“What about Author Day?” I asked Kristy.
“I just wondered how you were doing.”
“I’m nervous.”
“I’m not surprised.”
We laughed.
“But I’m as ready as I can be.”
“Good…. And Pete?”
“He’s ready. And he’ll love tomorrow. He likes being on stage. This project must be a dream come true for him. He’s not going to fool around, though. He wants to impress Megan Rinehart. So do I. So does Logan.” I waited for Kristy to say something, but she didn’t. “And Logan’s prepared,” I went on.
“Is Cokie?” asked Kristy.
“That’s the big mystery. I mean, I know she hasn’t done her part of the project, but nobody has any idea what she’s going to do tomorrow.”
“Not even Logan?”
I shrugged, which was silly since Kristy couldn’t see me. “Maybe he knows by now. Maybe he talked to her tonight,” I replied.
“Mmm. Listen, try not to be too nervous. Get some sleep tonight, okay? You don’t want bags under your eyes when you meet Megan Rinehart.”
“All right, Mom,” I teased.
“ ’Night, Mary Anne.”
“ ’Night, Kristy.”
It was Author Day.
On the stage in the SMS auditorium sat Megan Rinehart, Roger L. Willis, and T. J. Langston. The authors. At the microphone in the center of the stage stood Mr. Kingbridge. He looked out at the audience, which consisted not only of students and teachers, but parents and newspaper reporters as well.
“Will Logan Bruno, Cokie Mason, Mary Anne Spier, and Pete Black please come forward?” he said. “They are the final group to make a presentation today, and will be telling us about Ms. Rinehart and her work.”
Logan, Pete, Cokie, and I were sitting in the first row of seats. We stood and walked up the stairs to the stage. I tripped over the top step, regained my balance, then bumped into Cokie, who was in front of me. After that my dress fell off and everyone, including my father and Megan Rinehart, howled with laughter.
Of course, none of that actually happened. It was just the way I imagined Author Day as I lay in bed at four-thirty that morning. I had awakened a little after four and was unable to go back to sleep.
The night before, Dawn had said to me, “If you want to do well at something that frightens you, then you have to visualize yourself doing well.”
I never understand when Dawn starts talking about things like visualizing or channeling energy. “What?” I said.
“Imagine yourself on Author Day. Picture the program as you’d like to see it happen. That will give you confidence and make things go your way.”
Well, here’s how crazy I was over Author Day. First, I told Dawn I didn’t believe that visualizing would work. Then, at four-thirty in the morning, I lay in bed and visualized the most awful things that could possibly happen. Even in a nightmare I don’t think I would have tripped, lost my dress, and been laughed at by my father. However, once the image was in my head, it was hard to lose. Then I began to wonder if the image would make the awful things happen.
But you don’t believe in visualizing, I told myself.
* * *
By the time I arrived at school on Friday, I was sane again, although tired. And I was a nervous wreck. Both Dad and Sharon had, at the last moment, taken the morning off from work so that they could attend the assembly. Dad was bringing his camera. (I was grateful that we do not own a video camera. Even so, the flashes would be pretty embarrassing.)
However, a teensy part of me was also excited. Three major authors were coming to my school! And, boy, was everyone making a big deal out of the event. Draped across the entrance to SMS was a colorful banner that read: WELCOME TO SMS AUTHOR DAY! The hallways were decorated with dust jackets from the books of Megan Rinehart, Roger L. Willis, and T. J. Langston, posters of the authors, buttons, bookmarks, and more. The kids in the computer classes had made fancy printouts illustrating the book titles. And Mr. Kingbridge was wearing a three-piece suit.
“Break a leg,” Jessi said to me, as my friends and I split up for homeroom on Friday morning.
“Oh, I hope I don’t,” I said, thinking about the silly visualizing.
The program was to begin at ten o’clock and last for two hours. First, Mr. Kingbridge would make some remarks about our author projects. Then the three chosen projects would be presented. Then each of the authors would speak for a few minutes. Then the people in the audience could ask the authors questions. And finally Mr. Kingbridge would present the authors with gifts and thank-you certificates.
