CHAPTER TWELVE

BAILEY

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the end, I guess one splash into the lake wasn’t the worst thing ever. Anyway, Celeste Jones fell in twice and forgot to grab outgoing mail once, so I had to be light years ahead of her.

She and I huddled on the Riviera Pier in a pair of beach towels one of the judges had been generous enough to bring along. The judges were still on the boat, their chairs huddled close on the main deck as they compared notes. Within moments, we would all know our fates.

“Well, I know I’m stocking potato chips this summer,” Celeste said, teeth chattering. While we’d dried off some, it was still overcast and we hadn’t warmed up at all. The drizzle clung to Celeste’s tight, curly black hair like pearls and dripped gently on her terry cape.

I shrugged. “But your reading was really good.” And it was. Standing instead of sitting, she had barely glanced at the script, even though she was new to it, and projected so clearly she wouldn’t have needed the microphone. She even smiled at the audience—the judges, jumpers, and reporters. She seemed to know all the right places to pause, to talk a little softer, to talk a little louder. It was like a night at the theater, and I knew my own reading had been mud by comparison.

“Yeah, maybe I should stick to speech club,” she said. “’Cause dang, I ain’t no mermaid out on those piers!” She laughed, even slapped her knee. Her teeth flashed white against her warm brown skin.

I wished I could be as nonchalant. I had peeked once during my reading, and there had been nothing but eyes, real and electronic, all staring at me. My heart had pounded out of my chest. Why are you all staring at me? What have I done wrong? I wanted to ask. Is it because I fell in? Because I reported Baron? And my brain nearly tailspinned into a panic attack.

And then I’d caught a glimpse of Tommy out of the corner of my eye. He was steering us back to home port, staring over the lake, mouthing the script along with me, the way a parent does when their six-year-old is in the school Christmas pageant.

It was super tacky, and yet it worked. I remembered to sit up straight. To breathe slowly. I tried looking at the audience again, and it wasn’t so scary. They looked like they were actually listening or something—which was the weirdest experience of my life. Maybe I was doing okay? Anyway, the next time I glanced at Tommy, the corner of his mouth was lifted in a tiny smile. The judges seemed to grin as well as they marked up their clip boards. Maybe there was hope?

Baron’s reading had been last. He wasn’t as flamboyant as Celeste, but he spoke in an even tone and didn’t pick up the book at all. He had it memorized. As such, he was able to join eyes with the audience the entire time. He wasn’t being a show-off, either. It was like he was just having a conversation. I was so scared he might look at me that I stared at my hands the whole time, crunched tight inside my fuzzy towel.

A stirring on the pier jolted me out of my mental performance review. Everyone was staring at the windows along the boat. Inside, the judges nodded all around, smiling at each other, and tucked their clip boards under their arms. They rose from their chairs. My heart hammered in my chest. Did I talk too fast during my reading? Did I skip lines? Did I forget to put the flag down on a mailbox? Did I fall off more piers than I remembered? It wouldn’t be the first time I’d blanked out bad memories.

The judges filed down the gangplank. The cameras started rolling again. Our boss, Robb Landis, stood in the middle of the pier and rubbed his hands together. He wore a fairly normal-looking black rain jacket, but also a pair of salmon pink chino shorts and hemp-braided flip-flops. His lakeside fashion was perfectly on point at all times and at the same time vaguely eccentric. “All right! Ladies and gentlemen, we have our results. First of all, thank you, candidates, for trying out today. You all put in your best, and it showed. It was a hard decision in the end.”

But was it? Some of us had clearly done worse than others. I glanced between Celeste’s terry towel and my own, then, as if seeking some kind of reassurance, I looked to Captain Tommy. Standing at the bow, he calmly uncoiled a huge electrical cable and plugged it into the port on the boat to recharge its massive batteries. Then he brushed his palms together and turned to watch. Like me, like all of us, he kept his eyes on Robb Landis.

“Okay,” Robb said. “First up…” He glanced at the list one of the judges held and drummed his hands on a pier post, letting the sound rise to a crescendo. “Baron Hackett!”

In a show of solidarity, the kids burst into applause. The people working the cameras zoomed in for a shot of Baron’s grinning face.

“Step on up here, Baron!” Robb motioned to the rub board on the side of the Mailboat. Baron quietly stepped into his assigned position, clasped one wrist in the opposite hand, and allowed another smile for the cameras. I imagined grace like that had been carefully cultivated in the environment of Baron’s high-flying family. I knew if my name was called, I’d be smiling like an idiot.

“Our next mail jumper is… Melissa Kraft!”

Melissa smoothed a strand of brown-blond hair out of her face and stood on the rub board next to Baron.

“Mail jumper number three… Noah Cadigan!”

“Woo!” Noah pumped a fist and ran toward the Mailboat. Half-way across the pier, he did a cartwheel. Everybody laughed, and Noah hopped onto the rub board, smiling from ear-to-ear. Yep. That would be like me. Only if I tried a cartwheel I’d end up in the lake again.

Three spots filled. Only three to go. I bit my lips together.

Robb called out two more names. “Lacie Mulhullan!… Myles Trainer!”

One more slot. I closed my eyes. Please, God. I’d never ask for anything ever again. Just let me be a mail jumper…

“Okay,” Rob said, “one more mail jumper will make the 2013 team. I just want to say again what a great job you all did. We’re so proud of you and so happy you wanted to be on the team. Those of you not making it this year, we really do hope you’ll try again next year. Okay, with that said, here’s our final mail jumper.”

My eyes were still closed. My jaw locked together. Just this once, let something good happen.

“Alisha McCormick!”

Alisha screamed and jogged to the Mailboat, joining the rest of the team on the rub board.

My heart broke cleanly in two, as if water had been pooling and freezing, forming a crack there all along. I hadn’t made it.

I hadn’t made it.

Robb spread out an arm toward the six kids standing on the side of the Mailboat. “Judges, ladies and gentlemen of the press, may I present the 2013 Lake Geneva mail jumpers!”

Cameras flashed and guys with recorders over their shoulders panned down the line of victors.

“Tommy, get over here.” Robb waved. “They need a shot of the captain with his crew.”

Tommy shook his head as if all the hoopla were a little ridiculous, but he obliged, stepping slowly up onto the rub board at the head of the line. More flashes. More minutes of footage. More smiling faces.

I would have given everything I owned to be standing where Baron stood, right beside the captain. Why did everybody else get wonderful things in life? Why did I always end up with the short straw? I fought back tears. I didn’t want the camera crews or my boss to think I was a spoiled brat and having a fit.

I just…

I didn’t want to be a foster kid anymore.

I didn’t want to be alone anymore.

“You know, I’m kinda glad I didn’t get the job,” Celeste whispered in my ear. “I figured out last-minute I ain’t got the nerve.”

I tuned her out. I didn’t have the nerve, either, and yet I was willing to find it, if only I could be a mail jumper.

But I wasn’t.