Mango Delight

by Fracaswell Hyman

  I was feeling something I had never felt before, a feeling I think I could call absolute triumph.

  CHAPTER 8

  What Goes Up …

  Izzy never took one breath on the walk home. She went on and on about how great my audition was and how I would most likely be cast as one of the leading parts in the show. Although my feet were still floating a foot off the ground, I kept shaking my head. I never meant to audition in the first place, I was set up by a dirty trick played by my EFF (Ex-Friend Forever), Brooklyn.

  Besides, maybe it’s true that I could sing, but I was no actor. Never thought about it. Never wanted to be an actor. I really liked running, and my plan since starting GOT was to continue my mom’s legacy from where she left off—trying to qualify for the Olympics. And when my running days were over, I would become a sports reporter—not working freelance for a newspaper like Mom but on TV with ESPN or some other sports network. I figured I could be myself in front of a camera, talking about something I loved. But playing a part? Learning lines? Dancing? There was no way I could do any of those things. And most important of all, I didn’t want to.

  “Are you kidding? Seriously, Mango, you’ve got talent, and that should never go to waste. Don’t tell me you weren’t ecstatic when everybody was cheering, jumping on chairs, and whistling for you. Bob looked like his head was going to explode.”

  “Okay, I admit it,” I said, my face getting all hot again. “It did feel amazing, but—”

  Izzy stuck out her rear end and pointed to it. “Butt is what you sit on; talent is what you bank on.” I laughed as she went on and on. “You’ve got a golden throat, girl. Quit hiding your light! Step up to the plate and swing for the stars.” Izzy got all dramatic and mimed holding a bat over the plate, waiting for the pitch, and hitting a home run without an ounce of self-consciousness. I was über impressed. Gotta love a crazy kid like that.

  I said what I usually said to Mom when I wanted her to drop the subject: “I’ll think about it. I will. I promise.”

  My tactic didn’t work on Izzy, because when we arrived at her house, she took both my hands in hers and squeezed them really tight. “Mango, there ain’t nothing to think about. You may not know it yet, but you need to put a big red circle around today’s date on your calendar, because you’ll want to remember this as the day you found your destiny. Did I ever tell you about my tía, Maria Magdelena? She was a psychic with a gambling addiction who died in a car crash that she predicted right before she drove off to pay her bookie.”

  I shook my head, sure that I would have remembered hearing about her.

  “Anyway, she used to tell me, ‘Isabel, one day you’ll be struck by the lightning bolt of fate and bang! You will know your destiny. Pay attention to that lightning bolt. Follow it to the end of the rainbow, or for the rest of your life, your pockets will be so full of regret that there’ll be no room for money.’ ” Izzy squeezed my hands even tighter. “You get it? You understand what I’m saying?”

  I pried my hands away before she cut off my circulation. “Yes. Yes, I get it.”

  “Good. Don’t forget to take a super-hot steamy shower before bed. Keeps the vocal cords ready to rock. Girl, we are going to have so much fun being in a show together. Just like when we were back in kindergarten.” She turned and headed up her walkway, singing at the top of her lungs, “Haloooooo ooh-ooh!!”

  As I walked the long blocks home, I thought about Izzy’s aunt, Maria Magdelena. If she really was psychic, why did she lose all of her money gambling? And if she predicted her death in the car crash, why did she get in the car? How good could her predictions be if she couldn’t save her money or her life?

  This afternoon had been like a dream. Actually, it had been more like nightmare that took a sharp left on Luck Street and turned out incredible. I decided it was foolish to waste my time worrying about getting a part in the play. Bob knew how inexperienced I was—I didn’t even know a cappella wasn’t a song. Still, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to be in the chorus. That way I could just hang out and sing along with a bunch of kids. And if I had to do a little bit of dancing, I’d make sure they put me in the back, so I could copy the steps of the dancers in front of me and definitely not be the center of attention.

  Another good thing was that I’d have something to do after school for the rest of the semester, and maybe I could make some new friends. True, I would be called a Dramanerd behind my back, but that didn’t really matter. Look at how nice they’d all been this afternoon. I’d rather hang out with nerds that were kind than with jocks that hated on me.

