Talia Talk Read online

  Mom looked confused. “What?”

  “Out where?” Bridget repeated. “You know, putting myself out there. Where is there?”

  Mom nibbled on a fry. “Well, using today as an example, ‘there’ is out on a limb, with Meredith and Brynne being mad at you and Ms. Perkins maybe getting the wrong impression about what a sweet girl you are. Maybe if you’d kept a lower profile—”

  “Chelsea, is that you?”

  We all looked up toward the sound of the voice and saw Meredith’s mom walking toward us. Uh-oh…that probably meant…

  “Hi, Peggy!” Mom said. “Hi, Meredith!”

  Meredith, hovering behind her mom, curled her mouth into a half-smile.

  “Loved your show Friday,” Meredith’s mom said. “Crayons up the nose! I remember those days!”

  Meredith cleared her throat loudly and jerked her head toward another table.

  “Thanks,” Mom said. “Of course, the crayons-up-the-nose story was a bit of an exaggeration. You know, creative license.”

  Nice try, Mom.

  “Oh, I know how mischievous Talia can be,” Meredith’s mom said, grinning at me. “Remember when she sneaked up behind the dancing bear at the pizza parlor during Meredith’s birthday party and pulled the bottom of his costume down, almost taking the poor guy’s pants off in the process? You’ve got to talk about that on your show!”

  “Mother!” Meredith whispered, jerking her head toward the empty table again.

  The two moms laughed lightly while I sank deeper into the booth. Mom glanced at me, then cleared her throat. “Talia has outgrown that kind of behavior, of course,” she said.

  Meredith raised an eyebrow.

  “Did you girls enjoy your first day of school?” Meredith’s mom asked.

  “Hit and miss,” Bridget responded. “You know, at first blush, everything seemed to be going fine, and then…”

  I glared at her.

  “Well,” Meredith’s mom said quickly, “maybe tomorrow will go more smoothly. The first day is always a little rocky.”

  “Maybe Meredith can move to the desk by mine,” Bridget said cheerfully. “She sets such a good example.”

  “Mother!” Meredith spat. “Our food is getting cold!”

  “What food? We haven’t ordered yet,” her mom replied, but Meredith grabbed her by the arm and started pulling her away. The moms murmured their goodbyes, and Bridget waved heartily, making the “call me” sign to Meredith.

  Mom and I exchanged glances. “Um, Bridget…,” Mom said.

  “I know, Mrs. Farrow. Low profile. I kinda speak before I think sometimes. Bad habit. Definitely something I need to work on.”

  Mom sighed and bit into her hamburger. Bridget could leave anybody speechless.

  “So did Talia tell you the news?” Bridget said, bouncing in her seat.

  Mom looked clueless.

  “We’re auditioning for the Crossroads Oddcast,” Bridget said through a mouthful of fries. “I want to be the director.”

  “Is that so,” Mom said dryly.

  “I’m really gonna spice things up. Up until now, the show has been nothing but boring school announcements: ‘The library’s closed tomorrow.’ ‘Interim reports go out next week.’ Blah, blah, blah.”

  “And you have a better idea?” Mom asked.

  “A zillion of them. Like, instead of the Oddcasters sitting behind a desk talking into the camera, we could do live remotes from the cafeteria or the gym. We could have kids rap the weather instead of just telling it. And—here’s where Talia comes in—we’re adding a commentary so Talia can tell funny little stories like you do.”

  Mom’s eyebrows knitted together. “You’ve really thought this through.”

  “That’s what Ms. Stephens said,” Bridget said proudly. “She’s the Oddcast advisor.”

  “Bridge, there’s that little matter of auditions,” I reminded her patiently.

  “Right. But with your help, Mrs. Farrow, we’re in.”

  Mom smiled. “I’d love to help!” she said. “Just think, Talia…now you’ll be the one with the microphone.”

  I took a sip of my soft drink. “Don’t get too excited, Mom,” I said, grinning at her. “Payback can be brutal.”

  8

  “Hmmmmm.”

  That’s all she’d said so far.

  “Hmmmmm.” Louder this time.

