Goodbye Stranger (23 page)

Love is the most powerful emotion.

Love is the answer to the world’s problems. It’s about being vulnerable.

Love is when your heart wraps around something and won’t let go.

They were all definitions of love.

“Yikes,” Bridge said. “I didn’t see these last night. I think this is that horrible homework assignment we did in the fall.” She looked more closely. “They cut up our papers! Isn’t that illegal or something?”

Tab clapped again. “Let’s look for ours!”

“No,” Bridge said. She happened to be within arm’s length of her own definition—she could read it from where they stood:

Love is when you like someone so much that you can’t just call it “like,” so you have to call it “love.”

Bridge shuddered. “At least they didn’t put our names on them.”

“I’m going to guess which one is yours,” Tab said, running in the wrong direction.

“Ick,” Bridge called after her. “Don’t!”

Tab circled back to her. “Bridge, we’ll send each other carnations on Valentine’s Day, right? In high school? Like Celeste told us about?”

“What about your petition?”

“Yeah, I mean if I
don’t
do the petition. I’m going to send you all three—white, pink,
and
red. Because you’re my friend, and I like you, and I love you. Emily, too.”

Bridge smiled. “I’m going to send you two of each.”

SINGING HER SONG

The Talentine-show plan felt elaborate, but it wasn’t. That was what Sherm kept saying. “Nothing will go wrong. Just remember to run for the lights.”

Every time an act finished, two or three Tech Crew kids ran onstage, carrying microphones and music stands, dragging extension cords, folding chairs, amplifiers—racing to set up whatever the next performers needed and take away whatever they didn’t. It sounded easy, but there were a hundred little things to remember—one eighth grader was short and needed her mike stand set up very low; the amplifiers had to face out, couldn’t be too close to the speakers, and had different ways of plugging in; and half of the music stands broke into two parts if you tried to carry them with one hand. Bridge had already done that twice, in front of the whole audience.

They’d decided that Em would sing last. Bridge and Sherm made sure they weren’t assigned to break down the last “official” act, which was a barbershop quartet of eighth graders.

All Em needed was a microphone, a stand, and a spotlight. Sherm would carry the microphone, spooling out the cord the way Mr. Partridge taught them, and Emily, pretending to be Bridge, would carry the mike stand. It was pretty dim onstage when the lights were off, and with Emily wearing Bridge’s cat ears and Jamie’s black
CREW
T-shirt as a disguise, not even the other Tech Crew kids would realize what was happening until it was too late.

Once the microphone was set up, Sherm would run offstage, leaving Em to sing her song. Meanwhile, Bridge would get to the lights.

“This one,” Sherm had told her the day before, flipping a switch back and forth. “Just a spotlight, set to hit center stage. That’s where I’ll leave her.”

—

Backstage, when Bridge put her ears on Em’s head, Em looked at her and said, “I don’t know if I can do this.” The barbershop quartet was working up to its big finish. Bridge had heard the acts all week at rehearsal and knew most of them by heart.

“You can do it,” Bridge said automatically. She was watching Sherm drag a bundle of microphone cord toward the stage, measuring with his eyes how much they would need.

“No,” Em said. “You don’t understand. I actually have no idea what kind of sound is going to come out of my mouth. I’m scared.”

Bridge glanced at Em’s legs—she was wearing a black skirt and black tights. “Are your legs shaking?” she said.

“I’m falling apart,” Em said. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you!”

“You’re not falling apart,” Bridge said. “You’re scared.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“No.”

Someone came up behind Em and knocked on the wall tentatively. It was Patrick. Em turned and smiled. “Hey, you.” She went over and pressed into him, exhaling into his shoulder. “Bridge says being scared and falling apart aren’t the same thing, but I think she’s full of it.”

“She’s not full of it,” Patrick said. “And you’re going to be great.”

Em took two fingers and hooked one of his thumbs, squeezing. Bridge caught herself staring and looked over at Sherm. Then the quartet sang its last note, the audience started clapping, and the three tech kids assigned to break down the last act sprinted onstage in their black T-shirts like a SWAT team. Mr. Partridge had been timing their setups and breakdowns all week. He said anything over twenty-five seconds was “simply unprofessional.”

“Now or never,” Sherm said quietly.

Em stood straight, turned her back on Patrick, and adjusted the cat ears. “I know why you like these,” she told Bridge. “They’re nice.”

Bridge said, “So just friends, huh? You and Patrick?”

Em smiled. “I didn’t say just friends forever.”

“Seriously,” Sherm said. “Now or never.”

Em let herself be hugged by Bridge, and then she followed Sherm onto the dim stage. Bridge listened to the audience get quiet, probably checking their programs, before she remembered that she was supposed to be sprinting toward the lights.

—

When Bridge got to the light board at the back of the auditorium, breathing hard, Mr. Partridge was standing in front of it, scowling at the cue sheet.

Bridge’s heart felt like a fist with no air in it. Onstage, she could make out Sherm’s bent form taping down the microphone cord, and she could see the flat of Em’s face, tilted toward the people in the seats, who had begun to shift and talk in the dark.

“Not on the program,” Mr. Partridge said, looking at Bridge.

“No,” Bridge said. She saw Sherm scoot away, leaving Emily in front of the microphone, alone. The talking in the audience was getting louder.

Bridge reached out and flipped Sherm’s switch. A circle of light broke over Emily, who winced and shaded her eyes with one hand. The audience got quiet again, and Bridge waited to be screamed at by Mr. Partridge.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

But Mr. Partridge seemed to have forgotten all about her. He was looking at the stage. He narrowed his eyes at Em and flipped another switch. The cone of harsh light around her became gentler, warmer. Em dropped her hand. Her shoulders unhunched, and her face relaxed.

