Diva (2 page)

she was, but she's already gone. I stoop to pick up my music.

"Hey," a voice says behind me.

I look up. It's Sean Griffin. People are walking out.

"Hi," I say. "Um, thanks for playing for me."

"No problem. You need a ride somewhere?"

I took the train here, and I have to take a bus home from the train station. But I get in a car with some guy I don't know, just because he's a good singer. With my luck with guys, he'll turn out to be a perv or a serial

killer.

"Uh, no thanks," I say. "My mom's picking me up."

"Oh, okay." He grins. Up close, his eyes aren't really blue, but they're not green either. I wonder if they've changed since I first looked. Weird.

"Bye." He walks away. When he reaches the door, he says, "Hey, Caitlin."

"What?"

"I'll see you at school."

It takes me a second to realize he means this school. I laugh. "Oh… if I get in."

He laughs too. But he says, "You will. With a voice like that, you can do anything you want."

He's gone before I can say anything else. I look around. The room's cleared out, and I'm all alone. The

sun's streaming through the dirty windows, and I watch Sean as he goes to the street. Then I watch his

back until he is totally swallowed up by the glare.

Opera_Grrrl's Online Journal

Subject: Hi!

Date: April 5

Time: 9:37 p.m.

Feeling: Thoughtful

Weight: 115 lbs. this morning (Eek!)

Days Since I Auditioned for Miami HS of the Arts: 23

Okay, so here's the deal. My former shrink, Lucia (*long* story) was after me to keep a journal. "Write

your thoughts." she said. "U don't have to show anyone."

I.E, a pointless exercise. No thx! I do enough of those in SCHOOL!

Besides, who wants a notebook where anyone can read my "thoughts?" Like, what if I got hit by a bus??? I can just picture it: Mom, drumming her pink-manicured nails on my hosp. bed, all "Oh, sugar dumpling, I

know u feel bad, but could u possibly explain this little thing on page 15?" Again: No thx! But some of my friends started keeping these online journal things, & I thought that would be better. The anonymous thing

is cool. The *world* can read it, but my ex-boyfriend, Internet stalkers, etc. ("etc." meaning my mother), won't know it's me. The journal name, Opera_Grrrl, is my secret identity. Think Clark Kent/Superman,

Bruce Wayne/Batman.

Okay…some important details:

Name:Well, I'm not going to tell you that (see above)

Age: 16

Occupation:Student @ a high school in Fla. (but thinking about making a change)

Hobbies/Interests: See above…I love to sing!!!

Pet Peeves:People who think my hobbies & interests are weird

Dating Status: Unattached

The question ur all wondering about (even tho probably no1 is reading this:The reason I had a therapist is

b/c I recently broke up w/the boyfriend from HELL!!!

What is the Boyfriend from Hell? It is one who seems really perfect:

wicked-hot

nice car

showed up on time

brought flowers

wrote poetry

But also:

hit me

told me i was fat

said i should only hang out w/his friends b/c mine were all losers

said no one would ever want 2 be w/me but him

said my singing was stupid

and, um, did i mention, HIT ME???

So this past Dec, I broke up w/him, & I actually went to court and got a piece of paper that says if he

comes 2 close, i can call the cops & they will throw his butt in jail.

That's when i got the shrink. I went for a month or 2, sat in a circle w/other girls who'd had bad

boyfriends, talked about them, wrote poetry about them, did interpretive dances about them, role-played

what we'd say if we saw them, cried, etc., etc., etc…then i got tired of wallowing in my problems so i

stopped going, i use the time for practicing my singing now.

*That's* therapy.

But every once in a while, I think about getting back together w/Nick. How wacko does that make me???

Which is why I'm also thinking about switching schools.

Ex-boyfriend at 3:00. I fumble with my lock. He walks closer. I try not to look like I'm looking at him, but

I also try not to look like I'm
not
looking at him, if that makes sense.

Of course it doesn't.

Ex-boyfriend at 2:30.I open my locker and stick my head completely inside. Maybe he won't notice me,

and he'll just go away.

