October 12: Audrey

Audrey

“You look terrible,” Dakota says and hands me a coffee. “Long night?”
“Stayed up practicing,” I tell him and sip slowly from the hot paper cup. “Got up early this morning to practice too.”
“You’ve been ready for that recital for weeks now,” he assures me. “You should’ve gotten your sleep last night.”
“I know.” I sigh. “You’re still coming right?”
“Where else would I be? The football game?” He nudges me and laughs. “I’ll be there, up front and center, whether your parents like it or not.”
When the bell rings, we walk to our homerooms and I sit through Ruby’s Friday announcements. She reminds us about the football game tonight, and I remember how upset Mr. McGinnis was when I told him I couldn’t help out because of my recital.
“We need you Audrey,” he had said in the firmest tone he could muster. “School spirit is extremely important, especially for my leadership.”
“I know,” I told him with my head down. “It’s just this one time. It won’t happen again. I really want to be there,” I lied. I hate football games and I lost my school spirit when I was forced under a cold shower -fully clothed- by the varsity volleyball team freshmen year.

When the announcements are over, I head to first period alone. People bump into me from all sides, towering over me like giants with big feet that could squash me like a ladybug. I hurry through the halls and push past them, trying my hardest not to make eye contact with any of them.
I can barely keep my eyes open while Kate reviews the significance of mole in AP Chemistry. I lost four hours of sleep to practice and now I am suffering the consequences. Kate passes out a sheet with several chemical reactions on them and I force myself to focus.
“You alright?” She runs her hand over my back. “You don’t seem like yourself today.”
“I’m fine,” I assure her. “Just a little tired, that’s all.”
“Alright.”
I sit through AP calculus and AP European history, running notes from my sonata piece through my head. Before lunch, I hurry to my locker to drop off my books.
“Audrey,” A voice behind me calls from the swirls of conversations around me. I turn around and see Riley Sutton standing there in faded jeans and his leather jacket.
“Hey,” I mumble.
“What’s up?” He stuffs his hand in his pocket and ignores the people trying to walk around him.
I shrug. I still haven’t gotten used to the whole talking-to-hot-boys thing.
“Are we still on for tomorrow? We’ve got a birdhouse to make.”
“Sure thing,” I nod. “Two o’ clock, right?”
“You got it.” He half-smiles and his eyes twinkle. The fiery flutter of my heart is stopped cold when Evelyn steps up next to him and coils her arm around his like a snake.
“I’m ready,” she hisses and stares at me with black eyes. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Whatever,” Riley pulls his arm away and looks at me. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Audrey.” He says it coolly, and I can tell he is trying to make Evelyn jealous. It works, and she storms off in six-inch heels.
“Do me a favor,” he sighs. “Don’t ever become a bitch. Stay sweet, okay?”
I’m not sure if he is complimenting me or not, but his eyes definitely look like expensive, complimentary chocolate hotel mints so I nod and say, “I will, thanks.”
“Good.” He brushes my arm and turns down the hallway to chase after Evelyn. When he is out of sight I let out a long breath. Definitely not used to this. I hurry to the cafeteria with my lunch, feeling like a fourth grader.

“Eat this,” Dakota says and hands me a banana. “It’ll give you energy and potassium helps with nerves.”
“Thanks.” I peel the banana and take a bite. “I’ve got to hurry up and get to the gym so I can help set up for the pep rally.”
“And leave me with those buffoons?” Dakota points towards the school. “Just sit with me. Please sit with me.”
“I can’t. Mr. McGinnis already hates me because I’m missing the game.” I stand up and pat his leg. “You’ll be fine.”
“Whatever, I might just skip it.” He pours a handful of granola in his mouth and chews it loudly. “They won’t notice if I’m gone.”
I leave him outside and hurry into the gym, where Mr. McGinnis is ordering people around and decorating the gym.
“There you are,” he says once I walk in. “I need you to start putting streamers above the bleachers. Make some sort of pattern with the red and white ones.”
“Yes sir,” I say and take the streamers from him. I go to the top of the bleachers and attempt to tape the streamers to one end, but I’m too short to really reach high enough.
Several minutes later, a few girls from student council come to help me. We hang up the streamers and they don’t talk to me. When we are finished, I sit at the bottom of the bleachers and read War and Peace until the bell rings and kids start flooding the gym.
“Leadership,” Mr. McGinnis calls to us. “You guys need to double check and make sure we have everything we need for the shootout.”
I take off my cardigan and pull my red student council shirt over my undershirt. The rest of the leadership laughs and talks with each other, but I sit at the end of the bleachers and try to blend in, not saying a word.
“What’s up, Audrey?” Someone finally speaks. I turn around and see Jesse, the secretary, looking at me.
“Hey,” I mumble.
He doesn’t say anything else and I wonder why he even bothered talking to me in the first place. I sit quietly through the pep rally, refusing to participate in the games and barely clapping the when the football team comes out.
They cheer and holler and the crowd goes crazy. While Anderson gives his speech, I remember that he has a history paper due next week. I make a mental note to work on that after my recital. When everything is over and all the confetti thrown, I follow the masses to the parking lot.

