by Carrie Jones
Mr. Raines stares at all of us, one at a time. His hawk eyes glint in the darkness of the offstage area. The green lights on the soundboard blink.
And in the audience I can hear Shawn’s voice. “Bell-ie. Bell-ie.”
Em’s voice chants with him and then Tom’s. “Bell-ie. Bell-ie.”
The chant becomes a roar that is my name, but is bigger than my name, really. My cheeks flame red, but my heart, it starts a happy little dance number in my chest … not a Mimi-style slut number, but more like a gigantic puppy doing the hokey pokey.
“Bell-ie. Bell-ie.”
Mimi squints her eyes at me and her pointy, painted red nails squeeze her naked arms so tightly that they make marks. I toss an embarrassed smile at Mr. Raines. He wants none of it and storms out onto the stage.
“There will be no bellies on this stage tonight. There will be no derrières, no shoulders, no arm pits, groins or any other body parts either! Now go home or you will all have detentions!”
He roars off the stage, grabs Anna and Mimi by the arms and flies off to his office. I can’t help it, I double over laughing. It’s like “unhand yourself” or even better. It’s amazing that someone who has no clue can be in charge of a school.
I stand there for a second, watching them. The must of the stage curtains heavies the air. Behind it come the sounds of people in the audience figuring out the rest of their nights. Tom and Em and Shawn are out there, waiting for me and we’ll all do something. Maybe go get pizza. Maybe we’ll drive out to Mount Desert Island and hang out at the beach, look up at the stars.
There’s this part of me that wishes I were more like Mimi. Em would say that I wish I were a little more slutty, but that’s the wrong way of putting it, that’s an anti-woman way of putting it, like having sexual needs equals being a slut.
Of course, saying “I have sexual needs” sounds like some sort of self-help mumbo-jumbo that menopausal woman in an Explore Yourself! (And You’ll Find Love) Group would say.
My Snoopy shoes are old and comfortable and goofy. My shirt is slightly sexy. What am I, though? That’s the big question. And the truth of it is, I’m sure that Mimi would have had sex with Tom by now. She would have worn her Daisy Dukes and smiled and that would be it.
Me?
I’m stuck taking cold showers after every time we kiss, but tomorrow night things will change, I think, if I still want them to.
I grab Gabriel, tell everyone in the greenroom what happened. They all start shrieking and swearing and condemning Mr. Raines for being a dictator. I leave them raging and meet Tom, Em and Shawn in the hallway.
Tom hugs me while Shawn announces to the universe, “Mimi sucks.”
“And she thinks she’s sexy. She is so stupid.” Em is all anger and indignation. Her head wiggles while she talks. “She ruined the entire talent show. And you!”
She jabs her finger at Shawn. “You thought she was sexy!”
He steps back, laughing and shaking his head. “No. I didn’t.”
“You whistled.” She narrows her eyes at him.
“It was funny.”
“You’re telling me it was a mock whistle?”
“Yeah.”
She crosses her arms and stares at him.
Tom kisses me on the top of my head and lets me go. “I’m sorry you didn’t get to sing your new song.”
I shrug just as Shawn grabs me by the shoulders. He spins me around to face him. He’s a real physical guy, Shawn. He handles people like they’re baseball bats and soccer balls and he’s got this energy that just overwhelms you. It’s hard to imagine anyone more alive or happier. Em starts smiling again at him, so she’s probably forgiven him for whistling at Mimi. I know I have.
He beams at me. “You want to sing your song?”
I bite my lip and nod. “Yeah.”
“Then you will,” he says. “This whole thing is just shit. I can’t believe Raines. I’ve got an idea.”
Shawn calls his mom, who is pretty poor, but kind of a hippie and really, really nice. She’s the mom who will always say okay to anyone’s plans. She’s a cashier at Green Whole Planet Foods, the health food co-op. After the call, Shawn, Tom and Em race around the parking lot rounding up people and telling them his idea.
We all drive to his house.