Okay. This is what really happened on Author Day.
At ten o’clock, Pete, Logan, I, and a distressed-looking Cokie were gathered backstage by Mr. Lehrer.
Good, I thought. This is a good sign. We’re not sitting in the front row of the auditorium like we were in my vision.
“Your group,” Mr. Lehrer told me, “will be the first to present a project. The microphone will be yours to use. When you have finished, please sit in the empty chairs behind the authors and stay on stage until the program is over. Any questions?”
Yes, I thought. Where’s the nearest bathroom? I’m going to throw up.
But I didn’t, even though the butterflies in my stomach were flapping wildly. I snuck a peek at Logan and caught his eye. He smiled at me. Then I smiled at Pete, who was watching Cokie shred a Kleenex into pieces so small you could barely see them.
And then I heard the microphone click on. Mr. Kingbridge began to speak. Pete, Logan, Cokie, and I jumped a mile. Instinctively, Logan and I reached out and grabbed hands. I must have been in shock about what was coming up because I didn’t even think, I am actually holding Logan’s hand again. I just stood there, listening to Mr. Kingbridge say how honored we were to be able to welcome into our school three such distinguished authors as those sitting on the stage. (Or something like that. In some situations, Mr. Kingbridge becomes a bit wordy. Around royalty he would probably be reduced to speaking nonsense: “Whereas turnarounds our hallowed halls do seek for the greater imperious notions of sanctified nations. Blither, blither, blither.”)
All right. I’ll get to the important things. Mr. Kingbridge made his remarks, then called our group onto the stage. With shaking knees I walked out from behind the curtain. I had never stood on the SMS stage before. I mean, not with the student body, parents, and teachers filling every available seat.
Flashes went off. Parents clapped. A few kids cheered. Kristy let loose with one of her ear-piercing whistles. And Pete began to speak. He reviewed the book he’d read and then commented on Megan Rinehart’s life and how it related to the book. As I said, Pete loves to be onstage. But he was not a ham. His talk was well organized, and Pete knew how to look at the audience while he spoke. He even looked over at Megan Rinehart a couple of times. When he finished, the audience applauded and Ms. Rinehart smiled.
I was next.
Pete nudged me gently toward the microphone. My voice shaking, I read my entire speech. I never once looked up from my paper. But when I finished, the audience applauded loudly for me. I guess they liked what I had to say, even if I didn’t say it very well.
Then it was Logan’s turn. As a speaker, he fell somewhere between Pete and me. Once, I glanced at Mr. Kingbridge while Logan was talking, and saw him nodding his head. The extra time that Logan and I worked together had paid off. I felt relieved … until Cokie stepped up to the mike.
The first thing she did was cast a bewildered, nervous glance at Logan and Pete and me, as if to ask, “How did you do that?” Then she looked down at the single sheet of notebook paper she was holding.
“Well,” began Cokie, “I read this really good book by Megan Rinehart.” Then Cokie gave a description of the contents of the short-story book. The description sounded familiar. After a few minutes, I recognized it as the summary that was written on the jacket flaps of the book. Cokie had copied it word for word.
Logan recognized
it, too. He began to whisper along with Cokie: “… powerful, tautly told tales, peopled with an array of unique characters more often found in …”
I nearly giggled. Then I elbowed Logan. He stopped whispering. But for the next few moments neither he nor Pete nor I could look at one another.
Cokie finished cribbing from the book jacket, thanked Megan Rinehart for being her “very most favorite author in the world,” and sat down next to Pete. She tried to look self-satisfied, but when she saw our faces — and when she heard the mere smattering of applause the audience was able to muster — she blushed, and the smile faded from her mouth.
The program continued.
