The Forget-Me-Not Summer (24 page)

Z
innie peered out from behind the simple curtain that Jean and her husband, Mack, had rigged up. The casino was packed. Jean and Mack were greeting people as they entered, searching for any empty seats, and helping others find a place to stand. Little kids were sitting on the floor to make room for the adults. Aunt Sunny and Tony were sitting together in the front row, though Tony would have to come backstage any minute. He was in charge of all the music. The producer lady was there, too. She was wearing those same crazy heels and texting furiously.

The judges' table was front and center. There were three seats for three judges. Ashley's dad, who owned the car dealership on Route 6, was one of them. Jean thought he'd make a good talent judge because he'd
been in so many commercials. Some people thought this gave Ashley an unfair advantage, but he promised to be objective. Right now he was talking to Kara and Tara's parents. Zinnie could hear him advertising his terrific bargains on preowned vehicles even over the noise of the casino. Clearly, Ashley had inherited her loud voice from him.

Edith was the second judge. She was wearing a flowery dress and reviewing the list of participants. Zinnie had never seen her without her apron on. Mocha Chip was curled up at her feet as usual.

A hush fell over the casino as Philip Rathbone, with his signature messy hair and round sunglasses, walked in and took the third seat at the judges' table. He was followed by Amanda Mills, who traipsed through the crowd, glowing like the movie star she was. Behind her was Marigold, biting her nails. It looked to Zinnie like Marigold was trying to say something to Amanda, but Amanda was ignoring her. As Zinnie watched them take their seats, she realized that this was the real reason Marigold had dropped out of the play: she didn't want to embarrass herself in front of Amanda. Zinnie felt she'd been punched in the gut, and then the hurt started to climb up her throat, but before the tears came, Zinnie took a deep breath and slammed the curtain closed.
Marigold deserves to be ignored,
Zinnie thought,
and I won't let her ruin my play.

Lily twirled toward her. “Why isn't Marigold in the play anymore?”

“She just doesn't want to be,” Zinnie said.

“She needs to lose the attitude?” Lily asked.

“Something like that,” Zinnie said, and laughed. “Lily, you're so . . .”

“I know, I know,” Lily said. ‘“I'm so smart.”

Zinnie watched as midtwirl, Lily's eyes grew wide and a huge smile spread across her face. Zinnie felt a big, warm hand on her shoulder. She turned around. Her father! He was looking a little . . . well, like he'd been living in trees for the past month. His beard had grown out, and he had a serious tan. But his eyes were the same, big and soft and brown and full of love. He knelt down and opened his arms.

“Daddy!” Zinnie said, and jumped right into a hug.

“Daddy,” Lily echoed, and flung herself on the pile. “Are you the surprise that Aunt Sunny was talking about?”

“Yep,” Dad said, and squeezed them tighter. “You didn't think I was going to miss Zinnie's first play, did you? Or Lily's acting debut?” Zinnie kissed his scratchy cheek. She wasn't nervous anymore. She was just excited. “Mom's here too,” Dad said. Mom crept up behind them and kissed them all over their faces.

“Hello, my loves!” she said. “Oh, how I've missed you.”

“How was Canada?” Zinnie asked.

“It was a lot of work,” Mom said. “I'm glad I did it, but I'm also glad it's over. And I am so happy to see you! Where's Marigold?”

“She's not in the play anymore,” Zinnie said with a huff.

“Why not?” Dad asked.

“Too cool for school,” Lily said, and they all laughed, wondering where she'd picked that one up.

“Uh-oh,” Mom said.

“Uh-oh is right! I'm going to have to do a costume change onstage tonight. Meanwhile, she's sitting out there, hanging with her movie star friend,” Zinnie said.

Jean's voice came over the microphone: “Hey, everybody! We're running a little late, so if you could take your seats immediately, we'd appreciate it!”

“We'd better go,” Dad said, kissing his two youngest daughters on their heads. “We'll surprise Marigold after the show. And Zinnie, remember, in show business, things change at the last minute all the time. Go with the flow, okay?”

“Okay,” Zinnie said, taking a deep breath for courage.

“Break a leg!” Mom said, giving them one last squeeze, and then they quietly made their way to the back of the auditorium.

