Selfish Elf Wish (16 page)

My mouth drops open.

“You should consider representation for your act,” Clay says right when Briar and Kenji walk up.

“That’s a great idea!” Briar says at the same time as I say, “I don’t think so.”

“Oh, don’t listen to her. Zeph takes a while to warm up to new ideas.” Briar bumps me with her hip, then she turns and kisses Clay on each cheek as if they’re the oldest and bestest of friends. Kenji hangs back, but his face goes stony and his arms are rigid at his sides.

Dawn stands and offers Briar a hug. After they embrace, Dawn says, “You could dance at the club.”

“It’s getting dark,” I say to Briar. “I’m leaving.” I gather all the stuff on the ground and stuff it into my bag.

“Well,” says Clay with a chuckle. “You know where to find us.” He rubs Briar’s back, and I see Kenji tighten his hands into fists at his sides.

“I’m sure we’ll see you this weekend,” Briar says, and gives him another peck on the cheek, which makes Kenji wince.

Kenji and I barely say a word on the way home, but Briar is as chatty as a bluebird. “And that guy in the black motorcycle jacket was from a modeling agency. He said he could get us bookings right away. Magazines love twins and he says we could pass. And that other guy with the goatee and the glasses, I think his name was Brian, did you meet him? He wants to do a documentary.”

“I’m not doing any of this. You tricked me into dancing today!” I yell at her.

“God, you’re impossible,” Briar says. “You needed to get away. You like to dance. And people want to see us. So what’s the big deal.”

I stop by a trash can, unzip my bag, and dump the contents into the trash.

“What are you doing?” Briar yells, grabbing for the gifts. “Anytime you get what you want, you throw it all away.” She pretends to look carefully through the trash. “Look, here’s your part in the musical. Oh, and there’s Timber. What else is Zephyr throwing out?”

“That’s ridiculous,” I say. “I never asked for this junk, and I’m not throwing away my part in the musical or Timber. I can’t even get Timber to hang out with me. And you’re no help at all.” I look across the street to the lights in our living room and the smoke billowing from the chimney. I want to be inside the warmth of our house instead of out here sniping at Briar.

“Zephyr’s right, you know,” Kenji says to Briar. This gets my attention. “You have to be careful about this kind of stuff.”

“What kind of
stuff
?” Briar asks.

“You don’t know if these guys are legit. They could be running porno rings,” Kenji says.

“What’s a porno ring?” Briar asks. “Is that like our dance circle?”

Kenji slaps his own forehead. “Oh my God, no! It’s when people take pictures of girls, naked, doing stuff.”

“What kind of
stuff
?” she asks again.

“You know,” Kenji says, his face reddening. “
Stuff
stuff. Like sex stuff.”

My stomach turns over and my head feels warm. Briar’s eyes widen but then she laughs. “Seriously?”

“Yes,” he says. “Seriously. You don’t want to get caught up in something like that. It’s bad news. Not to mention illegal.”

“All the more reason to let Clay be our manager. Then he can see who’s legit.”

The light changes and I stomp into the street, yelling over my shoulder, “Who says Clay’s even legit?”

Briar jogs after me. “At least we could dance at their club. Just for fun.”

“No way,” I say.

“Why not?”

“Why should we?” I ask when we reach the other side of the road.

“Because they asked us to and they’re our friends.”

I shake my head and open our gate. “They’re not my friends. And you know, Briar, sometimes I wonder if you are, either.”

Briar puts her hands on her hips and stares at me. “I’m trying to help you, Zephyr!”

“Oh really? How’s that.”

“I bet you ten bucks if we danced this around Timber, you’d never have to worry about Bella again.” I stop on our walkway and turn back toward Briar. “He’d fall madly in love with you and never look twice at her again.”

I shake my head. “That’s not the way it works,” I say, but I can’t help thinking that Briar’s right.

“Worked on him,” she points to Kenji.

