Viola in the Spotlight (5 page)

Andrew’s face flushes red with embarrassment.

“Olivia overhauled everything about you. You even wear Americana jeans now. What happened to the Gap?”

“It’s still there,” he grumbles.

“Don’t get me wrong, you look good.”

Andrew smiles at the compliment.

“She did a good job. Olivia is a great boyfriend stylist.”

The door opens onto the crowded platform at Stillwell Avenue. Mermaid Day really brings out the crowds. I holler to Caitlin to hang on to Maurice, but no worries, they are still holding hands. I give Andrew a nudge so he checks out the hand holding. He raises his eyebrows but doesn’t say a word. We work our way through the crowds from the platform to the boardwalk. I lift my camera out of the case, flip the lens cap, and begin to film the pre-parade chaos.

I stand in the center of the throng as they move toward the boardwalk. I hold up my camera and do a 360 of the crowd, an improvised over-the-head shot, with a steady hand. A father with his three-year-old daughter dressed as a mermaid in a pink sequined costume with gold net fins pushes through.

“Mermaid on board,” he shouts.

I go in for a close-up of the little girl. She grins for the camera. I flip the shutter speed to slow and film her in midair as she perches on her dad’s shoulders against the pristine blue sky.

“Nice shot,” Andrew says.

“Thanks.”

Andrew leads us to the edge of the boardwalk. We push to the front to get a good view of the mermaid parade. “You get the walkers, I’ll get the floats. Okay?” Andrew asks.

“Great.”

“We’ll edit it all together later.”

“Have you made a movie together before?” Maurice asks.

“Sometimes.” Andrew shrugs.

“Viola keeps a video diary too. She has since she was a little girl,” Caitlin says proudly. “She made a short-subject movie already. It won an award in the Midwest.”

“You should show my father sometime. He would like to see your work,” Maurice says.

“Violet Riot!” I turn toward the parade route. Coming down the boardwalk, where the procession of mermaids will be, is Tag Nachmanoff, the handsomest guy in Brooklyn, and my personal ideal/crush. He looks
amazing
. He has grown his black hair long. He wears black aviator sunglasses, and boot-leg jeans with a black T-shirt that says
METROPOLITAN MUSEUM OF ART
in tiny white letters. His black Converse sneakers have no laces. He is hanging with three other guys, but he walks a few steps ahead of them. He comes over to us, smiling that wide, perfect smile.

“Hi, Tag.” I am so glad I wore my boho blouse with the flowy sleeves and a pleated skirt. I’m wearing my best not-too-casual outfit and now, in a split second, it’s not wasted.

“You grew up.” He smiles at me.

“I had to. I was a pioneer girl in Indiana for a whole year.”

“I heard.”

“Thanks for your email.”

“Anytime.” Tag nods. I swear his hair swings in slow motion.

Caitlin and Andrew say hello to Tag. Andrew is way less impressed, but that’s because he thinks that Tag is a
player
—that way too many girls are after him, which makes him suspect and not legit. Andrew got to see Tag in action at LaGuardia last year, and he didn’t always like what he saw. Of course, I got an email from Andrew giving me the details. Tag can come off as cocky, while Andrew is anti-ego. Of course, it doesn’t help that Andrew knows I’m practically obsessed with Tag and have been since I first saw him.

I was thirteen at Chelsea Piers, taking ice skating lessons. Tag, who is older, was on a junior hockey league. One day, when class was over, the teacher asked me to take a run around the rink in my skates so she could check my form. So I did. And out there alone on the ice, I started to move faster and faster. When I spun around the far lip of the rink, I saw Tag standing at the gate, waiting to come onto the ice. I was so entranced by him, I didn’t slow down enough and had to go up on my toes when I got to the gate. Tag saw what was happening and came out and grabbed me before I hit the wall. He didn’t save my life, but he saved my face. Tag made it look like we were ice dancers—for thirty seconds.

“Tag, this is Maurice. He’s here for the summer from London. His dad is directing a Broadway show.”

“All right.” Tag nods his head, impressed. “I do a little acting.”

“Tag was in a Dollar Store commercial,” I explain. “It’s on YouTube.”

“I can’t imagine who put it there,” Andrew says innocently.

Tag shrugs. “Probably somebody who likes commercials.”

“Probably.” Andrew fiddles with the lens cap on his camera.

“Are you gonna film the parade, Drewmeister?” Tag says to Andrew. Andrew has never been called Andy or Drew, or anything meister; in fact, he hates nicknames.

