The Red Blazer Girls (29 page)

The auditorium is silent. It is as if people are afraid that breathing might break the spell.

We all run out to join Margaret for our group bow, and the audience—even the eighth graders—explodes into cheers and applause. When it finally dies down, we duck behind the curtain and practically knock over Mr. Eliot, who is about to introduce the next group.

Except for an overwhelmed and underprepared substitute back in the fifth grade, I have never seen a teacher cry, but there is Mr. Eliot, wearing that silly beard, eyes welling.

“Girls, I don't know what to say. I figured you'd be good, but that was beyond all …
expectations
, if you will.”

Pun intended.

*  *  *

Another victory for the Red Blazer Girls—we win the award for best skit! Mr. Eliot hands us each a shiny new hardcover copy of
Nicholas Nickleby
. I have just the spot for it in my room.

My mom looks so proud, and I am really stunned when I realize that Dad is still there, too. He had planned to leave after our skit, but when he saw how good we were, he said he had to stay to see us take the prize. He gives me a big hug, and suddenly it's my turn to fight back the tears.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Margaret hugging her grandmother and then taking her by the hand, introducing her to everyone. When we all converge near the center of the room, Malcolm and Ms. Harriman,
both
in tweed, make their way toward us.

Ms. Harriman hugs us each in turn. “Girls, you were wonderful! I can't remember having a better time, and you absolutely deserved to win. Margaret and Leigh Ann—what can I say? Truly, truly remarkable.”

“And this …” Malcolm steps aside to reveal the woman standing behind him.

“You must be Caroline,” I say. She is so beautiful that I suddenly feel a bit awkward—I am still in men's clothes and makeup.

“You look
just
like you did when you were sixteen,” Margaret gushes.

Caroline laughs, her eyes sparkling just like her
father's. “You're very kind. And this is my daughter, Caitlin.”

Caitlin, who is wearing the green sweater of our rival school, Faircastle Academy, takes a shy step toward us. “I'm very pleased to meet you,” she says with an impressive—and authentic—British accent.

Ms. Harriman is beaming with pride. “Caitlin, meet Sophie St. Pierre, Margaret Wrobel, Rebecca Chen, and Leigh Ann Jaimes. These young ladies have been a tremendous help to me the past couple of weeks. I cannot imagine how they had the time to prepare for this
and
do all that they did.”

“We are so happy to finally meet you, Caroline,” Margaret says. “We have a little something for you.”

“You do?”

Ms. Harriman beams. “A birthday present. From your grandfather.”

“From … from Grandpa Ev?”

Malcolm tells her about the birthday card and promises to fill in the important details later.

Then Margaret takes the ring off her finger and holds it out to Caroline. “Sorry it doesn't have a nice box or anything, but this is it—the Ring of Rocamadour. Well, one of them.”

At first, Caroline seems afraid to touch it. After a few seconds, though, she lifts it from Margaret's hand and holds it up to the light to get a clear look at it. Her hand moves to her mouth, and then to her heart; some feelings
she must have kept inside for fifteen years bubble up to the surface.

“I don't know what to say. This is so overwhelming. It's beautiful. And you girls—”

“They did it all,” Ms. Harriman says. “They are quite special, the whole bunch of them.”

I give Malcolm a playful nudge. “Well, we did have
a little
help.”

Malcolm scoffs. “Nonsense. I hardly lifted a finger. You girls deserve all the credit. And on that note, I have a surprise for you. Elizabeth has brought to my attention a certain situation that might cause the breakup of the ‘Red Blazer Girls,’ as I believe you refer to yourselves. In light of everything that you have done for us,
that
would be totally unacceptable. A travesty, even. So I did some digging around at the university, and I learned that we have an opening for a nurse in our clinic—a position, I believe, that would be very similar to the one your mother is leaving, Miss Chen.”

Ms. Harriman cuts in. “We sat next to her during the show and had a very nice talk. She is
very
proud of you, Rebecca.”

“I would be happy to put in a good word for her,” Malcolm says. “I can't make any promises, but I still have
some
pull at the university.”

Rebecca throws her arms around Ms. Harriman and shakes Malcolm's hand. “Thank you, thank you! She is an
awesome
nurse.”

“My pleasure. Have your mom give me a call if she has any questions.”

“And Rebecca,” Ms. Harriman adds, “be sure to tell your mother about the art lessons you're starting next week.” More hugging, more screaming, as it all really sinks in: the Red Blazer Girls are here to stay.

We say our good-byes to Ms. Harriman, and to Malcolm, who has somewhat improbably become like a favorite uncle to us, and to Caroline and Caitlin, who would look
so
much better in a red blazer than in that green Faircastle thing.
Hmmm
. We are about to head backstage to change into our regular clothes when Margaret tugs on my sleeve.

“What?”

“Haven't you forgotten someone?”

“Uh, I don't think so. What are you talking about?”

“Raf.”

“Oh my God. Raf! I
completely
forgot. Is he here?” Margaret takes me by the shoulders and spins me so that I face straight back.

He is leaning against a wall, arms crossed. My heart begins to beat a little faster, and I feel my face go red. “God, he must hate me. We totally dissed him.”

“We?”
says Margaret.
“I
talked to him right after we got the award. You are the only one doing any dissing here.”

“You'd better get over there, girl,” Rebecca says. “If you don't, I might. He looks really cute tonight.”

“Okay okay!” I don't remember walking across the room, but somehow I find myself in front of him.

“Hey there,” I say, wittily and with feeling.

He doesn't say anything, but he does tilt his head back ever so slightly and smile—just a little. The effect is devastating. Does he
know
what he is doing to me?

“I'm sorry, Raf. I just—”

“What are you sorry about?”

“You know. I mean, I ignore your calls and texts all week, and then you come all the way over here to see us, and then I ignore you some more.”

He shrugs. “Brought you something.” He hands me a bouquet of flowers still wrapped in their paper.

I peek inside. Pink roses—my favorite. “Thanks. I mean, wow, this is so sweet.” I go to hug my friend as I've done a million times, but this time it feels … different.

And then he does it. Right there in front of God, Margaret, and everybody. He kisses me.

When it starts, I am so surprised that I still have my eyes open! And I swear that the cliché is totally true—my knees actually start to give out. When we finally pull apart, I must have the stupidest look of all time on my face. I still can't say anything. And I can't stop smiling, smiling, smiling. My first real kiss.

“Are you guys okay over there?” Rebecca shouts as she and Margaret and Leigh Ann run toward us, laughing and babbling incoherently.

“It's about time,” Margaret says.

That Margaret. She's always right.

Case closed.