I took a deep breath, put my shoulders back, and carried on. She must have heard us approaching, because she turned, clicked off her phone, tossed her thick, raven, Korean, human-hair weave and gave me a huge smile. “Mango! I’ve been looking all over for you. How was rehearsal?”
I tried to speak, but my tongue was acting as if I’d just swallowed a jar of super-chunky peanut butter. Izzy came to my rescue. “Rehearsal was great. Mango is going to be the biggest star this school has ever seen.”
“School? Isabel, she’s way bigger than the school already, thanks to the video I uploaded on YouTube. You do know it was me who put it out there, don’t you?”
I nodded like a dunce.
“You have over four thousand hits as of the last time I checked, which was about twenty minutes ago.” She tossed back her thick locks. They must’ve cost her a fortune. “I hope you didn’t mind my posting it, Mango. You were just so great, I couldn’t help myself. I guess I should have asked you first, but you know me—super impulsive.”
Actually, I didn’t know her. And I didn’t understand why she was talking to me and assuming that I knew anything about her. Unsure of what to say, I flexed my cheek muscles into something resembling a smile and nodded.
“So, anyway, you know my thirteenth birthday gala is next month, and I wanted to invite you.” She reached into her trendy bag that probably cost quadruple my entire school clothing allowance for the year and pulled out a mint-green envelope. “Please excuse the old-fashioned invite, but Mother is so traditional. I mean, you’d think I was getting married for all the trouble and expense she went through.”
Izzy took the envelope and slipped it under my arm. “Oh, come on, H. J., don’t begrudge Mommy a chance to show off.”
Hailey Joanne shot a ballistic glance at Izzy and said, “It’s Hailey Joanne. You may think calling people by their initials is cool, but, believe me, it’s not. I don’t like it. Call me by my name or don’t call me at all.” As her neck swerved toward me, she smiled. “I hope you can make it, Mango. It’s going to be downtown at the Rivoli Hotel, in the grand ballroom. Everybody who’s anybody is going to be there. I’m going to have live entertainment and catered food, and some celebrity friends of my father have promised to drop by.”
Hailey Joanne’s father owned a limousine company and a car dealership, so it was probable that he knew celebrities. Hailey Joanne was dropped off and picked up from school daily by a chauffeur in a luxury SUV with tinted windows.
“Say you’ll come, Mango. You can bring a friend if you want.”
“Yes! She’ll come.” Izzy blurted wrapping her arm around my shoulder.
Hailey Joanne leaned back on her hip and looked Izzy over. “What, she can’t speak for herself?”
“Of course, she can speak,” Izzy replied, “but she’s saving her voice. After a long rehearsal, those golden pipes need a rest. Know what I’m sayin’?”
“Of course. Well …” Hailey Joanne flashed a dazzling smile at Izzy that was all teeth with absolutely no connection to her eyes. “Instead of presents, we’re asking everyone to make a donation to a charity in my name. It doesn’t matter which charity. Whatever you usually donate to is fine.” Her bedazzled phone trilled. She put it to her ear, purred a greeting while fluttering her fingers in our direction, and headed off down the hall.
With the phantom peanut butter finally dissolving in my mouth, I turned on Izzy. “How could you accept her invitation for me?”
“Hey, you weren’t saying anything, and when she said you could bring a guest … well, I sure want to go. Don’t you?”
“No. Not really. I don’t. She’s not my friend. She’s just being a BFBD because of the YouTube thing.”
“So what?” Izzy said, her head swiveling from side to side with mucho savvy-tude. “The least we could do is take advantage. You know what my tía Maria Magdelena said before her tragic car crash? ‘When someone hands you phony baloney, fry it up and chow down!’ ”
I couldn’t help but smile as I turned away and opened my locker. Izzy went on, “Do you know who was at her last birthday party? Gabriel Faust, that’s who! Are you going to miss a chance to rub elbows with a star?”
