked her. Even though most kids at school thought she was shy, she really wasn’t.
She said, “From Mei-Mei and her mom!”
I frowned. “Why are you hiding from Mei-Mei?”
She grabbed my arm and tugged me deeper into the shadows. The bathroom door flew open, and a large woman with a hook nose came rushing out like the toilet was chasing her. She glared at us. Sophie waited till she passed.
“I told you before, my mom is on this trip about me needing to spend more time with Chinese people so I can ‘know my culture.’ It’s so beyond annoying!” When she said “know my culture,” she did the thing with her fingers, making quotes around her words, and made her voice sound annoying.
“But Mei-Mei is nice,” I said, because I didn’t know what else to say. And because I thought it was true.
Sophie rolled her eyes. Now her whisper was gone, and she was talking more regular.
“Mei-Mei is a robot. And her mom is worse. One of those moms who think their children just have to be the best at everything. Some people call them tiger moms. Mei-Mei is a straight-A student, but her mother is pushing her all the time to be better. My mom is Jewish. She believes that even if her kid grows up to be a murderer, you can fix it with hugs and a nice warm meal!”
Her face grew more animated as she talked. The flickering candlelight sparkled in her dark eyes. The dining room was half-full. Conversations mingled together like background music. Every so often, the ting of silverware against china rang out, trilling A notes.
“I guess you’re having a hard time telling your mother how you feel,” I said. Unlike Sophie, I was keeping my voice down.
She looked at me like I had two heads and webbed feet.
“Are you kidding me? I tell her all the time. She just hugs me, offers me more cake, and says one day I’ll thank her! Well, I won’t thank her. Mei-Mei is a big bore. I’m tired of coming over here to be her mother’s slave for a few hours. Tired of taking violin with her and learning proper Chinese with her. I have no plans to live in China. I’m an American!”
She finished her big speech with one hand over her heart like she was about to recite the Pledge of Allegiance.
Sophie looked so official standing there with her back straight and her hand over her heart that we both burst out laughing, holding our stomachs. Gosh, it felt good to laugh.
Until the bathroom door flew open again.
This time it was Mei-Mei who came out.
Both Mei-Mei and Sophie had dark hair, except Sophie’s was long in a ponytail and Mei-Mei’s was short. It wasn’t their hair that caught my attention, however. At that moment, Mei-Mei’s eyes were dark and hard.
And red.
She came over to us, and I wanted to curl up and jump into the fish tank. I should’ve known better. I had never been friends with her, but I didn’t want to make her cry.
Well, she wasn’t crying. She was mad.
She shoved her small hands against her tiny hips, looked up at Sophie, and got right in her face.
“You think I want to be friends with you? You think I don’t know I have a pushy mom?” she hissed.
Then she said something in Chinese. Fast. Hard to hear and impossible to understand. Mei-Mei took a step back, then glared at us.
“I’m so sorry, Mei-Mei. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” I said, wishing I could melt away.
She ignored me, still staring at Sophie. “I hear it all the time. Working here while other kids go out and have good time. Me? With my crazy mom, what do I do? I get straight As, that’s what I do. I play an instrument, that’s what I do. I’m a good Chinese girl because that’s what everyone expects. That’s what I do. If you don’t want to be my friend, then fine with me. I did not ask to spend time with you, you know!”
I had known Mei-Mei since first grade. She had
just said more words in a few seconds than I’d heard her say in four years.
Sophie put her hands on her hips. She said, “Well, sorrrrrrr-eeee! No need to get so touchy!”
Mei-Mei flung out another string of Chinese that neither Sophie nor I understood. Then she said, “You are lucky. You only come here for a few hours a week. You help out. You learn our ways. Then you get to go home and be American Sophie. You think I don’t want to be American Mei-Mei? I wish I could just be American and watch TV and take dance lessons if I want or no lessons if I don’t. But that is not the Chinese way.”