Yeah, right
. He probably has my schedule tattooed on the back of his hand. Last month, I changed my

locker
and
my lock because he broke in and left me flowers (white roses) for my birthday. It was beyond creepy.

I look around the side of my door. Ex-boyfriend at 1:00. Mayday! Mayday!

And… he's… past me.

I realize I haven't breathed in about a minute. I inhale quickly and exhale slowly, like I'm singing. I back

away from my locker, all shaky. I can't even remember what I came here to get. I close it and stand,

pretending to rest my hand against a locker. Really, I'm looking to see if Nick's still there, looking at me.

But he isn't looking. He's going around the corner. 9:00…

8:00…

Nick gets to the end of the hallway and turns. Our eyes meet a second. Then he looks away. I start walking

in the opposite direction…

… and bump right into my friend Peyton.

'"Sup, girlfriend?" Peyton says.

I answer, truthfully, "I don't know." I hope she didn't see me looking at Nick.

No such luck. Peyton points to the corner Nick's just disappearing around. "Omigod, was that Nick? Were

you talking to him, Cat?"

I wince at
Cat
. That's what Nick used to call me. My friends aren't known for their sensitivity, and I know Peyton's just looking for good gossip. Before Nick, I used to have real friends. But Nick made me dump

them and just hang out with
his
friends, who were so fakey-perfect that staying friends with them was

work
. Now my old friends are mad at me for dumping them, and even though Nick's friends took my side

in the breakup, I still don't know them that well—and they sure don't know me. If I cop to looking at him,

it will be all over school by lunch.

I shake my head. "Are you on crack? No. No!"

She shakes her head. "Right. Sure. Of course not. So, you going to the basketball pep rally, Friday?"

"Can't. There's a state competition for chorus in Tampa. We'll be there all day."

"God, I'd gouge my eyes out—missing important stuff for an
elective
. You should've taken driver's ed instead of chorus. Can't you just be sick that day?"

"I have a solo too."
One that I beat twelve other girls out for
.

Peyton rolls her eyes. "You would. Will you be back in time for the game?"

"I really, really hope so."
Not a snowflake's chance
…

"You know, you're not going to have time for that stuff if you make the squad next year. They expect you to be at every practice every game, unless you're, like, dead or something. And even then you'd better have a

note from the mortician."

Not a snowflake's chance of that either. I'm not trying out for cheerleading squad. I wouldn't make it

anyway. I'm not what you'd call coordinated, and Peyton's right. I'd have to give up chorus. Which is so

not happening. But I haven't figured out how to explain that to my friends. I know when I do, they'll ditch

me for sure.

"Look," I say. "I've got to go to English. See you later."

"Caitlin?"

I want to look at my watch. But that would be rude, and I have to be nice or I won't have any friends at all.

"What?"

"You're not getting back with Nick, are you?"

"Are you kidding? No. I wish I never had to even see him again.

I think that's true.

Opera_Grrrl's Online Journal

Subject: More about Nick

Date: April 7

Time: 4:01 p.m.

Feeling: Nervous

Weight: 116 lbs. this morning (Emergency!)

Days Since I Auditioned for Miami HS of the Arts: 25

No responses 2 my 1st entry, which proves no 1 is reading this. GOOD. I had this secret fear that every1 I

ever met would magically figure out this was me!

Saw Nick in the hall 2day. He didn't say anything 2 me, which i guess is good. Maybe he's figured out that

I'm not going to get back w/him.

Two weeks ago, he called me and asked me to meet him at the beach.

What I can't believe is: i didn't say no. I said yes. i was dressed & out the door b4 I came to my senses.

But part of me maybe wanted 2 go.

Nick was the only guy i ever loved…i liked him since 7th grade, only i wasn't hot enough 4 him 2 notice

then. He's been part of my life always. And he was the only one i ever…did anything with. It's hard to

look at someone you were so close to and say you're never going to speak to him again. The world is

different w/out him. I dated this other guy 4 a while, but it wasn't the same.