When I get to Dakota’s car, I have barely caught my breath back before he gives me the look. The look that says something is wrong.
“What is it?” I ask.
He sighs and slams his cell phone down on the roof of the car. “My parents are assholes; that’s what it is.”
“What happened?” I put my bag in the passenger seat and walk around to his side of the car.
“I forgot to empty the dishwasher this morning.” He rolls his eyes. “Dad says I’m grounded for the weekend. I have to go straight home after school and I can’t go anywhere else.”
“Even my recital?” I mumble.
“Even your recital.”
I can’t stop the long sigh that escapes from my body. Dakota, the one person I actually want at my recital, can’t be there because his parents are Christian-Nazi-Prison Wardens with too much time on their hands.
“I’m sorry, Audrey. You know I wanted to be there more than anything.”
“I know,” I assure him. “It’s okay, it’s not your fault.”
“I’ll make it up to you. We’ll go out next week and celebrate, alright?”
“Alright.”
On the ride home, we don’t talk much. He blasts the Prince Caspian soundtrack and I pick at my nails. I am nervous for my recital, even more so now that Dakota won’t be there. When we stop in front of my house, he leans over and squeezes my shoulders.
“I’m sorry I can’t be there, Boo Face.” He kisses me lightly on my cheek and I squeeze him back.
“Me too. I’ll play well for you.”
“You better,” he insists.
I leave the cool fall air and step inside my suffocating house. The heat is on too high and Zulma’s whistling is too loud. I go into the kitchen where she is ironing my recital dress.
“Hi Miss Audrey.” She stops whistling and looks up from her ironing.
“Hey Zulma.” I set my bag down at the breakfast nook. “It smells delicious in here.”
“Lasagna,” she says and continues running the iron over the already perfect dress. “Cheesecake for dessert.”
I hurry over to the stove and pull a plate out of the cabinet. My mom always tells me not to eat too much before a recital, but I am starving. Music is never as satisfying on an empty stomach. I pile my plate with lasagna and garlic bread and hurry to the table.
“Are you coming to my recital?” I ask Zulma between bites.
She flips my dress over and shakes her head. “I can’t. I have doctor’s appointment at five.” She looks at the clock, which reads a little after four.
“Are you alright?” Paranoia immediately rushes over me.
“Estoy bien,” she insists. “Just tired, and there is some pain here.” She presses against the top of her stomach and winces.
“Okay,” I say and take another bite of food. “Let me know what the doctor says.”
“Okay.” She unplugs the iron. “Here is your dress.” She holds it up and smiles. “You will look beautiful. Can I do anything else for you?”
I shake my head. “No, I’m fine. Thank you for dinner and for everything.”
“Your mother should be here soon. Mister Kyle said he will try to be back from Washington in time.” She speaks in broken English and puts the ironing board away.
She comes back to the table to hug me. “Tocarás musica bonita,” she whispers in my ear. She has been saying that since I was little.
“I will,” I promise her and she squeezes my hand. “Good luck at the doctor.”
“Gracias, mija dulce.”Her sweet girl. She kisses my forehead and leaves.
I finish my food before my mom gets home and decide to save Zulma’s homemade cheesecake for a reward if I have a good recital. I am in my room changing when my mom gets home.
“Audrey,” she calls from downstairs. I am fresh out of the shower and in my underwear, but she comes upstairs and waltzes into my room.
“Mom,” I say and pull my robe over my shoulders.
“Sorry,” she stutters and looks away. “I just wanted to make sure you had everything ready for tonight.”
“Yeah,” I assure her. “I was just about to put my dress on. My cello and music are downstairs.”
“Do really need the music?” She puts her hands on her hips. “I’m sure you have it memorized by now, right?”
“Well yeah,” I mutter. “It’s just a security thing.”
“The only thing you can be secure in is yourself.” She straightens her ugly beige skirt over her hips and sighs. “You are more than prepared for this recital, and you need to be secure in yourself.”
I nod slowly. “Alright. Can I get dressed now?”
“Certainly.” She checks her watch. “And do so quickly, we are on a timed schedule. Your father won’t be able to make it,” she says as she opens the door. “He says he’s sorry and sends his love and best wishes.”
“I’m sure he does.”
“Watch your tone.” She cuts her eyes at me and purses her lips. “Your father works hard for you. Most would be grateful to be in your shoes.”
“Yes ma’am,” I mumble and turn back to the mirror.
She closes the door softly and once I hear her heels clicking on the hardwood floor downstairs, I throw my shiny new black flats against the door. If someone would be grateful to be in my shoes, they can have them. I don’t want them anymore.
I ignore the heat that flushes my cheeks and slip my dress on. The rough black fabric hangs just above my knobby knees. Shallow pockets hide on each side, not really big enough to carry anything. It is sleeveless and ruffles around my chest, creating an illusion of breasts that don’t actually exist. I poke and prod at my hips and thighs, searching for one soft spot. Women are supposed to be curvy and soft. But all I can find are bones that jut out in the wrong places, skin that stretches snugly over those bones and a thick, invisible layer of doubt.
You need to be secure in yourself, my mom’s voice echoes in my head. I turn away from the mirror and sigh.
There is no pocket for my insecurities.