“The American way’s not always so hot, either,” I said in a small voice. Both girls turned to me as if suddenly remembering I was even there. I went on, “I have a big American dad who thinks he has to protect me from everything. Thinks I’m such a mouse that I need the whole town to feel sorry for me. Just because my mother left and is probably never coming back.”
I paused, not sure why I was pouring my heart out in the shadowy back hallway at Chin’s Chinese Restaurant, but unable to stop myself.
“Everyone in town looks at me and sees a sad girl who is too shy to speak. Probably still traumatized because her mother left. And you know what? I’m not quiet because I’m traumatized. I’m quiet because I just am. I like spending time alone and reading books and listening to music when I want. And when I’m ready for friends, I like hanging out with them, too.”
Mei-Mei was nodding her head. “I know you don’t like it when people whisper all the time about your mother and where she is. My mom thinks you’re so sad. She lights a candle for you at church sometimes.”
My mouth dropped open. I hadn’t known Mrs. Chin was praying for me. Since they didn’t go to our church, I hadn’t even thought they belonged to one.
She went on. “I’ve told her, she’s a good girl, Mama. She gets good grades. She’s just quiet. She tells me, nonsense. A girl needs her mama. She doesn’t even know you!” Mei-Mei made a sound in her throat like she was beyond disgusted.
I knew how she felt.
“Now I have to get ready for a birthday party I don’t even want. I call it my pity party. I want to have my birthday dinner here. But do you think my big American dad even cares? No, he’s just planning his big pity party, and I’m the guest of honor!”
Whew! I guess that’s been building!
Mei-Mei’s shy face softened, and she smiled.
“I wondered if you liked those parties,” she said.
I shook my head, feeling like a weight had been lifted off my soul. If Daddy wouldn’t listen, at least I’d finally found someone else, aside from Zara, who would. Two someones.
Out of nowhere, Mrs. Chin appeared.
“Miss Mouse, your father says come back to the table. Your dinner is ready,” she said. Then she slipped her hand inside the pocket of her apron. “Miss Mouse, I want you to have this. Mei-Mei read it; now you can,” she said, handing me a book. The Thing About Luck, by Cynthia Kadohata.
She turned to Mei-Mei and said, “Table fifteen needs water!”
I thanked her for the book, and when I looked back, saw Mei-Mei and Sophie trying not to laugh. Funny thing—I was trying not to laugh, too. Maybe sometimes life was like that: So weird and messed up, you had to laugh.
13
Shake It Off
Excitement pulsed from the rehearsal rooms and into the stairwell. Something about it made me pause with dread. The air was crackling around me. My heart started pounding. Something was going on.
“Mouse!” Faith came running to the stairs, practically yanking me out of my shoes.
“Uh-oh. What’s going on?” I asked. Instantly, all the happy feelings that I’d had in the restaurant began melting away. She was up to something. I could feel it.
She started pulling me toward a quiet corner. Teenagers and not-quite teens were running around from one rehearsal spot to the other. Miss Stravinski was walking briskly past, then glanced our way and stopped.
“Cadence?” she asked.
The hot ant dance started again. Did she know? What if she knew and was about to tell everyone? I looked at Faith. For the first time I could remember, Faith seemed as scared as I felt.
“Yes, ma’am?” I said, my voice nearly a whisper. At least this time I’d been able to answer. My face still burned hot when I thought about how utterly and completely dumb I must have looked that first night at rehearsal.
She smiled. “Miss Betty told me what an amazing pianist and keyboard player you are. I’d love to have your help today, as we have lots to go over. Oh, by the way, do you think you could play ‘One Sweet Day’? I have the music. It’s the song by—”
“Mariah Carey and Boyz II Men,” I said, automatically. “Yes, I know how to play it.” My heart pounded wildly. No more snare drum. Uh-uh. This was a full-on marching-band drum line.
“Yes! Well, Mr. Bassie and I thought it might be nice to have the Youth and Children’s Choirs practice it. We’re not sure, but we believe the little Gospel Girl whose video is blowing up all over the Internet is either in one of the choirs or in the church. Anyway, you girls hurry up. We’re almost ready to get started.”
