The Sisters Club (11 page)

“Joey, are you nuts? That’s not funny. Alex is mad enough at us already!”

Joey stuck out her pout-face lip. “Well, I think it’s funny. Besides, who’s going to see it? It’s in the bottom corner.”

“I’m telling you. You better paint over it if you ever want your big sister to speak to you again.”

It felt terrible to be in a house full of silence.
I’d been in Alex’s House of Bad Moods before, but this was different. Like a rubber band that you stretch too far and it snaps. Like a bowl you break by mistake, and it stares up at you in pieces.

Ever since Mom got her show and Alex got into the play, something had changed. Something felt broken, worse than a sweater that unraveled or a dinner that went haywire.

Like our whole family was coming apart.

I decided it was up to me to fix it, to make things right with Alex again. After all, I’m the middle sister. I’m the glue, right?

Middles are the peacemakers. I read that in a magazine article once. A real, actual magazine article. Not like the ones Alex is always quoting and pretending she read somewhere.

I remember it said firstborns may be smarter, and last-borns may be shorter, but middles are more likely to live the “exhilarating life” of an artist or adventurer. (Cool!) It named a bunch of other jobs, too. I don’t remember them all, but I remember it ended with firefighter.

So . . . looks like it’s time for me to go put out some fires.

I would have to pull a Martin Luther King, Jr., on my family. Only one problem — Alex still wasn’t speaking to me. So I had to start by getting her to talk.

I waited till Saturday. I woke up early, before Joey or Alex. I went downstairs and made Alex her favorite breakfast. Then I carried it up to her room on a tray, like Mom used to do when we were sick.

I knocked on Alex’s door. “Alex! Wake up!”

No answer.

“I made you breakfast,” I said. “Your favorite!”

“Blueberry pancakes?” She spoke! It was a start.

“No.”

“French toast with blueberries?”

“No.”

“Blueberry anything?”

“Blueberry waffles!” I said. “With warmed-up maple syrup.”

“Just leave it outside the door.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s breakfast IN BED. It’s no fair if you have to get out of bed.”

“And who do you think’s going to open the door? Sock Monkey?”

“C’mon, Alex. Let me in.”

“But I’m not talking to you.”

“You just did.”

“That was a fluke.”

Miracle of miracles, the door opened. Alex stuck Sock Monkey through the crack and made him say, “You can bring Alex the breakfast, but that’s all.”

I pushed open the door.

“Alex, you can’t stay mad at me forever, you know.”

“Yes, she can,” said Sock Monkey.

“But I can’t stand it if you’re mad at me for like the rest of my life. I can’t stand it if you don’t want to be my sister. C’mon, Alex. I said I’m sorry like a million times.”

“Alex said to tell you a million and one times is not enough for what you did,” said Sock Monkey.

“Well, then, how can I make it up to you? I mean her. I mean . . . I made you breakfast. And I did the dishes for you, and I didn’t tell Dad it was you who flooded the bathroom.”

“Alex said to tell you she
so
did not flood the bathroom!” said Sock Monkey.

“Well, there was a lake on the floor, and Dad was mad, and Alex was the last one in there.”

“Stop changing the subject,” said Sock Monkey. “Alex is the one mad at you, remember?”

“How can I forget? You won’t talk to us, and it’s making Joey cry. Just tell me what to do. Anything. I’ll kiss Sock Monkey. See?
Mww.
” I kissed that worn old bag of stuffing right on his ruby-red sock lips. “I’ll kiss paper towels if you want me to!”

Even Alex could not hold back a smile.

“OK. I’ll speak to you and Joey again,” said Alex the Person. “But that’s all. This doesn’t mean I’m your friend. This doesn’t mean I’m back in the Sisters Club. It’s not over, you know. You owe me. And you better make it up to me.”

“How?”

“You’ll think of something.”

Opening night. That’s the biggest night of
the play.

Everybody was backstage, buzzing around like bees, rushing around half-dressed, pacing back and forth, and holding scripts and mouthing lines to themselves. Mr. Cannon, the director, was racing around with a clipboard, shouting orders at people. Actors kept coming up to him, saying stuff like “I can’t find the rose for the rosebush” or “Am I supposed to come onstage before or after the word ‘night’?” or “My hair won’t stay on right.”

