Diva (20 page)

"Thanks." I smile.

"I was thinking about that summer program," Rowena continues. "I'm so sorry you're not going."

"Me too." I reach down to fiddle with the strap of my character shoe.

"I was thinking that maybe if
I
had a word with your mother, it could help her understand what a great opportunity this is. Maybe you could get a part-time job in New York."

"Oh, I don't think so." I unbuckle my shoe entirely, to keep from having to look at Rowena. From the

monitor in the dressing room, I hear Gigi's song start. Only two more numbers left until I'm onstage. Can I

make this strap last two more songs? "My mom's not even coming to the show."

"Not coming? Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. She doesn't want to come. She hates my being in performing arts." It's not a total lie. Mom isn't coming. She could have asked when the show is, but she's too worried about her own stuff to bother.

Tomorrow's the night she goes out on her big date with Arnold—possibly making him my stepfather-to-

be.

I need to change the subject. "Is this what it was like, being an opera singer? Did you always feel so

excited when you went onstage?"

Rowena nods. I know she's going to say something else about Mom. So I ask another question.

"Do you ever miss it?"

She shrugs and smiles. "Sure I do. You can't do something every day of your life, dream about it every

night, without missing it when it's gone. But I had a great time singing, and now I've moved on to teaching,

which I love just as much. Being a singer meant sacrifices as far as family, friends, a normal life go." She looks me in the eye. "On the other hand, if I hadn't taken my shot at it, I might have had a lot of regrets."

I know what she means. I try to think of something to say. But at that moment, there's a scream from the

television monitor. The music stops.

Gigi!

I leave my shoe unbuckled and stand. My head feels full and black, like I might faint from rising too

quickly. I grab Rowena for support, but she's already headed to the monitor herself. I grab a chair and,

once I feel steadier, I push across the room. People are crushed against the monitor. I hear the words,

"fell" and "still there." I know that if Gigi could, she'd get up and finish her dance number. If the music stopped, she must be hurt. Rowena's ahead of me, pushing through the crowd toward the stage. I grab her

hand and follow.

When I get there, Gigi's on the floor. Ms. Wolfe is next to her, holding her hand. She sees Rowena and

yells, "Call a doctor!"

"I can stay with her," I say.

Ms. Wolfe nods and heads backstage. Miss Davis is already there, yelling, "Be calm, children!"

"I'm fine," Gigi moans. "The show must go on, right?" She starts to stand, grimaces, then sinks back onto the floor, holding her knee.

"Does it hurt a lot?" I say.

"No, I'm just on the floor for no reason!" she snaps. Sorry.

"No, I'm sorry." She squeezes my hand hard. "I'm getting up now." She winces. "Okay, maybe just another minute."

"Just stay still. They're calling a doctor to see if they should move you."

She lets fly a choice list of obscenities. "My mom's going to freak. She always thinks something's going to happen to me. 'You're all I have,' she says."

I can't believe it. Just like my mom. "You want me to call and tell her you fell but you're okay?"

She nods and squeezes my hand again. "Cait, what if I tore something? What if I can't be in the show?

What if I can't dance anymore?"

"You'll be fine."

"But what if?"

Ms. Wolfe shows up then with Rex and a tall drama student. "We'll get you to a doctor, hon." Her voice is so soothing I can't believe it's her.

"Should I stay with you?" I ask Gigi.

"Caitlin, shouldn't you be onstage for the finale?" Ms. Wolfe asks. "We're starting as soon as we get her offstage. You need all the practice you can get."

Yeah, that's her alright. I mouth,
Call me
to Gigi and head backstage.

A minute later, we all go onstage to do the finale.

Of course, with Ms. Wolfe gone, I do the whole thing perfectly.

Subj:Worried

Date: 12/11, 1:17 a.m., Eastern Standard Time

To:[email protected]

From: [email protected]

Do you ever wonder what it would be like if you couldn't perform anymore? C

Subj:Re: Worried

Date: 12/11, 3:42 a.m., Eastern Standard Time

To: [email protected]

From:[email protected]

No. I don't let myself think about that even as a theory. xxoo Sean

No Drama class Friday. Instead, we have extra rehearsal time, and Ms. Wolfe rearranges everyone to

accommodate Gigi's absence. Surprise, surprise, I'm still in back. Misty gets Gigi's solo line in the

opening number.