I grab Em before we go in. “You haven’t told him?”
She yanks a sweatshirt out of the car. “It would’ve ruined the talent show.”
“Em … ” My voice is almost scolding.
“I didn’t want to ruin your night.” She yanks her arms through the sleeves. The zipper gets stuck. I pull it out of the fabric for her.
“You want me to tell him?”
She shakes her head.
Shawn yells back from the front door, “You guys coming?”
“He’s so happy,” Em sighs out. Then she sturdies herself up. She takes my hand. “Come on. Stop worrying. It will be fine.”
Shawn’s mom has already started popping popcorn on the stove and in the microwave. She smiles her movie-star smile and moves some of the dirty blonde hair out of her mouth. “You girls help me with the popcorn while the boys move the furniture.”
Shawn and Tom head into the basement and start moving couches and chairs out of the way so that there’s a big space. Em and I set out bowls of popcorn. When we run out, we put the popcorn in canvas grocery bags and in glasses.
Shawn’s mom hugs me and smiles. “This is so fun!”
“We’re taking over your house,” I say and then I imagine a white highchair pushed in the corner, felty baby toys tossed all over the floor.
She shrugs, fingers the rose quartz crystal that hangs from a chain on her neck. “Just the basement. Plus, I get my own private concert. Some day, I’ll get to say the famous Belle Philbrick gave a concert in my basement.”
“I doubt I’ll ever be famous,” I say.
Em groans, peers into the microwave and announces, “Needy, fake self-deprecation alert!”
Shawn’s mom just shakes her head, leans against the kitchen counter. “I know you will. You know you will. Shawn talks about how good you are all the time.”
“Really?”
She nods and this time we both smile.
Em crosses her arms and sputts out a breath. Then she gives up and shoves a handful of popcorn in her mouth. Shawn’s mom notices and rushes over to her and wraps her arms around Em’s rigid shoulders. “He loves you, little pumpkin. Don’t you worry about that a bit. You should hear him talk about your pictures. He is so proud of you.”
“Yeah?” Em asks, chewing.
Shawn’s mom pushes Em’s model hair away from her face so that she can look into Emily’s eyes. “I swear. There’s a lot of talent in this room. Eastbrook’s a lucky town and Shawn’s a lucky boy to have you as a girlfriend and Belle as a friend.”
“I’m the lucky one.” Em’s eyes actually water. She rubs at them with the back of her hand. I’ve never seen her cry over a boy our entire lives. I pour some popcorn into a bag and try not to look.
Shawn’s mom just nods. “We all are.”
It seems like the entire senior class (minus Mimi) and half of all the juniors show up and smoosh into Shawn’s basement, which is unbelievable.
“Did you lie and say you had a keg?” I ask Shawn.
“No. They’re here for you, Belle.” Shawn shakes his head at me.
“No, they aren’t.”
“Yeah. They are.” He eyeballs me and says, “When are you going to stop pretending you aren’t popular?”
“I’m not popular,” I insist. I check out the crowd a little more. “I’m really not. It’s not like I’m a blonde cheerleader or something, or one of those fashionista girls with all the clothes.”
“Nobody in Eastbrook is li
ke that, Belle.” Shawn takes me by the shoulders and turns me in a circle. “That’s media crap. That’s what they pretend real people are like, but that’s not what we are. So suck it up and admit it. You’re popular.”
I shiver, because to me being popular is being shallow, but what if that’s just what I’ve been programmed to think from books and radio and movies? What if that’s not really how it is at all?
“I’m not ‘popular,’” I say again, making finger quotes, but even I can hear the weakness in my voice.
“Then why are all these people here?”
“Maybe because you’re popular. Maybe because they want to just hang out.”
Em comes over and hugs herself into Shawn’s side.
“What’s up?” she asks.
“Belle’s pretending like she’s not popular again.”
Em glares at me. “You are so stupid sometimes, Bellie. I love you, but sometimes you’re stupid.”