She raced off, almost sprinting.
Faith grabbed my wrists. “See! That’s what I wanted to tell you. You know my sister Mercy? The one in high school? She said that video is about to blow up because it’s getting so many views.” Oh, my! So many views? I’d been too afraid to check.
“Mouse,” she said, clearly having forgotten all about Luna, “pretty soon everybody’s gonna want to know, who is Gospel Girl?”
She leaned in, whispered against my ear, “When people find out, wouldn’t you rather they thought it was me instead of you?”
All through rehearsal, practicing the very same song I’d recorded, disguised, and uploaded ACCIDENTALLY to the whole Internet, I kept thinking about Faith’s question.
Would I rather they thought it was her?
I mean, it would be the easy way out.
But… no. I didn’t think I would want anyone thinking it was Faith. Somehow it felt wrong to admit it. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.
I just didn’t know what to do.
Miss Stravinski started rehearsal with an announcement.
Drumroll, please.
“Mr. Bassie and I wanted to let you know that two of your members have now been promoted. As of next Sunday, Bethany Joy Shepherd and Abraham Jebediah Jones will participate with the Youth Choir.”
Applause.
“Miss Betty told me it is a proud moment for you young people when you make the successful transition from Children’s to Youth Choir. So, Bethany Joy and Mr. Jones, please come forward and accept your choir robes.”
Onomatopoeias popped into my head.
Robes rustling, folded in plastic sheeting.
Shoes scuffing the tiled floor.
Awe in the faces of the rest of the choir.
Shush-shushing sleeves
as robed Youth Choir members applaud.
Congratulations! Congratulations! Folding around the new members.
They are led by their new choir to their rehearsal space across the hall.
Right then, more than anything, I knew.
I wanted to be over there, too. I wanted Youth Choir robes for me, Zara, and Faith!
Miss Stravinski broke into my thoughts by asking me to join her onstage. She had me sit at the piano bench, and soon we were under way.
It didn’t take long to figure out what she was doing. Sneaky, sneaky, Miss Stravinski. Pretty soon, the rest of the kids figured it out, too. She was trying to put the kids in different groups to tell who might be Gospel Girl.
She asked Faith to sing a verse alone. I almost fell off the piano bench. And you know what Faith did?
“Um, my throat is sort of scratchy tonight,” she said. Then she followed that up with an expression that made her look timid, as though she were afraid of the attention.
Well, honestly!
Choir re
hearsal ended. Faith’s parents came, and Daddy texted to say he was on the way. Miss Stravinski had gone into the Youth Choir rehearsal, and I was alone in the practice room with “One Sweet Day” ringing in my ears.
When I was sure no one was around, I sat in the small space, filling it with music. I drew a deep breath, sat up straight, and relaxed my hands the way Mrs. Reddit had taught me. On a steady exhale, I began to sing. And sing. It felt good, too. Really good. Still…
Something was missing.
I thought about how I’d felt watching Aunt Fannie sing. Then remembered how it felt blending my voice with Zara’s and Faith’s that first time.
Then I knew.
What I was missing was people. Someone to share the music.
When I listened to my Mariah Carey playlist over and over and over, her voice took me on little journeys; it comforted me when I felt down; it saved me from the negative voices in my head; and it filled the silence of a phone that almost never rang with calls from my mother.
When I listened to gospel music, it was the same way. Only, I was starting to see that one of the great things about listening to music at church was the fact that I wasn’t alone. Maybe the reason I loved going to the Lodge so much for Sunday Brunch wasn’t just the kind of music or how good it was.
Maybe it was sharing that music with my friends and family. The good, happy feeling the songs left in my soul all week through.
I’d only ever thought about how the music touched me. Now I was beginning to understand how much more powerful it could be when shared.
Was I really going to help Faith trick the entire church? I continued playing, and singing, letting the conflict and confusion swirling through me come through in the song.
The sound of a door creaking made me stop short.
The Sweetest Sound Page 11
