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For my dear friend, Lisa—I
had so much fun remembering our magical afternoon
together watching WICKED as I wrote this book.
I have, indeed, been changed for good.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
chocolate ice cream
THE ULTIMATE COMFORT FOOD
I think there are two kinds of happiness.
There’s the real kind of happiness when you have to smile because you feel so good inside. It’s like you’ve just eaten the most delicious cupcake or cuddled with the most adorable kitten. When you look around, everything looks like it’s trimmed in gold. Beautiful. Joyful. Happy.
Then there’s the fake kind of happiness. Something is supposed to make you happy. Your brain keeps saying you should be happy about this and you want to be, but no matter how hard you try to feel the real happiness, for some reason you can’t. So you smile anyway and put on the best happy show you can because you don’t want to look like a bad person. Sometimes, though, if you’re lucky, the fake happiness eventually and magically turns into real happiness.
Today I’m supposed to feel happy and excited. Instead I feel sad and jealous. No one knows that, though. I made sure of it. All day at school I was the picture of happiness. I should get an Emmy for my performance today. Or an Oscar. Or, at the very least, a new tube of lip gloss, because my lips are really dry from all that smiling.
As I ride my yellow mountain bike home, my legs pumping hard and fast and my face all scrunched up and ugly because I don’t have to pretend to be happy anymore, I think of that horrible old woman, Miss Gulch, from The Wizard of Oz. The one who took Toto from Dorothy? I probably look like her. What a scary thought.
I take a deep breath, slow down my sad and jealous legs, and tell myself to relax. And then I turn my thoughts to the list of things I go to when I’m in serious need of cheering up. Well, not an actual list. That might be weird to have a piece of paper with Sophie’s List of Pick-Me-Ups written at the top and then a list of items that fill the page.
Usually I’m a pretty happy person. But there are some days, like today, when the world feels like a big, rotten tomato. (For the record, I hate tomatoes.)
I go over my mental pick-me-up list and realize that with the long, boring weekend stretching out ahead of me, I’m going to need almost every single thing on the list to help me through it.
First on the list is my dog. Daisy is a Havanese, which means she’s an adorable, white bundle of fluffiness. And before you think I’m really shallow and only love my dog because of how she looks, when I say she’s cute, I mean even her personality is cute! When she wags her tail, which is a lot of the time, her whole body wiggles. She has a small collection of stuffed animals (ones I used to play with) that she’s claimed as hers, and she loves it when I grab one and throw it so she can chase it and bring it back to me to play tug-of-war. And when I’ve worn her out from tossing a bear or a tiger down the hallway a hundred times, she’ll set the stuffed animal down, crawl into my lap, and paw at my hand as if to say, Pet me, pet me! See? So cute!
Next on the list is my best friend, Isabel. What can I say about Isabel? She’s the best friend a girl could have. She used to live in the duplex next to ours, but they moved last summer so her mom could open a cupcake shop. The shop is called It’s Raining Cupcakes, and Isabel and her parents live in an apartment above it. I think it’s pretty great, and I’m happy her mom is living out her dream, but I miss having Isabel right next door. We still see each other a lot, but won’t this weekend, which brings me to the actual reason the world feels like a big, rotten tomato.
Isabel is out of town, in New York City, so she can’t be a part of my cheer-myself-up plan. In fact, her being in New York City is the reason I’m not happy. She entered a baking contest through a magazine and her recipe was good enough to earn her a spot in the bake-off. The finalists all flew to New York this morning, where they’ll compete in the bake-off tomorrow.
I’m the one who told Isabel about the contest. I’m glad she got to go, but I wanted to go too! I wanted to compete for the grand prize of one thousand dollars. That’s a lot of money, and it would have paid for some singing and acting lessons, something I really want to do so I can be an actress someday.
When I woke up this morning, it hit me pretty hard that Isabel was in New York City while I was stuck here, in the small town of Willow, and my happiness quickly disappeared. It’ll be back one of these days—hopefully by the time Isabel gets home and tells me whether or not she won the contest.
In the meantime, back to my list. Musicals. I love, love, LOVE musicals. Movies like The Sound of Music, The Wizard of Oz, Annie, Hairspray, Mamma Mia!, and High School Musical. I have a whole collection of musical movies I’ve gotten as gifts since I was six years old. When I’m feeling down, I pop one in and snuggle up with my favorite blanket and a good snack. Soon everything fades away. In fact, it fades away so much that halfway through the movie, I’m usually up and singing along. I can’t help it! It’s like I want to be in the movie singing those songs so bad, I just have to get up and do the closest thing to it—singing and dancing around in my bedroom (usually in my purple pajamas).
Fourth on the list is shopping. I don’t even have to buy anything, it’s just fun to look at all of the cool clothes, sparkly jewelry, and beautiful shoes. Sometimes I’ll try on shoes I know my mom would never approve of in a million years and pretend I’m a movie star with a red-carpet event I have to attend. You know, like it’s absolutely crucial that I have the right pair of shoes. Now that’s a type of pretending I don’t mind at all.