  When I got upstairs to our apartment, Mom was already in the living room, huffing and puffing to her Muscle Torture DVD. I was so anxious to tell my family about what had happened this afternoon. I was like a bottle of soda that had been shaken before it was opened; excitement was fizzing inside of me. But the TV was so loud and Mom was so busy sweating that I decided I’d take Jasper to the playground first and tell her all about it later, after she had toweled off. I went into Mom’s bedroom to see if Jasper was awake in his crib, but he wasn’t there. That was strange. He was always in his crib when Mom was torturing her muscles. Had he been kidnapped? Was Mom so busy sweating off calories that she hadn’t even noticed?

  I ran back into the living room. “Mom, Jasper’s not in his crib!”

  “I know, Mango,” she said as she panted through push-ups. “Your father took him out.”

  “Oh,” I said, thinking that was strange. This wasn’t Dada’s day off. What was he doing at home when he should be at Minelli’s prepping for the dinner service? I shrugged and headed to my room to unload my backpack. If Dada had the day off for some reason, that would be cool, because I could tell him and Mom what had happened at the same time.

  I dropped my backpack on my desk and threw myself onto the bed, crossing my hands behind my head. I stared up at the ceiling and started to sing to the crack that was shaped like Spider-Man, but I couldn’t really hear myself with the exercise DVD booming from the living room. I leapt up from the bed, closed the door, put my fingers in my ears, and started singing “Halo” again, facing out the window.

  I wanted to hear what I had sounded like in the auditorium. With my fingers in my ears, it was as though there was a soundproof chamber in my head, and I could hear myself really well. So well, in fact, that I didn’t hear Dada knocking on my door, so I was startled—and a little embarrassed—when I turned around and saw him watching with Jasper in his arms. Dada was smiling, but I noticed something sad around his almond eyes.

  “How long have you been standing there?”

  “Long enough to see that you’re in a particularly lovey-dovey mood today.” He laughed. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

  “You,” I said and stood on my toes to give him a peck on the cheek.

  Jasper was hooting with his arms outstretched to me. I took him from Dada and planted kisses all over his chubby cheeks. “Come out into the living room. Your mom and I have something to tell you.”

  “I have something to tell you, too,” I said as I followed him out of my room.

  Mom was on the sofa toweling off, and Dada sat next to her. I plopped onto the floor in front of them, crisscross-applesauce, with Jasper on my lap.

  Dada said, “You said you have something to tell us. Do you want to go first?”

  “No,” I said, “You go first. I’m saving the best for last.”

  Mom and Dada traded nervous glances and turned to me.

  Mom cleared her throat and began, “Mango, we want you to know that none of this is your fault, honey. We want that to be clear.”

  A cloud must’ve passed over the sun, because all of a sudden the shafts of light through the blinds that made a pattern on the carpet disappeared. My mood darkened along with the room. You knew you’re about to find out something really bad, maybe even bad enough to be life-changing, when your parents start a conversation like that. They would either say “Take a seat, honey,” or “This is not as bad as it
sounds, but …” Worst of all was the dreaded “This is not your fault.”

  So I braced myself. I held Jasper a little tighter than was comfortable for him and said, “What’s not my fault?”

  Dada put his hand on Mom’s knee, signaling he’d take it from there. “I’ve been let go by the restaurant.”

  “Let go? You mean fired?”

  Dada took a deep breath. “Yes. That’s what I mean. But I don’t want you to worry about—”

  “Why did Mr. Minelli fire you? Was it because of me?”

  Dada and Mom traded swift glances again, and then Mom said, “It’s not your fault that her father can’t separate business from his personal life. I suppose he’s very protective of his child, and so are we.”

