Love, Jacaranda Page 9

  I told her I’d have to ask permission. I’ll email Vanessa. Feel free to say no. I’m hoping Daisy will invite me again, but probably two holidays in a row is a lot to ask. I’d be happy to stay in the dorm. It will be peaceful, compared to Phoebe.

  I forgot to tell you about the opera. I assume you’ve been to the Met, because it seems like a place where old, rich people swarm like ants on a mango. It’s beautiful. The ceiling is gold; the curtain is gold. Everything is gold except the voices, which are liquid silver! I wore my blue gown, and Jarvis couldn’t keep his eyes off me. Phoebe’s and Daisy’s dresses were gorgeous too. Phoebe bragged about the designer, but tbh, I don’t remember who it was anymore. This old couple approached us and said how nice it was to see young faces at the opera. Our party did bring the average age down quite a bit!

  Most people were all dressed up. There was even a gentleman in a cape, carrying one red rose, as if he was the Phantom of the Opera.

  The opera was lovely but sad. It was called Rigoletto and was about a court jester and his daughter, Gilda, who falls in love with a despicable duke and then lets herself be killed in his place even though he’s with another girl. So just like Julie Jordan in Carousel, another girl sacrificing herself for a man who doesn’t love her back. But the soprano sang a beautiful song with runs and trills and high notes and generally sounded like Phoebe.

  Should I try to be an opera singer, do you think?

  Oh! Now Daisy is knocking on the door! Talk soon.

  By the way, are you a rapper? Maybe you’re not so old, after all? I notice a lot of rappers are actually named Smith, even if they don’t call themselves that. In addition to Will Smith (who got his start as a rapper), there is LL Cool J (James Todd Smith), Ne-Yo (Shaffer Chimere Smith), and many others. It would be funny if you were a rapper when I’ve been picturing you looking kind of like one of those old guys on the Supreme Court.

  Tua bella figlia, Jacaranda

  To: Johnsmith247@dll.com

  Date: November 30, 7:38 a.m. Eastern Standard Time

  Subject: Thank you, I think

  Dear Mr. Smith,

  When I woke this morning, I already had a reply from Vanessa, saying I can visit Phoebe over break and telling me to contact her to make arrangements. She says I can stay with her some of the time if I like. She doesn’t realize how much I would like that.

  I should go. I have a test in music theory on Friday. We’re learning to write down music (transcribing, it’s called) when someone plays it, and if you can believe it, I am starting to be able to do it! Soon, I’ll be able to write down my own songs! It’s hard to believe that, only a few short months ago, I was struggling with the basic Every Good Boy Does Fine.

  By the way, I wanted to remind you about my show on the 11th and 12th. If you come, please wear a red rose, so I’ll know it’s you. Well, you or the Phantom of the Opera. There’s certainly no other way I’d recognize you, since you won’t send me a picture!

  Love, Jacaranda

  P.S. Jarvis is VERY excited that I’m coming for winter break!

  To: Johnsmith247@dll.com

  Date: December 1, 1:57 a.m. Eastern Standard Time

  Subject: Can’t sleep

  Dear Mr. Smith,

  Do you ever lie awake at night, not sleeping because of worry? Like, you got through your entire day and were feeling sleepy, but the second your head hit the pillow, thoughts came? So many thoughts.

  Maybe not. You’re not in school anymore, so you can’t worry about failing, and you’re rich, so I guess you don’t worry about things poor people worry about, like getting the electricity turned off. But maybe there’s someone in your family you worry about? I just realized I don’t even know if you have a family. I’ve been picturing you as a single man (unless you are, in fact, Will Smith), but you might have a wife and five children on your mind.

  Anyway, that’s how I’m feeling. It’s after 1:00 a.m., and I can’t sleep.

  In musical theater class, Harry “reminded us” (I’m putting that in quotes because this is the first I’ve heard about it) that the week after the show are juries, and to be sure to prepare.

  I think he was speaking mostly to me, because I’m one of only two new people. I was the only one who looked surprised.

  “What’s a jury?” I asked David later. The only jury I’d ever heard of was the kind that sent my mother to prison, and I was assuming/hoping it was nothing like that.