  Ms. Stephens had asked me to stop by her class after lunch the next day so she could look at the Oddcast essay I’d drafted. She adjusted her glasses a couple of times as she read it. I think I saw a tiny smile at one point, but that might have just been the way her lips curved when she said, “Hmmmmm.”

  Finally, she put the essay on her desk, took her glasses off and held them in her hand.

  “Nice,” she told me.

  “I didn’t have much time to work on it,” I said, staring at my hands as I rubbed them together.

  “You have a nice style.” There was that word again. “Lots of energy, but a light touch.”

  I managed a weak smile.

  “But I have to warn you, Talia: we’ve never tried a commentary on the Oddcast before, and writing one regularly isn’t as easy as you might think. It can be hard to come up with different topics.”

  “I really like to write,” I said simply.

  Ms. Stephens nodded. “Once a week might be doable.” She leaned forward and smiled. “Auditions are Monday after school. Be there. I think you’ll make a terrific addition to our staff.”

  Bridget was waiting for me when I walked out of Ms. Stephens’s room.

  “So? Did she like your essay?”

  I tossed a lock of hair over my shoulder. “She thought it was okay,” I said. But who was I kidding? I couldn’t play it cool with Bridget. I broke into a grin and said, “She said she thinks I’ll make a great addition to the staff!”

  Bridget squealed, grabbed my arms and broke into a dance.

  “Bridget!” I yelped as she twirled me around.

  “This is huge!” Bridget said. “We’ll make such a great team. I’ve already written a list of ideas for the show to help me nail the director spot.”

  A teacher walked past us and scowled.

  “Bridget, we’ll be late for class,” I whispered, untangling our arms.

  Kids started filing into Ms. Stephens’s room for her next class, knocking our shoulders lightly to squeeze through the doorway.

  “A little respect, please!” Bridget told them way too loudly. “This is the Oddcast commentator you’re shoving. Hey, the fingers! Watch the fingers! She’s gotta write with those!”

  Uh-oh. Here came Meredith and Brynne. Meredith jutted out her chin. “You are so loud,” she told Bridget. Brynne nodded.

  “Loud, proud and unbowed,” Bridget retorted, then took a bow.

  “Who even talks like that?” Meredith asked Brynne, rolling her eyes and squeezing past us to get through Ms. Stephens’s door.

  “Freaks talk like that,” Brynne murmured.

  My heart sank. “I’ve got to get to my seat before the bell rings,” I told Bridget.

  “Just don’t use up all your brain cells in class,” she said. “We’ve got auditions to prepare for. Remember, we’re a team.”

  That was what worried me.

  9

  Tap, tap, tap.

  I closed my science book, laid it on my desk and glanced toward my bedroom door. “Yes?”

  “Just me,” Mom said, opening the door.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  I heard my grandma call goodbye from the living room as she headed home for the evening.

  Mom walked over to my desk. “So how was school today?”

  “Pretty good. I wrote a sample essay for the Oddcast, and Ms. Stephens liked it.”

  Mom smiled. “That’s terrific, honey. You’ve always been such a great writer.”

  “Writing’s just the first part,” I said. “If I make the Oddcast staff, I’ll have to actually read what I’ve written—on live TV. Can you help
Bridge and me practice over the weekend? Auditions are Monday.”

  “Oooh, I’d love to. See? I told you my job wasn’t so bad.”

  I wrinkled my nose.

  “How did it go with Bridget today?” Mom asked.

  I sighed. “Same as usual. That little speech you gave her last night about keeping a low profile? Dream on.”

  “So she didn’t take it down a notch?”

  “She can be so embarrassing, Mom,” I said through clenched teeth. “True, Meredith and Brynne have turned into total snobs, but they’d probably be nice enough if Bridget didn’t make us seem like freaks.”

  Mom frowned. “How can Bridget make you seem like a freak?”

  “Guilt by assassination.”

  Mom held her hand over her mouth, but I could still see her smile. “Association,” she said. “Guilt by association.”

  “Whatever. Hey! Don’t use that on your show.”

  Mom zipped her lip. “Scout’s honor. So, ya hungry?”

  “Kinda.”

  “How about if we go out for pizza?” Mom said, shifting her weight and shoving her hands into her pockets.

