Queen of the Toilet Bowl (2 page)

Mom was proud of how I'd learned English so quickly. She mentioned it often.

“Sometimes you sound like you were never born in Sao Paolo,” she said the next morning at breakfast. “It's because you have a musical ear. I wish you would sing again like you used to in Sao Paolo. I miss your singing.”

“Maybe one day I will,” I said. It had felt good to sing at Liz's house. It especially felt good when Liz and her mom said they liked my voice.

Liz mentioned it again at lunch.

“You really have a terrific voice,” she said. “My mother couldn't stop talking about it last night. Which was great because she stopped talking about my room for an hour.”

“Hey. I like your hair,” I said, changing the subject. Liz had cut her long curly hair and it circled her face like a frame.

“Thanks,” she said. “I hated how short it was yesterday, but now I kind of like it too.”

“Fries any good?” I asked.

“Disgusting but the ketchup's good.”

Liz and I laughed.

“I keep promising myself to bring something edible from home, but I'm always in such a rush in the morning. Not like you.”

“I'm not crazy about the caf food either,” I said. It was true, but the real reason I didn't buy my lunch was money. I couldn't afford to buy lunch, even with my new job at the convenience store.

“Hiya Liz,” squealed a voice.

Liz and I both looked up. Karin was standing over us with Darleen and Niki beside her.

“Hi Re-na-ta,” said Karin, shooting out each syllable like a bullet.

Karin turned to Liz.

“Are you trying out for the play?” she asked. “They're doing
The Sound of Music.
”

“I can't sing to save my life,” said Liz, “but Renata has a great voice. You should hear her.”

“Really?” said Karin, never looking at me. “You know you have to spend a lot of time at rehearsals. Don't you have to help your mother clean people's houses?”

“Not usually,” I mumbled.

“Are you trying out, Karin?” asked Liz.

“Yes. I'm taking singing lessons with a well-known vocal teacher. My lessons cost a fortune, but my mother feels it's worth every penny. My teacher works at the conservatory, and she absolutely insists I try out for the play. So I guess I'll have to. See you, Liz,” said Karin, ignoring me.

Karin and her friends walked off.

“You really should try out,” Liz encouraged me. “Just to show Karin, if nothing else.”

“She keeps telling people my mom's a cleaning lady. It's as if she was the queen or something,” I said.

“Karin has delusions of grandeur,” said Liz. “Ignore her. She's just talk.”

I wanted to believe Liz, but I hated the way Karin treated me.

“Maybe I will try out for the play,” I said. “It might be fun.” The words spilled out before I realized what I was saying.

“I'll go with you,” Liz offered. “I might even volunteer to work on the set. I can't sing, but I can paint. And that cute guy, Doug, always works on school plays.”

“When are the tryouts, anyway?” I asked.

“Tomorrow after school,” Liz answered.

I took a deep breath. “Okay. Let's go.”

I immediately regretted my decision. Did I really want to try out? Did I really want to expose myself to everyone's comments?

All day in class, I kept imagining myself on stage while Karin and her gang sat in the seats below. What if my voice cracked, or I froze and couldn't remember the words to the song? Karin would elbow her friends and laugh. “Look at the cleaning lady's daughter. She's so
pathetic.” No, I thought. I can't let that happen. I'll tell Liz I've changed my mind first thing in the morning.

When I got home, Mom was lying on the couch with a pillow over her eyes.

“A migraine,” she groaned. “I thought I'd never get through the day. Could you bring me a cold glass of water, Renata?”

“Sure, but where's Lucas?” I asked.

“At a friend's till nine. Thank goodness.”

I knew what Mom meant. The apartment was blissfully quiet without Lucas's booming voice. Lucas was the kind of kid you heard all the time. If he wasn't asking Mom or me a million questions, he was bouncing a ball against his wall or blasting the TV. Sometimes he gave me a headache. And I don't get headaches like Mom does.

After I brought Mom a glass of water, I sat at the kitchen table with my history assignment and an apple, but I couldn't concentrate on either. All I could think
about was why I'd agreed to try out for the play. I felt like I was about to walk on a tightrope with no net beneath me.

