by Jazz Taylor
“Miss Williams, you missed your cue,” Mrs. Thompson says, pausing the music.
I don’t say anything, because I’m starting to get that shaky feeling before a panic attack.
“Miss Williams?” Mrs. Thompson prompts. I try to talk, but I’m onstage, really onstage, and in three weeks I’ll be doing this for real, singing in front of everyone.
The world is getting those black spots in front of it. Suddenly, Nic appears at my side. She holds my hand, really tight.
“Hang on, Mrs. Thompson, we’ll be right back.” Nic drags me by the hand until we’re backstage, away from everyone else. “Avery, are you having a panic attack?”
I nod, gasping. “I can’t breathe.”
Nic puts her hands on my shoulders, her face inches from mine. “Remember what you did at my house, okay? What can you touch?”
My jeans. My sweaty script. Nic’s hands on my shoulders.
“Better?” Nic asks tentatively.
Not yet. My lungs are still tight, barely letting any air in. I squeeze my eyes closed. When the touch thing doesn’t work, I have to distract myself. I have a math test tomorrow, and I haven’t studied. My lungs get tighter. Oops, wrong thing to think about. Okay, I brought a hairbrush for Phantom today. I’ve gotta comb out her fur. Phantom’s face pops in my mind, and I imagine holding her, singing to her, and slowly I feel a bit better.
When I can take shallow, wheezy breaths, I open my eyes. Nic’s watching me anxiously. “You okay?”
“Y-yeah.” I’m shaking all over. I hold my hands together, trying to steady them.
“Let’s sit down.” Nic sits against the wall—close to Phantom’s closet. I sit in front of the door, so she doesn’t think to open it. Nic sits next to me while I control my breathing, until it’s back to normal. But my heart is still racing and I’m still shaking.
“That was a bad one, huh?” Nic meets my eyes, hers sympathetic.
“Yeah. A real bad one.”
Nic blows out a breath. “It’s okay. We’ll get through this, I promise. You did so well with your lines today, so we just gotta figure out how to get you to sing. Maybe Mrs. Thompson will let us do private practice?”
“Until when?” I can’t keep the misery out of my voice. “I have to sing eventually. In front of everyone—” My voice hitches, and I can feel the tears coming. I turn away so Nic won’t see.
Nic is quiet for a few minutes while I try to stop crying. Then she says, “I’m sorry, Avery.” Her voice is quiet and pained.
“It’s okay. It’s not your fault.” I take a deep breath. Come on, Avery. Get it together. I turn back to Nic and smile. “Can we sit here until class is over, you think?”
“Definitely.” Nic scoots closer to me, and we sit in silence, listening to the class practice the play without us.
After theater, I don’t visit Phantom. Instead, I run home and up the stairs and collapse on my bed so I can finish crying.
I was doing really well. I practiced. I almost have my lines memorized. I even know the songs. But I can’t sing in front of everyone. The play is in three weeks. What am I going to do?
I google “how to cure anxiety” on my phone. Get more exercise, get more sleep, quit smoking. Pretty sure I’m okay on the smoking part, and I do sleep a lot and PE counts as exercise. But I still have panic attacks. I start to feel even worse. Then I see it—counseling. Therapy. That brings more tears to my eyes. I don’t want therapy. I want to be able to handle this on my own. I want to be normal.
A notification pops up over Google. A text from Nic: are you okay?
I turn my phone over and bury my face in my pillow. I don’t want to talk to her right now. There’s a first time for everything, I guess.
I hear Andrew’s shoes tromping upstairs, but I can’t stop myself from sobbing into my pillow. This play is a nightmare I can’t wake up from. I know the music … right? As a test, I sing all four of the play’s songs from memory, softly, my voice broken and shaky from crying. The third song is a little off-key, and I forgot a few of the lyrics on the second one, but I can do it. I can sing. I know the words, the notes, even the little dance at the end. But I can’t do it in front of anyone.
If I can’t figure out how to sing onstage, all my, and Nic’s and Harper’s, hard work is worthless. And it’ll be all my fault.
