Diva (14 page)

What I do appreciate is Sean. I've figured out why Sean never hangs around after school. He doesn't have

time. I don't even know when he practices for himself.

"Why don't you warm up," he tells me. "I'll be back in a second."

I sing some warm-ups, trying not to listen. I look at the walls. Every inch is covered with murals. Behind

me, refugees arrive on a boat made from an old car. To my left, the Space Shuttle breaks up, shattered

pictures of astronauts raining to the ground. Sean explained that his father's an artist "in his spare time,"

but mostly he paints houses.

When Sean gets back, I say, "It's nice that you help her so much."

"Nah, it's not nice. She's my sister." He heads for the keyboard in the corner of the room and sings, "Step
to the
keyboard, my dear."

"You do that too?" I say.

"What?"

"Sing things. Like you're in an opera."

"Sure. Doesn't everyone?"

I shake my head. "No one
I
know."

"You know me." He gestures to the keyboard. "Now warm up.

I continue, but the whole time he's playing exercises, I'm so worried about impressing him that I can

barely sing. Finally, he stops playing. "You're really tense." He starts massaging my neck, kneading the muscles. "Roll your head back." His hands are really strong, stronger than he looks, and I find myself relaxing, like I could fall asleep in his arms.

"Mmm… that feels good," I say.

"I used to live with my mom. She typed all day, and she'd come home all tense. So she taught me to give

her neck rubs from an early age. If this singing thing doesn't work out, I'll be a masseur."

"How long did you live with your mother?"

"

"Until I was ten. Then she left." He stops rubbing my neck. "Okay, ready?"

"Thanks." I nod. I want to ask him more about his mother, but I don't think he wants me to. So I say, "Yeah, let's do it."

We go through the song five times. It's tough going at first because I'm still—let's admit this—thinking

about what it was like to have Sean's hands on my neck.
What is wrong with me
? But finally I get a grip and get through it a couple of times decently.

"Good," Sean says. "Want to call it quits—end on a high note?"

"Sure," I say. "You were good too."

"Thanks." He looks at me. "You're not like I thought you were."

"What?"

He shakes his head. "Sorry. It's just… I really didn't want to bring you here today. That's why I've been

avoiding practicing together."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing. It's just… I thought you were kind of a snob, but you're not, are you?"

"No."
Is he kidding
? "You thought
I
was snobby?"

"I wasn't sure. You seemed nice at auditions, sort of shy. But then I saw you at Wendy's that time, with

those friends of yours, and after that, you barely looked at me. So I figured, Okay, the girl's a homecoming

queen from hell." He shrugs. "Sorry."

"Thanks a lot." But I remember that day at Wendy's, Peyton and Ashley, laughing at Sean. I hope he didn't see them, but I bet he did. I want to think of a way to explain it away, but I can't. "I'm not really friends with those girls."

It's my way of apologizing. Sean nods.

"I thought you weren't talking to me because I'm not as good as you," I say.

"Really?" He looks confused. "No way. You're incredible."

I smile at that but say, "You were hanging with Misty all the time, and she's… scary. You never talked to

me. So I figured you had enough friends."

"Misty and I… we drifted apart." He makes a drifting gesture with his hand.

"In the past week?"
Stupid
!

"Yeah. It had something to do with her says she talked you into singing that dumb song at auditions."

"It wasn't
that
dumb," I say.

"Yeah, it was," he says.

"Okay. It was. But what does that have to do with you?"

"She was laughing about it, about how stupid she thought you looked. I just thought it was a really bitchy thing to do."

"Mm-hmm." I nod and turn away, so he can't see me blushing.

"Anyway, we're not
enemies
or anything. I just decided I needed other friends."

"So you two were just friends?"

"Yeah, what else?"

"Hey, I don't hear any singing in there!" Desi's voice comes from the living room. "Are you guys… kissing or something?"

I feel my face heat up, and I look away from Sean. He says, "We're caught"

"Let's sing it again," I say. I'm in no hurry to get home. It's a Tuesday, a probable Arnold night. I'd much rather stay here a while.