I twisted my hair back into a bun at the back of my neck because my mom hates when my hair falls in my face while I play. I put on my grandmother’s pearls too, hoping they would bring me good luck and steady fingers. We drive to the recital hall in silence.
The recital is for all of the senior musicians. This is my last one before graduation and anticipation tickles my spine. I hurry backstage while my mom goes in through the front. Several students go before me, a few of them solo and others in small ensembles. I am last on the program and I see my mom getting antsy in the audience.
My teacher, Mrs. Bradford walks out onto the stage to introduce me. “Finally, we have one of our best students who has been with us since she was just six years old. She is one of the sweetest girls I know, and an outstanding musician. It has been an honor working with her and I know she will do great things in her future. Please join me in welcoming our final performer, Audrey Oliver.”
The crowd claps and I suck in a breath and carry my cello out onto the stage. I stand next to the chair in the middle of the stage and take a bow as the audience continues to applaud.
I really wish Dakota was here, I think as I sit down and begin the first piece. As I play through each song, taking my time and stretching out the notes and this moment for as long as I can, I float up onto my cloud and pretend there is nothing in the world for me to worry about. When I’m finished, the last chords ring out into the crowded recital hall and a collective sigh is released from me and the audience.
I stand up and they clap. A standing ovation follows a few seconds later as all of the students come out onto the stage and we bow together. I breathe easy as the stress of the recital is lifted away. But the air constricts and twists in my chest when I see my mom hurrying out of the recital hall on her phone. She smoothes her hands over her skirt as she walks down the aisle.

Business, as usual.

She is waiting for me in the lobby once I have packed my cello up and said goodbye to all of my teachers and peers.
“That was wonderful,” she unlaces her fingers and puts her arm around my shoulders.
“Thanks,” I mutter. “Who was that on the phone?”
“There was a fire over at the Blue Dolphin. They were just calling to let me know.”
“Is everyone alright?”
“A few of the rooms had some mild damage, but no one was hurt. I’m going to drop you off and then run over there to get everything taken care of.”
“Alright.”
“I’m sorry Audrey,” she says quickly. “I know you don’t like being home alone all of the time. I’m sure you’ve got some homework to do, right?”
“Yeah,” I assure her. “It’s okay, Mom. Go take care of the hotel stuff. Don’t worry about-”
I’m interrupted by the ring of her cell phone. She answers it and talks fast into the phone. She gets three more phone calls before we get home. I get out of the car and she speeds off down the street to take care of business.
Inside, I slip out of my dress and into one my dad’s old university t-shirts. I gather all of my books and lay them out on kitchen table. I look in my notebook at the list of assignments that I have to do for other people. A biology lab, two history papers, and a book review. I decide to do Anderson’s US history paper after I finish my own chemistry and calculus homework.
I go to the fridge and pull out the cheesecake Zulma made. It is topped with fresh strawberries and has a homemade crust. I cut a thick slice and sit down to do my homework. When I’m finished, I cut another slice and start on Anderson’s paper. My mom still isn’t home, so I drink a glass of chocolate milk too.
I check my email and have one from Whitley, my partner in European History class. In it, she tells me that she is going to an Equestrian competition and that she won’t be able to do her part of our project that is due Monday. She tells (not asks) me that I will have to do it for the sake of our grade.
At the bottom of the email she says, thanks Audrey. You are the sweetest.
I slam my laptop closed. Without caring what my mom is going to say when she opens the refrigerator and half of the cheesecake is missing, I cut another piece and force it down. I decide that if I get enough calories in me, eventually I will get a soft spot. Eventually the curves will come and then maybe when I get soft on the outside, I will stop being so soft on the inside.


I vow to myself that they will never call me sweet again.