by Jazz Taylor
“For now.” Nic’s voice has a defensive edge to it. “But she’ll get better with practice, right?”
“Stop, stop.” Harper surprises me by taking my script. I put my shaking hand back in my lap. “Avery, are you sure you can do this? You look like you’re about to pass out.”
“I have to do this.” My voice is small. I think how many hours Nic has helped me practice, and my stomach clenches. I think about Dad and therapy, and I want to throw up.
“I think you should drop out. You look miserable.”
Nic opens her mouth to protest, but I beat her to it. “I can’t give up. I won’t give up.” There’s too much to lose now.
Harper runs a hand through her hair. “All right. Well, maybe we need to start smaller. Can you sing in a group?”
“Like … karaoke?”
“Not what I meant, but that’ll work. Give me your phone.” I do and Harper taps on an app. She gives my phone back. It’s on YouTube. “Pick a song, and me and Nic’ll sing. You can join in if you want, but you don’t have to.”
I look to Nic, but she shrugs. Worth a try, I guess. “Umm, do you like Beyoncé?”
“Who doesn’t?” Nic says, and Harper nods.
I type in “Countdown,” one of the best Beyoncé songs ever recorded. I hesitate before I hit play. Maybe I should start with one I don’t like so much. I don’t know if I can sing it in front of Harper and Nic.
“You can do it.” Nic gives me a thumbs-up.
I take a deep breath and press play.
From the first trumpet notes, I know I’m not gonna be able to sit here and not sing. Nic’s face lights up—she knows this one. Harper looks a little confused, but that’s okay, it’s not a really popular one.
Nic starts, her voice a rich, deep alto. Harper takes the phone to see the lyrics and mouths the words first, then sings in a slightly off-key mezzo-soprano. I move my shoulders to the beat, just a little. Noodle lifts her head. Nic and Harper are staring at the lyrics on Harper’s phone and not at me. I can feel the trumpet in my bones.
When the second verse starts, I do too.
I close my eyes so I can’t see them, and I sing as loud as I want. I start soft, but by the end of the song, I’m singing as loud as I would at home, when Dad’s at work and Andrew’s out.
When the song ends, I open my eyes. Nic and Harper are beaming at me.
“You did it!” Nic looks like she wants to hug me.
“My eyes were closed the whole time,” I say sheepishly.
“Who cares? You sang in front of us without passing out.” Harper grins at me. “Hundred percent improvement.”
“Let’s do another one! Avery, you pick.”
We do a bunch of songs—“Crazy in Love,” “Déjà Vu,” the first part of “Before I Let Go.” By the end of “Before I Let Go,” we’re all dancing and laughing and my chest is light and I don’t feel panicked at all. I feel happy. Really and truly happy, for the first time since we moved.
We collapse on Nic’s floor, giggling and out of breath. I’m breathing hard, but there’s no panic attached. It’s a miracle.
“Dang, Avery,” Harper says, panting. “You about killed me with those high notes.”
“Your range is unbelievable,” Nic says. She looks at me, her brown eyes sparkling with something I can’t name. “I could listen to you sing all day.”
Well, now my heart’s pounding. I have to look away, but I’m grinning uncontrollably.
“What do you want to do now?” Harper asks. “We know Avery can sing with the Queen, but I don’t think we should do too much too fast.”
“Agreed.” I’m exhausted, and my throat is scratchy because I didn’t warm up before yelling the lyrics to “Countdown” at the top of my lungs.
Nic sits up. She’s got a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “Let’s do sleepover stuff.”
“Like sleep?” Harper grunts.
“Like truth or dare.”
I sit up too, on high alert. Truth or dare never works out the way it does in movies. Someone’s usually crying by the end of it. I would know. Andrew would too, after The Incident.
“Maybe we shouldn’t do any dares,” I say, twisting my shirt in my hands. “We don’t want to make your mom mad at us.”
“Okay, true.” Nic still looks excited. It’s almost like she’s never played before. “Harper, are you okay with only truths?”
“I got nothing to hide,” Harper says.
“Okay, it’s settled! Who’s going first?”
