Love is a Four-Letter Word (4 page)

I’m still staring at the callback schedule when the doors swing open and people pour out of the auditorium. I jump away from the notice board, ripping off one of Miss Bell’s phone numbers. I study it intently, like maybe I’m trying to memorize the number by heart. Someone with untied shoelaces stops a few steps away from me. I’d recognize those shoes anywhere. Benji is the only person I know who can wear shoes without tying them up and not trip all over his own feet.

“Clarissa?” he says. “What are you doing here?”

Do I detect a note of suspicion? I look up. Benji is flushed.

“What are
you
doing here?” I repeat.

Benji looks helplessly at the schedule. He doesn’t need to say anything. We both know I’ve seen it.

“Oh, right, your callback.”

“I was going to tell you …” Benji starts weakly, but I cut him off.

“When?” I demand.

Benji shrugs. He looks miserable. I feel bad. If I was Benji, would I want to tell me about the callback? Probably not. He’s always thinking about how other people feel. Time to change tactics.

“Well? How did it go?”

Benji brightens a little but he still looks wary. “Actually, I think it went really well.” He breaks into a smile. “Really, really well.”

My heart lurches with jealousy. “Really? That’s great.” My voice sounds strained, but Benji doesn’t seem to notice.

“So, what are you doing here?” Benji asks again.

“I thought you came by to drop off your sketches. I came to pick you up.”

Benji smiles widely. “Thanks.”

Another group of people swings through the auditorium doors, including Charity Smith-Jones. She spots us and waves. “Hey, Benjamin. I really liked what you did in there. Good stuff!”

Benji blushes. “Thanks, Charity. You were really great. I hope you get the part.”

Charity looks over her shoulder at her friends, who are all much older. She leans in and whispers, “Don’t tell those guys I said this, but I hope you do, too.” Then she winks and jogs off to join the other kids who are now breaking into what I can only imagine is the audition dance.

The second we’re out of earshot I turn around and give Benji the eye. “Hey,
Benjamin
? Thanks,
Charity
? You’re on a first-name basis with her now?”

“She’s really nice,” Benji claims. “And she’s a really good singer.” He pauses before adding, “She’s probably going to get Dorothy. Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” I sigh, even though, in my opinion, that is the kind of information he could have kept to himself. Reluctantly I ask, “So, tell me what happened.”

It turns out he got a callback for the Cowardly Lion. He had to learn a bit of a song and part of a dance routine.
Then they made him read lines with Charity and another girl I’ve never heard of before.

“Wow, Benji. That’s great.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, Clarissa. I wanted to, but then Mattie said —”

I stop walking.

“Wait —
Mattie
said? Mattie knew about this?”

“I had to tell someone,” he says plaintively, “and I knew you were upset about your audition so I called Mattie and asked her what I should do.”

So many light bulbs are going off inside my head it must be like Christmas in there. Mattie was the one who said not to call Benji. Mattie was the one who wanted to leave the house and hang out at the park, which is in the opposite direction of the theatre. It was all a plot to keep me in the dark.

“Clarissa, please don’t be mad. You know you would’ve been upset! I saw your face in there, you were upset! I just didn’t want to hurt your feelings …” Benji trails off.

“I know,” I grumble.

“I hate it when you’re mad,” Benji finishes.

“I’m not mad,” I protest.

Which is true. I’m not mad. At him.

For the rest of the walk home, I try to convince Benji that I’m not mad and pretend that everything is normal between us. It is the best performance of my life. If only the audition panel could see me now.

The second I get home I fly in the door and run for the phone.

“Hey there, missy, dinner is in two minutes —”

“One sec, Mom!”

I dodge past her and start dialling Mattie’s number without even taking my coat or shoes off.

Mattie answers on the second ring. “Hello, Cohen residence.”

“It’s Clarissa.”

“Hi, Clarissa! What’s up?”

“You told me you wanted to spend time just us girls,” I say.

“I don’t understand …”

“This afternoon! At the park! You said you wanted to hang out just us girls!”