I look at Kenji. He stands beside her, grinning stupidly.

“But you know what?” Briar says, pushing past me with Kenji at her heels as usual. “I’m tired of you, so suit yourself.”

I watch them go into the house. It’s clear to me that something changed for Kenji after he watched Briar dance, but I don’t know what caused it. So maybe the dance would have the same effect on Timber, but the big question is whether this is how I want him to fall in love with me. But if not, what’s the alternative? Standing alone on the street corner, always pining away while he’s off with Bella?

No matter what I decide, I realize then that it’s not fair of me to be so angry with Briar. She can be annoying, but she is trying to help me, and if she doesn’t help me, who will? I sigh.

THE WHOLE NEXT
week flies by like a goose heading south. All I do is go to school, then rehearsal, go home and do my homework, fall in bed, and start the whole thing over again the next day. Ms. Ram has worked us like dogs every day for six hours. Mr. Padgett has come in and out, cursing half the time at what amateurs we are and how we don’t deserve his original script, even though we’ve never even seen act three and he keeps changing act two so nobody can get their lines straight. Despite all that, act one looks great, so by the time Friday rolls around, I can’t wait to perform it at Rockefeller Center.

At three-thirty, Briar and I stare up at the seventy-eight-foot Norway spruce tree standing in the middle of the Rockefeller concourse, but I’m not sure how to react. It seems as if all of midtown Manhattan is packed with people, milling around under the shadows of skyscrapers today, most of them ending up here. On the one hand, it’ll be a great crowd and the tree is beautiful; on the other, I hate seeing everyone gawk at this sick joke on nature. “I don’t know whether to be impressed or to lie down and weep,” I say.

“How could someone cut down such a beautiful tree?” Briar asks, near tears.

I want to reach out and press my hand against the trunk and tell the spirit of this old tree that I’m sorry, but of course I can’t get near it because it’s surrounded by big metal gates, two guards, and hordes of people trying to take pictures. Not to mention the fact that it’s covered with five miles of electric lights.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Timber slides up behind us.

Although a little trill goes through my body at the sight of his blue eyes under a black knit cap, I can’t help but shake my head. “Trees belong in the forest,” I say.

“This tree didn’t come from a forest,” says Timber.

“Listen, city boy,” I say with a laugh. “Hate to break it to you, but trees grow in forests. Not in concrete in the middle of Manhattan.”

“But in forests, they don’t grow this big.” He points to the top of the tree, where there’s a giant star like a goofy hat.

“Obviously, you’ve never been to our neck of the woods,” I tell him.

“Seriously, Zeph. You don’t have to be so upset.” He lays his hand on my shoulder. I feel like a snowflake in the sun. “Somebody donates a tree from their yard every year. They don’t go out in the woods and cut one down.”

This makes me feel a little bit better. “Still, I hate to think of this old beauty being chainsawed down for a few weeks of glitz and glamour.”

Timber bumps me with his elbow. “Come on. You sound like a Grinch.”

“A . . . ?” I start to say.

Timber laughs. “I’ll lend you the book. Anyway, just wait until you see the tree lit up when the sun goes down. It’s pretty spectacular.” Then he turns and points over the railing of a fence behind the tree. “And check out the rink.”

“Now that I like,” I say when I see the large square of perfect ice surrounded by lights, a waterfall, and a beautiful golden statue of some dude flying with fire in his hand. Above it, around the rim where we stand, are rows of brightly colored flags whipping in the wind. The whole place is beautiful.

“I bet you’re a great skater,” Timber says. I grin because ice skates are one erdler invention we’re very familiar with in Alverland. “And look over there,” Timber says, pointing to the other side of the concourse, where a small stage with mics and spotlights wait.

“Is that where we’ll perform?” I ask.

He nods. “You have to admit, that’s pretty cool, right?”

I imagine us on the stage, singing and dancing, people skating below us and this amazing old tree in the backdrop. “Wow,” is all I can say, because in Alverland, nothing like this is possible.

