I sat. Phoebe walked up to the front of the room. She looked kind of terrified. She drew in a long, shaky breath and stared at each one of us individually. Then she glanced down.
Harry said, “Whenever you’re ready, Miss Hodgkins.”
Another shaky breath. Then she said, “I’ll be singing ‘Glitter and Be Gay’ from Candide by Leonard Bernstein.” The accompanist started the piano part, and a second later, this voice came out, singing, “Glitter and be gay / That’s the part I play / Here I am, Oh sorry chance!”
Maybe she was supposed to look miserable. The song was about how sad she was. She even sobbed a bit on a line that ended with “bitter circumstance.”
But her voice, Mr. Smith! It was like nothing I’ve ever heard. Okay, maybe Mariah Carey back when she was good. It went up, up, up to the stratosphere. She was laughing, “Ha-ha!” and it sounded like opera, only funnier, and then she went down to her lowest range, and that was strong too. There was a spoken-word section, where she bemoaned her cruel fate. Then the music came back on, and she was laughing again. This was the hardest song I’ve ever heard, and after the momentary terror, she was singing it like a boss, ending with a series of incredibly high notes, one after the other.
Finally, it was over, and I burst into applause. I mean, she’s like a tall Kristin Chenoweth (see, I’m learning—I now know who that is). The rest of the applause was only polite, which I didn’t understand. I mean, sure she’s a pain, but she’s REMARKABLE.
But maybe that’s why they don’t like her. Jealousy is a thing around here, in the caring, accepting womb that is MAA.
I went up to sing next, which, at this point, was anticlimactic. I introduced it as “Someone to Watch Over Me” by George Gershwin from Oh, Kay! (Again, I’m learning.)
Harry smiled encouragingly.
Mr. Smith, I know the song is about a girl who wants a husband or at least a boyfriend, but it made me think of you. The lyrics talk about a shepherd for a lost lamb, and I feel like I’m the lost lamb, and you’re the shepherd, keeping me from being eaten by wolves. What would I have done without you?
Anyway, I thought about all that while I was singing, and I tried to think about other things, singing things, like doing a cool run on the part that goes, “To my heart, he carries the key—he-e-e-e-e carries the key!” What I tried not to think of was Phoebe, who was slumped in her chair, right in my sight line, in abject misery. She couldn’t possibly have thought she was bad! She had to be doing it for attention! And suddenly, jealousy hit me too. How dare she be so good and act like she’s not! I looked away and finished. Owen and David stomped their feet in support, and David even whistled. But some of the girls were doing golf claps. I sat with a smile.
Harry said he would put up the list of who was in what scene by the end of the week. Everyone started buzzing about who would get which part, but I don’t know any of them, so I wasn’t in on it.
After class, Phoebe bolted before I could tell her how well she’d done. We had dance, and since it was ballet day, I didn’t see her again until dinner. Then she avoided eye contact. What is with that girl?
In music theory, we’re learning major scales and key signatures. I’m practicing scales, but it’s slow going. The practice rooms are across campus, so it’s hard to go there at night. Most people in my theory class took piano as children, so I’m way behind. But I’m working very hard!
In other news, I saw my first leaf starting to turn red, and it made me feel a little giddy. Soon they’ll all turn, and the campus will be a riot of color.
Thank you for sending me here!
Now I’m going to dinner and to sweep the floors and scrape plates.
Love, Jacaranda
Date: September 16, 8:17 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
Subject: My mother
Dear Mr. Smith,
I haven’t written to my mother since I came here. Before I left, I wrote as if everything was perfectly normal, as if I wasn’t flying across the country to come to this school and I didn’t have a new guardian and a benefactor and a bed with lavender-and-white sheets.
Why haven’t I told her? It’s not like she can do anything about it. Yet it’s hard to sit here at my nice desk in my room with a lavender duvet and think of her reading my letter on her prison bunk.
But I’m going to write to her tonight. As soon as I finish this email.
And write a three-paragraph essay in French.
And do 30 algebra problems.
And study the key signatures for music theory. Daisy told me a funny mnemonic device to memorize the order of sharps on the staff. It’s FCGDAEB. Fat Cows Get Drunk After Eating Babies. This makes no sense if you don’t know music, but it’s definitely helpful!
And watch The Sound of Music . . . which is three hours long.
Maybe I’ll write to her tomorrow.
I miss her sometimes. I miss having a mother.
Love, Jacaranda
Date: September 17, 8:25 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
Subject: I’ve never eaten a lobster
Dear Mr. Smith,
Are you Kevin Smith? This is an important question, because if you’re a famous filmmaker, you could probably help me in my career.
Nvm.
Today, after dinner, Lucky came to my room to work on a history project. She took in the bare walls and pristine bookshelves. I have one poster, and it says, “What would Beyoncé do?” I’ll buy more, but I’ll never match Daisy’s walls. She has collages of every family vacation since she was five. Most other rooms are the same. Lucky said, “Your room’s so empty.”
I waved it off, saying I didn’t like having a lot of possessions. I left out the fact that, if you’d moved as much as I have, you didn’t let stuff weigh you down.
Lucky nodded. “Oh, yeah, my parents weren’t into stuff either. Like when I was little, they preferred giving experiences as gifts, instead of a lot of Barbies or whatever. They didn’t want me to get spoiled.”
No risk of that with me. When I asked what she meant by experiences, she said they went on vacations or to the opera or sent her to writing camp.
So, basically, they took her to Europe instead of buying her a $10 Barbie. Barbies are cheap. “Experiences” are expensive. I’ve had a ton of Barbies. Rich people love donating them to toy drives. But you can’t get theater tickets from Toys for Tots.
Don’t worry. I didn’t say any of that. I probably didn’t think it until after she left.
There are so many things everyone here takes for granted. I’m not even talking about how none of them ever had the power turned off, had to remember not to flush because there was only one flush per toilet since no one paid the water bill, or saw anyone shoot up. They all grew up watching television shows like Shake It Up and Austin & Ally. They’ve all seen every episode of SpongeBob. They’ve all had Netflix passwords since forever and cell phones since they were nine. None of them have ever not had unlimited data or not repaired a cracked screen. Some of them get a new phone when the screen cracks!
They’ve all eaten crab, lobster, and sushi. They know how to pronounce “quinoa.”