I’m on my way there when I pass a camera shop, and it makes me stop. I don’t know why, but I go inside. There are so many cameras, all shapes and sizes. What kind would Dennis want? I wonder. Something small that would fit in his pocket, or a big one that allows you to use different types of lenses? They all are pretty expensive. I bet his mom will shop at the thrift store and try to find him one for $3-99- A picture of a beat-up old camera with a broken lens pops into my brain. She wouldn’t do that to him, would she?
If I had enough money, I’d buy him one. But I don’t. There’s nothing that costs less than a hundred dollars in here.
“Can I help you?” the man from behind the counter asks me.
“No,” I say. “Just looking.” I start to turn to leave, but then I change my mind. “Actually, I have a friend who wants a camera for Christmas. What’s a good kind for someone my age? Something not too, you know, expensive?”
“Yes. Let me show you.”
He comes around and takes me down an aisle, and we stop in front of a red camera that’s out on display. He walks me through some of the features, and then I ask him to write the name and model number on a piece of paper. When he hands it to me, I slip it into my purse, thank him, and tell myself I can’t forget about it.
After that, I go to Flynn’s and buy tea from Mom. I don’t have enough money left to get Hayden anything. I’ll have to wait and buy his gift with my December allowance. I head back to the meeting place and wait for Mom.
She walks up a few minutes later carrying four big bags. “Wow,” I say. “You’ve been busy. Want to show me what you got?”
She winks. “You know I can’t do that. Come on. I’m hungry. Let’s get a snack, and then we’ll shop for the perfect audition outfit.”
We go back to the coffee shop where we order some tea and hazelnut chocolate-chip scones. While we eat, Mom pulls out Hayden’s list and looks it over.
“Is there anything that doesn’t involve space on there?” I ask her.
“Yes,” she says. “Number one on his list is a tarantula.”
“No,” I say. “No, no, no. You can’t do it, Mom.”
She laughs. “Don’t worry!”
Just as we’re about to get up and leave, someone taps me on the shoulder.
I turn around.
“Hey!” Isabel says. Her grandma Dolores is standing behind her, smiling.
“Hi, Suzanne, hello, Sophie,” Dolores says. My mom gets up to greet her.
I stand up and give Isabel a hug. Then I point to her bag. “Let me guess. You just couldn’t stay away from the year’s biggest sock sale, right?”
She laughs. “Um, not exactly. Takes a lot more than cheap socks to get me out of bed early when there’s no school. I bought some Christmas presents for Mom and Dad.”
I point to my bags. “Yeah, me too.”
“What about your audition on Monday? Are you going to get a new outfit to wear? Something that says, ‘I love bran cereal and so will you’?”
I gulp and look at my mom. She and Dolores have stopped talking, and are looking at us.
Oh no.
This is bad. Really bad.
Chapter 17
dark chocolate
RESEARCH SAYS IT’S GOOD FOR YOUR HEALTH IN SMALL DOSES
I hurry up and answer Isabel before my mom has a chance to say anything. “Yeah, we’re on our way right now.” I pick up my bags and beg my mom with my eyes not to say a word. “Ready to go, Mom?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”
“Happy shopping, you two,” Dolores says. “Be careful out there. Those discount-hungry people can get a bit rough.”
“Bye!” I call as I rush out into the mall.
I walk fast. Superfast. Like lightning-speed fast.
“Sophie,” Mom calls. “Wait up, please.”
I slow down, but not very much.
When she reaches me, I don’t look at her. “Stop. Sophie, please stop walking.”
“Mom, come on, a lot of the door-buster sales end at eleven.”
She grabs my arm. “I don’t care. Stop, please.”
And so I do. When I look at her, I see disappointment all over her face. “You lied to her?”
“I told you, Mom, I couldn’t tell her.”
“It’s one thing to be waiting for the right time to say something. It’s another thing to lie!” Her voice is firm. And loud.
I look at the people passing us. They throw pity my way, like candy at a parade.
“Mom, can we not do this right now?” I whisper. “Please? It’s embarrassing.”
She sighs. “Fine. Let’s go home. I think we’ve done enough shopping for today.”
“But what about a new outfit?”
She shakes her head. “I’m not going to reward that behavior, Sophie Wright. We’re going home. Give me your dad’s cell phone, please, before I forget.”
I reach into my pocket, but it’s not there. I reach into the other one. It’s not there, either. Then I frantically check my purse.
“Sophie?” Mom asks.
I check my pockets a second time. But it’s gone. How can it be gone? Wouldn’t I have heard it hit the ground if I dropped it?
“Where is the phone?” she asks through gritted teeth.
“I don’t know,” I whisper.
Mom lets out a disgusted groan. In one minute’s time, I’ve gone from big trouble to seriously BIG trouble.
Mom grabs her bags, walks over to a bench, and plops down. She takes her phone out of her purse and pushes some buttons. She looks at me as she puts the phone to her ear. “You better hope a very kind soul is the one who found it.”
She doesn’t have any idea.
I stand there and wait, my fate in the hand of some stranger.
“Hello?” Mom says. “Yes, we lost the phone you’re holding right now. Are you in the mall?” She listens. “Perfect. We’ll be right there. Thank you so much.”