I’m yelling now. Mom comes into the living room, frowning. “Clarissa, what on earth —”

“You lied to me! You knew Benji had that callback and you didn’t want me to know so you lied to me! And you got Benji to lie to me!”

“No, I didn’t —” Mattie protests.

“Yes, you did!”

“Benji was worried you’d be upset and listen to you, you ARE upset! You would have ruined his callback!”

I’m so offended I don’t even know what to say. Mattie keeps going. “He needed your support but you would have freaked out, so I told him to wait. It was best for you and Benji! If you would just calm down and let me explain it to you, I’m sure you’d agree.”

“Don’t tell me what’s best for me!” I shout. “You barely know me! And you don’t know Benji like I do! I would never upset him, I’m happy for him. The only person I’m mad at is you.”

“Clarissa, I can explain,” Mattie whimpers.

“What did you say this afternoon? Trust is everything? Well how am I supposed to trust you now?”

There. That shut her up. I slam the phone down and take a deep breath. My throat hurts from screaming. Mom is staring at me.

“Don’t ask,” I warn her.

“All that yelling has given me indigestion. I think I have the right to know why my dinner has been ruined.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have been eavesdropping,” I say.

Mom crosses her arms and stares me down. Her short hair makes her look even tougher when she’s mad. “That’s enough, Clarissa. I’ve heard quite enough from you just now. I don’t need any of that smart mouth.”

I jam my teeth together and will myself to be quiet. If I don’t, I’ll just make it worse. Why does everything have to go wrong at once? Isn’t it enough that Benji got a callback and I didn’t? Why did he have to tell Mattie and not me? Why did they have to come up with a plan to not tell me? And now Mom is mad. I wish I could fast-forward to my twenty-fifth birthday. Or at least next year.

The phone rings when I’m in the bathtub, trying to calm down. Mom says the best place to cool down is in a hot tub. I don’t understand how or why it works, but it does. I’m scrubbing last week’s nail polish from my toes when Mom taps on the door.

“Phone,” she calls.

“I’m busy,” I mutter.

“I can’t hear you,” she replies.

“I’m busy!” I shout.

“It’s Benji.”

I drag myself out of the bath, wrap myself in my robe, open the door, and grab the phone from my mother. “I was in the bath.”

“Sorry. I can call you back.”

“No, no, I’m out now. So?”

“So … I heard.”

My heart beats a little faster. “And?”

“I got in; I’m going to be the Cowardly Lion.”

Not even the splittest of seconds passes before I launch into the congratulations I’d planned in the bathtub, just in case. “Benji, that’s amazing!”

“I still can’t believe it. You should have seen my dad. He didn’t know what to say.”

The image of the Dentonator trying to grapple with the idea of his son singing and dancing onstage makes me giggle and I feel a little less torn.

“Are you okay?” Benji asks.

“Of course I’m okay,” I lie. “I’m better than okay, I’m so happy for you. They couldn’t ask for a better lion.” Most of this is true, but it doesn’t stop my heart from aching.

“Okay, good.” Benji’s relief flows across the telephone line. “I wish you were going to be in it,” he adds.

“Me too,” I admit.

“It’s going to be weird not having you there.”

“You’ll probably meet all these new, super-cool people and forget all about me,” I say lightly, hoping against hope that it won’t turn out to be true.

“Clarissa, you are the most unforgettable person I know, except for maybe Denise.”

“Denise doesn’t count. How can I compete with that honking laugh?”

“She should really be exempt.”

“She should.”

There is a pause in the conversation that I can’t seem to find the words to fill. My heart feels sore in a million places. But as sad as I am about not getting the role of my dreams, I have to find a way to lock it all up and just be happy for Benji. It shouldn’t be so difficult, he’s my best friend, for crying out loud. Part of me wants him to do well, but a bigger part of me wishes that I could be there to do well beside him.

“Well, goodnight. And congratulations again, Benji.”

“Thanks, Clarissa. I’m glad you’re okay with everything, because if you wanted me to … well … I would quit.”

“Absolutely not,” I say. “Don’t be stupid.”

“It’s just a play, you’re my best friend.”