Even I couldn’t help catching a little of the excitement.

Joey was trying to make up for the Frog Lips Incident, so she yelled, “Hi, Scott Towel!” to Scott (a.k.a. Beast), who was only half-hairy so far (from the neck down) and kept putting breath-mint strips in his mouth.

Alex was talking a mile a minute. Every few seconds she’d stop and blow into her hand, taking a bunch of deep breaths. She sounded like a hyperventilating hyena. She looked like she was going to throw up on Dad’s shoes.

Dad said, “Alex, honey. Try to stay calm. Turn your nervousness into excitement. Remember your deep breathing? Now’s the time. Breathe. Don’t forget, if you blank on a line or say the wrong words, just keep going.”

“I know, I know, Dad. The show must go on.”

“That’s my girl. I’ll be backstage checking on my props and scene changes, if you need me.”

“You look beautiful, honey,” Mom said, and she gave Alex a non–Frog Lips kiss.

“Mom! I don’t even have the rest of my costume on yet. And you’re messing up my stage makeup.”

“OK, well, you still look beautiful.”

“Dad, did you remember the moat around the castle?” Joey asked.

“It’s all there, honey.”

“And are you sure you got the volcano in the right place? Facing the right way and everything?” It was just a hunk of cardboard and wire and paste, but you’d think Joey had helped build the Golden Gate Bridge or something.

“Five minutes!” Mr. Cannon called.

“Thank you — five!” a bunch of cast members called back.

Five minutes till showtime. Time to find our seats.

“Good luck!” I called to Alex.

Alex turned around with a mean glare. “Stevie! Don’t say that. Good luck is like bad luck in acting!”

“Whatever.”

“Take it back!”

“OK, OK! I take it back.”

“Break a leg!” Joey called.

The best part about plays is sitting in the dark. You have hundreds of people around you, but the dark makes it seem like it’s just you. Alone. You and the play. You get to laugh and cry and feel stuff and forget everything else, like homework, and fondue fiascoes, and sisters being mad at you.

Being in the audience is the best. You’re inside the story, only you don’t have to be up there acting.

Nervous. Shaky. Sweating.

Feeling like you’re about to throw up.

If only Joey would stop whispering all the lines. I had to keep elbowing her, fondue-style. Once I even made her drop her Junior Mints.

Alex didn’t seem one bit nervous. She didn’t sound like a hyena anymore. Of course, you can’t see the somersaults going on inside a person’s stomach. But she didn’t mess up one time in all of Act One.

Not even when I hunched down, crept down to the pit in front, and snapped a bunch of pictures of her.

Not even when the curtain got stuck.

Not even when Beast’s nose fell off one time!

She did all the stuff Dad was always telling her — like when to look at the audience and how to speak loud enough and all that junk. I don’t know how she keeps it all in her head.

And she looked just like Beauty in the fairy tale. Not like someone who slams doors, throws herself facedown on her bed, and talks to a sock monkey. Not like someone who swears in Shakespeare or gives you the Silent Treatment or puts marshmallows between her toes.

I tried to think of myself in that dress. To imagine what it would be like. Picture it. It was a big step up from Human Piñata, that’s for sure. I wondered if the dress and the makeup help transform you, I mean, make you feel like you’re somebody besides yourself.

I got so caught up in the story and costumes and characters, the first act went by in a flash. Before I knew it, the curtain fell with a hush, and we could hear the patter of feet as the scenery changed.

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST, ACT TWO

Starring Alex

SETTING:
THE HOUSE OF BEAUTY’S FATHER.

Beauty:
(Bursts into tears.) (Real tears! This is good!)

Beauty’s sister:
Beauty? Whatever is wrong that causes you to weep so?

Beauty:
I’ve had a most frightful dream this night. I was in the palace garden, and a lady appeared to me. She showed me Beast, lying on the grass, nearly dead. My poor, dear Beast! I fear I’ve made a most dreadful mistake.
(I haven’t forgotten one line so far!)

Sister:
Nonsense. You belong here with us, with Father.