Zinnie took Lily's hand in hers as Jean continued: “It's time for the twenty-first Annual Pruet Talent Show, the first in many years. Most of you know me, but for those who don't, I'm Jean, and I'll be your MC
for the evening.” Everyone clapped. “I can't tell you how happy I am to see all of you, supporting the young talent of our coastal town. I want to start off by saying that we wouldn't be here tonight if it weren't for the hard work and inspiration of some very special girls from California. Silver girls, where are you?”

“That's us,” Zinnie whispered to Lily, and together they walked out onstage. Zinnie waved, and Lily hid behind her.

“There's one more,” Jean said, looking around. Zinnie looked at Marigold, but Marigold just stared at the floor, her pale cheeks burning red. Lucky for her, Jean didn't spot her. “Well, that's most of them anyway. Put your hands together for the Silver sisters.”

Zinnie watched as Amanda leaned in and whispered something to Marigold, and Marigold shook her head in response.

“Woo-hoo!”
Mom called from the audience. Dad did his two-handed taxicab whistle.

“Okay, let's get this party started. The judges will be awarding first, second, and third place. First-place prize is a walk-on role for Mr. Rathbone's film
Night Sprites
!” The audience roared. “The second-place prize is one hundred dollars cash.” The audience roared again. “I know. Not bad, right? It kind of makes me want to participate too. And the third-place prize is a gift certificate for four ice cream cones at Edith's Ice Cream Shop.” Jean looked over at Edith, who took a
little bow to another round of applause. Mocha Chip wagged his tail and gave a little howl.

“So, everybody, please turn off your cell phones and welcome our first performers, Kara and Tara Malloy, who are doing a gymnastics routine.”

Zinnie helped Lily find a seat on the floor and then slipped backstage, since she was in charge of making sure kids were ready when their names were called. She listened as people cheered for Kara and Tara. Tony cued the music, and the show began.

“Y
ou can probably see their panty lines from, like, outer space,” Amanda said as Kara and Tara took their places onstage.

“Totally,” Marigold said, and giggled, but she withered a bit inside as she said it. It was true that Kara and Tara's routine was far from professional; they weren't at all synchronized, and Tara couldn't get all the way to the ground in her split. It was also true that you could see their bunched-up underpants under their leotards, but not every girl had her own personal dance instructor and stylist.

“I've got to tweet about this,” Amanda said, poking at her phone. “Darn. I can't get any service in here.”

“Too bad,” Marigold said, but felt relieved.

As the show continued, Amanda didn't have anything nice to say about anyone. Even Grace, who just
played the recorder. “That girl needs a hairbrush!” Amanda said, and gripped Marigold's hand.

“I know,” Marigold said, but she could see Grace's fingers trembling as they covered the holes on her recorder and instantly felt bad. On the one hand, Marigold would never have believed that the pop star Amanda Mills would be holding her hand, whispering to her like a friend. On the other hand, she wanted to tell her to be quiet and just let Grace finish her piece.

But if she thought that the incident with Grace made her uncomfortable, it was nothing compared with when Peter stepped onstage with his guitar. His face was bright red, and Marigold could tell how much he hated being up there. “I don't like getting up in front of people,” he'd told her that day they went sailing. And as she watched him now, it was clear he'd really meant it. He looked miserable.

“He looks like a lobster,” Amanda said. Peter's face was all flushed and perspiring. Even his neck was blushing, which only seemed to make his hair look redder. And it didn't help that he was wearing a red T-shirt. There were dark spots under the arms where he had sweated right through it.

“A sweaty lobster,” Amanda said. “With big ears.” Marigold managed to get out a chuckle from between her clenched jaws. Maybe Peter wasn't the cutest guy in the world, but Amanda had no right to say these things. She didn't know him. She hadn't seen him
when he was sailing and knew exactly when to pull the halyards and let the boom fly. She hadn't watched him find a perfectly smooth rock for a small, scared Lily. She hadn't kissed him.

Peter adjusted the microphone, and it made a horrible high-pitched, squeaking noise. Amanda covered her ears. Phil Rathbone flinched. Marigold wanted to evaporate.