"I know her other songs too," she tells Rowena. "The Judy Garland number—I could take her place."

"Hardly," I mutter.

"Actually, we'd already discussed that, Misty," Rowena says. "Would you and Sylvanie be able to come in during lunch and go over it?"

"Absolutely," Misty says. "I'd be honored." She starts back to her place, and I see her mouth,
Yesss
! and pump her fist at Gus.

"Like a turkey buzzard waiting for fresh kill," I mutter to Sean.

Misty hears me and smirks. "Hey, a star is born." She turns back to Rowena. "I could do her other solo too."

"Thanks, Misty. We've taken care of that."

"Just trying to be helpful."

Helpful like a broken leg.

"Thank you, Misty."

By four, there's still no word from Gigi.

"Have you heard anything at all?" I ask Sean over a stale sandwich from The Pit. Most people went home after school, but we both stayed.

"I heard Davis say she had a doctor's appointment this morning," Sean says. "Don't let this ruin it for you.

She wouldn't want you to worry about her."

"You make it sound like she's dead."

"No one ever died of a leg injury."

"I think Gigi would rather die than miss a performance—especially if she knew Misty was singing one of

her songs."

Before the show, I stand backstage, holding the dress Mom and I bought that day at The Falls, the dress

I'm going to wear for my duet. It smells like the store and our day, and I wonder what it's going to be like

after today. Will everything change.

Then I'm onstage. I get through the opening okay. During the first act finale, I look out into the audience.

No Mom, of course. She wouldn't have come, even if I'd told her.

Then it's time for our duet. While I'm onstage, I think about:

Breathing in and breathing out.

Expanding my diaphragm. Punching the high notes.

Putting my voice into my head.

Up!

The cough drop I ate.

Violetta. Her love for Alfredo. Her sacrifices and bravery even in death.

Keeping my feet wide enough that I don't fall over.

I don't think about Mom and Arnold or the lies I told Rowena. I don't think about Gigi saying what if she

can't dance again.

I just open my throat and let my voice fly to the ceiling.

This is who I am. This is what I love. This is who I am. I know that I can do it, and it's what I want to do

more than anything. And I realize I have to do anything I can to make it happen, even if it means leaving

other things behind.

We finish our song. The applause is thunderous. I take Sean's hand and stand there, letting it surround us. I

know I need to go to the summer program, even if I'm scared. I can do it. This is who I am. I need to talk

to Mom, and maybe get her to come to tomorrow's performance. Maybe if she sees it, she'll understand.

Somehow.

Call it post-game letdown. I have Mom's car, and on the way back home from the performance, I decide to

stop at the French bakery for coffee. Tomorrow we're having a big cast party, but tonight, I'm sort of

dreading going home to face up to Mom. She'll be all happy after her big date with Arnold, doing some

kind of happy-Mom-dance, maybe showing off her engagement ring or committing random acts of lust on

our living room sofa. I so can't deal with that. I have a lot of things to think about here.

I'm sitting, drinking a coffee, and reading a free copy of the
New Times
when Nick walks in. Great. He

pretends he doesn't see me. Or maybe he
does
see me because he orders his coffee and goes back out to

his car. Huge sigh of relief. I can't deal with Nick either. A few minutes later, I finish my coffee and leave

too.

But when I get outside, the car won't start. I remember what Mom usually does when that happens,

pressing on the gas pedal before she starts the car and stuff, but, like my mother, it doesn't work. It's

almost midnight and too late to call a mechanic. Finally, I decide to walk home.

It seemed like an okay idea. But when I start down the road, it suddenly seems a lot farther than when I

drive, and it's like every slasher movie I've ever seen. It's after midnight now, and the shadows are

moving. Night things rustle in bushes. Two cars slow when they see me, then roar past.