“It is
not
just a play; it’s
The Wizard of Oz
! It’s up to you to do it justice! And you are my best friend, and I won’t let you quit just because I wasn’t good enough to get in.”

“Charity says casting is not about being good, it’s about being right for the part.”

Charity says?
He just met her, and already he’s quoting her? I try not to let on that this bothers me. Instead I say as brightly as possible, “Well, I guess she would know!”

“She’s really nice. I think you’d like her.”

“I’m sure I would,” I say quickly. “Goodnight.”

“’night.”

I hang up the phone and change into an old t-shirt and gym shorts, ready for bed, even though it’s barely eight o’clock. I think about watching TV or reading or doing something to make me feel less miserable, but all I want to do is lie on the bed and stew in my bad mood.

“I gather he got in.” Mom appears in the doorway in her silent ninja-mom way, holding a tall, frothy glass of what can only be …

“Creamsicle float?” I ask.

Mom nods. “I figured you could use a pick-me-up.”

I nod wordlessly, slip off the bed, and take the glass from her hand. It feels cold and smooth and just holding it lifts my spirits a little. Mom makes the best ice cream floats in the world. She uses only premium vanilla ice cream and no-name orange pop. You would think that the more expensive stuff would taste better, but we have done the research and it turns out the cheap-o drugstore brand is the best.

“That was good of you, on the phone,” Mom says. “I know it couldn’t have been easy.”

“I guess.” I shrug, refusing to look her in the eye. If I do, she’ll look at me in that way that melts all the hard
things inside of me and I’ll turn into a soggy, blubbering cry-baby.

Mom puts an arm around my shoulder and guides me back to the bed. We sit, me drinking my float, and Mom drawing circles across my shoulder blades with her fingernails. It feels nice. When I was little, she used to write words with her finger and I would try and guess what they were.

I can’t remember the last time she sat on the bed with me and scratched my back. Ever since her diagnosis, I do my best to appear happy and worry-free, even on really bad days. Maybe it’s superstitious, but I believe in that saying about making yourself sick with worry. My mom already is sick, and I don’t want to make it worse by giving her something else to worry about. But this time, try as I might, I can’t stop them from coming — big, heaving sobs. I try to fight them off, but I’m so cozy and my mom is right there.

“It’s just —” I start, but the words get caught in a full-body sob.

“Yes?” Mom encourages.

“I’m the one who always wanted to act.”

“I know.”

“And I’m not mad at him, how can you possibly be mad at Benji, but —” I take a deep breath, trying to steady my voice, “why couldn’t we both get in?” Hot tears run down my cheeks. There is nothing I can do to stop them. I am officially crying.

Mom lets me go for a while, rubbing my back and shoulders. When I’ve calmed myself down, she continues, “I’m sorry you didn’t get in, Clarissa. It took a lot of guts to get up and audition for something like that. You should be so proud of yourself. I know I am proud of you. And next time it will be that much easier.”

“I don’t know if there will be a next time,” I mumble.

“There will be. If you really want to be an actress you have to get back out there and try again. You have to get used to rejection.”

I stare into my empty glass so I don’t have to answer.

“Benji needs a break like this,” Mom continues, “and I’m not saying that you don’t deserve it, either, but we both know you are made of stronger stuff. You feel awful now, but you will bounce back. And you’re going to have to hear all about rehearsals and costumes and pretend it doesn’t hurt.”

“I know,” I sigh.

“What Benji needs most is your support.”

Mom takes my chin in her hand and smiles at me like I am something miraculous and not some dripping, red-eyed mess. “Look at you,” she sighs, “practically all grown up, only a few months away from grade nine. You know, high school is a whole different ball game. You and Benji won’t always do the same things, but that doesn’t mean you can’t still be best friends.”

“I know that.”

“Good. Now, do you feel better, or should I make another float?”

In our post-diagnosis world of celery and soy milk, a real ice cream float is a rare thing.

“I think one more will make me feel a whole lot better.”

Mom laughs. “I figured. Well, get up. The least you can do is come keep me company while I work my magic.”