by Jazz Taylor
“I know you can do it.” Nurse Biles pats my knee, her big eyes soft. “How do you feel now?”
I take a while to answer. My hands are shaking now, and I’m still panting, but at least I can breathe a little. I sneak a glance at Nic, and a piece of me dies—she’s looking at me like I’m a ghost. Or a monster.
Nurse Biles follows my gaze. “Ah, Miss Pearson, time to go! Thank you for helping Avery here.”
Nic protests, but Nurse Biles ushers her out of the room and closes the door. She stands by the door, her hands behind her back.
“Okay, how are you feeling now? It’s just you and me.”
I shrug. The panic is gone, but shame is creeping into my chest. This first started happening last year, when Dad said we were moving. All of a sudden, I couldn’t breathe and I almost passed out. Dad took me to the hospital because we thought I was dying. The doctor told me it was a panic attack, and I should try to not stress out so much. Easy for him to say. Since then, I’ve had fourteen—fifteen, now—panic attacks. I know what to do now, and how to calm down. But I’ve never had one in front of someone who isn’t Dad or Nurse Biles.
I’ve never had one in front of someone I like.
“Avery?”
“I’m okay.” I take a deep breath to prove it. I’m still shaking, but it’s over. I hope.
“Good.” Nurse Biles sits on the cot next to me. “What brought it on?”
I explain the play to her, and how I’m in the lead role now. Nurse Biles nods slowly.
“It sounds like it’ll put a lot of stress on you. Are you sure you can do it?”
I look down at my tennis shoes. I don’t know. This is really bad. Juliet has a ton of lines. And a lot of singing too.
“Just think about it. Don’t do it if it’s going to hurt you. Your health is more important than a play.” Nurse Biles sits at her desk. “Now, Avery, you know I have to call your dad.”
A fresh wave of panic hits me. “Please don’t! I feel better—”
“He made me promise to call him if it happened again.” Nurse Biles seems apologetic. “Sorry, Avery.”
I lean back against the cot, defeated. How is this for not worrying Dad? He’s gonna freak out. I close my eyes and wish I’d never auditioned for the play. I wish I’d never sung out loud at all.
So much for everything working out.
When I see Dad, I almost burst into tears.
His face is panicked, and he’s breathing hard, like he ran all the way here. He doesn’t say anything at first—he just gives me a big hug. I really do start crying then, but just a little, so he won’t see.
Dad breaks our hug after a while and puts his heavy hands on my shoulders. “Are you okay?”
“I’m okay.” I wipe my eyes, trying to hold in my tears. “I promise. You can go back to work, I swear.”
“No. You’re still shaking, Avery.”
“Only a little. I’m okay, I promise.”
Dad glances at Nurse Biles behind us. Then he meets my eyes, his brow creased with worry. “How about a compromise? I took half a day off anyway, so we’ll get lunch, and I’ll bring you back for your last three classes. Deal?”
If he’s already taken off … And I don’t really want to go to math anyway. I nod, and Dad hugs me again. “Okay, let’s go. We’ll be back before you know it.”
Dad stops by the front office and talks with the receptionist. The halls are empty—everyone is in class. Thank God. I wipe my face again nervously. I don’t know if anyone can tell if I’ve been crying.
Dad walks close to me as we leave the school. His car is parked right at the front. “This is the fire lane,” I tell him as he unlocks the doors with the key fob. “You’re gonna get a ticket.”
“Cut me some slack,” Dad says, smiling. He jogs ahead of me and opens the passenger-side door. “Hey, you can sit up front today.”
Uh oh. I must look awful. Dad never lets me sit up front, unless something bad happens. I got to sit up front when my goldfish died, when Andrew’s friends broke my favorite doll, and when Dad first told me we were moving. And now.
I don’t say anything as I climb into the passenger seat. Dad makes sure I’m buckled up, then climbs into the driver’s side.
I wait for Dad to say something, but he doesn’t. He just drives around for a little while, and then down a long road that eventually leads to an old, run-down house that looks haunted. We got lost on that road when we first moved. Everyone laughed and said it’s a rookie mistake—it’s a road to nowhere.
