Maeve on the Red Carpet (16 page)

I felt a little uncomfortable. It was weird—why was everyone trying to talk me out of the princess part? Did they think I was not in the same league as Maddie? I had to prove that I was talented enough to be the lead in this film.
“No way. I’m trying out for Princess Sophia,” I insisted as the waiter plopped a plate of crackling, glistening scallion pancakes in the middle of our table. I stabbed one with my fork and added, “Period, final, the end!” and took a huge bite. “OUCH!” I cried.

“Hot?” asked Dad with a smirk.

“Uh-huh.” I reached into my water glass to grab a handful of ice.

“Wow. You are going to be one awesome princess,” Sam teased, patting my shoulder. Then he neatly cut a piece of pancake, blew on it, and took a long, satisfied crunch. I glared at Sam, who looked back with a huge smile and pronounced, “Dee-lish.”

Be online, be online!” I pleaded out loud as I clicked the enter key over and over again. Seriously, I adored the Internet, but why was it that whenever I
really
wanted to get on, it seemed to take forever? I had yoga class in fifteen minutes and there was something really important I had to talk to my friends about. “Come on, BSG, you’ve
got
to be online!”

Finally the computer made a chortling noise and my buddy list popped up. I was overjoyed. The very top of my list said “Chat Room BSG (5/5).” But then … the tragic reality: everyone had put up away messages. Life was too cruel sometimes.

“Oh, Izzy, I miss you too!” I sighed as I stared at the front page of my notebook. I’d written a note to myself on it and the very sight of it made me feel positively nauseous. “Write sceens 1 and 2—hotel and runing away.” I chewed on my thumb. How was I supposed to write an outline of the first two scenes tonight? Apollo was going to do 3 and 4, and Lizzie was going to do 5 and 6. It seemed simple enough, except for one thing: I was probably the worst speller in the history of the world.

At first, I was really excited to start this project after our exciting field trip around the city. But then there was the conversation about the outline I had with Apollo and Lizzie.

“Can we do it on the computer?” I’d asked Apollo.

“Nah … just scribble down what we talked about today in a notebook,” Apollo said. “This is a
really
rough draft.”

Lizzie agreed. “I’m still in total pencil mode. At least ’til we talk it over with Artemia.”

But what they didn’t understand was that pencil mode for me was pretty much impossible. An impossible nightmare. I looked down at my notes again: “Write sceens 1 and 2—hotel and runing away.”
Ew. Terrible
. I shuddered. I knew that couldn’t be right.

Lizzie was super-organized, which was definitely a plus, because I was the exact opposite. She made a list of all the places we saw, and all the crazy ideas we had. Why did I have to be dyslexic? It was
so
unfair.

Thank goodness I was allowed to bring my laptop into school with me. Without my spell-checker, I’d be totally lost. But out in the real world, did I really have to abandon my trusty computer and go back to being Maeve the terrible speller? Just when Apollo was finally starting to think I was smart (after a little bit of a bumpy start with Maddie), did I really want to go back to feeling stupid? No way.

I went over to my desk and stared at my face in the mirror. “Hair, A-plus,” I said in my most confident voice, twisting a silky red ringlet around my pencil. “Skin … A,” I decided. Some girls weren’t crazy about a few little freckles on their noses like I had, but I happened to like my freckles. My mom and dad said they gave me character. “But spelling … ugh. D-minus.”

I rested my chin in my hand and blinked back the tears that were clouding my A-plus-pluses. What was it that Dad said about my eyes? Then I remembered it with a weak smile: “Those baby blues speak for themselves.” He was always so nice and encouraging and made me feel tons better when no one else could. I sniffled, picked up my cell phone, and dialed Dad’s number. He would know the perfect thing to say.

After only two rings Dad picked up. “Hi, Maeve.”

“Hey, Dad,” I sniffled.

“Sweetie? Is something wrong?”

I gulped. “Well …”

“Maeve … talk to me, kiddo,” Dad encouraged me just a little. He always had so much love and patience that I stopped trying to hold back my tears, and let them drip down my cheeks in a steady drizzle. “Sweetie, what is it?” Dad asked again.

