thirty-five

MAY 4

When B appeared at the entrance to my station, I could tell Booker hadn’t told her yet. She gave me a little wave, and I tried to smile at her. The plan had been for her to stay out in the audience with my grandparents. But here she was. Backstage.

I glanced around to see if Tesla was in sight. She wasn’t, thank the sweet baby Jesus. This was not the place or the time for that conversation. For one thing, I had a headache that would have knocked over a steer thanks to all the chemicals in the air. For another, I am a coward.

Esther swung her skinny legs in the chair. I’d explained how she was supposed to walk the runway, and she said she was nervous but ready. Sheryl and Edward stood on either side of her.

“Okay,” I said to Esther’s foster parents, loud enough for B to hear. “I think family and friends should head for their seats in the audience soon. The show will start in about thirty minutes. I’ll shoot you guys a text if we need anything or if Esther needs you.”

“Okay,” said Sheryl. She bent low to whisper into Esther’s ear. “We can’t wait to see you out onstage. You are going to be amazing. Because you are amazing already.”

“Just amazing,” echoed Edward, who’d gone a little pale.

Edward and Sheryl tore themselves away after reassuring Esther a few more times that they’d be “right outside” and “only a text away.”

Barbra waited at the back of my station and said hello to them as they passed. Then she came to stand beside me, Esther in the chair between us. In the mirror we looked like a portrait of an inappropriately young family.

“Can I help with anything?” she said. “I mean, with anything that’s not hair, clothes, or makeup?”

“That’s okay.”

She looked at the metal pieces arrayed on the counter.

“These are terrific,” she said. “I get those. But the rest of this scene . . .” She rolled her eyes to show what she thought about fashion and this fashion show. “I guess some people don’t know that Settlers of Catan exists. Or books.”

It kind of killed me that she had to say that right then.

Esther watched us.

“Are you going to do her makeup?” asked B.

“We’re going to leave her face natural.”

“Good decision.”

“I hate makeup,” said Esther.

“Me too,” said Barbra.

There was another second of silence. Some strange new impatience grew in me, but I tried not to let it show. B didn’t deserve that.

“Well, I’ll be out there watching. And cheering. Or cringing. Whichever seems appropriate.”

“Thanks.”

“Have you talked to Booker?” she asked suddenly. “He’s been dodging my texts. And my calls. I hope everything’s okay. We were supposed to come here together. He was so excited for today. Even though you said he wasn’t allowed near the models.” She met Esther’s eyes in the mirror. “I mean the older models.”

Esther grinned.

“I don’t know where he is,” I said. My stomach was a rock tumbler.

“Okay. I’m sure he’ll be here soon. We’ll be waiting. And watching.”

Barbra leaned in to kiss me. When she drew away, I saw Tesla watching us from the back of my station.

When Tesla began to walk toward us, my brain scrambled for an explanation. An escape route. But all the doors were shut and locked.

“Is this your girlfriend, John?” Tesla asked.

My mouth was full of broken ashtray.

“I am,” said Barbra. Understanding dawned on her face in stages. It was very hard to watch. She did not smile at Tesla, because Barbra’s not a liar.

“I’m Barbra,” she said. “And you are . . . ?”

“No one,” said Tesla.

Esther watched all of this taking place in the mirror. The kid missed nothing.

“Ten minutes to showtime,” said Tesla, her voice hollow. Then she walked out.

Barbra stared at me like I’d just unexpectedly kicked her in the shin.

“That girl smells like a mowed lawn.” Pause. “You probably should have aired the dress out, you idiot.”

Then she turned and left.

I closed my eyes for a minute, puffed out the breath I’d been holding, and got back to work making sure the ruff and headdress were secure on the frame I’d made to rest on Esther’s shoulders, tucked inside the dress. It was surprisingly heavy, and I wanted to be sure she felt comfortable moving.

When I was sure it wouldn’t fall over, I pumped the lever on the chair to lower it. Esther still had to hop to get down.

“You look cool,” I said.

“Ninja private school fairy,” said Esther. “That’s what Barbra called it.”

“B’s got a way with the words.”

Esther peered up at me, her face and wild cloud of curls framed by the web of wires that turned into hands that held a throwing star. It had been surprisingly easy to combine the star with the Elizabethan-style wire ruff and the hands. Wire is so malleable. Forgiving, even.

“You’re in big trouble, aren’t you?” said Esther.

Around us the other designers were rushing to help their models into their outfits, adjusting hems and accessories, poking worriedly at hairdos.

“You could say that. I’ve made some mistakes recently.”

“My brother always liked too many girls, too. He liked all the girls. They were sort of like TV to him. Or video games.”

“That’s not how I—”

“My brother really, really liked video games.”

“Girls aren’t like video games. Or TV. Let’s go line up,” I said.