And what happens if she finds out I didn’t actually sign up for Farmshine?
My legs turn to jelly as I ring the doorbell.
Sunita, Jasmeer’s mom, answers. “Paisley! So good to see you,” she says, hugging me. “Jasmeer’s in the study.”
Jasmeer is busy making her cards for the Farmer’s Market. I desperately want to tell her that I need to cancel my session with Maxine. But what comes out is, “Those are definitely going to sell like crazy.”
“Thanks,” says Jasmeer, not looking up as she carefully positions a photo onto a blank note card. “Excited about your session?”
“Ooh, what are those?” I point to a plate of cookies cut and iced to look like sunflowers.
“My dad’s test batch for the bake sale,” Jasmeer says. “Help yourself.”
I know better than to eat anything now. “I’ll grab one later,” I say. “They look delish. I love that your dad is contributing!”
“We’re all doing our part,” Jasmeer says. Except me, I think.
Sunita pops her head into the study. “Okay, Paisley,” she says. “Maxine is ready for you now.”
“Mom,” Jasmeer says. “Quit acting like her personal assistant.”
Sunita waves her hand at Jasmeer. “Oh, stop it, you. I’m just trying to be helpful.” She grabs the plate of cookies and motions for me to follow her.
Jasmeer rolls her eyes. “She is totally starstruck. Have fun! I can’t wait to hear all about it.”
I follow Sunita to the B&B part of the house. “I knew there was a good reason I put that piano in the guest lounge!” she says. “Luckily, we don’t have any other guests checking in today, so you shouldn’t be disturbed.”
Maxine is at the piano, playing Denzi’s “Somewhere the Music Shines Bright.” The song I had hoped to sing at Farmshine. Does she remember me telling her it’s my favorite song?
“Paisley’s here, Maxine,” Sunita says, placing the cookies on a table between a big comfy chair and the sofa.
Maxine stops playing and stands to greet me. She’s tall and hip, in jeans and a black turtleneck, her hair in a topknot. “Hello, Paisley,” she says, her voice rich and resonant, with just a hint of a French accent. “Nice to see you again.”
“Thank you, Ms. Gaston.” She’s not pretty, like Denzi. She’s what people call “interesting looking,” with strong features. Kind of like me.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Sunita says. “But I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.”
So this is it. I need to apologize to Maxine for wasting her time. Get out of here before I throw up. “Ms. Gaston, I really appreciate this, but—”
“Please, call me Maxine. And stop fretting. I’m not going to ask you to sing today.”
“You’re not?”
“No. Today I want to hear more about you and how I can help.”
Whew! The relief is so huge, I almost faint. “Oh! Okay, I guess.”
“Let’s sit.” Maxine settles into the chair.
I pour myself a glass of water from the pitcher next to the plate of cookies. Then I sit on the sofa and take a sip. It helps, so I take another.
“Always good to stay hydrated,” Maxine says, reaching for a cookie. “Mmm, so good. Craig is an amazing baker. And Sunita, well, she makes living here a real pleasure. Honestly, I don’t know how I’m going to leave when my home renovations are done.”
“Yeah, Riverside House is awesome.”
Maxine finishes her cookie. “Now, tell me about your singing. Ever had any lessons?”
I shake my head. “I thought about it once, but then, well, it just didn’t happen.” That awful audition. So humiliating.
Maxine shrugs. “It doesn’t necessarily matter. Lots of popular singers are self-taught and don’t even read music. Anyway, Jasmeer tells me you’re going to sing at Farmshine?”
“Well, I want to. But I have this problem with stage fright.”
Plus, I’m a total fraud for not signing up.
Maxine reaches for another cookie. “Okay, let’s talk about that. First, I want you to name it. Call it what it is—performance anxiety. Second, I want you to know that performance anxiety is common and manageable. You can learn to accept it as a challenge, rather than a threat, and channel it into performance energy.”
Wow. She makes it sound like there is hope after all. “But what if I can’t?”