“I—I—I …” I sputtered. “I’m supposed to write this outline for the movie, and we aren’t allowed to use a computer, and I have to do it in a notebook, and I know that when I do it’s going to be just awful, and Lizzie and Apollo are going to know what a terrible writer I am, and they’ll think I’m totally stupid. Oh, Dad, this is horrible! I might as well quit right now. I know—I’ll just be a mime.”

“Maeve!” Dad sounded shocked.

I glared at my reflection in the mirror and miserably added, “They’ll probably WISH they had Madeline Von Krupcake in their group instead of me. Dad, believe me … I can’t do this.”

“I’m sorry, may I ask who’s calling?” Dad asked. “This must be some kind of prank, because the Maeve Kaplan-Taylor I know is probably the most talented, creative person in all of Massachusetts. No, in all of the United States of America.”

Dad was so obviously just trying to make me feel better with his huge exaggeration that I giggled unexpectedly and it came out as a loud snort. “Was that … laughter?” Dad prompted.

“Actually it’s called a sniggle … technically speaking,” I said, dabbing the saltiness out of my long eyelashes.

“Maeve, what do you suppose would happen if you came in tomorrow with an outline that you made on the computer?” Dad asked.

I considered that for a sec. “Probably Lizzie and Apollo would think I was too dumb to write without a spell-checker,” I moped.

“Sweetie, did you ever think that maybe Apollo and Lizzie would be really impressed that you went above and beyond on the outline?”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“Well, a computer printout is much easier to read … and much more organized. And if that’s how you feel most comfortable presenting your ideas, I think it’s absolutely fine. Kiddo, I know you’re self-conscious about having to use your laptop to organize ideas, but the truth is, it’s the end result that matters. When everyone sees all your cool ideas, I promise they’ll be impressed.”

I got up from my desk, wedged the phone beneath my ear, and started my pre-yoga stretches. It was important to warm up before my lesson. Plus, I was suddenly feeling a little bit brighter. “Really?”

“Absolutely. They’re going to think that you’re a super hard worker … and they already know how talented you are.”

“Wow, Dad, thanks.” I began doing one of my favorite yoga poses—the tree. It was when I bent one leg and placed my foot on my knee with my hands pressed together above my head. It was very good for improving balance.

“There’s one more thing,” Dad added. “Maeve, remember, perseverance is what it’s all about.”

It was hard to answer while I was standing in “tree” but I managed to admit, “Yeah … I guess.”

“Maeve …” Dad warned.

“All right, all right. I’m getting to work.”

“Balderdash,” Dad scolded. “I’m not convinced. You can do better than that. Now say it again, but this time, make me believe it.”

I sighed, put the phone on speaker, and placed it on the floor as I transferred my yoga position to downwardfacing dog. Red curls toppled onto my pink rug and I felt my cheeks warm as the blood rushed to my head. “I can do this!” I shouted.

“And what does ‘smart’ rhyme with?” Dad asked.

When the word popped into my head I was appalled. “Daddy!” I gasped.

Dad laughed. “I was thinking ‘heart.’”

“Oh yeah.”

“So repeat after me. I’ve got heart.”

“I’VE GOT HEART!”

“And acting is my art.”

“AND ACTING IS MY ART!” As I shouted the last part my hand slipped and I toppled to the floor. Luckily, my rug is very thick and very soft.

Except for my sore ankle, I had to admit—Dad’s cheer-up strategy worked. I felt a lot better. Who cared how I wrote my outline … as long as I wrote it. “You’re the best, Dad. I need to get my stuff ready for yoga now. I love you. Thanks for taking us out today—by the way.”

“You’re very welcome. Love you too.”

We hung up and I felt a tiny pang of sadness that Dad wasn’t home now, right down the hall like the old days. But I knew he was there for me all the same.

“Heart, art,” I said in a low voice. “Heart, art,” I repeated a little bit louder. “Heart, art, smart. SMART, HEART, AR—”

There was suddenly a loud “THUNK” sound right outside my door, followed by the pitter-patter of little footsteps. I dashed over and threw the door open. “Hello?” I called, but there was not a person in sight. The only traces that anyone had been there were the small footprints left in the hall rug …

I had a sinking feeling that a certain member of the paparazzi was at it again.

Saaaaaam! Will you please hurry up!” I hollered as I waited anxiously by the kitchen door.