“Yeah.”

“You home all summer?” Tag looks at me.

“Yep, and very happy about it.”

Tag smiles. “Well, I’m around,” he says.

“Great.” I smile back at him.

“See you around,” Tag says. He walks down the boardwalk like he owns it, and nobody stops him, not a handler from the parade or a policeman on the beat. Tag N. can go anywhere he pleases. It’s his world. Everybody notices him. And I can’t believe it, he noticed
me
, and not only did he find me in this huge crowd, he made a point to come over and talk to me. This day officially could not get any better.

“Tag is an interesting name. I know Tads, but no Tags,” Maurice says.

“Viola is in love with him,” Andrew says.

“I am not.”

“He’s your crush.”

“Well, I don’t go around announcing it.” It’s true. I don’t. And Andrew, as my BFFAA, should know not to
out
my desire for Tag in public. I would
never
embarrass him.

“Sorry,” Andrew says. And this is why he will always be my best friend. If he does slip up, he acknowledges it immediately. This is the sign of a mature person.

I am
not
as mature as Andrew.

A small island combo playing kettle drums works its way down the boardwalk. People take out their phones and commence taking pictures. Mermaids pour onto the ramp of the boardwalk. The costumes are stunning: Tinfoil gills shimmer, blue glittery silk capes flow, emerald green ruffles of fins drape onto the ground. The parade is a rainbow of mermaids. I keep the shot steady on the walking mermaids when I see Olivia Olson in the background of my shot.

“Andrew. Olivia’s here.” I point the camera in her direction.

Andrew looks over his shoulder toward her.

Olivia Olson is truly gorgeous in that lucky born-that-way fashion. Her blond hair hangs straight in streaks of champagne gold. No frizz, and I bet it doesn’t take her nine months to grow out bad bangs. She wears white shorts and a black T-shirt and gold strappy platform sandals. She is popular. Her posse, girls from LaGuardia who are into fashion as art and plan on college at FIT in three years, flutter around her like butterflies. Olivia has it
all
. Suddenly, my boho blouse seems too billowy, and my skirt is wrinkled. Not a good look when comparing myself to a goddess.

Olivia checks her BlackBerry, and then goes up on her toes and waves down the boardwalk. Tag checks his BlackBerry, turning in her direction. He slips the BlackBerry into his pocket and heads back toward Olivia.

Andrew has pushed his way to the edge of the crowd and is filming a float of pink net jellyfish made with bubble wrap. He officially ignores Olivia, while I am engrossed by the scene as it unfolds.

When Tag reaches Olivia, he gives her a big hug. She kisses him on the cheek. A ripple of pea green jealousy peels through me, or maybe it’s just the heat from the bright sun. Andrew checks his shot in the playback. Then he looks up. He sees Olivia and Tag across the boardwalk. Caitlin leans over and whispers, “Do you believe it? Tag and Olivia?”

“Yeah.” I tell her. And I do. Of course Olivia and Tag found each other at LaGuardia High School. Once Olivia made over Andrew, she needed a new challenge. It’s as if she was done with Andrew after his braces came off, because once his bite was corrected he had achieved his maximum potential. Olivia likes makeovers as much as I enjoy editing film. It’s her talent. I don’t know what she’s going to find wrong with Tag, but if there is a flaw, Olivia will find it and fix it.

But even with the new haircut, wardrobe, and braces off, Andrew is a film geek. He is simply a better-looking version of his old self, which I always believed was absolutely fine and had its own merits.

And me? I may have grown my bangs out, found my personal style, turned fifteen, had my first boyfriend, and survived the breakup, but to Tag Nachmanoff, I’ll always be
Violet Riot
, the girl who understands the Avid and is handy with computers. I will never be Olivia Olson, LaGuardia goddess.

Andrew catches Olivia’s eye. He waves at her and smiles cordially. She waves back.

“Let’s get the island band,” he says.

Olivia doesn’t ruffle Andrew
at all
. Zero drama. He is not jealous of Tag one bit. Despite his initial surprise, he waved at his ex like she was any friend, on any day, on any boardwalk. I love this about Andrew. He does
not
obsess. He does
not
hold on to the things that hurt him. He lets it go. I can’t say I would be the same if Jared Spencer were across the boardwalk with Olivia Olson. If it were me, I’d probably have a nervous breakdown, turn off my camera, and get back on the Q train and cry eleven stops till I got home. Not Andrew. He’s more concerned about getting some great images on film. This is why he is my BFFAA—he’s a good example to me in all things. We look at life through the same lens.