I bit my lip. Gabriel Faust … Who wouldn’t want to meet a mega-star like him? I had a life-size poster of him on the inside of my closet door, so whenever I opened it, it was like he was there waiting to greet me. I had followed him since I was six—from boy band to TV star to solo singing sensation. I was beginning to lean toward yes, but I wavered. “I don’t have a charity. I mean, really, my father just lost his job.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it. You can donate ten dollars to some cause in her name and they’ll send her a card saying you donated for so-and-so, but they won’t mention how much. She’ll never know. Relax. I got you, girl.”
I took my backpack from my locker and dropped the invitation into the outer pocket. As we walked out of the school my fingernails began to tingle. I wanted to chew on them as I tried to think of a way out of this whole birthday-party thing. Not that I didn’t like birthday parties, but I was used to regular parties for regular people. That’s me; I’m just a regular people. I’d feel awkward hanging out at the Rivoli Hotel with that glitzy crowd, the ones you see pictures of in the newspaper with captions about the dazzling affair they were attending. All the ladies would be in designer gowns and dresses with a mask of makeup. Reporters would ask, “Who are you wearing?” How would I answer that question truthfully? “I’m wearing the fifth-grade graduation dress my mother got on discount.”
Izzy gabbed on about how great the party would be all the way to her house while I secretly decided that I was not going. I’d give her my invitation if she wanted it, but Mango Delight Fuller was not about to make a fool of herself in front of all of those society people. Besides, what if Hailey Joanne and Brooklyn had pretended they were fighting just to set me up? What if they were planning on dropping a bucket of blood on my head, like in that horror movie Carrie? No. There was no way I was going to subject myself to that kind of humiliation. That was one trap this mouse was definitely going to avoid.
CHAPTER 12
Mission Improbable
The invite must’ve fallen on the floor when I was unloading my backpack. I mean, how else could Jasper have gotten hold of it? When Mom brought it to the table where Dada and I were just finishing our dinner, one corner of the mint-green envelope was gummed and covered with slobber.
“Mango, you have to be more careful about things you leave on the floor.” She held out the envelope. “What’s this?”
“Uh … I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? How can you not know when someone went to the trouble of writing your name with beautiful calligraphy? Looks like a professional job … with gold leaf and everything.”
“It’s just a birthday party invitation,” I mumbled.
Mom said, “Who’s having a birthday? The Queen of Sheba?”
Dada’s left eyebrow arched. “I thought everyone sent electronic invitations nowadays.”
Mom shook her head and smirked. “Everybody except people with money to burn and attitude for kindling.” She and Dada laughed.
I was beginning to get irritated and pushed my plate away. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not going.”
Dada looked up from wiping crusty Italian bread into his homemade marinara sauce. “Why not?”
“I’m over birthday parties.”
He raised both eyebrows as he bit into the bread. “Since when?”
“Since now, Dada. Let it go, please.”
Mom eyed me suspiciously before sliding her finger under the flap of the envelope. I reached for it. “What are you doing?”
“I just want to see. Why should it matter if you’re not going?” she said and pulled out the fanciest invitation I’d ever seen.
The card had a thin paper overlay that looked like lace, and on the cover under that was a photo of Hailey Joanne wearing a tiara and her six-hundred-tooth, fifty-wa
tt smile. “My goodness,” Mom said. “This is a fancy affair. In the ballroom at the Rivoli. What a waste of money on a birthday party. Each of these invitations must’ve cost ten dollars.”
“Who is the party for?” Dada asked as he poured a little more iced tea into his glass.
I sighed. “Hailey Joanne.”
“Pinkey?”
“Yes.”
“Wow,” Dada said and took a long swallow of iced tea. “Minelli’s catered the Pinkeys’s anniversary party last year. It was a huge affair; the restaurant made thousands just from that one gig. I created the menu, did the prep, supervised the cooking, hired extra servers, and I wound up getting a really nice tip. Mr. Pinkey said I was impressive.” He finished the last of his iced tea and got up from the table. “I wonder if they’ve hired a caterer for the birthday party yet. Sure would be nice to swoop in and pick up a gig like that.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and left the kitchen.
I nearly jumped out of my sneakers when Mom cried out, “Oh my goodness! Boy! What in the world … ?”