  “But Dada worked there way before I became friends with Brooklyn. Why—”

  Dada slid off the couch and sat on the floor facing me. “Mango, honey, this was all my fault. I overheard the seafood delivery guy telling Mr. Minelli about some bully who stole his kid’s bike. Then Minelli started in on how his daughter was the victim of a school bully who was jealous of her cell phone. Now see, I thought all this business was squashed after we’d replaced the phone and all, but … well, I just couldn’t help myself. I asked him if he were referring to my daughter, because you are certainly not a bully. And, well, it all happened so fast. He admitted that he was talking about you, but not talking to me, so I should mind my own business, and I said, ‘My daughter is my business’ and … we exchanged a few more heated words. The next thing you know, he fired me.”

  My bottom lip began to tremble, and I curled it behind my teeth to stop it. Dada reached for my chin. “There’s no need to worry. Everything will be fine. I can go back to catering until I get another job. In the meantime, I’ll keep planning my own restaurant. We’ll be fine.”

  “I’ll go back to work sooner rather than later,” Mom said. “Your father will be at home to look after Jasper for a while. Everything will work out; you’ll see.”

  As much as I tried to stop it, I couldn’t help the tears that dropped from my eyes and landed in Jasper’s little Afro. “This is all my fault. You wouldn’t have had to defend me if I hadn’t been so stupid.”

  Dada took Jasper out of my arms and handed him to Mom. He put his arms around me and held me to his chest. “Mango, please don’t blame yourself. I defended you because Mr. Minelli was wrong. I couldn’t help myself. If anyone’s to blame, it’s me. But I don’t have any regrets. I will defend you to the ends of the earth, no matter what, come what may. You are no bully. You’re a good girl. My sweet boonoonoonoos.”

  Jasper started getting cranky. Mom lifted his bottom to her nose, frowned, and took him away to change his diaper. Dada continued to rock me until my tears subsided. I lifted my head from his chest, and he looked at me with the most gentle smile on his face. “Okay, your turn. What’s your news?”

  I looked at him for a moment, not understanding what he was referring to. Then it came back to me: the audition. But all of the joy and excitement that had been bubbling inside me had gone flat. I said, “Nothing really. Nothing important. May I be excused now? I have a lot of homework to do.”

  Dada asked if I was sure, and I nodded yes. I got up from the floor and went to my room. Before entering, I looked back at Dada. He was still sitting on the floor with his shoulders hunched forward and his head down, and I knew the truth. Things were not as rosy as he and Mom were trying to make me believe. They were trying to protect me by making it seem as though we had nothing to worry about, but I could see that Dada was upset. I knew it was too soon for Mom to go back to work. The way her false leg had been hurting lately, it would be torture for her to keep it on all day.

  I went straight to my bed and buried my face in the pillow. Things would be tough for all of us now. I decided that if I got cast in the play, I would turn it down. Then I would be able to come straight home after school every day and take care of Jasper while Dada looked for work or for investors in his restaurant or did catering jobs—if any of those came along. I wasn’t even going to tell my parents about the audition. That way, if I were cast in Yo, Romeo! they wouldn’t feel bad about my turning it down.

  I felt proud that Dada believed in me enough to stand up to his boss, but I couldn’t help thinking that if I’d never picked that phone up from the trash, none of this would ever have happened. Mom and Dada said they didn’t blame me for all of our troubles, but I sure did.

  CHAPTER 9

  Spilled Beans

  On Dada’s nights off from work, our dinner table was usually a laugh riot. Dada loved making us clutch our bellies with his seriously corny jokes and puns. Unfortunately, tonight the dominant sound around the table was the scraping of forks on plates as we all picked at our food. Even Jasper was not his usual bubbly self; he quietly mashed his peas as he picked them up one at a time and navigated them from the high chair tray to his mouth.

  At about seven o’clock, the sound of the phone ringing cut through the silence. Dada went to answer it. I wondered if he was hoping, as I was, that Mr. Minelli would be on the phone, begging him to come back to work because the dinner rush was too much to handle without him. I listened closely to Dada’s side of the conversation.

  “Hello. Yes, this is the Fuller residence. Yes. This is her father. Uh-huh. Really? No, she didn’t tell us anything about it.” Dada turned to me with a quizzical expression. “Yes. Uh-huh. Yeah, I knew that, we all know, but … Uh-huh. Yes, my wife is here, we’re all here. Okay. Hold on.” Dada put his hand over the phone and said, “It’s your teacher, Mr. Bob. He wants to be put on speaker so he can tell us all something at the same time. That all right with you, Mango?”

