Break a leg, kiddo read the postcard from Seattle.
Did her dad know you didn’t say that to the hair-and-makeup person? Or did you? Really, she didn’t know. So much was new to her lately.
They’d already done their first show, and now it was time for closing night. The big event.
She’d be sad when it was over. To be honest, she really enjoyed her job. It was like everything she’d learned about dressing up as Sophie Kane could be used to dress up other characters. Why did Nessa have to be right about so much stuff?
Nessa had been helping Sophie with Spanish, and Sophie had been helping Nessa with math. And on opening night, she’d found herself applauding after Nessa’s song like a proud mother or something.
These girls surprised her. Lara was so strategic and organized and put together, and Erin was so quick and funny. She seemed to always know the perfect comeback for anything. And Amina had convinced all the Roses and Brody’s friends to come to the closing night instead of opening. Sophie asked how she did it, and Amina just answered, “Magic.” There was a lot to learn about Amina, Sophie saw. About everyone.
As Sophie packed her stuff to go to the show, her mom and Bella got dressed. Her mom took the night off to come, which was silly. It was no big deal. And she told her mom as much, but her mom said, “Nope, nope, nope, I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” and made it happen. She’d come to the track meet, too. Sophie hoped that meant her dad had sent some extra money so the missed shifts didn’t hurt them too much.
“I can’t believe you know the lead!” Bella trilled as they all packed into the car.
“Yeah, we’re good friends,” she heard herself saying.
Each night, starting at dress rehearsal, she’d done Brody’s and Nessa’s makeup. The school didn’t have a dressing room or anything, so the whole cast used the choir room. The leads did their hair and makeup off in the corner. The ensemble splayed their stuff all over the rest of the room, and waited there before the show and in between each group song.
In the makeup corner that night, Sophie saved Brody’s and Nessa’s makeup for last, so it would be fresh, and so they could warm up their voices until the very last minute.
Unfortunately, a terrible error in the song “The Wells Fargo Wagon” had been made the night before. The harmony sounded off or something, and Mr. Rhodes called everyone except Harold Hill to come to the stage for a quick rehearsal about a half hour before the curtain went up. That left Sophie alone in the room with Brody Dixon.
She fought the urge to paint his face like a clown or to give him overly eye-lined eyes. Her impulse to do an excellent job won out.
Sophie and Brody hadn’t been alone since … well, since before the list came out, when they’d sat in his room together.
She remembered that right before he’d tried to kiss her, he’d told her something like, “It’s wild, because you’re, like, the prettiest girl I’ve ever met, but you’re also so, so smart.” And she’d thought it was this huge compliment, replaying it in her head over and over, thinking his smile meant he’d be her boyfriend by the end of eighth grade, and that they’d go into high school and run everything together.
But that hadn’t been a compliment. It shouldn’t have been “wild” for a girl to be pretty and smart, or any combination of anything.
And he’d never be her boyfriend.
As she silently dabbed his face with stage makeup, knowing that night was his night to be taken down, she wanted the truth.
“So did you ever actually like me?” Sophie asked, her neutral face revealing none of the bravery that the question took.
Brody briefly glanced up from the game on his phone.
“I mean…” She let the powder brush lower to her side. “Were you just trying to get the girl everybody else liked? Or something like that? Like with Eve?”
Brody half laughed, half grunted. “Aw, man, you’ve got me all figured out.”
Sophie raised an eyebrow. “Just be straight with me!”
He went back to his game. “It’s all no big deal, Soph. God.”
She put her powder brush down in her makeup kit, snatched his phone, and held it behind her back. “No! You are going to explain yourself to me!” she demanded.
“Come on, give it back!” He started to stand to reach it, but she put up a hand gesturing for him to back off. He stayed seated.
“Why should I give it back? Because I’ll find proof on here that you’re LordTesla?” she challenged him. “We were right all along, huh? You wanted to date Eve, a nerd, after you gave up on me, so you made the list? She pushed you off at the dance, so you turned on her, too? Just like you turned on me?”
Brody’s low snicker turned into a full-on laugh, and his hands rested on his belly. “You are just too much, Sophie Kane.”
“Explain yourself.” Sophie haphazardly pressed buttons on his phone like she could figure out the password to open it if she just tapped on it enough. “Or, I swear, I will—”
“What?” Brody leaned back in his chair in his brown salesman costume. “What will you do? Something about Nessa and her little picture of my coat?”
Sophie’s hands froze.
“So what?” Brody went on. “That picture proves nothing.”
Sophie felt herself begin to droop. He knew the plan. Of course he did. He always ended up on top.
“You just couldn’t take a joke. That’s why you’re all”—he motioned to her slightly less than ‘perfect’ attire, the attire she liked, and her newly free hair—“like this?”
“No. No, actually, you’re wrong.” She remained steadfast.
“Am I?” he challenged her.
“Yes. And I like myself like this.”
Brody slouched in his chair, suddenly looking much smaller. “I didn’t write the stupid list, okay? I know you all think that I did. But I didn’t.” He shook his head. “You are so self-absorbed, did you know that?”
Brody smacked his forehead and his hand slid down, covering his mouth for a brief moment until he let it drop.
“What does it matter,” he said to himself. “My dad’s not coming, anyway.”
“Your dad’s not coming to the show? Why?”
Brody shook his head slightly and then slid farther into the chair, his legs sprawling out in front of him. “He thinks it’s stupid. And it is. Give me back my phone,” he groaned.
“Well, I’m sorry,” Sophie said, unable to help herself. “My dad isn’t coming, either.”
Brody didn’t seem to hear her. “My phone!”
“You don’t have to be like your dad, you know,” Sophie offered.
“Ha,” he sneered. “Great advice. Thanks.”
Sophie took a step closer to him.
“I’m sorry, okay?” He stood up. “But whatever. We are what people expect of us, right?”
“Brody—” She tried to stop him.
He snatched his phone back from her.
“Brody—” And again, she tried to make him face her, listen to her, but he turned to walk away.
“See ya.”
As he stormed off, Nessa walked back in.
“Who died?” she asked.
The sixth and seventh grade ensembles came barging in after her, twirling and giggling and chatting.
Sophie launched herself toward the door, trying to get past them. “You didn’t let me finish!” she yelled toward Brody, meaning that she hadn’t completed his makeup, but also that she hadn’t gotten all the answers she needed. But he was off.
“His dad’s not coming to the show,” Sophie whispered to Nessa. “That’s pretty sad, right?”
“Oh.” Nessa’s jaw dropped. “Yeah, that’s awful.” Nessa glanced off toward where he’d stormed away. “At least his dad won’t see him put into handcuffs and taken to middle school prison … That’s what’ll happen, right?”
Sophie allowed herself to smile, and she almost responded, “I don’t think he wrote the list,” but she couldn’t do it.
She couldn’t make herself save him.