“So,” Dad finally says. “What brought it on?”
I look out the window as we pass some cows. They’re all just standing there, chewing grass. Lying down. Mooing, I guess. I bet cows don’t get nervous about mooing to one another.
“Avery?”
I heave a sigh. “I got a part in the play.”
“Oh yeah? But that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”
“I got the part, Dad. The lead. I have to play Juliet.”
“Avery!” I glance at Dad, and he’s grinning, his smile lighting up his whole face. “Congratulations! I knew you could do it. You have such a lovely voice, and now you get to share it with everyone!”
“Yeah,” I say, gripping my knees with sweaty palms. “Everyone.”
Dad’s smile fades. “You’re pretty nervous, huh?”
Nervous doesn’t begin to cover it, but I nod.
“It’s okay to be nervous. Completely normal, in fact. But you’ll have time to practice beforehand. When’s the play again?”
“Valentine’s Day.”
“Oh yeah, plenty of time. Six weeks. It’ll be great, Avery. You’ll make some friends, and you’ll get to sing—I think this can be really good for you.”
I stare out the window again. I just wanted a small part in the choir. I didn’t want this. How can I play the lead part in a play if I’ve never done it before? How can I sing in front of an auditorium full of people? But Dad looks so happy.
Dad pauses for a moment as he slows to a stop for a red light. “Not excited, huh?”
“It’s not that.” I keep my eyes on the window. “I just wanted a little part, but now I have to play Juliet and I don’t want to because I’ve never had a lead part before and what if I can’t sing in front of everybody?” I have to stop because my chest feels tight. I close my eyes and try to breathe deeply.
“I understand.” I open my eyes, and Dad’s looking at me, his eyes soft. “I know you’re scared, but I also know you’ll do an amazing job. And I’ll take off from work to see you! Six weeks is plenty of notice.”
Tears well up in my eyes, but I wipe them away before he can see. I can’t back out now. It’s too late. If Dad is taking off from work to see me, I have to do this. I have to make sure Dad thinks I’m fine so he doesn’t worry. I can’t make his life harder than it already is.
“It’s okay,” I say, taking a deep breath. I think of Nic’s arms around me this morning in her excitement. I imagine acting with her every day after school. “I can do the play.”
Dad grins at me and pats my arm. “Attagirl. But you can stop at any time, you know.”
I nod, but dread sinks to the bottom of my stomach. I can’t stop now. I have the lead part in Romeo and Juliet. I just have to deal with it.
Dad and I go home, and I nap, and then he takes me to McDonald’s for lunch. I don’t go back to school until fifth period, when the day is almost over. I wish I could have taken the whole day off, but I need to hear what Mrs. Thompson has to say about practice.
I struggle through fifth and sixth period, and then it’s time for theater. I stand outside, palms sweaty, and try to control my breathing. I can do this. Just one more period, and I can go home. One more. Come on, Avery. No fear.
I walk into theater, and a few people turn to look at me. My face gets warm, then hot as I spot Nic staring at me. The heat dies when she quickly looks down at her lap.
This is the worst day of my life. I had a panic attack, and now Nic think
s I’m an even bigger weirdo than before. She can’t even look at me. And now all the other kids in my class are staring at me and in six weeks everyone will be staring at me—
“Miss Williams?” Mrs. Thompson’s voice snaps me out of my spiral. Everyone’s sitting at the foot of the stage. “Come on, sit, so we can get started.”
I wipe my sweaty hands on my jeans and sit at the back. But now Emily and Sarah are watching me, whispering to each other. I wish I could disappear.
“I’m sure everyone saw the cast list. Congratulations to our actors and crew! Especially our newcomer—”
Please don’t say my name, please don’t say my name, please—
“—Avery Williams as Juliet!”
That’s it. I’m running away from home. I’m never coming back here. Andrew’s just gonna have to homeschool me.
Everyone looks back at me. Everyone except Nic, who’s staring at her script like it has the secrets of the universe. I sink lower in my chair, the edges of a panic attack fluttering in my stomach.
“We’ll start practice immediately. We’ll do a quick run-through of the script now. Hurry, don’t just sit there!”
