The Daughters Take the Stage

  Holla raised an eyebrow. “Honey, I love your music,” she said. “Which is why I think this song—tweaked, of course—would be perfect for me.”

  “But it’s my song,” Hudson argued.

  Holla stood and wobbled on her feet, as if she’d lost her balance, then caught the back of Chris’s chair.

  “You okay?” Chris asked, leaping to his feet and taking her arm.

  “Yes, yes, I think so,” Holla said, touching her forehead. “It’s just this juice cleanse. It always makes me a little light-headed.”

  Chris led Holla over to the window seat and carefully patted her arm, as if she were a delicate thing that might break. “That better?” he asked. “Do you need some water?”

  “That would be great,” she said.

  “You got it,” Chris said.

  As soon as he left, Holla looked up at Hudson. “So, you were saying?”

  Hudson gathered herself. “I was just saying that it’s my song,” she said.

  “So?” Holla said. “Are you saying you’ve changed your mind about the album?”

  “No.”

  “So you just don’t want me to have it,” Holla prompted.

  “I… I didn’t say that,” Hudson stammered.

  “Then you just want it to go to waste,” Holla said.

  “No, but…”

  “Honey, what’s the matter? You’re going to get all the royalties. I thought you’d be thrilled to have one of your songs actually out there instead of on a shelf gathering dust.”

  As usual, her mom had found the one point that Hudson couldn’t debate. She looked at the framed cover of Vanity Fair on the wall, the one her mom had posed for years earlier. THE PRINCESS OF POP, it read. Her mom stood on a beach in a ballgown, wearing a tiara. And in her arms, naked and squirming, was Hudson, just a year old. Her mom looked so pretty, so happy. Overjoyed about her new little girl. The little girl who now was being petty and trivial and hopelessly stubborn. “Fine,” she said. “You can have it.”

  Chris walked back into the room with a glass of water.

  “Really?” Holla asked, suddenly contrite. “Are you sure?” She took the glass from Chris and sipped from it.

  “Yeah,” Hudson said. “Why not?”

  “Thank you, honey,” Holla said. She got up and gave Hudson an overpowering hug. “I’ll do it justice. I promise. Now, you have some homework to do, right?”

  “Uh- huh,” Hudson said.

  “Thanks, Hudson,” Chris said. “You might have just given your mom her next hit.”

  “Awesome,” she said as she backed out of the room. She grasped the banister as she walked down the stairs, trying to keep her feet moving, one in front of the other.

  This had to be a joke. All her mom had done before now was tell her how unmarketable her music was, and now she wanted to record one of Hudson’s songs because she needed a single? She should have just said no. Carina and Lizzie would have just said no. It was just one stupid syllable. But, as usual, something inside of her had just shut down. Whenever she got angry, or hurt, she couldn’t speak, couldn’t fight back. It was like being caught in a sandstorm that blotted out words and sight and thought. And the only way out of it all was to just say Fine.

  When she got to her room, she pulled out her iPhone. She needed to text Lizzie and Carina. They would be on her side. They’d understand. They always did. But she stopped, her finger poised over the screen. Her friends would ask why she hadn’t fought back. Carina would go on and on about Hudson’s inner bee-yatch. Lizzie would just say Why didn’t you say no? And Hudson wouldn’t have an answer. Because I didn’t feel like I could? Because it’s my mom and she gets everything she wants? Those weren’t good enough answers.

  She threw herself on her bed and buried her face in a cushion. Carina was right: She needed to find her inner bee-yatch, ASAP. But she had no idea how. This was who she was: Sensitive. Sweet. Nice. More at home by herself at her piano than in a crowd. The exact opposite of her fiery, vocal, afraid-of-nothing-and-nobody mom. She would never be any different, and she couldn’t hope to be. Because how did people change who they were?

  She sat straight up.

  Maybe a person could change who she was.

  If she got a life coach.

  chapter 9

  “Your mom wants your song?” Carina asked incredulously as they walked up the street toward school. “But she told you your stuff sucked. That day in the studio. I was there!”