I don’t like this idea. Harper may not have anything to hide, but I certainly do. There’s Phantom, and the therapy thing, and I’d rather jump off a building than admit to Nic I like her. But I guess I could just lie about liking her, but then if I do tell her one day, she’ll be like, “Why’d you lie to me that one time?” and that would be awkward—
“I’ll go first.” Harper sits up and looks at Nic. “Tell us why you were crying earlier.”
Yikes. Harper’s going straight for the neck. We could have warmed up first!
Nic’s grin fades. “I was …” Nic trails off. I can practically see her trying to decide if she’s going to lie or not. Finally, she sighs and slumps her shoulders. “Amberleigh said something really horrible to me today.”
“What’d she say?” I ask. Despite fundamentally disagreeing with the concept of truth or dare, I am curious.
“We were talking about our siblings, and somehow we got on our brother’s girlfriends. And Emily said her brother was dating a guy, and Amberleigh said that was disgusting.”
“What a b—”
“Harper!”
“Sorry, sorry. Go ahead.”
Nic smiles a little. “It was horrible. We got into a big fight because that’s such a terrible thing to say. And Amberleigh just really … It just really made me mad. So now I guess we’re not friends anymore.”
Harper starts talking about how she shouldn’t want to be Amberleigh’s friend anyway because she seems like she’s a jerk, but I’m thinking about Nic. Did she cry over what Amberleigh said, or did she cry because she and Amberleigh aren’t friends anymore? I haven’t told anyone I like girls (except Denny and now Andrew, somehow), and part of the reason is I’m not sure how people will react. I don’t want anyone to hate me. Well, scratch that. I don’t want certain people to hate me. Dad. Harper. Nic. Nic, especially.
But Nic said that what Amberleigh said was awful, so maybe she’s an ally at least. Maybe she doesn’t think I’m disgusting.
“Avery? Hello?” I look back at Harper, who’s waving her hand in my face. “You still with us? It’s your turn.”
“Oh, uh …” I really want to ask Nic if she likes me, but I push that thought out of my mind. I could ask Harper about not going home, but maybe she doesn’t want Nic to know. Or me. She seemed really upset, and she didn’t call anyone to ask if she could stay over. “Okay, Harper—how’d you write the play? It’s really good!”
Harper’s expression turns thoughtful. “I don’t really like plays, to be honest. I like novels. But Mrs. Wren told me about this modernizing Shakespeare contest, and I entered because there was a prize. Five grand.”
“Whoa, really?”
Harper nods. “Really.”
“Did you win?” Nic asks.
“Yep. I’m five K richer.”
“Oh my God. You’re rich!”
Harper laughs, but it’s humorless and short. “No. They said I’m too young to claim it and put it in a bank account until I’m eighteen.”
“That’s still good though, isn’t it?” I say. “You can use it for something cool later on.”
Harper draws a circle in Nic’s carpet. “I needed that money now. Not six years from now.”
Nic and I exchange a worried look. Maybe I should have asked about her not going home after all.
“What would you use it for?” Nic asks.
Harper pauses for a long time. She stares down at her mismatched socks. “I’d run away.”
&nbs
p; I move closer to Harper, close enough to hold her hand if she wants. “You don’t have to run away. You can stay with me anytime.”
“Me too,” Nic says quickly. “And you can talk to us about whatever, whenever.”
Harper looks up. She’s smiling, but her expression is still a little sad. “Thanks, guys. Anyway, I’m done. Your turn, Nic.”
Nic looks at me and I know she’s gonna ask me a question. I try to curb my panic as Nic thinks. I’m sure it won’t be bad. Surely she wouldn’t ask if I liked her? I mean, I haven’t been that obvious, surely—
“Okay, I got it,” Nic says. “Avery, do you remember us talking at the beginning of the year?”
Oh no.
“And you talked to me about theater class?”
Please no.
“Why did you avoid me after that?”
I stare at Nic, my rising panic coming to a halt. “What?”
“You wouldn’t talk to me after that. You even stopped riding the bus.” Nic laughs a little, but it’s tinged with uncertainty. “Did I say something wrong?”