“If you want to succeed in show business, you will.”
Her stern tone indicates she won’t tolerate me wimping out and feeling sorry for myself. “Okay,” I say. “But do you really think I can do this?”
“Of course. That’s why I agreed to coach you. Trust me—I’ve been there and know how hard it can be.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes. Performance anxiety can happen to the most experienced performers. Suddenly, out of the blue, you panic. Your mouth goes dry, your heart starts racing, and you think you’re going to die.”
Maxine pours herself some water and takes a long drink. “I’m going to tell you something you may find hard to believe. I actually found it hard to go from film, where you can always do a retake, back to live theater, where you can’t,” she says. “Things got so bad for me at one point that I almost quit.”
“Really? So what did you do?”
“I had to face my fear and admit I had a problem. And then I went back to basics.”
“And those would be?”
“It all starts with proper breathing.”
“You mean, like, just take a deep breath?”
“As long as you’re doing it properly. Have you ever heard of something called diaphragmatic breathing? It’s also called belly breathing or deep breathing.”
“Um, maybe? But not exactly, no.”
“Shallow breathing won’t help you relax, and it doesn’t help you sing well. But deep breathing will calm you and give you a supported sound.” Maxine stands and places one hand on her stomach. “Like this. First exhale with a big sigh to get rid of all your air. Then, when you breathe in, take air into your belly.”
“Shouldn’t the air go into my lungs?”
“It will, but focus on expanding the belly instead. Let it fill like a balloon. Breathe through your nose, not your mouth.” She demonstrates. “In for a count of ten…then out for ten.” She smiles and says, “Okay, now you try. Stand up.”
I feel silly at first. But once I get going, I start to relax.
“You’re getting it,” Maxine says. “I want you to practice at home every day and come back next week.”
“That’s it? Just practice breathing?”
“Do five sets in a row, several times a day, and work your way up to ten.” Maxine slides onto the piano bench and starts playing softly again.
I guess the lesson is over. “Thanks so, so much!” I say, heading out the door.
“You’re welcome,” she calls after me. “And don’t worry. You’ll be fine.”
I happy-dance down the hall to the study. “Oh my god, that was fantastic!” I tell Jasmeer. “Maxine is sooooo awesome!”
“Yeah, I know,” Jasmeer says. “But my mom being celebrity obsessed is quite enough.”
“No worries. It’s not like she’s Denzi. But somehow Maxine made me feel like I can do anything!”
Like signing up to sing at Farmshine.
Four
At the next planning meeting, Vanessa announces that the Sweetland Singers will not be performing at the fundraiser. Everyone groans in disappointment.
Well, everyone but me. I think that’s great! Now I have no excuse not to sign up.
Cadence, who is sitting behind Jasmeer and me, strides to the front of the room. “Ms. Winton, our director, asked me to offer our sincere apologies,” she says. “We really want to be there, but unfortunately, we were already booked for that night.” She pauses for dramatic effect. Then she gazes out at Heath with a lovey-girlfriend look and says, “But we are going to make a big donation to the Save Sunflower Farm fund instead.”<
br />
Of course she makes it sound like she is personally donating the money.
“Thank you, Cade,” Vanessa says, then continues. “I do have some good news about our lineup. As you know, we are still in need of a big name to close the show. And guess what?” She does a little twirly dance. “I’ve just heard back from Maxine Gaston. Our MC has agreed to sing for us!”
Everyone cheers. When the room settles down, Cadence, desperate for attention as usual, says, “You’re all going to love Maxine! I took her class in musical theater for teens last summer, and she is totally amazing!” Then it hits her. “I can’t believe I won’t be at Farmshine to see her. But the Sweetland Singers come first, of course.”
I’m sure Cadence wants to keep talking, but Vanessa isn’t finished yet. “We now have a fabulous promotional poster, designed by the talented Jasmeer Sharma-Smith,” she says. “And our Facebook events page is up and running too. We’ll be posting new stuff every day, so be sure to check there for updates. And pick up some posters on your way out. We want to see them all over town.”