I swallow hard, angry.
Tom duct tapes a couple of planks on top of the pool table so it is like a stage and I look to him for help, but he has no idea anything’s going on.
“Hey Belle,” Andrew says, smiling at me.
Anna and Kara give me big hugs and tell me how psyched they are. Crash bounces down the stage and yells, “BELLIE!!!”
“See?” Shawn says.
“She craves attention but her craving embarrasses her,” Em says.
“Will you shut up?” I yell at her and turn away towards the stage. I slip through the crowd and get to Tom’s side. He grins when he sees me and puts his hands on either side of my waist.
I whisper into his ear, “Do you think I’m popular?”
I sound like a fifth grader.
He laughs. “Yes.”
I shake my head.
“You like your stage?” he asks me, waiting for approval, I guess.
“It’s beautiful. You are so good with duct tape.”
He smiles broader and lifts me up. His eyes twinkle. Then he hands me Gabriel. I pull her strap over my shoulder.
Standing on the stage, Gabriel in my hands, I survey the crowd. Dylan gives me a thumbs-up sign. Tom just leans against a wall and smiles. Then it’s her. Mimi. She tromps down the stairs with Brittney. She snarls, I mean, smiles, at me. It’s fake.
I clear my throat, try not to be nervous. “It was really nice of you guys all to come here. I mean, there’s no free beer or anything.”
People laugh. Anna yells, “Aw, darn, I’m leaving.”
Nobody moves except Crash. He’s short and super energetic. He’s jumping up and down trying to see. He gives me the finger, smiling, and starts laughing.
“Um, I hope I … um … don’t disappoint you or anything.” I shiver. I can’t believe they all came, just to hear me. Realizing you might be popular carries a certain amount of responsibility, maybe that’s why I never thought I was, maybe I was just trying not to live up to it, not to deal with another responsibility.
Mimi is still standing on the stairs with her legs wide apart like a country singer on stage. She’s changed into a mini, which you can totally see up. How do I know this? I know this because of the two guys beneath her who have this look dogs get when they see a rump steak. She is getting the attention she craves, yep.
“Um … ”
Maybe Em’s right, I crave attention too but I don’t want the crud that goes with it. I shiver again and tuck some hair behind my ear. God, I am so not focused.
“Just sing, Bellie,” Shawn yells.
Tom winks at me and my hands warm up. Mimi trots down the rest of the stairs and starts pushing her way towards Tom.
I catch Shawn’s mom’s eye. “Okay. I’m going to do a new song. And I’d like to dedicate it to Shawn’s mom, because, well, she really rocks you know … I mean she’s let us take over her house.”
“To MOM!!!!” Shawn yells and he grabs her into a bear hug and lifts her tall, thin body up into the air and swirls her around. She giggles and pumps her fist. Everyone yells, especially Crash. He’s convinced Kara Raymond to let him balance on her shoulders. She cringes even though he’s light.
So when Shawn puts his mom down, I start my song. I do not like Mimi standing right behind Tom practically pressing her boobs into his back. I don’t look at Tom. I decide to look at Em and Shawn and Shawn’s ridiculously in-love, happy face because I want his face to stay that way forever.
Okay, there’s something about song lyrics that always make them look trite and corny when they’re written down. Music inflates them to another level, I think. But I sing,
There’s a girl sitting in a cemetery, clutching her stomach, all alone.
There’s a boy who’s gone. He’s never coming home.
There’s a mother with her head buried in her hands.
There’s a coffin shipped in from foreign lands.
I brave up and catch Tom’s eye. He nods at me, tilts his head, and smiles. His fingers are quiet, not a piece of duct tape anywhere in sight, while mine fly through the chords.
We journey through lost in silence and alone.
We journey through when we feel it’s gone on too long.
Em gives me a thumbs-up sign and smiles. Shawn’s arms wrap around her, like he’s holding her into forever. They sway to the music. And I know it’s corny. I know it’s all corny, but it’s also good you know, right in this second, if I could just stay in this second.