I turned to Jasper, who had turned his bowl of pasta upside down—on his head. Marinara sauce dripped down his face, and pasta hung on his head like long hair. Jasper laughed and clapped his hands. I couldn’t help it; the little round brown clown had me laughing, too. Even Mom chuckled as she took the bowl off his head, lifted him out of his high chair, and held him at arm’s length as she hurried down the hall to the bathroom.
I began clearing the table and smiled to myself as I thought about my crazy family and how much fun we had, especially when we were all together. I knew it wasn’t right, since Dada was out of work and all, but I had to admit I was enjoying having him home more. I mean, he wasn’t as lighthearted as he usually was. He had a lot on his mind. I wished he could get that job catering Hailey Joanne’s party.… I stopped clearing the table.
An idea burst into my brain like a million gazillion fireworks. I could help him get the job. I could ask Hailey Joanne, you know, like just casually bring it up in conversation. Say something like, “Do you already have a caterer for your party? By the way, my father is an excellent caterer.”
“Oh yeah, great, Mango, that’s real casual,” I said to myself out loud.
“What’s real casual?”
I turned, startled to see Dada standing behind me. I swear he moved quieter than a ghost. It took a few seconds of “uh … um … uhhhhh …” before I blurted out, “My lines—I was working on my lines for the play. A line that’s supposed to be said really casual, like … ‘Hey, um, buddy, how are you doing today?’ But I don’t think I’ve figured out a way to say it casual enough yet. Ha-ha.”
Dada just studied me for a few seconds and then said, “Just throw it away. You know, don’t think about it. Like this: Hiyah, rude-bwoy, how it gwan today, bruddah?”
I giggled. “Yeah, well, it’s not Romeo and Juliet in Jamaica, Dada.” I got back to clearing the table. He grabbed the bowl out of my hand.
“Let me do that, honey. You go finish your homework and study your lines.”
I stood on my tiptoes and gave him a peck on the cheek. Dada grabbed his cheek and swooned. “Kissed by a star! I’ll never wash this cheek again!”
I left the kitchen laughing. My dada, Sidney Ricardo Fuller, was the sweetest man in the whole wide world, and I was going to do whatever I could to get him hired to cater for Hailey Joanne’s birthday party.
As soon as that thought crystallized in my mind, a mango pit plopped into my belly. How? How would I convince Hailey Joanne Pinkey to hire Dada to cater her grand affair? Since the YouTube thing, she’d been acting as if we were friends, so maybe I could act like we really were friends and …
No, there was no way I could do it. I wasn’t that good of an actor. The thought of actually having a “casual” conversation with the queen diva herself lured my index finger to my teeth and the nail-gnawing began.
But then again … how could I not do it? Or at least take a stab at it. This would be a big chance for Dada to prove himself and change his life. It could even lead to his dream of having his own restaurant. Someway, somehow, I would have to find the courage to face Hailey Joanne, pretend to be her friend, and agree to go to her party. Maybe then she would be fake-kind enough to give Dada a chance.
I didn’t get a shot at speaking to Hailey Joanne one-on-one either Tuesday or Wednesday. I knew the clock was ticking, and the event was getting closer with each passing day. Finally on Thursday, after a brutal dance rehearsal (natural rhythm must have skipped a generation with me), I bumped into Hailey Joanne in the girls’ locker room. She was changing after GOT, and I was so sweaty that I had to shower and change my clothes, too.
She asked if I was excited about the party. I did my best to pretend to be excited when I said, “Yes, it’s practically the only thing I’ve been thinking about besides the play and school, I guess.”
“I’m so glad you’re coming. Do you know what you’re wearing?”
“Uh, no. My thoughts haven’t gotten that far yet.”
Hailey Joanne actually put her finger on her chin, tilted her head, struck a thinking pose, and said, “Why don’t you come over to my house this afternoon? My stylist pulled some dresses from all the best stores. It’ll be fun—our very own private fitting. We can try everything on and pretend we’re supermodels. It’ll be über crisp.”