I knew Karin wanted to be Maria, the lead. But why was she so worried about me? After all, she was taking professional singing lessons. Her teacher said she was good. But I knew my voice was strong. I had a chance against Karin. I wished Liz hadn't told her about my voice. Then she would have left me alone.

I took a bite of my apple. It was sharp and crisp. Maybe I could be like this apple, crisp with bite. Then Karin wouldn't bother me. She wouldn't dare. I'd bite her head off. I laughed as I thought of the words, “bite her head off.” What a crazy expression that was!

I wrote a sentence down for my assignment on the reasons for the French Revolution. I knew how the French people felt.

“The French people felt oppressed by the wealthy who cared only for themselves,” I wrote.

The French aristocrats were like Karin — confident, only thinking of themselves and looking down on the poor. Maybe they didn't deserve to be guillotined, but they deserved something. After all, poor people were just as important as rich people.

Yes! I decided. I am going to try out for the play. I'll show Karin that I'm just as important as she is.

The day started with a thud. I heard it. Then I felt it.

Pain ripped through my head like a hot iron. For an instant I felt dizzy, stunned.

“Are you stupid or something?” a voice shot out. “Don't you look where you're going?”

It was Karin, rubbing her head.

I hadn‘t been paying attention. I was so absorbed in my thoughts about the tryouts that I hadn't looked where I was going. And now we'd collided.

“Sorry,” I muttered.

“My head is killing me. You probably gave me a concussion and all you can say is sorry. You're just a ... a ...” Karin snarled. I almost apologized again, but I caught myself just in time.

No, I wasn't going to apologize again. I said I was sorry. I hadn't killed her.

“Do you believe her?” I heard Karin tell Darleen as I walked down the hall. “And she thinks she's going to get a part in our school play. No one would cast a loser like her.”

I didn't turn. I walked on. No.
Don't let her bother you
, I repeated over and over like a Buddhist mantra.

“Hey Renata,” called Liz as I neared my history class. “Are you ready for the tryouts?”

“I don't know if I'm ready,” I said, “but I'm going to try.”

“You'll knock their socks off,” said Liz.

“I hope so,” I said. For a minute I pictured a roomful of people with falling socks as I belted out my song. Then I pictured Karin's socks flying right off her skinny legs and circling the earth.

“Meet you after art,”called Liz as she ran to her math class and I walked into history. I sat down, prepared to hear Mr. Brewster talk about Revolution.

Mr. Brewster loved revolution. It didn't matter whose revolution. The American, the French, the Russian. Mr. Brewster rattled off revolutionary facts, especially the gory facts, like an almanac. He knew how many aristocrats died in the French Revolution. He knew how many people starved at Valley Forge with George Washington in the American Revolution. He knew all the theories of what might have happened to the Czar's family during the Russian Revolution. And none of his theories were pretty.

“Mankind needs revolution to cleanse itself of injustices,” he began as soon as class started, “but each revolution has a price, often paid by the innocent.”

As he spoke, I pictured Karin rattling along in a cart on her way to the guillotine. I could almost hear the rumble of drums, the clip clop of the horse, the leers and cheers of the mob.

“Come back! Come Back, Renata,” said Mr. Brewster. “I asked you to read the opening lines from Dickens'
A Tale of Two Cities
and you haven't even opened your book.”

“I'm sorry,” I muttered. I was apologizing again! This whole day was turning into one big fat apology.

I opened the book and took a deep breath.

“It was the best of times. It was the worst of time. It was ...”

Dickens understood how I felt. It would be the best of times if I got a good part in the play and the worst of times if Karin got the lead and rubbed it in.

“Well read,” said Mr. Brewster. “Those words express the complexity of the French Revolution. They touch on how complicated life can be when both good and bad forces compete.”

I'd know soon enough if it was the best or worst of times. Would I get a part in the play, or would I freeze like an icicle at the tryouts? Only four more hours and I'd know.

The time seemed to fly and drag at the same time and then, suddenly, there I was sitting beside Liz, waiting for my turn to audition.

