Saturday, 6:40 P.M.
I applied a final coat of mascara, then slid on my glasses. The second I blinked, tiny black mascara polka dots deposited themselves on the lenses. I groaned and started over.
Wearing jeans and a boyfriend blazer, Mom sat cross-legged on my unmade bed, watching me apply my stage makeup. Probably to make sure I didn’t overdo it. “Ella and I made something special for your big night.” She caught my eye in the mirror. “Feeling ready?”
“I guess.” My mouth parted slightly as I reapplied the mascara. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
“Kacey?” Mom’s voice had that annoying is there something we need to talk about? twinge. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Fine.” I swallowed, trying to force the memory of my early morning with Zander from my mind.
“Yeah. Fine,” Mom repeated skeptically. That’s the thing about moms. And journalists. Nothing gets by them. And when you have a mom who’s also a journalist… forget it.
“Just a little nervous,” I lied. I bent over slightly to ease the pains in my stomach, but they just sharpened. I wished I was wearing sweatpants instead of my black pencil pants and fitted silver tank.
“I get it. It’s a big night,” Mom acknowledged. “Especially since you weren’t planning on performing this role.”
Yeah. That’s it. I nodded convincingly.
“But playing this part is something you’ve been looking forward to, right?”
“Right.” It seemed like ages ago that the girls and I had crowded outside the auditorium doors to catch the first glimpse of the cast list.
“So whatever it is that’s giving you second thoughts…” Mom came up behind me and gave me a squeeze. “Do the best you can to let it go for tonight. This is your night to shine, baby. I would hate to see you miss it.”
I closed my eyes and leaned in to her, wanting to tell her everything so she could help me fix it.
“Mooooooo—” The piercing shriek of the kitchen smoke alarm cut Ella off.
“Oh, for crying out loud.” Mom turned and sprinted for the stairs. “Your dinner call’s in five, Miss Simon!”
I checked my reflection one last time. Mom had helped me with the chocolate liquid liner, since my first two attempts ended up looking like Ella had done them left-handed. Even with my glasses on, the liner made my green eyes pop. Pale peach blush accentuated my cheekbones, and creamy scarlet lipstick definitely drew the attention away from my braces. Mom had let me use her curling iron, so my hair fell in loose auburn waves around my face.
A certain somebody would have said I looked like a total fake. A phony. A lying, social-climbing, band-deserting monster.
But most people would have said I looked amazing.
I grabbed my coat and bag and reached for my cell. Four new texts.
PAIGE: U MISSED OUR CAMPAIGN MTG THIS AM!!!! WHERE WERE U?
P.S. IS HANDING OUT CAMPAIGN FLYERS AT INTERMISSION TACKY?
MOLLY: BREAK A LEG. CAN’T WAIT 2 C U.
LIV: REMEMBER DEEP BREATHS. PEACE, STAGE GODDESS.
MOLLY: P.S. DID U TALK TO Z ABOUT THE DATE? NEED INFO B4 CAST PARTY.
NESSA: ASK URSELF: WHAT’S MY MOTIVATION? (HINT – IT’S NOT KISSING Q. THAT’S JUST A BONUS.) YOU’LL B GR8.
Nothing from Zander. Not that I expected anything. I’d started about fifty different texts to him, but none of them seemed right. It didn’t matter, anyway. There was nothing I could say to make him understand, unless I told him the whole truth. And that was one hundred percent impossible.
“We’re ready!” Mom called.
“Coming!”
Downstairs, Ella stood in the doorway of the darkened kitchen, holding a cake with sparklers for candles. The fizzing, popping lights reflected off the lenses of her reading glasses. “SURPRIIIIIIIISE!” she bellowed.
“Happy opening night,” Mom said from her spot at the table.
“Thanks, guys!” I took the cake and carried it to the table. The pink icing read: CONGRATULATIONS, KAC.
“We ran out of icing.” Ella wiped a smear of frosting off her nose.
“I’m sure it’ll taste yummy.” I kissed Mom on the cheek.
“Ooh! Me!” Ella stuck out her plump cheek, and I kissed it, too.
“Okay, let’s get started,” Mom said. “We don’t want you to be late for your call.”
The sparklers burned down and Mom flipped on the lights, revealing a rectangular box tied with a pink bow at my place setting. The attached note said: TO MY SHINING STAR, ONSTAGE AND OFF. LOVE, MOM.
“Mom!” I cried, yanking the ribbon off the box and pulling away wads of sparkly pink tissue paper. There, nestled inside, more welcome than the world’s largest diamonds, was a pair of clear contacts and a small bottle of drops. “Contacts?” I’d completely forgotten.
“Your sentence is over.” Mom smiled. “I picked these up from Dr. Marco so you’d have them in time for the show.”
I shoved back my chair and tackled Mom. “Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!” I breathed. No lisp. No glasses. I was so ready for the stage.
“You’re welcome.” She laughed, squeezing me back. “Glad you like them. And by the way, if you don’t use those drops, it’s glasses from here on out.”
“I will. I promise.” I plopped back down in my chair. “I love them.”
Solemnly, Ella removed her reading glasses, folded them, and placed them next to her plate with a sigh.
“Go put them in,” Mom said. “We’ve got to leave soon if we want to get to the school on time.”
“ ’Kay!” I flung off my glasses and dashed for the hall bathroom.
“Kacey—” Mom started.
“Right!” Back to the table. Glasses on, one last time. Then to the hall bathroom.
The contacts were most definitely a sign. My glasses days—my Zander days—were over. And there was no better place to make my debut than onstage, in front of the entire school. In the spotlight, where I belonged.