My part was over and I sighed with relief. I even found the courage to look out at the audience while the next two groups presented their projects. After some searching I found Kristy and Dawn (sitting together), Mallory (surprisingly, not sitting anywhere near Jessi), Dad, and Sharon. And Grace Blume. I smiled at my friends and at Dad and Sharon. But I didn’t let my gaze meet Grace’s. I knew she would make a horrible face at me.
* * *
Twelve o’clock came around much faster than I’d thought it would. Had I really been sitting on a stage in front of hundreds of people for two hours? I felt unreal. But all the projects had been presented, the authors had spoken (Megan Rinehart was fascinating; I think she was the best speaker of all), and the audience members had asked their questions. After awhile the questioning got out of hand. Didn’t anybody listen to anyone else? People asked the same questions over and over. For instance, someone asked Megan Rinehart where she got her story ideas, and then, like, two minutes later, Cokie asked her the same question. (The people onstage, even Mr. Kingbridge, were allowed to ask questions, too.) Anyway, everyone sort of tittered when Cokie repeated the question, but Ms. Rinehart was very patient and just repeated the answer she’d given before. Pete, however, elbowed Cokie and whispered loudly, “She just answered that question, jerk.” Cokie blushed again and I almost felt sorry for her.
When the question-and-answer time was over, Mr. Kingbridge presented each author with an SMS T-shirt and mug, and a thank-you certificate. The program was over. The curtain closed.
Guess what happened then. Megan Rinehart stood up and walked right over to me. “Congratulations,” she said. “That was a wonderful talk.”
I tried to smile, but my mouth muscles just kind of twitched. “I — I’m not much of a speaker,” I stammered. “But I do love your books. I’ve been reading them for several years. I think I’ve read everything you’ve written.”
“What a nice compliment.” Ms. Rinehart smiled at me. Then she spoke to Logan and Pete. She looked around for Cokie, but Cokie had nipped offstage the second the curtain had fallen. Because of that, Cokie missed getting a signed copy of Megan Rinehart’s newest book. She’d brought one for each of us group members.
A signed copy. I would never, ever part with it.
I wished I could talk to Megan Rinehart forever, but she had to leave.
Logan and I walked off the stage together.
“We did it,” said Logan.
“Yeah, it’s over. And it wasn’t so bad. And we got to meet a famous author.”
“Mary Anne?” Logan sounded thoughtful. “Would you like to go out for dinner tomorrow night? I mean, if it’s convenient for you. It’ll be my way of saying thanks for your help.”
I knew Logan and I had a lot more than “thank you” and “you’re welcome” to say to each other. So of course I said I’d love to have dinner with him.
“Great,” replied Logan with relief. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
I never once doubted that Logan would call me that next day. The old Mary Anne might have — the Mary Anne who was rarely able to stand up for herself, to say what she really wanted or really felt; who hadn’t survived working in a group that included Logan and Cokie; who hadn’t given a talk to hundreds of people and heard applause when she finished; who hadn’t met a famous author and been complimented by her. The new Mary Anne — the one who had done all those things, and survived life without Logan — the new Mary Anne was confident that he would phone. And he did.
That’s not to say that my heart didn’t begin to pound when Dawn called to me and told me who was on the phone. My heart raced. I was so happy. I was going to see Logan again, that very night.
“Hi,” he said. “What do you want to do this evening?”
“I thought you wanted to go out to dinner.”
“I do, but only if that’s really okay with you.”
“It’s really okay. Let’s go someplace quiet.”
“How about the new health food restaurant?”
“Logan, I live with Dawn!” I exclaimed.
Logan laughed. “All right. How about the Italian restaurant?”
“Perfect.”
We agreed to meet there at seven o’clock.
“Won’t it be great,” I said to Dawn later, as she helped me choose an outfit to wear to dinner, “when we’re old enough to drive? Then our parents won’t have to chauffeur us everywhere. Just think — Logan will have, say, a red convertible, and he’ll swing by and pick me up when we go out.”
“Or maybe you’ll swing by the Brunos’ house and pick up Logan for dates.”