“See that?” Mr. Partridge said to Bridge. “That’s us, up there with her. I hit a switch, and just like that, she knows she’s not alone.”

He turned and gave Bridge the tiniest smile before looking back to the stage. And she got this picture in her head, so clear it could have been a memory, of Mr. Partridge waiting patiently in line at Nussbaum’s for the Banana Splits Book Club’s black-and-white cookies. She had a feeling that black-and-white cookies were not in the school budget.

On the stage, Em pulled off Bridge’s ears and bent down to lay them at her feet. Then she stood up straight and looked out. Bridge remembered what it had been like to stand where Emily was standing, facing the rows of seats. And for the first time she was scared for her.

She glanced at Mr. Partridge. “We’re here,” he said, and Bridge realized he was talking to Em. “It’s okay. Sing to the people.”

And, as if she could hear him, Emily opened her mouth and sang. She sang just as beautifully as she had at her audition, with that same twist of nakedness and power. But this time Em didn’t sing to the wall. She sang to every person in the room.

It was another one of those moments: like sitting in the backseat of the car with Tab, smelling burnt marshmallows; like the first few notes of her mother’s cello music in the morning; like sitting cross-legged on the floor backstage, splitting the deck to play another game of spit with Sherm.

Standing next to Mr. Partridge in the dark, she remembered the face of the nurse at the hospital, more clearly than she had in years: “You must have been put on this earth for a reason, little girl.”

Bridge knew why she was here. It’s why we’re all here, she thought.

Call it Mr. Partridge with his black-and-white cookies. Call it Em standing on that stage with her knees shaking but her voice strong. Call it Jamie looking awkward in the doorway of her bedroom after she’d had the mummy nightmare. Call it love.

“Are all those pizzas we’ve been eating really in the budget?” she whispered to Mr. Partridge.

He looked down at her, surprised. “I’ll tell you a secret,” he said. “Pretty much nothing is in the budget.”

And then the audience burst into applause.

I THINK I SEE YOU TOO

Em didn’t win any prizes at the Talentine show.

“You should have!” Patrick said, after. “You were top three, for sure.”

Em laughed. “I wasn’t even officially entered!” Everyone had to settle for the look on Em’s face, which was happiness.

“Now they know,” Em told Bridge. “Thanks to you, Bridge. They know that I still like myself. And they can watch me doing it all they want.” This was the Em who Bridge saw on the soccer field, the one in the yellow sweatshirt who threw two fists in the air after every goal.

Then Em’s face changed. “Evan!” she shouted. “Why are you here?”

Em’s brother was tearing down the aisle toward them, his hands balled at his hips. He was like a very serious train, plowing right into Emily. After a couple of seconds he pulled his face out of her stomach. “You were so good.”

“Who’s with you? Are Mom and Dad here? But—why?” She whirled on Bridge. “Did you tell them I was singing?”

“No,” Bridge said.

“Tab called last night!” Evan said. “She said I should tell Mom and Dad. We surprised you!”

“She did?” Emily and Bridge shared a look—of course Tab would think to call Em’s parents. Who else? “Where is she?” Em scanned the room.

“There.” Evan pointed. “With Celeste.”

Tab and Celeste were standing together against the wall on the other side of the loud auditorium, clearly arguing.

“What’s Celeste doing here?” Em said to Bridge.

“I don’t know,” Bridge said.

Then Emily’s parents were there, hugging her, and people kept coming over to tell her how great she was. Bridge kept one hand on Evan’s shoulder and watched the silent movie of Tab and Celeste. Finally they hugged, and then Tab buzzed through the crowd toward Bridge.

“Can you leave? Walk me home. I have to calm down my parents before they call the police or something.”

“What’s going on?”

“Total craziness. Celeste skipped school and hid out somewhere all day. My parents are freaking, even though she just talked to them twice on my phone and I keep
telling
them that she’s fine. And now she says she can’t go home yet! She has to do something
important,
and guess who’s supposed to tap-dance for Mom and Dad until she’s back? Me! The person they’re already not too happy with because she got
suspended
this week!”

“You could always juggle for them,” Bridge said. “I know where you can get some nice rocks.”

“Don’t be silly,” Tab said, steering her out of the auditorium. “How am I supposed to take a bite out of a rock? Celeste said she’d meet me out front.”

Outside, Tab pulled Bridge to where Celeste was standing, a little apart from the swarm of families in front of the school.

“Hey, Bridge.” Celeste smiled. She was holding a red rose wrapped in cellophane and standing on one leg in an unzipped sweatshirt.

“Hey. Aren’t you freezing?”

“Kind of. How was the show? Tab says Em sang. I’m sorry I missed it.”

“It was actually kind of great,” Bridge said.

“You sound surprised,” Celeste said. “Tab, sorry to be annoying, but you have to go home right
now.
They must be climbing the walls.”

“Yeah, because of you! Not me!”

“I swear I’ll be there in forty-five minutes. An hour, tops.”

Tab pretended to scowl. “Do
not
be late. And take my phone.”

Celeste pocketed it. “Thanks.” She kissed Tab and blew a kiss to Bridge. And then she turned and walked away.

—

They were almost to Tab’s corner when Tab said, “Where are your ears?”

Bridge stopped. “My ears! I forgot all about them. They must be in the auditorium.”

“Yikes, I hope they’re there on Monday,” Tab said.

“Yeah.” But Bridge didn’t miss them. She could still feel that hand on her head.

“Okay, here I go,” Tab said when they reached her building. “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” Bridge said.

“Oh!” Tab yelled over her shoulder. “Happy Valentine’s Day!”

That was when Bridge realized she hadn’t even said goodbye to Sherm after the show. She pulled out her phone and texted him.

Bridge:
Sorry I ran away! Tab emergency.

Sherm:
? All okay?