  Well, it isn’t exactly like it, but it’s close.

  “Your voice teacher didn’t tell you about juries?” David said.

  I said I guessed not.

  “Noreen is such a flake.” David said she probably forgot I was new and didn’t know.

  “Didn’t know what?” I felt my chicken salad churning around in my stomach. The word “jury” certainly implied being judged.

  And that is exactly what it is! Two weeks from now, we have to get in front of a “jury” of the voice faculty and Harry and perform two contrasting songs (one modern, one older; one fast, one slow) for them to judge. The songs are supposed to be fully blocked out and prepared.

  David said I’d do fine. “You’re working on songs in voice, right?”

  I nodded, dimly remembering Noreen saying when I chose the song from Bonnie & Clyde that I also needed an older, up-tempo song. So I started working on this song called “I Got Rhythm” by my old friend Gershwin.

  The idea of singing in front of Harry and three voice teachers is terrifying to me.

  That sounds strange, considering I’m the one who sang a made-up song at Publix in front of the whole world (literally, it turns out). And since then, I performed “These Boots Are Made for Walkin’” in a karaoke club in my pajamas. But in situations like that, I can rely on being cute or funny or offbeat. Here, they’ll be judging me on my singing alone. Am I good enough?

  I know I’m a better singer than 90% of the population. But I’m competing with the other 10%. Maybe even the 1%. And that 1% has been taking voice lessons their whole lives.

  “What if I mess up?” I asked David.

  He said it would affect my grade in voice. “You’ll get a B instead of an A.”

  And just as I was thinking that didn’t sound that bad, he said:

  “I mean, I guess if they didn’t think you were making good enough progress, they’d ask you to leave. But that only ever happened to one girl I know about.”

  Except, turns out it was a musical theater student last semester. I probably got her spot!

  And, of course, I have a scholarship to keep too.

  This semester has flown by like the Canadian geese I see heading south. I’ve learned so much! I’ve learned improv, which I’ve never done before. And I’m working on a monologue, which I also have to do in class next week. I can play every major scale in two octaves, and also Minuet in G. And I can sort of do a tour jeté, if there’s nothing in the way.

  But this freaks me out. Which is why I’m up at 1:00 a.m. I practiced all afternoon and went back after dinner and sang until curfew and came back here in the freezing cold only to sit at my desk to do my other homework, which I finally finished at midnight.

  But now I can’t sleep. I keep thinking, what if I mess up? What if I do my best, but they still don’t think it’s good enough? What if they kick me out? Will I get sent back to Miami?

  It’s not that my life was that awful before. No one was beating me. I had enough food. School was fine. I loved my job at Publix. I was happy—happy enough, anyway.

  But that was because I didn’t know any better.

  Now I know there’s a place like this, a place where people care about music more than they care about algebra. At my old school, we were lucky if we even got algebra.

  There are other good things about this place, too: the cafeteria, my beautiful room (still no roommate!), and Daisy and David, Owen, and Nina and Shani, and even Phoebe. I’d even miss Phoebe! But the arts are the most important.

  I WILL DIE IF I HAVE TO GO BACK T
O REGULAR SCHOOL WHERE THEY DON’T THINK ART IS IMPORTANT. It’s like the schools don’t care if their students have souls, as long as we can feed ourselves and not become a burden to society.

  But I have a soul!

  I’m going to try to go back to sleep. I’m reciting the titles of every musical I know to keep from thinking too much.

  Yours, counting Rodgers and Hammerstein, Jacaranda

  To: Johnsmith247@dll.com

  Date: December 1, 7:01 a.m. Eastern Standard Time

  Subject: Feeling better

  Dear Mr. Smith,

  Five minutes after I hit Send on that last email, I got a “You up?” text from Jarvis. And, unlike the usual “You up” text (which, I’m hoping I don’t have to explain to you, is rude), this one was sweet because he’s three states away and he just wanted to talk.

  Jarvis and I have talked or texted every day since October. But usually before midnight, since Jarvis is a serious student who’s applying to schools like MIT and Carnegie Mellon and needs his rest . . . as do I.