I’m speechless. Early in the year, I completely humiliated myself. I’ve been obsessing over this conversation ever since, and she’s right—I did stop talking to her after that. I remember it in painful detail: We were at the back of the lunch line. She asked me about how I liked theater class. I was stuttering, sweaty, and my hands were twitching. In fact, they were twitching so bad I dumped half of my McDonald’s sweet tea on her and the other half on me. I ran away right after because I just knew Nic would think I was a weirdo. Plus, I’m sure I messed up her pretty yellow dress. I never saw her wear it again after that day.
And now Nic’s saying she’s sad I didn’t talk to her?
“I …” I struggle for words. “I spilled my drink all over you, Nic.”
“You what?” Harper says, leaning closer. “You’re kidding.”
“She’s not kidding,” Nic says, but she’s laughing. “Ruined that horrible dress my mom bought me, so thank you!”
I just stare at her. She was … glad? “But I … Okay, even if you didn’t mind the drink thing, I was a nervous wreck. I thought you’d think I was weird. And you wouldn’t want to talk to me again.”
“What? No way!” Nic’s eyes grow round with shock. “I thought you were nice! And we talked about music and theater, so I thought we’d be good friends.”
“Oh.” That’s all I can think of to say.
“Looks like you both misunderstood,” Harper says. She’s borderline laughing. “Avery, you get in your own way. Don’t worry so much.”
We move on from truth or dare to looking at our classmates’ Instagrams, but Harper’s words stick in my brain and won’t let go. I get in my own way. Nic didn’t think I was weird. She wasn’t even mad about the tea thing, but I didn’t know because I avoided her after that. I can sing in front of people, if it’s Beyoncé and I’m with Harper and Nic.
Maybe I can do this play after all.
I’m lying on Nic’s floor in a tangle of blankets, but I’m wide awake. I’m almost too amped to sleep. Harper is on one side of me, in Nic’s puffy purple sleeping bag, breathing deeply, and Nic is on the other, in another pile of blankets from her bed. She insisted on joining us on the floor. I can’t believe I’m at a sleepover with Nic Pearson. She changed into cute pajama pants with ducks on them and a T-shirt, and a silk hat just like mine. Who knew Nic Pearson had duck pajamas? I look up at the faint stars painted on Nic’s ceiling. Is this true happiness?
“Avery? Are you still awake?” Nic whispers.
I roll over to face her. “Yeah.”
“Are you thinking about the play?”
Really I’m thinking about how it’s good Nic can’t see me in the dark because I’m overwhelmed with how close we are, but the play is there too. “Yeah.”
“Don’t worry, Avery. You’ve got this.” I can just barely make out Nic’s smile in the dark. “You did so great today! We’ll have you singing in front of everyone in no time.”
Yeah, right. Beyoncé in Nic’s room is one thing. Juliet’s songs in front of the whole school and Dad is another thing entirely.
“I see you don’t believe me,” Nic says. “When have I ever steered you wrong?”
Signing me up for this in the first place. But that would be mean to say out loud. “It’s just kinda overwhelming. I wish you were Juliet.”
I expect Nic to laugh, but she gets really quiet. Sweat beads pop out against my hairline. Was that the wrong thing to say?
“Can I tell you a secret?” Nic murmurs. I try to catch her eye in the dark, but I can barely see her.
My heart pounds against my ribs. “Yeah.”
“I wish I was Juliet too.”
I’m stunned by the quiet pain in her voice. She sounds close to tears. This has to hurt—Nic is a better actor than me in every way, but I got the part just because I can sing okay. It’s not fair. Nic’s not even a bad singer! She just can’t hit high notes. “Well, you can have her if you want. We can talk to Mrs. Thompson on Monday.”
“No, no! That’s not it. I’m glad you’re Juliet. Your voice is so pretty.” Nic hesitates, and I know a “but” is coming. “But it just kinda sucks, you know? I’m always number two. Always. I’m the second sibling. I’m Amberleigh’s second-favorite friend. Okay, well, zero favorite now probably, but you get it. And in elementary school, I was even the salutatorian. Like, I’m going crazy here. I’m always in second place. Everyone always remembers number one. Everyone forgets the second place.” Nic takes a shaky breath. “I just thought, for this play, I could maybe be number one. Just one time.”