She gets up and doesn’t say a word. I follow her. We walk through the crowds of people, back toward the end of the mall where the Irish shop is. If I lost it there, she’ll want to know what I was doing in that shop. I guess I’d have to tell her, because even a little white lie for the sake of Christmas secrets doesn’t seem like a good idea right now.
But instead of the Irish shop, she turns into the camera store.
A short kid wearing a shirt that says PARTLY CLOUDY WITH A CHANCE OF NINJAS is standing at the counter with a petite woman. They’re talking to the man who answered my camera questions earlier. I look at the kid hard. He looks familiar.
The salesman smiles and holds out the phone. “So you’re the one who dropped it.”
“Thank you,” I say. “That was almost an epic disaster.”
“No problem,” he says. Mom steps up and takes the phone from him, and says something I can’t hear.
Then the boy says, “Sophie?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m Austen. We go to the same school. I have science with your friend, Isabel.”
“Hey, I thought you looked familiar. Are you shopping for a camera?”
“Giving my mom some Christmas ideas.”
I look at him again, trying to remember something about him. Like who he hangs out with or something like that.
“Wait, are you new at our school?” I ask.
“Yeah. We just moved to Willow last month.”
When he says that, the wheels in my head start turning. “Do you know Dennis Holt?” I ask him.
He shakes his head. “The name sounds familiar. He might be in one of my classes, I’m not sure.”
“I want to introduce you next week.” I look at his shirt. “I think you guys might get along. He likes photography too.”
He shrugs. “Okay.”
We tell the salesman thanks one more time and then we head home. Mom doesn’t say a word to me the whole way.
When I get home, I go to my room and shove Mom and Dad’s presents into my closet. Then I grab my drea
m notebook.
Dream #7 –
I dream of a mother
who is not mad at me.
I walk back out to the kitchen and get a square of Mom’s favorite dark chocolate, wrap it up in a paper towel, and grab a note card from the little desk in the kitchen. Inside the card I write:
Dear Mom,
I’m sorry about lying to lseble. I promise I’m going to tell her the truth. I want to get the audition over with so I only have one thing to worry about. Then I’m going to tell her everything. I really hope she isn’t mad at me, although now I guess I deserve it if she is.
I know what I did was wrong. I was just so worried about making her mad, especially because their eupeake shop isn’t doing very well. I’m really sorry. Please forgive me. You always say, chocolate makes everything better. Right now, I really hope it does.
Love, Sophie
Mom’s in the other room, curled up on the couch, watching a decorating show on television. I drop the card and the chocolate in her lap, and then I go back to my room, where I stay for the rest of the afternoon.
Chapter 18
peanut butter chocolate-chip granola bars
A DELICIOUS, PORTABLE SNACK
I am so glad when Monday finally arrives, I almost kiss the calendar. It’ll feel good to get the audition over with so I can get on with my life. Since last night, I’ve had what my dad calls “haunted-house stomach.” It’s that feeling you get when you’re about to do something both exciting and terrifying. Who knew stepping in front of a television camera would feel just like walking into a haunted house?
I shower, blow dry and curl my hair, and then put on outfit number twenty-one. That is, last night I tried on about twenty-one outfits before I finally decided on this one. It’s a black skirt with a light-blue sweater along with my favorite necklace. Grandma gave it to me last year for my birthday. It’s a long silver chain with a big, puffy heart hanging from the end of it.
After I’m dressed and have looked in the mirror enough times to make myself sick of me, I go out to the kitchen where oatmeal with blueberries is waiting for me at the kitchen table.
“You look beautiful, Sophie,” Mom says. “Are you nervous?”
“Yeah, a little bit.”
“Well, try not to worry. You’re going to do great.”
I eat my oatmeal while she cleans out the dishwasher. When she’s finished, she comes and sits down across from me.
“I know this whole thing with Isabel has been upsetting to you, and I probably didn’t help,” she says. “But don’t think about any of that today. Just do the best you can, and soak up the experience, okay?”
Mom and I already had a long talk about me lying to Isabel. I’ve promised to tell her this week, and to apologize.
I nod, agreeing to do my best, and I finish my glass of milk. “I’m ready. Can we go?”
She raises her eyebrows before she says, “After you brush your teeth and wipe the milk off the corners of your mouth.”
On the way to the bathroom, I run into a sleepy Hayden.
“Break a leg, Sophie,” he says. “Why do they say that, anyway? It makes no sense.”
“I don’t know, Little Brother Man. But thanks. I think.”
Soon, we’re in the car and on our way to Portland. Mom puts the Wicked CD into the CD player and squeezes my leg. “For some inspiration, huh?”
I nod, sit back, close my eyes, and let myself go back to that magical night.
It takes about two hours to get to Portland. Mom pulls off the freeway, drives into downtown, and I look up at the big, tall buildings. It’s so different from our cozy town of Willow. Mom finds a spot in a parking garage across the street from the building where the audition is being held.