  But today he said he was up late, worrying about exams. I’d been wondering if Jarvis even had exams, because we talk so often, and he never seems worried. But apparently that is just a good face he puts on, because AP Lit is killing him. He’s behind on the reading, and he’s been trying to read Tess of the D’Urbervilles and Heart of Darkness for two days. Now he can’t sleep because he keeps thinking about what will happen if he fails and has to tell the colleges that accept him, and it will probably end up in the paper. Also, he told me he has bizarre dreams about someone whispering, “The horror, the horror,” which is from Heart of Darkness. It’s near the end, so I guess that means he read it after all.

  That was all one long blob of a text.

  So I called and told him everything. He was so comforting. He said, “Not to belittle your fears, but I think you’re underestimating yourself. They took you as a junior because they thought you were good enough. They wouldn’t kick you out.”

  This made perfect sense when he said it, even though David had said roughly the same thing.

  Then he added, “Besides, you must be good. Phebes is totally jealous of you.”

  Which I hadn’t realized.

  We talked on the phone for another half hour, and then I started yawning, ready for sleep.

  “Do you want to leave the phone there, and I’ll keep talking to you?” he asked.

  I said no, I felt better. “You should try to sleep too.”

  But I still plan to practice for at least 2 hours after dinner tonight.

  Love, Jacaranda

  To: Johnsmith247@dll.com

  Date: December 4, 9:18 p.m. Eastern Standard Time

  Subject: Secrets

  Joyeux Noël, Monsieur Forgeron!

  Yes, that’s “Mr. Smith” in French. I have an exam on Monday. And in the midst of all the stress and exams and juries and final performances, the junior/senior girls’ dorm is doing Secret Santas. Except they’re not Secret Santas. Because MAA is very nonsectarian, they’re Secret Snow Fairies.

  We’re to leave our secret presents on specified days. Daisy says it’s because otherwise, some people forget. “This way, if someone slacks, you can complain, and Angie can tell your person to be sure and get something the next day or they’ll reassign them.” Angie is in charge of this and is all-knowing.

  I got Lucky for mine, which is lucky in another sense because I sort of know her. For the first day, we’re supposed to get our person a card. But when I was in New York, I saw this cute deck of cards (Get it? Card = cards?) called “Writer Emergency Pack,” which are illustrated with ideas for things to do if you have writer’s block. It was a little more expensive than a Hallmark card, but I’ll go cheaper on something else.

  It’s such fun! They sometimes did Secret Santa in school in Florida. The teacher would call up the kids who had a gift to participate, and I wasn’t one of them. One year, one of the moms brought extra gifts for the kids who didn’t bring one, which was nice, but then I felt guilty. Everyone knew which gifts they were because they all had the same snowman wrapping paper. It was always so shameful, being poor, even though it’s a matter of luck when you’re a kid. I mean, I didn’t do anything wrong to be born poor, any more than Phoebe or Jarvis or any of the kids in my classes did something right to be born rich. But still, there was always shame.

  Anyway, I left Lucky’s gift in the floor lounge, on a chair she uses. She and her friends all watch reality TV together Tuesday nights. At breakfast the next morning, I heard her saying, “I got someone good!”

  I also got someone good or, at least, interesting. My card is handmade, a pencil drawing on heavy paper of Times Square in the snow. Everything is black and white except the theater posters up above, which she filled in with watercolors, including Wicked in bright green. Inside, my Snow Fairy wrote, “I hope we can be better friends next semester!”

  My Snow Fairy left it pinned to the bulletin board on my door. She put it in a big envelope, so she wouldn’t have to put a pin through the drawing. I plan on buying a little frame for it and putting it on my bare walls. For now, I taped it up very carefully. I wonder who it is!

  Our next gift is a playlist we make for the person and post on a special account over the weekend. The last Wednesday of the semester there’s a party where we give our big gift and find out who our Snow Fairy is.