The next day, after another disastrous theater class—Mrs. Thompson doesn’t even try to get me to sing, I was so awful the day before—I visit Phantom. I’m petting her back and feeling sorry for myself when my phone rings.
It’s Andrew.
I stare at my phone in shock. Andrew has never called me before. Is everything okay? Is Dad hurt?! Phantom looks up at me from my lap, tilting her head to one side. I answer the phone with shaky hands.
“H-hello?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Andrew says. My shoulders immediately relax. “Are you at school still?”
“Yeah … why?”
“I’m gonna pick you up. Be out front in ten minutes.” Before I can say anything, he hangs up.
What’s that about? He’s never picked me up from school before. I don’t get Andrew at all. I look down at Phantom. “Why are brothers so weird?”
Phantom closes her eyes and purrs. She probably doesn’t know either.
I wait eight minutes before putting Phantom back in her bed. I kiss the top of her head. “Bye! Love you. I’ll bring you two sandwiches tomorrow! But you can’t tell Harper.” Harper thinks she’s too fat and needs to go on a diet. I think she’s perfect and should get all the treats she wants.
I close Phantom’s door and leave the theater to go to the front. I look around for Harper, but I don’t see her. She doesn’t hang out with me every day after school. I wonder where she goes. She doesn’t seem to like her house very much.
Andrew’s standing at the front with his hands in his jacket pockets. “You’re late,” he grunts when I get closer.
“I’m not. You said ten minutes.” I adjust the straps on my backpack. “What do you want?”
“Ice cream,” he says. And then he starts walking away.
I hurry to catch up, completely confused. “Ice cream? What? Where? Why?”
“I just wanted some,” he says, not looking at me. “Didn’t want to go by myself.”
I walk behind him for a minute, thinking. Maybe Andrew wants to talk about something? Now that I think about it, Andrew hasn’t hung out with anyone lately. He’s just been moping at home. I catch up with him and walk beside him. “It’s okay, Andrew. I know you don’t have friends here yet. I’m here to listen.”
Andrew looks down at me and makes an ugly face. “Wow, you get two friends and now you think you’re big time.” He rolls his eyes. “And I don’t have anything to talk about.”
“Then why are we getting ice cream?” I press. I don’t even know where we’re going. All the good ice cream places are too far to walk to.
“Geez, Avery, you talk too much. Just be grateful I’m buying.”
I don’t say anything. Andrew really is weird. I bet Dad told him to hang out with me, and he’s just not good at it.
I follow Andrew in silence for a few minutes, but I don’t have to wait long. Two big yellow arches appear in the distance. Well, there’s worse ice cream than McDonald’s.
When we get inside, Andrew tells me to pick a seat. He comes back a few minutes later with two Oreo McFlurries. “When did ice cream get so expensive?” he mutters.
“Thanks.” I take a few bites. It’s unbearably sweet. I want three of them.
“So …” Andrew says, wolfing down his own ice cream. “Do you want to talk about something?”
I knew it. A trap. “No. Did Dad tell you to ask me?”
“Dad didn’t hear you crying your eyes out last night.”
I wince. He heard me. I knew he was home, but I didn’t think he’d hear me … or even care if he did.
“Well?” Andrew says. He’s almost done with his McFlurry.
I draw a circle
in my ice cream with my spoon. I didn’t want to talk to Nic and Harper about it, but Andrew doesn’t know anything about theater. Maybe it’s safe to talk about with him. “I can’t sing onstage.”
“You’ve got some time, don’t you?”
“Yeah, but what if I still can’t do it when the play comes—”
“Don’t worry about that yet,” he says. He tosses his empty cup in the trash can behind him. “You’ve got three weeks. Chill, Avery.”
“I can’t chill,” I snap. “I have anxiety.”
Andrew laughs a little. “Yeah, sorry. But anyway, don’t worry about it until it’s really a problem. Like a week before or whatever.”
I guess he’s right. Theater was kind of terrible today, but I really nailed my lines. So I am getting better. Maybe I’ll be able to do it before the play. “Okay. Thanks, Andrew.”
Andrew nods. “Is that all? Just the play?”
I scratch at the table. I’m not really hungry anymore. “Well … Dad said I might have to go to therapy.”