Opera_Grrrl's Online Journal

Subject: Noises I Can Hear, Sitting in My Bedroom

Date: October 15

Time: 10:45 p.m.

Listening to: See below

Feeling: Distressed

Weight: 113 lbs.

Arnold's car in the driveway

Front door, opening & closing

Giggling (Mom)

Nerdy laugh (him)

Her, asking if he'd like coffee (she doesn't know how to *make* coffee. She buys it at Starbucks)

Him, turning down coffee (like she must have known he would)

Her bedroom door, opening

Her bedroom door, closing

Silence

Silence

Silence (If I listened closer, I bet I could hear something. But I don't want to)

The 1 st act of
La Boheme
on my headphones

Her bedroom door, opening

The front door, opening

The front door, closing

Arnold's car, pulling out of the driveway

Her bedroom door, closing

The 2nd act of
La Boheme
, on my headphones

In
Boheme
, Rodolfo loved Mimi. He was happy to hold her cold little hand, to light her candle, and stand in the dark, watching it flicker. Are there any guys like that in real life? Or is that why in the best operas, someone dies in the end? Because if they lived, they'd figure out that it's not for real.

I watch Arnold's taillights fade down the street and listen to
Boheme
. Musetta sings about how her beauty drives men mad. I know these characters better than I know anyone real.

I wish I was still at Sean's apartment, singing "
Parigi o cara
." Even helping Desi with her homework would be fun. I ended up staying another two hours and eating ramen noodles with them. I think about

calling Sean. I know he's awake. He's always up late, judging from his e-mails. But it would be too weird

to dump all my crap on him. We've only been friends a week.

I go online. I was going to write in my journal, but I start an e-mail instead.

Subj:Can't sleep

Date: 10/15, 11:09 p.m., Eastern Standard Time

To: [email protected]

From:[email protected]

I lied when I said I wasn't friends w/those 2 girls, i *was* friends w/them before…but now I see that they

just made me feel bad about myself…like I have 2 be on my best behavior around them & have my

makeup & hair perfect & pull in my stomach & not eat 2 much…and def. NOT SING OPERA!!! They

make me feel like my mother does… I don't know who I really am…when i was w/u today was one of the

1st times in a long time i didn't feel like I was trying 2 be someone else. Not 2 much anyway…

I can't send that to him. It's an atrocity. I delete it and start another one. I try to make it sound casual,

spending five minutes coming up with an opera aria title that will fit the subject line—"
Questa o quella
."

This or that. I hope he gets it. I don't know what to write, that will let him know I like him, without letting him know I LIKE HIM.

Subj:Questa o quella

Date: 10/15, 11:35 p.m., Eastern Standard Time

To: [email protected]

From:[email protected]

Did Desi *ever* finish her homework? Will she get in trouble if she doesn't? Will you? Thanks for

helping me w/the song. Do you think we'll be good together (singing, I mean)? I'm listening to
Boheme

now. I wish I could go to Paris. I wish I was in Paris now, in a garret, w/a candle…Caitlin

I hit send before I can change my mind. I go to bed. The third act of
Boheme
begins on my headphones.

Mimi's death scene. I don't fall asleep until it's over. I cry. I always cry.

The next morning, there's an e-mail from Sean.

Subj:Re: Questa o quella

Date: 10/16, 3:05 a.m., Eastern Standard Time

To: [email protected]

From:[email protected]

Great subject line (I had to look it up online to know what it meant)! Desi did finish. I might have

accidentally done some for her, but I used my left hand so it looks authentic. Going to bed now—gotta get

my full 2 hrs. sleep. Paris sounds good to me too. Maybe we'll sing there someday WE WILL BE GREAT

(SINGING) TOGETHER!!! *YAWN* S

Opera_Grrrl's Online Journal Subject: Sean

Date: October 29

Time: 10:45 p.m.

Listening to: "
L'amour est un oiseau"
("Love Is a Bird") from Carmen

Feeling: Busy

Weight: 114 lbs.