“Oh no. Don’t tell me you’re turning into a Maddie-clone again!” Sam warned, marching into the kitchen. Lately he had traded in his Army clothes for a style that he deemed “way totally cooler.” Today he was wearing loose-fitting jeans with a backward baseball cap. I was pretty sure whose “way totally cooler” style Sam was trying to imitate. “I got two words for you, Maeve. Get real.” He was even beginning to sound like his new idol.

“Today, I shall only be addressed as ‘Your Highness.’” I pointed to the pink tiara I had crunched into my curls.

“No way, dude,” Sam replied in his best Apollo voice.

“Way,
dude
,” said Mom, giving me a warm smile. “Your sister is doing a little method acting right now. She’s already in character for the big audition.”

I nodded. “Thank you, Mother,” I said in my most regal voice. Mom and Sam had actually been really awesome last night. They stayed up for two hours running lines with me until I felt totally prepared. Sam even videotaped it so I could see how I’d look on film. All my hard work had definitely paid off. “I am the great Princess Sophia,” I declared with confidence. “You may kiss my hand.”

“And I think that’s just wonderful,” Mom said, sweetly running her hand over my head. “But if you think your brother and I are kissing your hand … you’re dreaming!”

That comment made me break character and my mouth break into a smile. “Fine.” I giggled. “I’m sooo ready for this audition, though. Can we go?”

Sam spun around and pinched his arm. “Wait a minute. You’re ready to leave the house before me? This IS weird.”

When we got to the theater, my heart was racing at a hundred miles a minute. Even though I loved auditioning, I always got nervous right before. My drama coach said that those were called “healthy nerves.”
Channel your nervous energy into positive energy
, I reminded myself.

Sam looked up at me with a mischievous smile. “Scared?” he asked.

“Never,” I promised, giving Sam a look that meant I was in no mood to be teased.

“Good,” Sam answered. “Because I think you’re the best actress in the whole world!”

I looked at Mom, who just shrugged. Sometimes little
brothers could surprise you by saying the nicest thing and make you feel totally guilty for ever thinking of them as an annoying pest. Then other times …

“Last one to the theater’s a rotten egg! Haha, that’s you, Maeve,” Sam suddenly cried. He took off with his large camera bouncing by his side.

Never mind about that feeling guilty thing
… I thought.

“Break a leg today, sweetie.” Mom kissed me on the cheek.

“Pheeeeeeew,” I exhaled a deep yoga breath to calm myself. “Oh, dear me, aren’t these little Swan Ships the most dee-lightful vessels?” I recited one of the Princess Sophia lines I’d memorized.

Mom smiled. “You’ve got it, Maeve! Now go in there and show that pastry puff princess who’s boss!”

“You got it!” I gave her two thumbs up.

I shook out my curls and smoothed my purple blouse outlined with pink ribbons. (I thought it was my most princess-y looking choice!) Confidence surged through every part of me. I knew in my heart that I could play the lead role in this film.
Even better than Maddie!
I realized with a little jolt.

I was one of the first people at camp that morning. I was about to pull open the door to the Movie House when I heard a loud screeching behind me and I turned with a start.

It was a huge white stretch Cadillac Escalade. That car looked like it was straight out of a rap music video. I did a quick spin around just to make sure I wasn’t secretly
being filmed or “punked” maybe, but there didn’t seem to be any lights or cameras. I wondered who was in there. Maybe it was a famous hip hop star! The driver got out and jogged to the back door … which—might I add—was VERY far away.

Oh my gosh
! This Escalade limo didn’t belong to a rap star at all. IT WAS MADDIE! Yikes, I couldn’t believe this Krupcake Princess. One limo was bigger than the next. Today, Maddie had her hair pinned up in large curlers and was wearing a long pink bathrobe. And she wasn’t alone. The next one out of the limo was a man with a Mohawk and a large cosmetics box—the makeup artist. A short, stocky woman with purple spiky hair and platform shoes clomped out carrying a blow-drier. She must have been the hairdresser. An older gentleman in a black beret was next, prompting Maddie with lines. Just when I thought the parade had to be over, a girl wheeled out the longest rack of outfits I’d ever seen. I gulped. I wished the BSG were here to see this. Maddie brought an entire
entourage
.