“I heard,” Andrew says. “What do you think?”
“I don’t want to go.” My words are rushed. “Everyone will think I’m weird and it costs a lot of money and Dad will have to take off from work to take me—”
Andrew holds his hands up. “Okay, okay, slow down. Forget about the logistics. We’ll handle that if it comes. Think about just the therapy itself. Do you think it’ll help your anxiety?”
I struggle for words. I don’t know; I’ve never been. I end up just shrugging.
Andrew sighs. “All right, just think about it. Talk to your new friends when they invade the house on Friday. But I can’t keep buying you ice cream. This junk is expensive.”
I smile into my cup. I don’t know what changed with Andrew, but he’s not such a jerk anymore. It’s almost like before we moved. I dig my spoon into the too-sweet ice cream again.
“Thanks, Andrew. I will.”
“Hurry, Avery,” Dad yells over the vacuum. “They’ll be here any minute!”
I dump the boxes from last night’s dinner in the trash. It’s Friday, and Nic and Harper are coming over soon. Dad’s freaking out more than I am. He keeps muttering, “We live in a pigpen,” and vacuuming the living room. We already unpacked all the boxes, finally, so it doesn’t look too bad. But I guess Dad is nervous to have guests. No one ever came to our tiny apartment.
The doorbell rings. I race to get it before Andrew can answer and embarrass me.
I open the door and reveal both Nic and Harper. Nic has a huge duffel bag and her sleeping bag, but Harper’s just got a Walmart bag. They both grin when they see me.
“Party time!” Nic says, holding up her stuff.
I let them in and take them to the kitchen. “Dad, this is Harper and Nic. Well, you know Nic.”
“Hey, Mr. Williams!” Nic’s beaming. “I love your house. It’s so cool.”
“Hi, Mr. Williams,” Harper says, nodding awkwardly.
Dad smiles at them. “Hi, girls. I’m glad you’re here. Avery doesn’t have many friends, so—”
“We’re going to my room!” I say loudly as Andrew snickers on the couch.
“When you get hungry, come down! We’ll order pizza.”
“Okay, bye, Dad, love you!” I hurry Nic and Harper upstairs before he can accidentally embarrass me again.
Nic and Harper put their stuff down, and I close the door behind us. “Sorry, my dad is too much.”
“He’s really cool,” Nic says.
“He’s really tall,” Harper says. “I thought I was gonna break my neck.”
“And yet, I’m four eleven.”
Nic and Harper laugh, and I can’t help grinning. It’s so much easier to talk to them now than it was before. I don’t know what changed, but I hope this lasts forever.
We practice for the play. When it’s time to sing, I get a little nervous, but I channel the Beyoncé marathon and get through the songs okay. It helps that Harper likes to sing loudly and also the wrong notes, so I’m mostly laugh-singing.
Dad orders us pizza, and we watch a movie. It’s fun, and more than that, I don’t feel nervous at all. Even when Nic leans against me to show me something on her phone or asks me who my favorite artist is besides Beyoncé (Ariana Grande, of course, in more ways than one). By the time it’s bedtime, I’m in a great mood. My room is smaller than Nic’s, so I have to sleep in my bed while Harper and Nic are on the floor.
“Night, Avery!” Nic says cheerfully. Harper’s already rolled over onto her side. She waves at us but doesn’t say anything.
“Good night.” I think about what Andrew said, about asking them about therapy, but I reject the idea. I don’t need to ask them. I don’t want to go. That’s just it. “See you tomorrow.”
I’m drifting off when Harper calls my name.
“Yes?” I whisper back. Nic is asleep—I know because she’s snoring! It’s really cute. She said she thought she was catching a cold, and I guess this proves it.
“Are you sleepy?”
Yes, but something in Harper’s tone makes me pause. “No, what’s up?”
“Can we talk?”
I sit up in bed. “Yeah. Let’s go downstairs so we don’t wake Nic up.”
We tiptoe carefully around Nic and go downstairs to the kitchen. Harper looks tired, like she hasn’t slept in a while. Dark bruises stain the skin under her eyes.
“Do you want some more pizza?” I offer. She always eats like she’s starving. Which is good, because lately I’ve been too anxious to eat. Today’s the first day I had a full meal in a week.