  I peered at her quizzically. “Burgers last night and pizza tonight? I hope the nutrition police don’t find out.”

  “Well, if you don’t want pizza…”

  “No, no. Pizza works.”

  “Good.” Mom paused, cleared her throat and stood straighter. “Mind if a friend comes along?”

  “No thanks! I need a break from Bridget.”

  Mom chewed her bottom lip. “Actually, I meant a friend of mine.”

  “Which friend? Joanne?”

  Mom shook her head.

  “Claire?”

  “Nope.”

  Why wouldn’t Mom look at me? “I’m running out of your friends,” I said, looking at her suspiciously.

  Mom finally looked me in the eye. “His name is Jake.”

  His name? “A guy friend?”

  “A guy who’s a friend,” she said quickly. “He works at the station.”

  “Jake,” I repeated, more to myself than to Mom. “Sounds like somebody on a soap opera. Somebody with a mysterious past.”

  “It’s just a name. And he’s just a friend.”

  I leaned closer toward Mom, squinting. “Mom? Are you blushing?”

  Mom waved her hand in front of her face. “Oh, for heaven’s sake!”

  “You are! You’re blushing!” I gasped. “Wait a minute. Are we going on a date tonight?”

  “Oh, Talia!”

  I couldn’t help giggling. I wasn’t used to seeing Mom nervous and fidgety. But then, I’d never thought of my mom dating, either. In the four years since Dad had died, she’d never seemed the slightest bit interested in any other man. Her friends tried to fix her up every once in a while—even Grandma and Grandpa introduced her to a couple of people from their church choir—but Mom always blew them off, saying she had a daughter to raise, a job to do, a house to clean and no time for or interest in a love life.

  “Is he cute?” I asked Mom, bouncing in my chair.

  “Talia Farrow, you stop it this instant! This is not a date! This is pizza with a friend.” She nodded sharply. “Pizza. With a friend.”

  The doorbell rang and my eyes widened. “Jake? Jake, mah dahlin’, is that you?” I said in a Scarlett O’Hara accent, clutching my heart and swooning.

  “Talia!” Mom whispered, looking stern and panicky at the same time. “Please don’t embarrass me!”

  “My smellin’ salts! Hand me my smellin’ salts, won’t you, dahlin’? The thought of seein’ Jake makes me feel downright faint.” I swooned right out of my chair and plopped onto the floor.

  “You. Will. Behave,” Mom whispered firmly. “Or no extra pizza toppings.”

  I laughed as I picked myself up off the floor and watched Mom walk down the hall toward the front door. I heard the door squeak open. Next came the rumbling sound of a low voice, then Mom’s voice sounding like clinking crystal. This really was weird.

  After a few minutes, Mom called, “Talia, honey? Can you come here? There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

  I tightened my ponytail and walked down the hall into the living room. A tall, skinny guy with a dark beard and mustache smiled at me and held out his hand.

  “Jake, this is my daughter, Talia,” Mom said as he shook my hand. “Talia, this is Jake.”

  “Talia Farrow,” Jake said, his brown eyes twinkling. “Your mom must be a fan of Booker T. Washington.”

  I shrugged, confused.

  “The T in his name stands for Taliaferro,” he said. “Talia Farrow…Taliaferro…” His voice trailed off.

  “Right,” I said evenly.

  “I didn’t think about that until after she was born and a couple of people pointed it out,” Mom said. “So he wasn’t technically her namesake—not that I wouldn’t be proud to have her named after such a prestigious man. I mean, he was remarkable, such an outstanding contributor to civil rights and higher education….” Mom’s voice trailed off. She cleared her throat and twirled a piece of hair.

  “Is your first name Booker?” Jake asked, then laughed, which caused Mom to laugh too loudly.

  Jake clapped his hands in a single, loud thwack that made me jump.

  “So,” he said, “is anybody ready for pizza?”

  Mom raised her hand. “Me,” she said, shooting me a glance that made me figure I was supposed to raise my hand too, so I did, kinda, then realized I looked ridiculous and put it back down. This day was just getting too bizarre.

  Jake opened the front door and flung out his arm. “After you, ladies.”