  Unable to speak because I was taking a big gulp of iced tea when I heard Bob was on the phone, I nodded. Dada pressed the button for speaker and said, “Okay, you’re on speaker.”

  Bob’s voice burst into the room, loud and enthusiastic. “All right. Fantastic. Hi, Mango.” I waved to the phone as if he could see me. “I was telling your father about your surprising audition this afternoon.”

  Mom’s brow lifted as she looked at me.“Audition? What audition?” Dada shushed her.

  “After a grueling casting session with my co-author, Larry—uh, Mr. Ramsey—we finally have the play cast. We fought tooth and nail over each role … except one. We immediately agreed that your voice is fantastic and you are our star. We want you to play Juliet.”

  Mom’s hands flew to her mouth. Dada smiled, all of his beautiful white teeth with the gap in the middle sparkling at me from across the room. I gasped, and when I tried to speak the only thing that came out was a big, loud burp! Mom looked horrified. Dada turned away to keep from laughing out loud. I was so embarrassed. Had Bob heard that through the phone?

  “Whoa,” came through the speaker. “That was one big, healthy belch.”

  Yep, he heard.

  “So what do you say, Mango? Are you up for being our star?”

  I didn’t know what to say. Mom and Dada stared at me, and even Jasper had stopped smushing his peas. They were all looking at me, waiting for an answer. I was stunned. I was confused. And all of a sudden, I was crying! Was I crying tears of joy at being cast in the leading role? Tears of fear at being offered the leading role in the school play? Tears of regret because I knew I had to turn down the role? Or were they tears of embarrassment? I guess I would have to say all of the above. My feelings were spinning, doing flips, and jerking all around like a crew of break-dancers.

  Bob was still on the line. “Mango?”

  Mom picked the phone up, took it off speaker, and spoke into the receiver. “Yes, she’s okay. Just a little overwhelmed. Thank you so much for offering this opportunity to Mango. Let us talk it over, and Mango will let you know in the morning. Sure. Okay. Thanks for calling, Mr. Bob. Goodbye.”

  Dada sat down at the table as Mom clicked off the phone. Jasper smushed a handful of peas and threw them in my direction. I think they landed in my hair, but I was
too bewildered to do anything about it. Dada leaned over to look in my eyes. “Why didn’t you tell us you auditioned for the school play today?”

  I cleared my throat and sipped my iced tea while my parents stared at me as if I were from Mars and waited for my answer. “I was going to tell you all about it, but after the news about your … your being let go from Minelli’s, it just seemed so unimportant.”

  “Of course it’s important, Mango. This is a great opportunity.” Mom sat across from me and continued, “I always said you had a wonderful voice. I just never knew you wanted to sing or be in shows.”

  “I didn’t. I don’t.”

  “Really?” Dada said, with his head cocked to one side like a puppy’s. “I always suspected you wanted to be onstage, otherwise why all those concerts in the bathroom every morning? Waking me up from a sound sleep, sounding like an angel—my own personal Beyoncé alarm clock.”

  “No, I don’t. I can’t sing in front of people.”

  Dada said, “But you auditioned. You must have wanted to at least try.”

  “I was tricked into auditioning. I think Brooklyn wrote my name on the list as a joke. As a way to embarrass me. But I didn’t want to let her win, so I got up and sang.”

  Mom banged a fist on the table. “That’s my girl! I’m so proud of you, honey.”

  “That’s nice, Mom, but I’m not going to do the show. I’m going to turn it down.”

  “Oh, no you’re not,” she said.

  “Why would you do that?” Dada asked, tilting his head to the other side.

  I took a deep breath and looked at Dada. “Because with you being out of work and Mom going back to work, I can’t stay after school every day when I should be here helping with Jasper. You need me here, so you can have time to get your restaurant started and do your catering and whatever.”

  “Oh, honey, I would never ask you to give up something so wonderful. Trust me, you can be in the play. We’ll be fine.”