“I’ve lived in New York City all my life,” Timber says, slinging his arm around my shoulder. “And every year Christmas here still amazes me.”

Without thinking, I reach up and slip my mittened hand into his.

He gives my hand a little squeeze. “This is going to be awesome.”

“Yes,” I say, squeezing back. “It is.”

Timber lets go of my hand and leans against the railing. He looks at me. “I haven’t seen you much this week.”

“Guess we’ve both been busy with rehearsal and stuff.” I concentrate on watching the skaters so he won’t notice the disappointment in my eyes.

“I’ve missed hanging out with you,” he tells me.

I snap my head around toward him. “What?” I ask. “Really?”

“Sure, really.” He laughs. “Why’d you act so surprised?”

I shrug, but I can’t contain my smile. “I didn’t know it was important to you to hang out with me.”

Timber’s smile melts into a frown. “Of course it is. You’re my . . . my ...”

I search his face, his dancing blue eyes, the hint of the comma at the corner of his mouth. “Your what?”

He shakes his head and laughs, but his eyes still look troubled. “I don’t know,” he admits. “But I did miss you.”

I can’t help it. Now my smile is plastered from cheek to cheek like a chipmunk with a den full of acorns. “Well,” I say slowly, “there’s something we could do about that.”

“Yeah?” he asks, a grin sneaking onto his gorgeous face. “What’s that?”

“Why don’t we hang out after this?”

As quickly as it came, the grin is gone. “Aw crap, Zeph. I’d really like to, but ...” He shakes his head and stares down at the rink again.

“But what?”

“It’s this stupid musical. Mr. Padgett has Bella and me rehearsing all the time.”

“You sure it’s Mr. Padgett?” I ask, my jaw clenched. Timber looks at me, confused. “Maybe it’s Bella who’s demanding all the rehearsal time with you.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think so. The whole play is a mess. Padgett keeps changing things and ...” He leans in close to me. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know if he’s even finished writing it yet. It’ll be a miracle if this thing is ready to go in two weeks.”

“So blow him off!” I say, stamping my foot. “He can’t make you rehearse on a Friday night.”

Timber takes a deep breath, then lets the air out slowly so his face is obscured by the steam. “I wish I could.”

“Whatever,” I say. “I’m going to find Briar and Mercedes.”

Timber reaches out and grabs my sleeve. “Hey,” he says. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

“I just wish ...” I say, but then I stop, because wishing isn’t going to change anything.

What?” he asks.

“Nothing,” I say, looking down at the skaters in the rink below. “You do what you have to do.”

 

Mr. Padgett pulls the entire cast aside by the stage at four o’clock to explain what’s about to happen. I huddle close to Mercedes to keep warm. “The show starts at four-fifteen sharp,” he tells us. Mercy and I wriggle with excitement. “Before we go on, Bella will do a solo performance and then—”

He gets drowned out by everyone saying, “What? How the . . . ? Who said anything about . . . ?”

Mr. Padgett holds up his hand. “Hey, this is showbiz, kids,” he says. “Not some grammar-school talent show. Some people get solos. You don’t like it, get on the subway back to Brooklyn.”

Everyone shuts up, but no one is happy. Except for Bella, who stands slightly behind Padgie with a half smirk on her face. I glance behind her to see Clay and Dawn lurking in the shadows. I elbow Mercedes and point to them. “I bet they’re behind this.”

“Jerks,” she says.

“After that,” Mr. Padgett continues, “there will be a ten-minute break to reset the stage and then the
Idle America
cast will go on at four forty-five sharp. Do not be late! We
will
go on without you. Understood?”

Everyone nods and mutters yes.

“Good,” says Padgie. “And I hope I don’t have to remind you that this is a professional performance. I expect everyone to do his or her best, because if you look bad, I look bad, and I don’t like looking bad.”