  Mom and I walked out the door. Jake followed, accidentally slamming the front door way too hard.

  “Oops! My bad,” he said as we walked toward his car. “That’s the expression these days, Talia, right?”

  “What?” I asked, but Mom gave me another desperate-looking glance that made me say, “Oh. Right.”

  Jake opened the back door of his car and hastily moved some papers from the seat to clear a spot for me. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m not used to backseat passengers.”

  I wasn’t used to being a backseat passenger.

  I coughed as I settled into his dusty little car, fastened my seat belt and studied the back of Jake’s head as he sat in the driver’s seat. What do we really know about this guy? I found myself wondering. Mom wouldn’t put me in the backseat of just anybody’s car, would she? Certainly she knows him pretty well…right? Maybe not. Regardless, what do I really know about Mom’s taste in guys? He could be a serial killer, for all we know….

  “So tell me about yourself, Talia,” Jake said.

  “Oh, there’s not much to tell. What about you?”

  “Talia!” Mom scolded, but Jake laughed.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “Me. Hmmm. Okay, here goes: My name is Jake Reynolds, I’m a sportscaster for WBJM—”

  “Right. I thought you looked familiar.”

  “Yet thinner and taller in person, right? Okay, so I’m a sportscaster, I like surfing and playing the guitar—usually not at the same time—um, I like to read, I have a dog named E-bay—”

  “E-bay?” I said.

  “Yeah, but I didn’t name him after the Web site; I had another dog named Freeway and I thought E-bay sounded like a good name for Freeway’s brother, not that they were technically related, of course, and Freeway has since died, but of old age and not in a car-related accident, as you might suspect, so now it’s just me and E-bay—sorry, I mean E-bay and me—” He shot a playful glance at Mom. “And coincidentally, E-bay barks whenever I log on to my eBay account, so he probably thinks he’s the CEO or something….”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. Mom tossed me a grateful smile from the front seat.

  “So how did you and Mom meet?” I asked.

  “We were hiking in the Himalayas,” Jake said, and it took me a second to realize he was teasing. He winked at me through the rearview mirror. “Actually, we
hang out in the same studio for eight or nine hours a day, so there was a certain inevitability. Still, it took me eight months to wear her down.”

  I bit my lower lip. “So this is a date,” I said, not sure whether it was a statement or a question.

  “It’s pizza with a friend,” Mom said quickly.

  “In my case, pizza with two friends,” Jake said. “But I like the sound of date. It has definite potential. Put in a good word for me, will you, Talia? I’m a nice guy.”

  “Says who?” I asked with a smile.

  “Well, E-bay would say it, if he could talk,” Jake replied. “But his drool speaks volumes. Oh, and my mom says nice things about me too. Would you like her number?”

  “Moms have to say nice things about their kids,” I reasoned.

  “So it’s objective character references you’re looking for,” Jake said, rubbing his beard with one hand while he steered with the other. “Tell ya what: I’ll dust off my resume and give you a copy next time I take your mom out on a…er, next time we go out for pizza.”

  Next time, huh? This really was a date…which should have been fine, right? Especially with a guy who named his dog E-bay and didn’t mind an eleven-year-old kid hanging around. Yes, I told myself sharply. It’s okay.

  But why was my stomach suddenly hurting?

  My hair was still damp from the shower as I brushed it in front of my bedroom mirror.

  Mom walked down the hall, then hovered in my doorway.

  “How ya doin’?” she asked, fingering a button on her pajama top.

  “Fine,” I responded, still staring into the mirror. I tilted my chin upward. “You could’ve given me a little notice, you know.”

  Mom’s slippers scuffed along my hardwood floor as she walked toward me. She ran her fingers through my damp hair. “I didn’t want it to seem like a big deal,” she said softly. “And it wasn’t. It was just pizza. Jake asked me right before I left the studio, and I thought, Why not? It’s not like we planned it six months in advance.”

  I peered at her reflection in the mirror. “Eight months,” I corrected her. “That’s how long he said he’s been trying to get you to go out with him.”

  Mom sighed. “Honey, I haven’t been even remotely interested in dating since your dad died. And maybe I’m still not. But Jake is good company and…this felt right. But it wasn’t a big deal.”