I fumble with my backpack and withdraw the script. I stare forlornly at all my meticulous notes about the backdrops and set design. Useless.
Emily is the narrator. She starts speaking, her voice loud and confident. “… this is not a tale of woe, between Juliet and her Romeo.”
My turn. My mouth is a desert. I take a shaky breath and speak. “Making deliveries for M-Mom and Dad is so annoying—”
“Speak up!” Thomas complains. “I can barely hear you.”
My hands are shaking. I can’t do this. Maybe Dad will let me change schools—
“Avery?” Mrs. Thompson prompts. “It’s okay, keep reading. Don’t worry about volume for now.”
Deep breaths. I restart and somehow muddle my way through the rest of the scene. Thank goodness we don’t have to sing yet.
The bell rings in the middle of act 2. Everyone starts grabbing their backpacks while Mrs. Thompson yells for us to practice at home. I stuff my script into my bag, my legs trembling with relief. I survived today. Just six more weeks.
“I can’t believe she got Juliet.”
I freeze, not looking up from my bag. I can’t tell who’s talking.
“Right?” someone else whispers. “She’s terrible.”
I stay bent over my backpack until everyone is gone, the weight of the words freezing me in place. It’s true. I’m terrible. And if I don’t figure out how to get better, everyone will know it.
“It’s not fair,” I whine to Phantom. Dad’s gonna be late again, extra late because he has to make up for the hours he wasted with me, so I’m hanging out with Phantom. I came straight to her closet as soon as everyone else had left the theater. She’s ignoring me though and wolfing down the cheeseburger I brought her.
“At least one of us is happy,” I grumble as she licks cheese from the McDonald’s wrapper. Wait, can cats even eat cheese? Maybe, since cats drink milk? But I think I read online that milk isn’t good for cats. I frown at her as she starts batting around the wrapper, her tail twitching. I need to learn more about cats.
“Do you think I can be a good Juliet?”
Phantom slaps the wrapper into the closet, then gets bored and starts cleaning her whiskers. Not a promising response.
“I know I’m new at acting. But surely I can do enough to not embarrass myself? In front of the whole school? And Dad?”
Oh man. If Dad really does take off from work to see the play, I can’t let him see me pass out from fear. My stomach clenches, and I can taste the chicken nuggets I had for lunch at the top of my throat.
The next thing I know, Phantom settles her heavy weight on my chest, her eyes half closed, purring. I put a hand on her back, my fingers sinking into her soft fur. Slowly, as I stroke her back, the panic fades and I’m calmer.
“Phantom,” I say, my eyes on the dark ceiling. “Maybe it won’t be so bad after all. I can visit you more now. And I won’t be alone at the house all the time. Maybe it’s a good thing.”
Phantom yawns in response and hops off my chest. She goes to her cat bed and flops down, staring pointedly at me. Time for a nap, I guess.
I say goodbye to Phantom and close her closet door. I check my phone as I descend the steps on the stage. Four thirty. Dad won’t be home yet, and the buses have left already, so I’ll walk home. Not a big deal, but I wish it wasn’t so cold—
I notice something out of the corner of my eye. I look up, frozen, into the surprised face of Harper, who’s sitting at the edge of the stage.
“Oh, whoa, I didn’t know anyone was still here.” Harper’s voice is soft, deeper than I imagined. I’ve never talked to her before. What’s she doing in the theater? Wait, did she hear me talking to Phantom? No, she looks just as surprised as I am. So Phantom’s safe for now—
Harper raises her eyebrows at me, and my palms get sweaty. She wants me to answer her, but my throat closes up, refusing to let a word out. I could say How are you? Or I like your play or Wow, sure is wild how they cast a girl to sing when she can’t even speak normally, huh? No, that last one is really depressing. I fight to keep control of my breathing as Harper’s expression changes into curiosity.
“I’m Harper. Who’re you?”
Her tone is a little abrasive, but her expression is curious, not threatening. I try to say my name, but my throat won’t let me. I swallow the last bit of spit in my mouth, but that doesn’t help.