After Nick & I broke up, even w/the restraining order, he followed me around, just far enough away that

i'd look all paranoid if i said anything. I got hang-up calls 2. It wasn't his number on the Caller ID, but i

knew it was him, maybe from a pay phone.

Sad Truth: It's flattering to think he still cares that much.i feel him watching me in the halls. It's when i

watch back that worries me.

ONTO ANOTHER TOPIC…i should be getting my letter from MHSA any day now…i auditioned there

almost a mo. ago & they said they'd get us the letters "next month." Next month means w/in 30 days, right?

If they just meant sometime in April, I may die. OMGOMGOMG!

This makes me happy (i'm dying to find out if i got in!!!) but it worries me 2. Thing is i never told mom i

was trying out b/c…

i wasnt sure if i wanted 2 go, even if i do get in (i really might just want 2 know if i'm good enough)

i'm not sure i'll get in & i don't even want her to know i tried out if i don't get in. But she'll def. be mad i tried out w/out telling her, so i need

2 break the news gently if i get in.

So the way i've dealt w/this is…i've been running home the moment the bell rings at 2:43…

…actually SPRINTING home would be a better word 4 it (you'd think i'd be losing major poundage)…

knocking down unwary people in my path. Our mail gets delivered at 3 & mom's home then b/c she sells

real estate…so im out there waiting for our pruny old mailman like i'm hot 4 him…

But on Fri. we have state chorus competition and i'll be away when the mail comes. What if the letter

comes then????????

The television isn't on when I get home. That's the first sign of a problem. There are always warning

signs: Rattlesnakes rattle. Cats' fur stands on end.

With my mother, the first sign of trouble is the eerie silence of a

TV-free living room.

But maybe I'm just being crazy. The whole drive home from Tampa, I've been freaking out, not singing

"Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall" with everyone else, not even whispering and giggling (okay, not
too
much) when Brianna Owens and Josh Eisenberg crawled up into the bus luggage rack and were

definitely doing
way
more than just making out. Even then I was worried about Mom and the letter.

But what are the odds that the letter would have come today?

I stand by the door waiting for something to happen. It really is weird that the TV isn't on. There's always

a makeover show on
some
station.

What are the odds?

Mom's sitting on the sofa, staring at something in her lap. I walk closer, talking. "Hey, we got a superior rating. I got a superior on my solo too, and…" I'm talking just enough so she won't comment on it when I

leave.

She holds up the thing in her lap. It's a letter.
The
letter. I can see on the return address where it has the Miami High School of the Arts emblem thing.

Life lesson learned: Whenever you say, "What are the odds?" the odds-gods automatically up them to

100% certainty.

"What's this, Caitlin?"

I don't know. What is it? Acceptance or rejection? Acceptance or rejection?

"Um, I thought I'd try out for the performing arts school."

"You thought you'd try out? Don't you have to get a parent's permission to transfer to a new school?"

"Can I see the letter please?" I say, trying to be nice.

"When were you planning on telling me this? Or were you?"

"Of course I was going to tell you. I didn't transfer… I just wanted… Can I have the letter please? I want to see—"

She turns it over, and that's when I see for the first time that its open. She read it! She read it before me.

I'm trying really hard not to swallow my tongue.

"You opened it?"

"It was an accident. I thought it was junk mail."

"Opening other people's mail is a federal crime." I read that somewhere.

"I said it was an accident. Now answer my question."

"Give me my letter!"

"Caitlin!"

"Give me my letter!"

I'm sure I didn't get in, and the thought of Mom knowing that before I do just kills me. Up until now, I'd

been telling myself that I wasn't sure I wanted to go, that maybe I want to stay at Key Biscayne High with

my friends. But now I know that's a lie. If someone gave me a choice between an acceptance and

breathing
for the next five minutes… well, I'd have to think about it

"Give me my letter!" With each time I yell it, I get louder until she's holding her ears. "Caitlin, stop yelling. I have the windows open. The neighbors—"

"Then give it to me! It's mine!"

"Caitlin, how could you do something like this… try to switch schools without telling me?"