“Maybe a bake sale?” Even as the words leave her mouth, though, Libby shakes her head. “No. Ingredients cost money, and I bet we’d need a lot of ingredients.”
“Especially since I’d probably mess up a lot.” I roll my eyes. “I am not what you’d call a master chef. One time Claudia and I tried to make brownies and I forgot to set the timer. By the time we remembered to check the oven, they were basically chocolate bricks. If I’d bitten one, I’d have lost a tooth!” My stomach is in pangs at the thought of Claudia, but I push the guilt away. She’s probably busy doing homework now anyway. Or at yoga with her mom. She doesn’t need—or want—to know all this.
“Bake sales are boring anyway,” Libby adds. “The PTO does that kind of stuff. We need something with pizzazz. With oomph!” She wiggles her fingers in a jazz hands pose.
“With sparkle!” I lean back against the batting cage fence to think. There’s no one else around tonight, so we’ve set up camp behind home base, right in the dirt. “Ooh, what about the town talent show? I saw a sign for that the other day. That’s sparkle-tastic.”
“No way,” Libby says quickly. “Not for me.”
I picture myself up on stage in a shimmery costume and a top hat, singing and dancing. It sounds fun, but I’m probably not good enough to perform in front of a crowd. Not yet, at least. “I guess not for me, either.”
Libby nods. “My one talent is softball, and I don’t think hitting a line drive into the audience would be the best idea.”
“An odd-jobs service?” I shudder, imagining some parent hiring us to change litter boxes. Or clean toilets. I don’t know which one would be grosser.
I think Libby’s thinking the same thing—her mouth is twisted up like she just ate a lemon.
“No way,” she says, then hesitates. “But I was wondering … do you want to keep this a secret? Or do you care that other people know that we need money?” I notice that she says “we,” which makes me happy. Libby lives in a big house and always has tons of new clothes, but she’s not judging me for needing money.
“I guess it doesn’t matter,” I finally say. “I mean, everyone wants to make money, right? I bet people will just assume we want to buy candy or books or movie tickets.” I think for a second. “As long as…”
“As long as what?” Libby rustles in her messenger bag and pulls out two bags of Skittles, then hands one to me. “Speaking of candy.”
“Ooh, thanks.” I rip open the package, then pick out two reds, my favorites.
“You definitely won’t tell anyone I need the money because of rehab, right? You won’t do that?” I know I’ve asked Libby this before. I know she’s reassured me she’ll keep my secret. I still need to ask, though. I still need to be on guard.
I’ve gotten too used to people betraying me.
“Of course not!” Libby shakes her head so hard some of her brown hair falls out of her loose braid. “I promise.”
“But you tell people.”
“Only at my support group.” Libby draws a circle next to her, then a cloud. “Because I know they’ll understand. That’s why it’s nice to talk to you, too.”
“Yeah.” I feel the same way.
“I know it’s scary to tell someone for the first time, though.” Libby holds out her hand and wiggles her pinkie finger in the air. “That’s why we should do a pinkie promise.”
I giggle, then hook my pinkie onto hers and tug. “Pinkie promise we won’t tell.”
“Pinkie promise we won’t tell,” Libby echoes.
The last two lines of my favorite song flit into my head, and before I can stop myself, I sing them softly.
I promise, I promise.
Forever and ever.
“Wow!”
“Huh?” I press my lips together quickly, bottling the music back up inside me.
“You’re good!”
“No way.” I shake my head. “I’m okay.” I get a thrill at Libby’s words, though. Maybe I am good.
“You should totally do Chorus Club,” Libby says. “I bet you’d get all the solos.”
“I do!” I exclaim. “Well, Chorus Club, I mean. And I did get some solos. I just can’t sing for the rest of the year because of All-Star practice.”
“That’s a bummer,” Libby says. “It always looks like so much fun. I’ve never been able to do it because of the extra batting clinic Dad signed me up for. But I love to sing, too!” She sings a few lyrics from the song, then jumps up and does some moves from the music video.
Never gonna hold me back,
It’s time to get on track.
It’s not quite as good as Claudia’s and my routine, but she’s good!
Good enough to be on stage, for sure.
“We should do the talent show!” I exclaim. “You and me.”
“No way,” Libby says again. “We’re not good enough for that!”
“We are, though!” I think about what Dad and Mom and everyone keep telling me about softball—that even though I’m nervous about All-Stars, I’m one hundred percent talented enough to make the team. I can already tell that Libby and I are good enough to be in the show. Especially since I know there’s a three-hundred-dollar grand prize!
If getting up on stage is what it will take to do softball again, then I’ll dance and sing in front of the whole world.
“We can totally win, Libby.”
Libby looks pale. “But…”
I stand up and still her trembling hands. “Like you said, we’re good. And you danced in front of me just fine.”
“But that was just you,” Libby says weakly.
“You won’t even notice the audience,” I beg. “And we’ll learn the moves so well that we won’t mess up at all. I promise.”
“Everyone will laugh at us.”
“The jerks might. But everyone else will cheer.”
My stomach feels a little jittery, but I can also see big dollar signs floating before my eyes. Floating uniforms, too. And cleats. Everything that I can’t afford but will soon be able to. I blink and they’re gone, but the idea is still there, waiting to be realized.
“Please?” I beg. “I know you’ll be awesome. And I can’t do this alone. I need a teammate. A friend.”
Libby bites her lip. She opens and closes her mouth.
“Okay,” she finally says, and I rush forward to wrap her in a hug. “I’ll do it. But I’m going to be super nervous.”
“Me too!” I promise her. “But this is a plan. A good plan. A great plan.”
I can’t hide the smile on my face.
I get to be a singer and a softball player.
I’ll win the money, make the team, and then welcome Mom home for good.
Finally, I have a plan.