Then another car slows to a crawl and follows me. At first, it's a block behind, the tires crunching across

a gravel driveway. I wave to it to pass, but it doesn't. I turn the corner. The car turns too.

I start to run. I'm about to run to the nearest house and bang on the door until they let me in. But then I hear a voice.

"Cat!"

God. How perfect. It's Nick.
Is he stalking me? Did he follow me from the French bakery? Is it good

that it's him and not some random pervert, or is it worse
?

I turn. "Leave me alone, Nick."

His interior lights are on, and I see him holding up a hand in mock helplessness. "That's not fair, Cat. I haven't been bothering you." He thinks about it, then amends. "Not for a long time, anyway. You know

that's true. I haven't called you since April. I wasn't even going to talk to you tonight. I drank my coffee in the stinking car, so I wouldn't make you nervous. But then I saw you flirting with death out here. You

shouldn't be walking at night. There's all kinds of people in the world, drunks who'd run you off the road

like you're a target in a computer game. There's lots of guys worse than me out there too, even if you don't

believe it." He reaches for the light switch and turns it off. "But hey, you want to walk, walk."

I see the window start to go up, and I realize he's right. I'm still pretty far from home. The night is strange and scary, and you hear all the time about guys who would cut you into little pieces. Nick's not one of

those. He's not a rapist either.

"Wait!" I barely get the word out before the window reaches the top.

He doesn't make me wait. I see the window start down immediately. Then the light goes back on, and I

can see his face.

"I'm sorry." I walk closer. "I do want a ride. It's nice of you to offer, after…"

I don't finish the sentence, but he gestures at the passenger seat, and I get in. My hand sweeps across cool,

soft leather, and I think of Sean's junky old car. I catch a glimpse of Nick's face before he turns the light

off again. He isn't grinning or anything.

"Should we go back to your car?" he says. "I have jumper cables."

I shake my head. "I'll deal with it tomorrow. But thanks."

We drive in silence a few blocks. Finally, I say, "So why are you out all alone on a Saturday?Where are

your friends?"

I can almost hear his shrug. "Don't know. The past few months I haven't related much to those guys. I quit the football team.

I squeak in surprise.

"I just wasn't real good, at it, you know. It stressed me, and I'm trying to cut down on things that stress me.

Some things, you're just never going to be good at, no matter how hard you try."

I think of dance class. And leaving Key to get away from cheerleading. "Yeah."

"Anyway, since I quit, I don't have that much in common with those guys anymore, other than partying and

getting trashed, which I'm also trying to cut down on. I don't feel right with them anymore. Except Tom,

I'm still friends with him."

I nod again. I wonder if the changes he's making are because of me. "Yeah. I feel that way all the time."

"You?" He laughs. "Nah, everyone loves you. Me, I'm the smartass."

"I'm not smartass enough at my school. Everyone's so much more exciting than me there."

He shifts his arm on the seat, but doesn't move to touch me. "Yeah, I heard you were going to that arty

school. It's really true?"

"Yeah. I wasn't sure about it at first, but now I like it." I get ready for him to say something about how nerdy the school is.

But he says, "That's amazing. I always liked that about you, how you knew what you wanted to do, that

singing stuff. I'm not like that about anything yet." He thinks about it. "Maybe writing. I got some stuff published in the school literary journal. Poetry. Maybe I'll be a poet. Ha! My dad would think that's

completely stupid—you can't make money being a poet. But he thinks everything I do is stupid."

"I don't. Lots of people…" I realize we're driving toward the causeway, off the Key. Where is he taking me? Then I remember what I told everyone. I touch his arm. "Oh, I'm back with my mom now. I didn't… it

didn't work out with my dad."

He gives a nervous laugh, then slows to make a U-turn. "Didn't work out? Sounds familiar." He looks at my hand, then away. I pull it back to my lap.

"You're dad's still…?"
Still hitting you
?

"Still a jerk? Yeah. He's… still him. It's better lately. We had it out over the summer, and he isn't on my case as much as he used to be."