Sean and I have been hanging out together the past 2 weeks. A lot. Most days after school, we have

rehearsals. But at Ix once a week, I go home w/Sean, help Desi w/her homework (a thankless task),

practice, then eat ramen noodles & sometimes watch his Dad, "Griff," paint the walls. We always go 2 his house, but today after rehearsal, he said maybe we could practice at my place, since it's closer.

I must have had a look on my face…a look that said I'd rather have honey dripped on my eyes & be placed

in an ant farm than have him come over b/c he raised an eyebrow and said, "I understand."

But the look on his face was like, I understand you don't want me to meet your mother…so I said he didn't

understand. I didn't want him to meet my mother b/c I didn't want him to meet *her*, not the other way

around.

Then I wanted to push the words back. He'd probably think I was a freak. But he nodded and said, "OK,

my place it is."

But on the way 2 his house, he told me about his own mom.

Griff, turns out, is Sean's mother's 2nd husband. She had Sean w/the 1 st one, Desi w/some guy she met @

a party. Then she married Griff.

Sean says they were happy for *maybe* a year. Then his mom started not coming home nights. Even at 9,

Sean knew what was up. Then 1 day, her things were gone. Griff told them, "It's OK, dudes. You can hang

w/me until she gets back." That was 8 yrs. ago.

Sean says they're happy, but he wonders if Griff could be a real artist instead of just a housepainter, if he

didn't have them around. So that's why he tries 2 be superhuman, taking care of Desi, helping around the

house, & doing everyone's homework. He wants to get a scholarship to U of M so he can go to school for

free and still take care of Desi. Sean says he thinks his crappy life has been a good thing because it's

taught him tenacity (which means "persistent determination." I looked it up) he needs to make it in the arts.

"Some people aren't willing to struggle," he said. "They might quit the 1st time they have to wait tables.

Me, I'm used to surviving."

Wow. So after he was done, I told him the whole story of my life w/Mom and non-Dad (but not abt.

Arnold!!!). No comparison to his. I mean, *my* Mom's not *on* anything.

She's just incredibly annoying. He said he bets I'm tenacious too, since I've gotten to be really good w/o

anyone encouraging me.

Maybe he's right. I haven't talked to my friends from Key in a long time… I've been telling myself it's b/c I

don't have time with rehearsals and everything, but it's not just that. I've changed. I'm no longer Caitlin

McCourt, mild-mannered cheerleader wannabe. Like Clark Kent or Bruce Wayne, I now have a stronger

alter ego. I am Opera_Grrrl, defender of all things operatic!

There's no school because it's a "teacher planning" day, so I'm sitting at Gigi's house. I'm helping her dye her hair. Miss Davis told her she had to choose a color a little "closer to nature" for the performance.

We're dying it Light Spice—a reddish brown, and we're channel surfing. Gigi stops at this morning show

where a girl about our age is talking about how she got pregnant.

"There's just three guys it could be," she's saying.

Gigi snorts. "Just three!"

"Shh. I want to hear this. Have some respect for the pregnant."

"And one's a one-night stand," the TV girl continues. "He won't support me."

Gigi rolls her eyes. "Big surprise."

"Shut up! Shut up!" I'm not sure I'm ready to be a mother," the TV girl says.

Gigi starts to make another crack, but then looks at me and gets quiet. She waits until the show cuts to a

commercial and then says, "Let's make popcorn."

"We just ate," I say, not getting up. "It's ten-thirty, and we had bagels before we went to Walgreen's for the hair dye."

"Pleeeeze, Cait, I'm
starving
. Humans actually
need
calories to sustain life."

"Okay, but I'm not eating any." I follow her into the kitchen. While the popcorn pops, I say, "Do you think people on those morning shows are for real?"

"Sure. Why not?" she says.

"I hear a lot of them are aspiring actresses."

"We should go on one then—you and me—when we're in New York trying to make it." She checks out her

reflection in the door of the microwave. "This is gonna look
soooo
totally lame."

"It'll look fine. What would the show be about—the one we're going on?"

"
I was a Teenage Pageant Queen"
Gigi says.

"No.
I Was a Drama School Dropout
."

"No, wait. I have the perfect one for you," Gigi says. "
My Mother Won't Stop Dressing Like Mel"