Harper shakes her head. “No. Thanks though.”
I get us two bottles of water from the fridge anyway and sit across from Harper at the table. I wait for her to speak, but she just picks at the table.
“Umm … what’d you want to talk about?”
Harper looks up at me. “Can I ask you something really personal?”
Oh boy. I think fleetingly of Nic snoring upstairs. “Y-yeah. Go for it.”
“What happened to your mom?”
The question sucks all the air out of my lungs. I haven’t thought about her in a long time. Since Mother’s Day last year, maybe.
Harper’s serious expression melts into an anxious one. “Oh God, she’s dead, isn’t she? I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No, umm, it’s okay. She’s not dead.” I try to figure out how I’m gonna tell this story. No one has asked me in a while. “Well, before me, there was just Dad, and Andrew, and her. They fought a lot because I guess she didn’t like being a mom. Then I came. And they fought more. She left me one day at day care and never came back.”
Harper’s face is full of pity, which kinda makes me mad. She asked. “I’m sorry, Avery.”
“It’s okay, really. I can’t remember her. It’s just me and Dad and Andrew. That’s how it’s always been.” I fiddle with my water bottle, the thought of her bringing my mood down. “I think Andrew used to hate me for it though. Like he thought I was the reason she left. I don’t know if he’s right. I can’t remember.”
“You weren’t the reason.” Harper looks into my eyes. “Trust me.”
The “trust me” reminds me that Harper wanted to talk. “Why’d you ask? I don’t mind. I just wondered why now?”
It’s Harper’s turn to mess with her water bottle. “I just wanted to know, because I thought I could ask your advice. But I guess your mom is a little different.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s something I haven’t told you. You can’t tell anyone else.”
“Okay. I promise.” My heart beats faster, but I try to stay calm for Harper.
Harper takes a deep breath. “Sometimes I think my mom doesn’t like me very much.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. She gets really mad at me sometimes over stupid stuff.” Harper seems angry now, clutching her water bottle in a tight fist. “She screamed at me because Mrs. Corri
e told her I got a C on my math test. But that was a really hard test! And I did okay on the other ones.”
It was a hard test. I got a C too. “Maybe she’s really stressed? Andrew gets like that when he’s upset.”
“Maybe …” Harper glances down at her cup. “I don’t know. I just kinda started noticing it.”
“Noticing what?”
“Like, your dad is really cool. And he’s really nice to you. And Nic’s mom and dad are nice to her too. Even if Nic’s mom acts mad that she didn’t ask before we came over, she’s not really mad. Not the kind of mad I’ve seen.”
This sounds bad. Really bad. I remember Harper not wanting to go home. “Umm, can I ask you something personal too?”
Harper nods.
“Are you … okay? With your mom? Like, safe?”
Harper’s eyes fill with tears. “It’s not like she hits me or anything.”
“But?”
“But …” Harper sniffles, and she’s really crying now. “But she treats me like she hates me. She’s always yelling at me or just doesn’t come home. I wish I could just stay with my aunt. I wish they’d just give me my stupid five K so I could get out of here.”
I get up and hug Harper. She clings to me, sobbing on my shoulder, and I hold her as tight as I can because I’m crying now too. This is horrible. Harper doesn’t deserve this.
When we’re just sniffling, I pull away. I put my hands on Harper’s shoulders, like Nic did for me. “It’s okay. We’re gonna figure this out. We have a guest room, so you can stay with me whenever you want.”
Harper wipes her eyes on her pajama shirt. “Thanks, Avery. Sorry I cried. That’s so embarrassing.”
“I cry at least twice a week over the play, so you’re good.” I give her a smile, and she smiles back.
“Thanks for letting me vent. I feel better.”
“What’re friends for?”
Harper laughs and wipes her eyes again. “Best friends at this point, I think.”
We go back to my room and lie down, but I can’t shake the warm feeling Harper’s words gave me. But I also can’t get the image of Harper crying out of my mind. I have to do something. This is way bigger than therapy. I gotta figure out how to help her. I close my eyes, my chest full of happiness and dread.