“Yeah.” I stared dreamily into space. Then I fell out of orbit and returned to Earth. “What am I saying?” I exclaimed. “I’m talking like Logan and I are a couple again.”
“A couple of what?” teased Dawn.
I didn’t smile. “This is serious,” I told my sister. “Logan hasn’t said anything about getting back together. But I’m assuming it’s going to happen.”
“Are you ready to get back together with him?” Dawn asked. “Remember how trapped you felt before. You felt like Logan was running your life.”
“But now I miss him. And anyway, I don’t think I’m going to let Logan or anyone else run my life. I can do that for myself…. What do you think of this outfit?” I held up an oversized blue top and a pair of red tights.
“I think your father won’t let you out of the house in it.”
“Yes, he will. When I bought it, he said, ‘Mary Anne, that’s much too revealing,’ and I said, ‘It’s not nearly as revealing as a bathing suit,’ and he said, ‘That’s true,’ so I got to keep it.”
Dawn laughed. “Good luck tonight,” she said.
“Thanks,” I replied. But I didn’t think I would need it. I would be able to handle things just fine on my own.
* * *
Logan and I arrived at the restaurant at the same time, so we were able to walk inside together. In fact, as soon as we were inside, Logan slipped his arm through mine. Was he just being polite? Or did that mean something more?
I decided not to overanalyze everything.
A waiter showed us to an empty table. When he left, Logan and I slipped off our jackets.
“Great outfit!” exclaimed Logan.
“Thanks,” I replied. And then, before he could say anything, I added, “Dad approved.”
“How did you know I was going to ask?”
“Because I’m Mary Anne and you’re Logan.”
“Right.”
We ordered Cokes and then opened the menus. As soon as the waiter had written everything down and had left carrying the menus, Logan said simply, “We have to talk.”
“I know.”
“Do you want to go first?”
I hesitated. Then I said, “All right,” and drew in a shaky breath. “I miss you.”
“I miss you, too.” Logan reached across the table and took one of my hands. He held it, rubbing it gently as I continued to speak.
“I hardly even remember why we stopped talking to each other.”
“Neither do I.”
“But what about Cokie?”
Logan looked as if I’d just said, “So who’s your pick for the World Series?”
“Huh?” was his answer. “Cokie?”
“Yeah, you remember. The person you
’ve been dating for the last month or so.”
“She doesn’t mean anything to me.”
“Nothing?”
“Well, hardly anything. She’s fun, Mary Anne. But she isn’t you.”
“Is that good or bad?” I dared to ask.
I thought Logan might get exasperated. Instead, he frowned, concentrating. “It’s good,” he said finally. “I mean, I guess it’s good. This hasn’t been an easy month for me, you know. Since I let Cokie talk me into going out with her so much, my grades dropped. I almost messed up on the author project, and — and I hurt Cokie, which I really didn’t mean to do. I don’t like hurting anybody. Besides, Cokie didn’t plan to mess me up. And in the end, she was the one who got messed up.”
I thought about that. It made sense. Cokie flaunted her relationship with Logan. She also truly liked him. She hadn’t set out to make my life miserable. She just had a crush on Logan. That was something I could certainly understand.
“What did Cokie say about Author Day?” I asked Logan.
“I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to her. She must realize that the foul-up was her fault. She also must be pretty mad at me. She’ll just have to get over that, though.”
“Do you think you’ll see her again?”
“Only in school. No more dates. That’s over.”
Our food arrived then, and I decided we should talk about something a little lighter. The food was heavy enough. I didn’t want to add a heavy conversation to it. So I told Logan about the Toilet Monster.
He laughed. Then he said, “And now the monster is gone for good?”
“That’s what Kristy thought,” I replied. “But she was wrong. The next time she sat at the Kormans’, Melody and Bill still had to race into their beds while the toilet was flushing.”
“Maybe you could invent games about the monster,” suggested Logan. “That would make him seem fun instead of scary.”
Mary Anne Misses Logan Page 8
