is waif
THE TALENT SHOW FIASCO
I’m sitting on my bed, scowling. It’s my birthday, and we’ve just gotten back from the arcade. I even won an animal at the claw machine! But then, my little sister, Ana, started crying in the middle of the arcade, so my mom said to ‘be a good brother’ and let her have the stuffed bear. I wish I’d have gotten to keep it, since I won it myself. The kids at school stared at my sobbing sister and my parents as we stood at the center of the arcade, and I felt their eyes burning into me.
I threw the stuffed bear at her, afraid that they would think I was weird for having a fight with my family in the arcade. The boys don’t like that I hang out with my little sister so much. They hate it when I talk about music or how I like to dance and sing.
At school, they call me “weird”, and no one will sit with me at lunch. I think it might be because I’m quiet and I like to sing, instead of play sports. I don’t even know the rules of basketball, so I sit alone instead. Honestly, I wish I could fit in with them, but it’s so hard for me to be someone I’m not. Whenever I try to play sports, I end up with a bunch of bruises. Once, I even had a black eye from a bad baseball game, and my dad called me Raccoon for an entire week.
“Ana has a huge pink bow on her head, and she’s humming our corny duet, painfully off-pitch. I wince, and she looks at me and says ‘Don’t I look pretty?’”
I’m turning 11 today, and I wish I could be less ‘weird’. Or at least a better brother. It’s getting harder and harder these days, though, since those things go against each other most of the time. If I hang out with my sister and give her my stuff, I’m not cool enough. But if I ignore her and hang out with the other boys, or keep my stuff, I’m a bad brother. It’s all been so complicated lately. I miss when I was younger and everything was so much easier.
Anyways, my sister and I are singing a duet at the school talent show tonight. The boys want me to leave her and sing a rap solo instead. I don’t know what to do. I want to have friends, but I can’t leave my little sister. I’ve sung both songs over and over, and I just want the performance to go well.
I walk into her room. Ana has a huge pink bow on her head, and she’s humming our corny duet, painfully off-pitch. I wince, and she looks at me and says “Don’t I look pretty?” I nod, noticing her poofy dress and clinking bracelets. I’d feel bad about leaving her, especially since we’ve worked on this duet for so long. But what if I lose all my friends if I stay singing the duet?
I go back into my room and begin to put on my tux, still thinking. I fumble with my tie, and it falls to the ground. My mom walks into the room, and she laughs. Her quick hands loop the tie around my collar, and I sigh, wishing I knew how to do that. I think about asking her about the duet, but I know she’ll say to do it with my sister. She doesn’t understand the boys. My friend Henry once said that the people who are most cool are the ones who aren’t trying too hard to be cool. If I try to be cool and do my solo without my sister, I’ll hurt her and I might not even get a friend group. She’s put so much work into this. I can’t leave her now.
Ana and I go to the car, loading our snacks and backup clothes into the boot. She smiles at me, and I feel a knot in my stomach. I won’t regret this...will I? She cradles my bear, and I glare at it. It’s my birthday, and I won it, but maybe it’s better to be a good brother than to have the bear.
My mom looks back at the backseat, and smiles at us. “You’re going to do
great,” she assures me. “You’re not nervous, right?”
My dad chuckles and says “Every performer’s nervous before a show. It’s a sign of genius!” My dad loves saying things like that. He’s a huge Beatles fan, and I thought that was an insect at first. I don’t remember any of their songs, even though my dad plays them every time we’re in the car together. I snort and say “A middle school talent show...some genius.”
“Hey, everyone starts somewhere!” My dad insists, looking at me. I’m nervous, and this isn’t helping.
Backstage, I bite my lip, nervous. All eyes are going to be on us, and an entire flowerbed of butterflies fly around in my stomach. The teachers float around the dressing rooms, checking in on all the performers. I can hear my dad talking to my mom in the audience if I strain just enough. One teacher tells me to be quiet, they can hear me from backstage, and I hold my sister’s hand.
We watch three performers sing or dance, then leave the stage. They’re all so graceful and talented, and I am suddenly nervous that we won’t measure up. After each number, the audience whoops and hollers, and the boys in the back howl congratulations. I hope they like our duet, even though I chose to include my sister. Even though I’m not trying to be cool, I want to be their friend.
And then, suddenly, the principal is announcing us, and we’re in the middle of the stage, the spotlights shining squarely on us. Someone shouts my name, and I wave in their general direction. I nod for the sound techs to start the accompaniment tracks, and I squeeze my little sister’s hand. Piano wafts out into the auditorium, and I smile. We’ve practiced this before; I’m sure it’ll go well.
I stand on the stage, looking around. The stage lights make it hard to see, but I don't need to see to know my parents are sitting in the front row. I take a deep breath, and begin to sing. My sister stands next to me humming. My voice bursts out of me, and I smile. Maybe being "weird" isn't so bad at all.