“Uh …”
“I won’t take no for an answer. You can use my phone to call your parents. My car is waiting out front at the curb. Hurry now—fashion waits for no girl!” Fingers fluttering, she darted out of the locker room.
I sank down onto the bench. What had I gotten myself into? I knew I could never afford a designer dress. There was no point of going to her house … except that it might give me the chance to bring up the caterer thing and take a chance at helping Dada. I had to suck it up, quit being a wimp, and put myself out there for the family.
The chauffeur, Mr. Versey—a very distinguished older gentleman with jet-black hair and a snow-white mustache—drove us to a part of town I’d only ridden through on the way to the airport. Actually, I’d only ridden by this neighborhood on the freeway, never on the actual streets, which were tree lined. There were no sidewalks. All the houses were about a block apart, behind gates, and surrounded by walls. They were the kind of houses you’d see on real-estate reality shows that took place in Beverly Hills. The trip was about an hour long, which made me wonder why Hailey Joanne would drive so far to go to Trueheart, a public school, when she could have her pick of ultra-private schools closer to her own home. Maybe it would have been harder to be the queen diva at a school with other girls just as rich or richer than she was.
There was a large circular driveway in front of the red brick house. No—it was more than a house. Izzy and Brooklyn lived in houses. This was a mansion. I didn’t know much about cars, but there was a car in the driveway that had doors that opened up like wings along with a couple of limousines and two motorcycles that looked like something Batman would ride.
A butler opened the front door as we approached and said in the suavest voice I’d ever heard, “Miss Pinkey, your mother has requested your presence in the library.”
Hailey Joanne rolled her eyes and sighed. “Oh, all right. Mango, you wait here. I want to be with you when you see my room.”
The butler led Hailey Joanne to the library. Left alone, I was in awe of the size of the … what should I call it? It was definitely more than a hallway.… It was a lobby, like in a hotel. At the far end was a curved double staircase, the kind that looked like arms open to hug you. At the top of the long flight of stairs was a balcony that seemed to float over the lobby.
I turned to look at the huge portraits on the walls around me. There was an imposing painting of a man I recognized as Hailey Joanne’s father, Max Pinkey, from his TV commercials for his limousine service and car dealership. Beside his portrait was a full-length oil painting of a stunning woman in a shimmering gown with a train of ostrich f
eathers. The sparkle in her eyes matched the diamond earrings and necklace she wore. She had a long neck that made me think of elegance and swans. I was so dazzled by the portrait that I had to blink a few times before I could pull myself away.
Across the room was another even larger portrait that made me take a step back. Looming high above me was an intimidating, silver-haired, dark-skinned woman whose lips turned down at the corners, and her eyes stared out as if she was daring me to ask her to smile. I was a bit startled when a silky voice came up behind me.
“That’s my grandmother, Irma Beth Trueheart.” I turned around and faced the glamorous woman from the full-length portrait. “She founded a line of haircare products for black women and became a millionaire before she was twenty-five. She married my grandfather, Doctor August Trueheart”—she pointed to another commanding portrait at the top of the stairs of a distinguished, light-complexioned black man—“and together they led the charge to integrate all the public schools and hospitals in our state.”
Now I understood why Hailey Joanne went to Trueheart Middle School; it was named after her great-grandparents. She was what they called a legacy. Funny—she never bragged about that. If my great-grandparents were famous civil rights activists who had a school named for them, I would be so proud. I’d have let everybody know.
“Thanks for the history lesson, Mother.” Hailey Joanne walked into the room and sighed impatiently. “May we go to my room now? Tessica is waiting with the dresses.”
Mrs. Pinkey’s eyes darted toward her daughter with a sting of irritation, but her lips still smiled. “You may find your way to your room after you’ve reacquainted yourself with your manners. Introduce your friend.”
For the first time in my life, I actually saw Hailey Joanne back down. With her tail between her legs, she moved next to me and very formally said, “Mother, I’d like to present my best friend, Mango Delight Fuller. Mango, this is my mother, Altovese Trueheart-Pinkey.”
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