Charlotte Cuts It Out (12 page)

When I get to the multipurpose room, Lydia isn't there. I search the room, ask a few people—the ones wearing hairnets—and eventually find her in the building trades lab by a small pile of wood with two other people. She looks as if she's about to cry.

“I'm sorry,” says a girl wearing brown Carhartt pants and a green long-sleeved tee.

“We need to go.” A guy in a ponytail nudges her. “The other meeting will be over soon.”

The girl says, “Let us know what you decide. We can still do it, but we need to know today. We're wrapping up this showcase and starting on the next one by the end of the week.”

Lydia nods, and they leave.

“What's wrong?” I ask.

She bursts into tears. “I'm having a panic attack, and I need you to talk me down.”

“Okay.” I speak slowly and calmly. “Slow down, breathe, and tell me what's going on.”

She takes a few deep breaths. “I want an arbor as the entrance to our booth. Remember the flower garland from the bakery I planned to use?” I nod. “Well, I thought I'd drape it on the arbor and also use it for the posters.”

“Great idea—”

“Except I got in too late. The wellness fair is in four days, and they're not ordering new supplies until next week—for the winter showcase. All that's left are these scraps.”

There are a few longer boards, but mostly, the pile looks as if it's ready for a bonfire. I can't imagine anyone—including a fairy godmother or a genie—turning that mess into an acceptable doorway. I don't say that, though. Instead, I ask what the building trades people said.

She tells me that they can do something, that it won't be as good as if they'd had weeks to build it, but that it could work—especially if she covers most of it with flowers.

“There you go.” I try to sound upbeat.

She picks up a short piece of wood and drops it. “It's going to be a Franken-arbor.”

Then I receive a text from Shea:
Your graphics design guy is in. Not so sure, though. He's kind of a tool.

Yes!
Reed is on board! But wait.
“
Kind of a tool”? What does she mean? I hope she hired the right guy.

I reply,
Why? What happened?

Lydia sits on the dirty cement floor as tears stream down her cheeks. “This is all just too much. What was I thinking? I'm in way over my head.”

Finally, she's come to her senses! Moving to CA may have been impulsive and stupid, but it's only been a week. Maybe we can go to Finn and put everything back the way it was, make it all right again.

I try to sit next to her, but my skirt isn't long enough to fully cover my butt and legs against the cold floor. I try to adjust it, but it's not working. I end up in a weird pose, sitting on my heels, which hurts my knees. I lean to put my arm around Lydia to comfort her and end up falling into her shoulder.

“What are you doing?” She gives me a half-annoyed, half-amused look.

“I'm trying to help you, but my skirt and this floor just aren't a good combo.” I stand and brush sawdust specks from the back of my clothes. Then I grab a stool from a nearby workbench and boost myself onto it. “So, do you want me to go with you to talk to Finn?”

Another text from Shea:
Nothing, really. Just full of himself for someone who spells like a third grader. Not my type. Are you two talking?
Followed immediately by another:
Anyway, subcontracting is done.

Reed can't spell? That could be problematic. Unless Shea is exaggerating a few typos. I'm not too worried. Extra proofreading sessions mean more time with him.

“Finn? Why would I talk to
him
?” She stands, dabs her eyes with the edge of her shirtsleeve, and sifts through the wood pile.

I text Shea, asking who she chose and ignoring her question about Reed and me. She texts back the names and why they're the best, to which I reply:
Thank you!!! I owe you big-time!

Lydia is visibly annoyed that I'm texting instead of talking to her.

“The sooner you talk to him,” I say, “the sooner we can get you out of those ridiculous hairnets and back to cos where you belong.”

She stops cold and stares at me. “I
am
where I belong. I'm overwhelmed with the project, not with the program. Just because I didn't tell you everything doesn't mean that I didn't put a lot of thought into changing. God, Charlotte.
This
is why I can't talk to you.”

My phone lights up with a final text from Shea:
No problem. See you at the next meeting.

I read it but don't reply. Lydia sighs and walks away.

I let her go. I can't believe she thinks she can't talk to me! Who did she reach out to when she was freaking out? Me! Who left my meeting the second I got her S.O.S.? Me! Who talked her through her meltdown? Me! Who's getting no credit for being a good friend? Me!

Charlotte's Vision for the Winter Showcase

Our team—Shea, Lydia, Mackenzie, and me—wears coordinating outfits.

Props: giant candy “forest” added to fairy-tale background, sugar flowers created by Lydia, built by building trades, decorated by multimedia art, and placed by stage helpers.

Wow-factor prop: Snow machine.

Models: Four ballerinas and (two to three?) children (as flying and frolicking fairies).

Music: whimsical flute music for the PowerPoint and speech/model presentation.

PowerPoint first: behind-the-scenes pictures of our work throughout the semester, designed by Reed.

Speech/Model Presentation next: Required—ONE model each. Shea designs all four dresses; Mackenzie and I style TWO each, plus our mini fairies. On stage, we discuss the techniques we used as models dance and turn.

Thunderous applause!

We win first place!

I win the bet!

Reed and I double date with Lydia and her guy.

We are so legendary that we become the standard by which first place is judged in upcoming years.