Finally, chocolate. There’s a little plaque that hangs in our kitchen. It’s been there for as long as I can remember. It says HAND OVER THE CHOCOLATE AND NO ONE GETS HURT. I can just imagine a bank robber going into a bank, strolling up to the counter, and saying those words. At first, the bank teller is terrified. But when the robber demands chocolate instead of money, the teller says, “Oh, honey, I sure do understand. It’s been one of those days, huh?”
I love chocolate. It’s definitely my snack of choice, when given an option. I know, I know. I should be eating apples, bananas, and carrots, and I do eat those things, I swear! But like my mom always says—everything in moderation.
Last summer, as I thought about a cupcake recipe for the Baker’s Best baking contest, I knew I wanted my recipe to include chocolate. I mean, if you have two flavors of cupcakes sitting side by side, one with chocolate and one without, I bet people choose the chocolate one most of the time. The recipe I finally ended up submitting for m
y entry was one for watermelon chocolate cupcakes—chocolate cake with a watermelon-flavored frosting. (See? I like fruit, too!) My whole family thought they were amazing. But I guess the judges didn’t agree. Stupid judges.
Stupid sadness and jealousy.
When I get home, I put my bike in the garage and go in the house. Daisy greets me at the door with her usual jumping, spinning, and pet me, pet me routine.
“Hello, adorable dog of mine and number one on my list,” I whisper, petting her as she rolls over, giving me her belly to scratch.
After a sufficient amount of scratching time, I stand up. “Come on, Daisy. You want a treat?”
She follows me into the kitchen, her tail wagging so hard it’s practically picking her up off the ground. I toss her a Milk-Bone, get a spoon from the silverware drawer, and then grab the chocolate ice cream from the freezer.
I don’t even get a bowl. I sit on a stool at the counter and dig in.
“Sophie, is that you?” Mom calls from the other room.
“No, it’s a stranger raiding your freezer.”
Mom appears, smiling. I have to say, my mom is so cute. No, not Daisy-cute, but girlie-cute, I guess. She wears her blond hair short but stylish, and she has a round face with big blue eyes. And she always wears the cutest clothes, not like she’s trying to be sixteen again, just fresh and fun. Today she’s wearing jeans and a pink T-shirt that says WAG MORE, BARK LESS.
“Hi, honey. How was school today?”
I shrug my shoulders, partly because I don’t want to tell her about my rotten tomato day and partly because my mouth is full of chocolatey, creamy goodness.
“I’ve been thinking about you,” she says. “Thinking about how you’re probably a little sad to be here and not in New York City like Isabel.”
The way she looks at me and the way her caring comes through in her voice, I feel tears rising up. I blink hard a few times, then I shrug again, scared that if I try to talk about it, I’ll have a full-blown tearfest going on. And I don’t want that. The whole point of the chocolate ice cream is to cheer myself up!
“I have a surprise for you,” she says, her face now literally beaming.
I swallow my mouthful of ice cream. Thoughts of a tearfest disappear at the mention of the word “surprise.” I totally forgot that’s another one on my list of pick-me-ups! Except, it’s sort of hard to make a surprise happen by myself.
I wait, my spoon frozen in midair.
She brings her hand around from behind her back, and she’s holding three tickets. I lean in, my eyes squinting, trying to read the small words.
My spoon makes a loud clanking noise as I drop it on to the counter and grab the tickets from her hand.
I can’t believe it.
Wicked, the musical.
We’re going to see Wicked!
Chapter 2
chocolate-covered peanuts
THEY SING AND DANCE IN YOUR MOUTH
I squeal, jump off my stool, and grab my mom so hard that I’m afraid for a second I might have broken her rib or something.
I let go. “Sorry, are you okay?”
She laughs. “Yes. Are you?”
“Mom, how did you get these? When—?”
“One of my customers has a sister with some connections to Broadway Across America. Good ones, obviously. When I heard Wicked was coming to Portland, I asked if she could help me get some tickets. And so she did.”
I can’t believe it. Other kids at school have seen the show when they’ve traveled to places like New York City, San Francisco, and Miami, and they always come back raving about it. The story, the songs, the performances—all of it is supposed to be spectacular to watch. I’ve read it’s the story of how the Wicked Witch of the West in The Wizard of Oz came to be wicked.
“When is it?” I ask.
“Tomorrow night.”
“There are three tickets here,” I say, grabbing the rapidly melting ice cream and sticking it back in the freezer. “Who else is going with us?”
“I thought you might want to ask a friend to come along. If not, Hayden might like to see it.”
Ugh. Hayden. Okay, my eight-year-old brother is definitely not on my list of pick-me-ups. In fact, he just might have the ability to totally ruin what could turn out to be one of the best nights of my entire life.