  “I know,” Hudson said simply as they reached the school doors.

  “I don’t get it,” Lizzie said. “After everything she said?”

  “She’s a Leo with an Aries rising,” said Hudson.

  “What does that mean?” Lizzie said.

  “That it’s not that surprising,” Hudson said, pulling the doors open.

  “But you didn’t have to say yes,” Lizzie said as they walked into the school lobby. She pulled off her knit hat and shook out her red curls.

  “And what about your inner bee-yatch?” Carina cried, blowing on her cold fingers. Carina was always losing her gloves. “What happened to her?”

  “Maybe Hudson doesn’t have an inner bee-yatch,” Lizzie said to Carina.

  “If you don’t start saying no to your mom, like, now, then things are just gonna get worse,” Carina said.

  “You guys, I know,” Hudson said as they passed the library. “That’s why I’ve decided to get a life coach.”

  “A life coach?” Carina asked, crinkling her brown eyes. “Are you kidding?”

  “Lots of people use them,” Lizzie pointed out. “It’s like a therapist who actually does stuff.”

  “Who are you getting?” Carina asked. “Please tell me it’s not some kooky astrologer.”

  “Heeeyy, guys!” called a lilting voice behind them on the stairs. “Wait up!”

  They slowly turned around to see Ava Elting climbing the stairs with the Icks. She’d traded her devil-horned hat for a black stocking cap with orange and red zigzagging lines around it, like the ones on an EKG machine. Her nails had been painted a deep sky blue, and she wore a skinny lavender scarf that barely covered her long neck. “Did you guys have a good weekend?” Ava asked. “I had the best time. I went up to Vermont to go snowboarding. I even got a private lesson from this guy who used to be on the Olympic team.”

  “That’s nice,” Lizzie said in a way that said she couldn’t care less.

  “So Hudson, I saw that you’ve pulled your album,” Ava said, sidling up to her on the stairs. “That must have been such a hard decision for you.”

  Ilona and Cici snickered quietly. Kate supplied the deathstare.

  “It wasn’t that hard,” Hudson said, trying to reach the top of the stairs as quickly as possible. “I’m just really busy with school right now.”

  “Was it because of what happened at the Ball?” Ava pressed. “I hope not. Considering it was just food poisoning and everything.”

  Hudson pursed her lips. “No. It had nothing to do with that.”

  “I just think it’s a shame that things aren’t working out,” Ava replied. “I mean, that must be a lot for you to live up to. I’d crack under the pressure.”

  Just as Hudson began to get angry, she turned and saw Hillary walking up the stairs behind them. She sported her usual messy ponytail, and pieces of brown hair fell against her forehead. Her square pink and blue backpack was strapped to her back, and today her sweater was a blinding shade of tennis-ball yellow. “You guys go ahead,” Hudson said. “I’ll see you in homeroom.”

  Ava reached the door to the Upper School, grinning triumphantly. “See you later, Hudson,” she said, giggling, and pulled the door open. The Icks followed, each of them giggling as well.

  “Where are you going?” Carina asked, but Hudson was already descending the stairs toward Hillary, eager to put the Ava encounter behind her.

  “Hey, Hillary!” she called out. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

  Hillary pushed some hair out of
her eyes. “Sure,” she said in her tiny voice. “Those are really cute earrings.”

  “Thanks.” Hudson fell into step beside her on the stairs. “So I was thinking about what you said the other day. About the life-coaching thing. I think I need to do it. I think I have to do it. So… can you still be my life coach?”

  Hillary stopped climbing the stairs. Her thin legs were bare despite the freezing weather, and her kilt hung unevenly below her knees, as if she’d misbuttoned it. “If I do this for you,” she asked in a low, portentous voice, “can I ask you for something?”

  “Sure, what?” Hudson said.

  Hillary crossed her arms. “Will you go with me to my cousin’s bar mitzvah on Saturday?”

  Hudson paused. This was a curveball. “But… but I don’t even know your cousin.”