“Sorry,” Peter said, his voice cracking. He dropped his guitar pick, and his hand shook so much that he had a hard time picking it up. Marigold's stomach was starting to hurt.

“Superfreaky lobster boy,” Amanda whispered to Marigold, and giggled.

Marigold didn't take her eyes off Peter, who was taking a breath, trying to compose himself. Unfortunately, he was breathing right into the microphone but didn't seem to realize it. Marigold looked at her own hand now and noticed that she was also shaking. Was it out of sympathy for Peter? Or was it because Amanda was making her so angry by giggling uncontrollably?

I'm sorry,
Marigold tried to tell Peter telepathically.
You don't have to do this.

But Peter didn't seem to get her message. Instead, he started to sing his song, “Rocky Raccoon,” by the Beatles. He was a little shaky at first, speaking rather than singing, but then he relaxed. He never fully broke
into song. It was kind of like he was telling a story while playing the guitar. But he was good at it. Phil Rathbone was smiling and nodding as Peter played. This shut up Amanda, who wouldn't dare dislike something that Phil Rathbone approved of.

When he finished his song, Marigold caught his eye and flashed him a huge smile. He didn't smile back.

A
s the show continued, Marigold couldn't focus. She couldn't concentrate on the animal impressions, the dance numbers, or the song from
The Little Mermaid
. Her stomach ached. It was as if two versions of herself were wrestling in her gut. First, there was L.A. Marigold. L.A. Marigold was confident and powerful. She loved sitting next to Amanda, who smelled like apple shampoo and whose skin sparkled. When Amanda giggled with her or nudged her with her golden arms, Marigold felt looped into her circle of brightness. For just a second, when the L.A.-girl version of herself was winning the wrestling match, Marigold felt she belonged right there next to Amanda. She felt like someone ought to snap a picture of them and put it in the pages of
Young & Lovely
, because that's what they were.

But there was also Pruet Marigold. Pruet Marigold was confident, but not in a movie star way. Instead, she was confident in a way that let her sail a boat almost by herself and allowed her know exactly the outfit that would make Aunt Sunny find love. And Pruet Marigold hated that Amanda had laughed at Peter when his voice squeaked. It made Pruet Marigold sick to think about the look he had given her. It was a look that said, “You suck.” It was the opposite of how he had looked at her before they'd kissed. Pruet Marigold didn't belong whispering with Amanda, but not because she wasn't famous enough. Pruet Marigold didn't belong next to her because she didn't like her.

Then Zinnie's friend Ashley stepped onstage, looking like someone in a painting with her dark hair pulled up in a bun.

“The last thing that one needs is to win a gift certificate for ice cream,” Amanda said, not even bothering to whisper. Marigold shrank in her seat. She could tell that not only had people around them heard her, but so had Ashley. She was staring right at them with her hand on her hip and her mouth bunched up on one side.

“What is she doing?” Amanda asked.

“I'm waiting for you to shut your trap so I can sing my song,” Ashley said. The audience snickered. Somebody even whooped. Marigold watched with fascination as Amanda blushed and bored holes in the
floor with her eyes. Ashley, the snack bar girl, had intimidated Amanda, the international pop star, into silence!

“Thank you,” Ashley said. “Now I will sing Schubert's ‘Ave Maria.'” She nodded at Tony, and he began playing the piano. What happened next was nothing less than magic. Ashley's voice was as bright as a July noon; it was as clear as a Los Angeles sky swept clean by a week of rain; it was as warm as the column of sun that streamed into Aunt Sunny's kitchen in the morning. It was pure talent.

The wrestling match in Marigold's gut stopped. Both sides of her paused, sat up, and listened. She didn't understand the words. She couldn't even say what language they were in. She knew that the song seemed to fill up the small, dark room inside her where she felt she had been hiding since yesterday, when she had run away from Peter, told Zinnie off, and lost sight of Lily. She couldn't be sure if was the L.A. or the Pruet side of herself that first reached out to the other, only that by the end of the song, there was just one Marigold.

Ashley, looking as surprised by the miracle of her voice as anyone, beamed at the audience. Flushed and a little shaky, she took a bow.

“Go, Ashley!” Marigold heard Zinnie call from the wings. “Go, Ashley!”