I pull up the page on my tablet. “Cool,” I say to Jasmeer. “I love the sunflower logo. You did a great job.”
“Thanks! And you’re going to do a great job singing.”
“And you know this because?”
“Because you’re working on your stage fright.”
My stomach clenches. “Performance anxiety. Anyway, working on it doesn’t mean I’ll actually get over it.” And I still haven’t signed up.
Too late, I realize Cadence has come back to her seat right behind us. Uh-oh. Was she listening in? I really hope not.
“Okay, so let’s hear from the committees,” Vanessa says. The kids in charge of the program, publicity, donations, decorations, tickets, intermission sales and after-party for the cast and crew all give their reports. Before closing the meeting, Vanessa makes one last call for performers.
This is it. I have to sign up. I find the kid with the clipboard and add my name to the talent sheet. When I turn to leave, Cadence is blocking my way.
She smirks and says, “That’s brave of you.”
“What do you mean?” I try to step around her.
Cadence moves in front of me again. “I mean, with your stage fright, you’re really taking a chance, aren’t you?” It’s not exactly a question.
Great. She did hear. “Well, Maxine says I’ll be fine.”
“Maxine?”
“Yeah, you know, our MC. I’m getting personal coaching from her.”
“Maxine Gaston is coaching you?” Cadence looks stunned. “Really?”
“Really.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Well, I had an hour-long session with her on Saturday, and I’m going back next week.”
“But,” Cadence says, “I don’t understand. I begged her to take me after that summer thing. She said she never does private coaching.”
I shrug. “Well, she agreed to coach me.” Even though I didn’t have the nerve to sign up for her summer thing.
“I don’t believe you. If she was going to take anybody, it would be me. I excelled in her class.”
“Well…” I smirk at her like she did at me. “Guess she made an exception.”
Cadence shakes her head. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“Okay then. Where do you have these sessions?”
“Sorry, can’t tell you.” No one is supposed to know that Maxine is staying at Riverside House. They don’t want fans stalking her or whatever. The fact that me keeping it secret drives Cadence nuts is just a bonus.
“Riiiiiiight,” says Cadence. “You can’t tell me because you made the whole thing up. You can’t even sing.”
Whatever. I turn to walk away from her but she’s got more to say. “I know you auditioned for the Sweetland Singers when you moved here,” she says.
Oh my god! How much does she know?
“I auditioned that day too,” she says. “You went up right before me. But you didn’t get in. I could tell by the fake smile on your face.”
“Actually, she did offer me a place, but I changed my mind.” Now I was lying. I couldn’t help it.
Cadence gasps. “Totally not true! Nobody turns down a place in the Sweetland Singers.”
“Well, I did. I’m more of a solo performer.” What am I doing? Can I dig myself in any deeper? But she’s making me so mad. “And yeah, I can sing, all right. I’ve done lots of singing.”
Cadence bursts out laughing. “I hope you don’t mean with the Stonehill Elementary School Choir?”
Great. I tried to join the school choir to make my mom happy after the Sweetland disaster. You didn’t have to audition; you just had to love to sing. I’d forgotten Cadence was in that choir too, so she knows how that worked out. “No, of course not. I sing all the time by myself.” Could I sound any more pathetic?
“Okaaay,” Cadence says. “But all the other performers have a lot of experience. Some of them are even semiprofessional. So you might want to reconsider.”
I hate her so much. She’s in the Sweetland Singers, she’s going with the guy I like, and she’s my main competition for our school musical next term. Not that a ninth-grader could ever land a lead role, but you never know.
“Thanks for the advice, but I’ll definitely be singing at Farmshine.”
“Well then.” Cadence does her hair flip thing. “I can’t wait to hear how you do!”
Five
Gah! What have I done? I signed up even though I’m scared to sing in public. Even though I failed my first and only audition. Even though I’ve never taken any singing lessons.