  “I know,” Hillary said, unfazed. “I just want you to go with me. My friend Zoe was supposed to, but now she has to go to New Jersey for her grandma’s birthday or something like that. So can you go? Please?”

  “But… but why do I have to go with you?” Hudson asked.

  Hillary hesitated. “Because there’s going to be this guy there that I like.”

  “Oh,” Hudson said, surprised. She hadn’t thought Hillary even cared about guys yet.

  “And I need someone to be with me when I talk to him,” Hillary went on. “And tell me if they think he likes me back. He’s my cousin’s friend—my older cousin, Ben—and he’s a sophomore—”

  “A sophomore?” Hudson asked.

  “And they’re starting this band and he plays saxophone and he’s on the chess team and, well, I think he likes me, but I really need a second opinion.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Hudson tried to imagine a sophomore really liking Hillary, but she found it a little hard to swallow. “I’ll go.”

  “Just don’t tell anyone, okay?” Hillary asked, her voice rising with panic. “Because everyone’ll think it’s just some stupid crush. You promise?”

  “I promise,” Hudson said. “But… can you still be my life coach?”

  “Oh, sure,” Hillary said. She started taking the steps two at a time. “But first we have to figure out a life goal. You always have to have a life goal when you’re being life-coached. So what do you want to change about your life?”

  They reached the fourth floor and walked into the crowded Middle School hallway. It had been only a year since Hudson had gone to school up here, but it already felt like a million years ago. Several eighth-grade girls stared at her with undisguised worship. “Well, it’s like you said,” Hudson told her, “I need to be my own person. And I really don’t want to say ‘fine’ anymore.”

  “What do you mean?” Hillary asked.

  “I mean, I’m always just saying ‘fine.’ When I really want to say anything but ‘fine.’ Do you know what I mean?”

  Hillary nodded. If she thought Hudson didn’t make any sense, she didn’t say so. “Okay. First step, then: I want you to write down everything you’re afraid of. All your fears.” She reached into her boxy backpack and took out a pencil with a heart eraser stuck on the end of it. “Here,” she said, taking out a piece of loose-leaf paper and scribbling something on it. “Take this.” She handed it to Hudson. At the top of the page she’d written HUDSON’S FEARS.

  “Wait,” Hudson said. “Fears? Do you mean like earthquakes?”

  “Just write down everything you think of.”

  “But why do I have to write them down?”

  “My mom’s coach says that once you write down your fears, they lose their power over you,” Hillary said, sticking her pencil back into her backpack.

  Hudson couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. This was life-coaching? She’d assumed that Hillary would just rattle off more of her blunt insights and then offer some concrete, practical solutions. Writing down random fears wasn’t going to change anything. But she didn’t want to be late for homeroom, and most important, she didn’t want to be rude. “Okay, fine,” she said, putting the piece of paper in her backpack. “I’ll let you know what I come up with.”

  When she slipped into her seat next to Carina and Lizzie in homeroom just before the second bell, Carina looked up from her Spanish homework, which she was frantically finishing. Spanish was Carina’s least favorite subject.

  “What was that about?” Carina asked.

  “I just went to see my life coach,” Hudson said.

  “Hillary?” Carina shouted. “Your stalker’s your life coach?”

  “She’s not my stalker,” Hudson said.

  Lizzie looked up from her copy of This Side of Paradise. “Well, she is an odd choice, you have to admit,” she said.

  Later, during her study period, Hudson took out her math notebook and uncapped her favorite Bic liquid gel pen. She read the words Hudson’s Fears over and over. She’d never thought of herself as someone who had lots of fears. So now she wondered, What am I afraid of? She started to write.

  getting a C in geometry

  getting a B in everything else

  not getting into Brown or, well, anywhere

  Something bad happening to Lizzie and Carina

  Roaches, waterbugs, and snakes (ugh… )

  Plane turbulence

  not being liked

  Small planes (except for Carina’s dad’s plane, which isn’t that small, but it still counts)

  Cute older guys who are really smart and like good music, and who I become friends with

  All cute guys

  Class presentations

  Lunar eclipses (especially in Virgo)

  Getting caught eating junk food in front of my mom

  Being laughed at (too late for that )

  Later, as they waited for Bio to start, she took out the sheet and wrote more. And then she added some more fears during lunch. Before she knew it, she had four loose-leaf pages, all of them covered in fears. She was stunned. She’d had no idea that she was afraid of so many things. It was amazing that she’d even made it to ninth grade.