It’s funny because the walls of the basement are reflecting the sound, which means that my notes hit them multiple times; first when I sing them, but then when they bounce off the ceiling and the walls. It’s like there’s true sound and reflected sound and it’s all mixing up, adding layers and vibrations, but still sounding good.
I keep singing.
We journey through when we can’t anymore
We journey through
Past the truth of broken hearts and fallen dreams.
Shawn’s mom flicks on a lighter and sways on the basement stairs. It’s so funny and cheesy that I almost start to laugh, which would be horrible, because it’s the emotional crescendo part.
We journey through.
After I sing a couple of Cliff Eberhardt covers and put Gabriel down, Tom lifts me off our little makeshift stage and twirls me around, just like Shawn did to his mom. The world dizzies in a good, good way. I will not be jealous. I will not be jealous of Mimi. I will not be insecure. I will not be jealous. It’s like I’m chant-chanting this in my head.
“Do you know how proud I am of you?” Tom says. And I slide down his body, pressed up next to him and he kisses me full and long on my lips.
People whoop and Emily yells, “Well that’s a little bit hotter than a Mimi Cote dance.”
Tom laughs and touches my cheek. “You’re blushing.”
“I’m embarrassed.”
People press in around us, telling me how cool it was.
“But happy?” Tom asks.
“Yeah, happy,” I say, looking for Mimi. He keeps me close as everyone starts milling around, shoving popcorn into their mouths, wondering what to do. I catch Dylan’s eye. He’s standing by the couch. Bob’s right at his elbow, as usual, but I’m not worried about Bob. I’m worried about Dylan and the longing look in his eyes. That longing isn’t for me. That longing is for an audience.
“We need a slow song,” I yell. “Dylan, why don’t you sing us a couple slow songs?”
He smiles and all the people who were calling him fag and queer a few months ago cheer him on. Dylan’s their golden boy again. Thank God. Even small towns that pretend to be cities can learn, I think. Or at least most of the people in small towns can learn.
“We need someone who can actually sing is what we need,” Mimi says.
I ignore Mimi.
Her eyes light up. “Really? You’d let me play her?”
“Yeah,” I nod.
Shawn helps Kara up onto the pool table where she and Dylan confer. She smiles when she plays Gabriel, tentative and competent. Dylan’s voice mellows out into the basement and wraps itself around all of us. Tom holds me against him and we dance. It isn’t like we’re in a basement with a concrete floor and exposed pipes in the ceiling. It’s like we’re somewhere else entirely, somewhere with stars and dreams and magic.
Tom touches my face so that I look at him, and whispers, “You’re thinking goofy girl things aren’t you?”
“Yeah.”
His lips move into a smile and then he brings them next to my ear. “I like those goofy girl things about you.”
I lean in. Shiver. I inhale his smell and lean my face against his chest. “You do?”
“Yeah, I do.”
I think I’ve just squashed a mosquito.
When Tom brings me home it’s all I can do to let him drive off in his black truck with all the duct tape everywhere. I know this is all about lust, which research shows is a chemical reaction that eventually wears off … blah, blah, blah. Yeah, I’m up on my Internet science. Still, it’s like this physical ripping when he goes away.
“I don’t want you to go,” I whisper and it’s suddenly so urgent, like if he leaves I’ll never see him again, like he’s going off to war, or college, or something, like he’ll die. Every single atom in my body just leans towards him and wants to mingle with his atoms, or something. “I wish you didn’t always have to go.”
“Me too, Commie,” his voice is husky, almost a whisper, but not quite. It makes me swallow.
We stand on my front steps. I hold my flowers in my hand. Gabriel leans up against the railing. All the lights in all the houses on my street are off. Everybody’s in bed and happy with their dozing dreams. Then there’s us under the front light, leaning into each other like trees that have been blown by too much sea wind, weighed down by too much ice, leaning into each other because that’s the only way we’ll keep standing up.