When we get inside the building, a woman at a reception desk greets us. She asks us to sign in on a piece of paper, and then sends us to the fifth floor. Once there, a woman directs us to a long line of kids and their parents. It’s noisy. I check out my competition. There are all kinds of kids here—girls and boys, short and tall, average and beautiful. Most of them look to be about my age. A couple look older, but I’m guessing most of them are in middle school, like me.
We wait. And wait. And wait.
When we finally get to the table, Mom pulls the paperwork out of her purse and hands it to the lady sitting on the other side.
She looks at the paperwork, then looks up at me and smiles. “Hi, Sophie. Welcome to the audition. Here is a page of lines. You’ll want to work on memorizing a couple of them so you can say them when it’s your turn, okay?”
I take the paper from her and nod. She marks some things on one of the pages Mom gave her, then hands me a large piece of card stock with the number 99 written on it. Does that mean ninety-eight people are auditioning before me? I turn around and look at the line that’s formed behind me. There’s got to be another thirty people there.
It really hits me how competitive this industry is. If there’s this many people here for a simple commercial, what’s it like when it’s an audition for a TV show or a movie? It must be harder to get an audition at that point. I bet the headshots become a lot more important. I wonder if you have to be exactly what they’re looking for, or you don’t get called in.
The lady sends us to a large room where everyone is standing or sitting around, waiting to have their number called. Mom finds us two seats in the far corner of the room.
I read through the lines. Some of them sound a little cheesy.
Do you ever wake up in the middle of the night, craving a delicious snack? Head to Beatrice’s Brownies now and stock up before the snack attack hits!
There’s only one thing that beats the homework blues. Come to Beatrice’s Brownies for all of jour snacktime needs.
We wait through the sixties and the seventies.
I study the lines.
We wait through the eighties and the nineties.
I keep studying.
The boy sitting next to me has been playing cards for the last hour. Guess he feels like he’s got the lines down. I think I do too. Wish I had brought a book to read or something. Who knew this would be worse than waiting at a doctor’s office? Except here, we’re waiting for a different kind of shot—a shot at making our dreams come true.
“You doing okay?” Mom asks as she reaches over and puts her hand on my bouncing leg. “Not too
“I might have been, like an hour ago,” I whisper back. “I can’t remember. All I know is that I’m starving and I want to get this over with and go eat lunch. What time is it, anyway?”
She pulls back the sleeve of her jacket and holds her watch out so I can see the time. It’s almost one o’clock. No wonder I’m so hungry. Luckily, I have the smartest mom in the world. She reaches into her purse and pulls out a granola bar. I look around and see other kids snacking too.
Mom leans in while I’m chewing. “Just remember, honey, they probably have something specific they’re looking for. Either you have it or you don’t. If you don’t, it’s nothing personal. You just aren’t the one this time around. You know what I mean?”
Not really, but I nod anyway. How do they know what they want until they see it? That’s why so many kids are here today. I think it’s my job to make them think I’m the one. Except maybe I don’t want to be the one, which makes the situation ten times more confusing.
I finish the granola bar in no time, and am about to go in search of a drinking fountain, when the woman with the clipboard who keeps coming in and calling numbers yells out, “Number ninety-nine?”
Mom squeezes my hand as I get up. “Good luck,” she says.
I mumble a quick “thanks” and then make my way through all the people to the door, and follow the woman down the hall and around the corner.
She leads me into a room with a light-blue cloth hanging at the front of the room. I’m directed to stand in front of the cloth and hold my number up in front of me. There’s a cameraman not far away with a real-life television camera. I tel
l myself to breathe. Just smile and breathe.
The lady with the clipboard says, “After you say your name and the agency you’re with, you can put your number down. Then look at the camera and say one of the lines. If you need help, we’ve put a couple of them on the easels here and here.” She points to two big easels on either side of the camera that have large pieces of paper taped to them with lines written in big black marker.
“Okay, action,” she says.
“I’m Sophie Wright,” I say. “CPE Agency.” I put my hand holding the number down by my side, and then I smile really big and say one of the lines I could actually see myself saying in a real commercial.
“Tired of store-bought cookies in your sack lunch? Stop by Beatrice’s Brownies and get the dessert everyone will be begging you to trade!”
“One more, please,” the woman tells me.
“Come and try a Beatrice’s brownie today. After all, Delicious is our middle name!”
“Great,” the woman says. “That’s all we need.”
That’s it? What was that, about thirty seconds? She walks over, takes my number, and says someone will be in touch with my agent very soon if I’m one of the kids selected.
“Thank you,” I tell her. “I hope I did all right.”
She smiles. “You did great.”
I leave the room feeling like I can leap the tall buildings in downtown Portland in a single bound.
It’s over. I did it!
When I make it back to the waiting room, I stand at the doorway and wave to Mom. She rushes over.
“How’d it go?” she asks as we walk toward the elevator.
I shrug. “I don’t know. But she had me read two lines, and I didn’t mess up or anything.” I look at her. “She said I did great. So I guess it went pretty well.”
She puts her arm around my shoulders and gives me a squeeze. “I’m so proud of you, Sophie. Good job. Now let’s go find some lunch.”
In my best fake-actress voice I say, “And we should stop by Beatrice’s Brownies and stock up before the snack attack hits!”