  She folded up the pages and stowed them deep in the middle of her Geometry notebook. She didn’t even want to show Carina and Lizzie. She was sure that neither of them was afraid of half as many things as she was.

  At the end of the day, Hillary accosted her in the lobby as she was leaving.

  “So, did you make your list?” she asked, eyeballing Hudson’s bag.

  “You don’t have to see them, do you?”

  “No,” Hillary said. “Just tell me about one of them.”

  Hudson tried to remember one that wasn’t completely embarrassing. “I think I said I was afraid of eating junk food in front of my mom.”

  “Great!” Hillary said, almost jumping out of her bluchers. “Okay. I want you to go home tonight and have pizza for dinner.”

  “What?” Hudson asked, stupefied. “I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s dairy. And white flour. And possibly nitrates.”

  Hillary shook her head. “But do you like pizza?”

  Hudson nodded. “Yeah. I love it.”

  “Good,” she said. “Then have it tonight. It’s just for tonight.”

  “Wait,” Hudson said, shifting her book bag to her other shoulder. “How is eating a pizza going to help me be my own person?”

  Hillary folded her arms and cocked her head. “I know what I’m doing, Hudson,” she said bossily. “Trust me.”

  Hudson walked out of the lobby and caught up with Lizzie and Carina, who were on the corner talking. “Can you guys come over for dinner tonight?” she asked them.

  “What’s up?” Lizzie asked.

  “Are you guys having flaxseed tacos again?” Carina asked, wrinkling her button nose.

  “No, I’m having pizza,” she answered. “And I need you guys to help me.”

  chapter 10

  Lizzie, Carina, Todd, and Hudson sat in a circle on the sheepskin rug, staring intently at the black cordless phone in Hudson’s hand.

  “If y
ou’re gonna do it, you gotta do it now,” Lizzie urged, stretching her long legs out on the rug. “It’s six forty-five. You said dinner was at seven, right?”

  “On the dot,” Hudson said. She pressed the Talk button on the phone so that they could hear the low hum of a dial tone, and then she pressed it again so that the phone hung up. It was the fourth time she’d almost dialed. In her dog bed in the corner, Matilda lifted her head and looked at Hudson like she was certifiably nuts.

  “Okay,” Carina said, taking charge. “What’s the worst thing that can happen? It’s pizza. Your mom’s not going to throw you out of the house. Right?”

  Hudson didn’t say anything.

  “Right?” Carina asked, less confidently.

  “Carina’s right,” Todd said. “Pizza’s loads healthier than a lot of other stuff you could be eating. There was a guy in my class in London who only ate Curly Wurlys and Aero bars for every meal.”

  “What’s a Curly Wurly?” Carina asked.

  “It’s basically chocolate-covered caramel,” Todd answered. “It’s amazing.”

  “But why do they call it a Curly Wurly?” Carina asked, giggling.

  “Let’s get back to the pizza-ordering,” Lizzie broke in, twisting her hair into a bun on top of her head. “Just do it. Nothing bad is going to happen. And for the record, having pizza more often wouldn’t kill you.”

  “What do you mean?” Hudson asked.

  “Just that you’re always eating so healthy,” Lizzie said gently. “It’s like you’re always trying to eat the right thing.”

  “Yeah, like if there’s a choice between a burger and a salad, you’ll always eat the salad,” Carina added. “Because it’s the right thing.”

  Hudson looked at Todd.

  “I really don’t know,” Todd said, shrugging. “But I’ll take everyone’s word for it.”

  “Well…” Hudson argued. “Isn’t that how we’re supposed to be?”