My brain goes through my list of friends from the theater camps I’ve attended the last few years. Choosing one of them makes sense because I know they would love a live musical production as much as I would.
“Lily!” I decide. “I’ll ask Lily. She’s perfect. I hope she can go.”
“Better call her right away,” Mom says. “If she’s free, tell her we’ll pick her up at four tomorrow. We’ll stop and get a bite to eat on the way. The play starts at seven. We’ll be home really late, so maybe ask if she can spend the night with us.”
“Okay.” I give my mom another hug, a much gentler one this time. “Thanks, Mom. You are now officially on my pick-me-up list.”
She smiles. “That’s a good thing, right?”
“You’re on there with chocolate! Yes, it’s a good thing.”
As I’m heading to the phone, Hayden comes in carrying what looks to be a spaceship made out of toilet-paper tubes. He’s obsessed with all things outer space.
“Hayden,” Mom asks with a funny look on her face. “Where did you get those?”
“Mom, don’t worry,” he says. “I got them out without unrolling all the paper. Well, except for one. And I folded the paper up really neatly. Anyway, with most of them, you can hardly tell the tubes are gone!”
I grab the phone and take it to my room, and leave Mom alone to handle that situation.
Lily is really excited. Her parents give her permission to come with us and spend the night so I give her all the details. After I hang up, I lie on my bed, thinking of all the fun times we had together at theater camps and missing them.
Last summer, the only camp I went to was the two-week overnight camp my parents have sent me to the last few years. It wasn’t nearly as fun as theater camp, although two good things did happen. One, I met this cute guy named Kyle who was really nice. Well, I thought he was nice. He never wrote to me or called me like he promised. Okay, scratch that. One good thing happened. One of the camp counselors, Marcella, recorded everyone’s talent show performances. She said she was so impressed by my performance, she planned on showing it to her mom. I thought that was a strange thing to do until she explained that her mom is an agent, and she’s always looking for talented young people to star in commercials and TV shows. Of course, here it is November, a long way from July, and Marcella hasn’t gotten in touch with me.
That does it. Overnight camp was a complete bomb. Which is why I’m going to do everything possible so I don’t have to go next year and can go back to theater camp here in Willow instead. I just need to figure out a way to make some money for lessons. Otherwise, I’m afraid they’ll give me the role of a tree or something else equally humiliating. I’m so much more than a tree, I know I am!
When I leave my room to tell Mom that Lily is going with us to the play, I hear Hayden talking in the bathroom. “But, Mom, why is the tube so important? The toilet paper will still get the job done, right?”
On Saturday, Mom and I spend almost the whole day getting ready for our big evening. Mom gives us both manicures after we eat lunch, and then we go through all of our clothes before we settle on what dresses we’re going to wear. I decide to wear a pale-green dress I wore to a wedding last year that still fits. Mom chooses a simple black dress she said she’s had forever, because it’s the kind of dress that never goes out of style.
After that, I curl my shoulder-length blond hair and put in two small, sparkly barrettes to dress it up a little. When we finally head out to the family room to say good-bye to Dad and Hayden, Dad whistles at us.
“Who are you and what have you done with my wife and daughter?”
We laugh and then Hayden says, “Eh, Sophie, y
ou look better in your purple pajamas.”
I give him a swat with the small handbag Mom lent me.
“Drive safely,” Dad says as he kisses Mom on the cheek. “And enjoy the show.” Then he leans in and kisses me on the forehead. His breath smells like peanuts.
“It’s going to be so awesome,” I say.
“Oh, wait a second!” Dad hustles into the kitchen and pulls out a bag of chocolate-covered peanuts. “Here, take these along. They’ll have snacks during the intermission, but they’ll cost almost as much as the tickets to the show.”
Mom sticks them in her purse and then we say good-bye.
As I put my seat belt on, I turn and look at my beautiful mom. “I’m not dreaming, am I? We’re really doing this?”
“I promise, you are wide-awake.” And then she starts singing, “We’re off to see the wizard . . .”
And I burst out laughing.
Chapter 3
chocolate-chip pancakes
TRY THEM FOR A SWEET SUNDAY MORNING BREAKFAST
The play is incredible.
Brilliant.
Dazzling!
I laugh. I cry. I cheer! We all do. When it’s over and the actors take the stage for their bows, I applaud as hard as I can, wishing there was another performance so we could, experience the magic all over again.
“I’m pretty sure that was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen,” Lily says as we stand in line waiting to buy a CD. We want to listen to it on the way home. I look at her and realize she’s glowing, and it’s not because of the sparkly coral dress she’s wearing.
“Me too!” I say.
We get our CD and head outside. The night is cold and clear. I look up, but the tall buildings of downtown Portland prevent me from seeing the moon or very many stars. We rush to the parking garage, shivering the whole way. When we get in the car, Mom turns it on and cranks up the heat.
I lean in toward the front seat. “Just so you know, I’m now more determined than ever to find a way to pay for some singing and acting lessons.”