Yeah, I have a famous coach to help me. But I landed her by sheer luck. And she’s never even heard me sing.
Why’d I go and brag to Cadence? Now she’ll tell everybody I claim to be working with Maxine Gaston. And they’ll all expect me to be terrific. And just because the Sweetland Singers won’t be there doesn’t mean I’ll be able to manage onstage.
And then there’s my mother. She might be happy I want to sing, but she’ll disapprove of my choosing a Denzi song. What have I let myself in for? It’s twenty-five days until Farmshine, and I’m going to spend every one of them worrying.
I’m surprised to see my mother’s car in the driveway when I get home. Just what I need. No chance of grabbing some cold pizza and avoiding her. She’s already making dinner. “Hey, you’re early,” I say. “What’s up?”
“A student canceled a lesson.” She stirs a pot of tomato sauce. “And you’re late. Where were you?”
“Planning meeting. Remember I told you about that fundraiser for Sunflower Farm?” I take a poster from my backpack and unroll it to show her. I plan to keep it forever as a souvenir of my debut. It will probably become a collector’s item.
“Ah, of course.” She tastes the sauce and adds a shake of sea salt. “I hope they make a lot of money.”
“Yeah, me too. Isn’t the poster great? Jasmeer designed it. And she took this photo!”
“Impressive! That girl’s got talent.” My mother turns down the heat to let the sauce simmer. “And what are you going to do?”
I can’t look at her. “I’ll probably be backstage or something.” Not a complete lie. “Are you planning to go?”
She glances at the poster again. “Oh, sorry, I can’t. I have a student recital that night. I mean, if would be different if you were in the program.”
“Yeah.” Technically, I’m not in the program. They haven’t been printed yet.
“I’ll make a donation though.” She puts water on to boil for the pasta. “Can you set the table?”
“Sure.” Maybe I’ll never have to tell her. My dad plays hockey on Friday nights, so he probably won’t want to go either. And if neither of them are there, maybe she’ll never know.
After dinner I click on the Farmshine Facebook page again. Jasmeer’s photos of the limestone farmhouse, sunflower fields and vegetable stand really show what a spec
ial place Sunflower Farm is.
The latest post is an updated list of performers. I scan the names and see mine at the very bottom. There are already a hundred likes and even some comments, mostly about what a great show it’s going to be.
And then there’s this one. Yay! Paisley McFarland is such a good singer!
Whoa! Somebody likes my singing? I like it right away, without checking who made the comment.
But then I realize in horror that it was posted by @CadenceWang. The profile picture is a selfie of Cadence and Heath.
Why would Cadence say something like that? It would make sense if she’d dissed me. But being supportive? What’s going on?
Then my phone buzzes with a text. Joke! U sing like a stuck pig.
Cadence must have been waiting until she knew I’d seen her comment. But how did she even get my number?
I can’t stop myself from replying Do not!
Cadence: Right, forgot. U r scared to sing at all!
Me: Shut up!
Cadence: Stage fright!
Me: No problem thanx to Maxine G!
Cadence: She cant help u! Because stage fright!!!
Me: She picked me not u. Jealous much?
Cadence: No! U r jealous of me & Heath.
How does she know I have a crush on her boyfriend? I’ve never told anybody, not even Jasmeer. But it’s probably obvious to Cadence. Girls like her know these things.
There’s no way to reply. She’s right. I am jealous. I turn off my phone and go to bed.
But I can’t sleep. What if my mother checks the Facebook page? She might have noticed the link on the poster. Not that she uses Facebook much. She likes social media about as much as she likes Denzi.
Still, if she’s going to find out, it should be from me. On the other hand, why tell her until I’m sure I’m over my stage fright? No use getting into a fight over nothing.
The next day I wait for Jasmeer at her locker. As soon as she gets there I show her the comment and texts from Cadence.
“You gave her your number?” Jasmeer asks. “Why would you do that?”
“I didn’t. She must have copied it from my contact info on the sign-up sheet.”
Raw Talent Page 2