Sure enough Karin and her friends were sitting behind Liz and me. And sure enough they whispered and pointed at each person who tried out. I could hear their comments. “She hasn't got a chance,” and “Did you see how fat her stomach is” and “Pimple Boy will never get a part with that face.”

It was Karin's turn. She shimmied on stage.

“Break a leg!” shouted Darleen.
Another crazy English expression I had never understood. Why was it good to break a leg?

Karin smiled broadly at Ms. Watson, the drama teacher and her friends, and then she began to sing.

She sang confidently. And she hadn't been lying. She had a good voice, maybe not a great voice and not a voice with a lot of feeling but good enough for a part.

When Karin finished singing, she turned and faced the audience as if waiting for applause. She got it. Her two friends clapped and clapped. Karin bowed as if she had just received a ten minute standing ovation from an audience of a thousand. Then she slowly walked off the stage.

As she passed me, she glanced down. “Your turn,” she said.

“Renata,” said Ms. Watson.

I tried standing up but my legs wouldn't move. They were shaky and weak. “Go on, Renata,” whispered Liz, giving me a nudge. “Knock their socks off!”

I tried standing up again. This time I stood, but my legs felt as tired as if I'd run a marathon.

I walked on stage. I tried not to look at Karin and her friends, but I couldn't ignore their laughter.

Don't let them bother you,
I told myself over and over in my new mantra.

“Ready?” said Ms. Watson.

“Ready,” I stammered.

Ms. Watson began to play the piano.

My voice croaked. I cleared my throat and tried again but out stumbled another croak. Laughter rippled from the audience. My face flushed. I wanted to sink though the floor.

Ms. Watson handed me a glass of water.

“Thanks,” I said, gulping it down.

“Ready?” said Ms. Watson.

“Ready,” I answered.

Slow down. Slow down I told myself as she began to play. You'll be okay. You will. You will ...

I opened my mouth again and sang “Climb Every Mountain.” My voice exploded, crisp and strong, and I forgot about Karin. I forgot about her friends. I forgot about everything except the music and the words. And then it was over.

I glanced at Ms. Watson. She was beaming. I beamed back. I floated off stage and dropped into the seat beside Liz.

“You were amazing,” said Liz, squeezing my hand.

“Really?” I said.

“Look at Karin's face and you'll know you were amazing,” Liz whispered.

I glanced at Karin. Her face was wrinkled into a scowl. I had never seen her that angry. She looked like she might burst into a thousand small pieces.

Ten more singers tried out, some good, some mediocre and one so bad that I couldn't believe she had the guts
to get up and sing. But she was so good-natured and funny that despite her off-key, creaky voice, everyone laughed with her.

“Do you know her well? I've only spoken to her a few times,” I told Liz.

“Yeah,” said Liz, “She's a goof but a good goof.”

“I like her,” I said.

So did Ms. Watson. “Cheryl, you may not be the best singer in the world, but you have enormous stage presence,” Ms. Watson commented when Cheryl finished. “We may find a spot for you in the show after all.”

Then Ms. Watson turned to the rest of us. “I'll post the parts on the bulletin board outside the office tomorrow morning. Thanks for trying out.”

Ms. Watson gathered her music and left. Karin and her two friends followed her out.

“See,” said Liz as we walked out. “Karin knows the score now. She'll have to live with it. You're bound to get a great part,
maybe even the part of Maria. Think of it, Renata, you might get the lead!”

I knew I had a crack at the part of Maria and I knew Karin was going to hate it.

All evening at home, my stomach knotted so tightly I could hardly eat.

“Can I have your rice?” asked Lucas.

“Sure,” I said. “I'm not hungry.”

“How about your apple pie?” asked Lucas.

“Fine,” I said. “Take the whole thing.”

“Renata, you have to eat something,” said Mom.

“I have no appetite,” I said. “Tomorrow they announce the people who have parts in
The Sound of Music
.”

“I don't know why you want to be in a dumb musical anyway,” said Lucas. “I hate movies where people sing. Now if you were doing a car chase that would be cool.”