Pressure builds behind my eyes. If I hadn’t tried out, maybe she would have been Juliet. But she helped me and got punished for it. I reach for her hand this time and hang on tight when I find it.
“You’re not number two to me.”
There’s a long silence, and then Nic bursts into quiet giggles.
“Avery, that was so corny.”
“Sorry,” I say, my face heating up. “But it’s true! You were the first person to be nice to me since we moved. You were my first friend.”
She squeezes my hand gently, and my face heats up more. Suddenly, I remember I’m lying on the floor of Nic’s room, in the dark. Harper is dead asleep. Oh boy.
“Thank you for being my friend,” Nic says, her voice soft. “And thanks for listening to my whining. I’ve never actually told anyone that before.”
I’m burning up under these blankets. She trusts me enough to tell me something deep and personal … I’m overwhelmed. I wait too long to say something back, and Nic lets go of my hand.
“Okay, let’s sleep. We got a lot of practice tomorrow!” Nic rolls over away from me, and her room fills with silence.
It takes me a few minutes to sort through the heated mush that is my brain. “Thank you for telling me.”
She doesn’t answer, so I think she’s already asleep.
“Okay, today we’ll be acting out our parts!” Mrs. Thompson says on Monday, clapping her hands like it’s the most exciting thing in the world. I immediately want to throw up, but fight past it. I can do it. I’m ready.
The sleepover was so much fun; we played games and watched movies until late Saturday, when Dad demanded I come home. Nic declared we should do one every week. Nic’s mom shot that down right away, but I asked Dad if we can have one at my house this Friday, and he agreed. But he said we have to clean the whole house before they get there, so I spent all Sunday unpacking boxes. I finally found my sleeping bag.
I’m worried about Harper. She said she was okay to go home on Sunday, but today she seemed really down. And she didn’t bring lunch again. That’s two weeks, at least. This is more than a we’re-short-this-month thing, I think.
“Miss Williams, come on up.” Mrs. Thompson motions for me to join her and the rest of the cast onstage. Nic gives me a reassuring thumbs-up.
I drag myself up the steps and take my place. Deep breaths. At
first, Mrs. Thompson just wants us to practice exiting and entering the stage. I can do this. Emily is my cue person, and she signals for me to go. I feel a pang of longing. I wish me and Emily could switch places.
Then it’s time to read our parts. The play opens with Romeo (Thomas) and Juliet (sadly, me) meeting in front of an apartment. Juliet is on a delivery for the donut shop and Romeo’s passing by. I know the lines. Romeo’s lines too, since Harper reads for Romeo in the mornings.
“From the top!” Mrs. Thompson calls from the bottom of the stage.
“Who do you work for? Alabaster’s?” Thomas says.
“Yeah. What about you?” My voice is steady and strong, because I’m imagining practicing with Nic and Harper. I know the lines. I can do it.
Thomas looks surprised. “I heard they had crappy donuts.”
“Well, I heard Pona’s Donuts were full of grease!”
I’m doing it. Line after line, I say them all with strength and only a little shakiness. Thomas says his lines perfectly too, getting really into character. I like Romeo a lot better than Thomas, so it’s an improvement.
We go all the way until the first song, when Mrs. Thompson claps for us. “Miss Williams! Mr. Gage! You’ve done so well! Outstanding.”
I’m beaming. Nic grins at me, and I can’t stop feeling like I’m about to float away with happiness. I did it. I can avoid therapy, and Dad will be happy, and Nic might think I’m a little more impressive now, and she might even ask me on a date because she’s so impressed—
“Now,” Mrs. Thompson says, smiling at us, “let’s sing.”
All my happy feelings are gone in an instant.
Mrs. Thompson is saying something, but I’m hot all of a sudden. I did my lines, but I haven’t tried singing in front of them yet. I don’t think I can do it. I look to Nic and she mouths, “Don’t panic.” Easy for her to say.
“Ready?” Mrs. Thompson says, hovering over her laptop. No. No, not yet—
The first note to the first song plays over the speakers. I’m supposed to start, to sing about how Romeo and Juliet don’t have to fight over donuts their parents make, but I can’t make a sound. I know the words. I feel the music. But I look at the rest of the class watching me, listening, and I feel like I’m going to faint.