“I’m starving,” Andrew says.

“I’d like a slice of pepperoni pizza,” I tell him. “You guys want to get pizza?” I ask Caitlin and Maurice.

“We had cotton candy. If it’s okay, I’d rather show Maurice the boardwalk and then we can walk on the beach,” Caitlin says.

“I can see Caitlin home later,” Maurice says. “To your house.”

Of course he won’t see her home to the Pullapillys’ apartment; Mrs. P would have a stroke. “You don’t want to ride back with us?”

Caitlin and Maurice look at each other. “We’ll be fine,” Caitlin says.

“Okay.” I shrug.

Maurice and Caitlin head down the boardwalk. Andrew changes out the lens on the camera. “Don’t make a big deal out of it, Vi,” he says.

Too late for that, I’m thinking.

“Oh, Viola, you didn’t reapply your sunblock,” my mom says as I bolt through the kitchen.

“No biggie.” I put down my camera on the kitchen table.

“How were the mermaids?”

“Andrew and I got the entire parade.”

“I like the seashell.”

I got my face painted, a tasteful seashell on my cheek. “Thanks! Caitlin got a seahorse.”

“Dinner at seven. Grand called. She’s got a job offer for you. Give her a call.” Mom hands me the phone. I guess it’s time for me to join the work world. It feels like I’m the last fifteen-year-old in Brooklyn without a summer job. I press speed dial.

“Hey, Grand. Mom says you have a summer job for me.”

“Cleo needs a dog walker.”

I think for a moment. This wasn’t exactly the summer project I was hoping for, but cash is cash. “Okay.”

“I’ll pay you ten dollars a day. She has to be walked at lunchtime.”

“Sounds good.”

“Now, you know, this doesn’t count for your summer project. We still have to come up with something exciting and educational.”

“I’m making a doc with Andrew about Mermaid Day.”

“That’s a start. But I’m thinking of something to really make you stretch.”

I hang up the phone. Grand is going to come up with something weird like working on a loom making rugs, hemming draperies, or making scented soap on her roof terrace. My summer project, whatever it is, will involve making something useful. Great.

I check the clock. “Mom, I’ve got to Skype.” I climb the back stairs. I race into my room and flip open my laptop. Suzanne has coordinated a group Skype from her mom’s office with Marisol, Romy, and me. It will be like being back in the quad at Prefect, except this time, we’re onscreen in cyberspace.

I type the Skype number. It dials through to Mrs. Santry’s line. Suddenly, Suzanne’s face appears.

“Hi, Suz!”

“Whoa. Let me drop the volume. I’m in Mom’s office, and everything in here is on blare.” Suzanne smiles. Her honey-colored hair is pushed back with a hair band. “Cool face painting.”

“Thanks!” I say loudly.

“Lower your volume.”

“Too loud? Sorry.”

“Hey, guys.” Romy’s face appears in a square next to Suzanne.

“Romy!” Suzanne and I say together. Romy is already tan, no doubt from living on the hockey field since she got to camp. She talked her coach into letting her use the computer in the athletic office for our Skype.

“This camp is the best. I got selected for the first team. I’m a guard.”

“All those hours of practice at Prefect paid off,” I tell her.

“How’s it going there?” Romy asks me.

“Too much to tell you.”

“I like the face painting,” Romy says.

I touch my face unconsciously, already forgetting that I had a seashell painted on my cheek and across my chin. “Big news. Tag Nachmanoff showed up.”

“Did he notice you?” Romy asks.

“Hey, everybody!” Marisol waves from a square beneath Romy.

“Good, you’re here. I don’t have to repeat the big story of the day.”

“Tell all.” Marisol leans in.

“Tag Nachmanoff is still the most gorgeous guy ever. Remember Olivia, Andrew’s girlfriend? Well, it turns out after she dumped Andrew, she went for Tag.”

“Poor Andrew,” Marisol says.

“No, he’s totally cool. And he looks cute without his braces. No worries. He’s fine.”

“I
knew
Andrew would blossom into a hottie,” Marisol says.

“Insane. Isn’t it? How about you?”

“No summer crush for me. I’m working at Target. I’m in the home and garden section, but I have to help out front. I walk, like, a billion miles a day. And I hate the apron. But I get a discount! I got the entire mini eye-shadow collection from Boots.”