  I’m also getting gifts for my friends. So far, I’ve found an adorable necklace with a collage of a flute and sheet music for Daisy. I know I need to get something for Phoebe since I’m staying with her over break (though I haven’t told her yet—I’m a bit scared to), but I have no idea what to get her. The girl literally has everything. I googled the designer she wore to the opera that night, and her designs started at $1,000! What can I possibly get someone like that?

  Also, do I get something for Jarvis? I’m sure to see him in New York.

  Don’t worry. These are just rhetorical questions. Don’t trouble yourself to answer.

  Tendrement (that’s French for “fondly”), Jacaranda

  To: Johnsmith247@dll.com

  Date: December 7, 8:37 a.m. Eastern Standard Time

  Subject: From the fairy front lines

  Cher Monsieur Forgeron,

  I’m sure I passed my theory exam. Well, not just passed, but did well. At least a B. I’m trying not to get my hopes up.

  For my Snow Fairy gift for Lucky, I posted a playlist titled “Music for a Lucky Writer.” It included all sorts of songs I thought would be inspirational. I even looked up writers who had created playlists for their work.

  But then I got my gift. It was called “Just Jackie” and was musical theater, twelve songs, some old, some new, some slow, some fast, and every single one would be perfect for my voice! I wonder who this person is! I’m going to show the playlist to Noreen next semester, once I get through the horror (“The horror, the horror”) of preparing for juries. Assuming I still go here.

  Anyway, have to go. French exam today. Also, remember, there’s still time to buy your plane ticket to attend my show December 11 or 12. Hint, hint.

  J’écrirai bientôt.

  Je t’embrasse très fort, Jacaranda

  To: Johnsmith247@dll.com

  Date: December 7, 6:05 p.m. Eastern Standard Time

  Subject: Please Read—IMPORTANT!

  Dear Mr. Smith,

  GUESS WHAT???

  Daisy invited me to go to Vermont for break. Her family has a vacation place there. We can go skiing and sledding and sit by a cozy fire and see Stowe, which is actually where the Von Trapp family (of The Sound of Music) lived in America!

  The way Daisy explained it, Thanksgiving is when they have their big gathering, but Christmas is just the four of them, and they’re each allowed to bring a friend. Danny’s bringing some boy named Brent, who I think Daisy sort of likes. At least, she described him in detail (“Um . . . his eyes are, like, brown but with flecks of green and orange”).

  When I said I
couldn’t ski, being from Miami, Daisy said that was fine because her dad was a ski instructor in college, and he’d show me, or I could do ski school instead. She promised she and Danny would be happy to stay on the easier slopes for as long as it took. “I’m not that big on skiing. It’s mostly about sitting in the lodge and drinking hot chocolate,” she said.

  “With Bre-ent?” I asked.

  “Is that his name?” she said, even though she just told me about him.

  She also told me we could take sleigh rides and ice-skate and that the town looks like one of those Christmas villages. She said her parents and Danny are all hoping I can come. It will be so much fun!

  Can I please go? I haven’t accepted Phoebe’s invite yet, and she made it clear that she only asked because Jarvis browbeat her into it. I’ll be really sad not to see Jarvis, but Daisy told me that if I have to stay with Vanessa a few days, I could do that and come up to Stowe with her father when he comes later in the week. Then I could see Jarvis too and have him all to myself.

  Plus Daisy’s father is the sweetest man. He’s a lawyer but a nice, middle-aged estate-planning lawyer. And her mother is the perfect career mom that I hope to be someday. I would love to spend Christmas with a real family like that!

  Please say yes!

  Love, Jacaranda

  To: Johnsmith247@dll.com

  Date: December 7, 9:17 p.m. Eastern Standard Time

  Subject: Re: Please Read—IMPORTANT!

  Dear Mr. Smith,

  I got Vanessa’s email, saying that you think it’s only polite to accept Phoebe’s invitation because she asked first, and she’ll find out I accepted Daisy instead.

  You’ve chosen NOW to have an opinion?!?!?!

  WHY?

  Phoebe doesn’t even LIKE ME! She’s just asking because of Jarvis! I’m going to have to spend TWO WHOLE WEEKS being awkward around her and her sure-to-be-awful family when I could be playing in snow and having a perfect storybook Christmas!