“So it’s true you don’t talk, huh.” Harper nods to herself, seemingly deep in thought. “I heard you’re playing Juliet. No offense, but you’re not how I imagined her at all.”
A twinge of annoyance interrupts my building panic. This happened a lot at my old school too. Sorry, girls without straight hair and perfect teeth can’t play lead roles. Well, why the heck not? “Is it ’cause I’m Black?”
Harper’s eyes widen, and my hands shoot to my mouth. I said that out loud. I said that out loud!! God, if you’re real, you can take me right now.
“No, no, I didn’t mean that!” Harper’s turning a deep shade of red now. My face is just as hot as hers looks. “I just meant I pictured her as a lot taller and stuff. I didn’t mean, umm, white.”
It’s not like I care, not really. It’s too late—I have the part, and I guess she’ll have to deal with a short Black Juliet. Who can’t talk.
“Well, now I’ve made it really awkward,” Harper says, laughing a little. She fidgets, twisting the tail of her shirt in her hands. I remember her terrified expression when Mrs. Thompson was introducing her and some of the fear fades. She gets nervous sometimes too.
I take a deep breath. I can do this. Just one sentence. I try to remember when I wasn’t anxious, when Phantom was purring on my chest. I hang on to that feeling like a lifeline.
“It’s okay.” I give her a wobbly smile. “I’m Avery. And I can talk, I just—I get nervous sometimes.”
Harper’s face lights up, and some of her blush disappears. “I get nervous too. I almost died when Mrs. Thompson made me stand in front of everyone.”
“I know.” Wait, is that a bad thing to say? Sweat prickles at the edge of my hairline.
Harper laughs, making me jump. “That obvious, huh?” She looks down at her shoes, her smile fading. They’re red Converse, but they’re dirty and old, like the ones I used to wear before we moved here. “It’s hard when everyone’s staring at you. That’s why I write the plays instead of acting them out.”
Yeah, if only I could be in Harper’s position. But I’m not good at English or creative writing, so maybe not. I open my mouth to say something else, but my phone buzzes. I pull it out—a text from Dad.
On my way home! We’ll get that ice cream like I promised.
“I have to go,” I tell Harper. “Dad’ll be mad if I’m not home when he gets back.”
“Oh yeah, it’s kinda late.” Harper hesitates, like she wants
to say something else but changes her mind.
It is kinda late … Why isn’t Harper going home yet? Technically, we’re not supposed to be in the school past four, but no one checks the theater. Wait, how does Harper know that? She’s not in theater—she’s in creative writing. What’s she doing here?
I want to ask, but Harper waves at me, one hand in her pocket. “See you later, Avery. Maybe tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” I say, smiling tentatively. “Maybe tomorrow.”
I stare at my script, willing myself to memorize the lines.
It’s almost bedtime, and I’ve done everything except practice. I did my homework, watched a makeup tutorial, practiced the makeup tutorial on myself (and quickly wiped my face off because Dad would die if he knew I was putting on makeup), played a Pokémon game, and it’s still just nine o’clock. I’ve run out of things to do. I have to practice now.
“Okay, Avery,” I say out loud, flipping to the first song. I have the YouTube link Mrs. Thompson sent us at the ready. “One song. How hard can it be?”
I hold my breath and listen to the song. Mrs. Thompson is singing, surprisingly. I also hear two more voices, but I don’t know who they are. I just focus on Mrs. Thompson’s, because she’s a soprano and that’s what Juliet is too. The lyrics are kind of goofy but not terrible. The harmonies are really nice. I listen four times, my foot tapping to the beat, and on the fifth, I start singing. It’s a little rough but not awful. Also not good enough for anyone else to hear me though.
“Hey!”
I take off my headphones, heart pounding. Andrew’s standing in my doorway, glaring at me.
“What the heck are you singing? Sounds like a dying duck up here.”
“Go away,” I growl. I put my headphones back on. “Get out of my room.”
Andrew doesn’t leave. To my horror, he comes to my desk and looks over my shoulder. “What’s this for? A play?”
Maybe if I just answer his questions, he’ll leave me alone. “Yes. I got a part.”
