Talia Talk Read online

  I ran the brush through my hair, brushing away Mom’s fingers in the process. “He ate your crust,” I said. It was true. Without even asking, he’d eaten the pizza crust that Mom left on her plate. And I’d have had to be blind to miss all the secret smiles they kept sharing. And what was with the peck on Mom’s cheek when Jake dropped us off?

  I felt my eyes well with tears. This was crazy. What was the big deal? It really was just pizza, and Jake really was a pretty cool guy. We both even liked mushrooms. I felt like the biggest baby in the universe.

  Mom knelt beside me and touched my cheek. “Sweetie,” she said, “I don’t have to see him anymore. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  I shook my head, trying to shake the tears out of my eyes. “I’m not crying,” I snapped, sniffling loudly. “Jake’s nice. I don’t mind if you go out again.”

  Mom took my brush from my hand, then put her arms around my neck. “Let’s just take things nice and slow,” she said. She pulled away from me and smiled. “Believe it or not, I’m not exactly irresistible.”

  I smiled. “You’re definitely irresistible to Jake,” I said.

  “Yeah, well, maybe we’ll squeeze him into our schedules occasionally or maybe we won’t. I subtracted points for his messy car, so right now, he’s in the minus column.”

  “And he ate your crust. You should subtract points for that.”

  “Absolutely. Even though I don’t like crust. Just out of curiosity, does he get points for anything?”

  I shrugged. “He didn’t chop us up with an ax and put us in the trunk of his car, so I guess he’s not a serial killer. And we both like mushrooms.”

  Mom nodded. “Right. A non–serial killer who likes mushrooms. He should definitely get points for that.”

  See? It wasn’t like I wasn’t willing to give the guy a chance.

  10

  “The camera,” Mom said solemnly, “is your friend.”

  “Hi, friend,” I responded breezily, waving into the lens of the camcorder Mom held in front of me. It was Saturday afternoon, time for our crash course in broadcasting. Bridget had shown up at one o’clock sharp, early enough to scarf down a sandwich and chips with me before we got down to business.

  “Pretend you’re looking at a friend when you look into the lens,” Mom instructed. “Eye contact. Erect but relaxed posture. Natural facial expressions. No fidgeting.”

  I cleared my throat and looked at the paper Bridget was holding beside Mom. We had printed out my essay in large type, and Bridge was doubling as a TelePrompTer.

  “Reporting live from Crossroads Middle School, this is Talia Farrow with ‘Talia Talk,’ I said.

  “Why are you shouting at us?” Bridget asked.

  “Sorry.” I tugged at my shirt and repeated the line in a lowered voice.

  “Now you’re practically whispering,” Mom said. “The key is to act natural. Talk in your normal tone of voice. Oh, and there’s a glare, Bridget. Can you close the blinds?”

  Bridget walked to the blinds in our family room and twisted the knob.

  “Tilt your chin a little,” she told me as she resumed her position. “You look like you’re in a police lineup.”

  I flung my hands up. “How am I supposed to be natural with you two picking me apart?” I whined.

  “You’re supposed to act natural, not be natural,” Mom corrected. “Let’s try it again. ‘Talia Talk,’ take two.”

  “I think that’s my line,” Bridget said.

  “Go for it.”

  “ ‘Talia Talk,’ take two,” Bridget said, and I broke into a nervous laugh.

  “Cut! ‘Talia Talk,’ take three,” Bridget said. “And…action!”

  I read my essay off the cue cards, stumbling a couple of times but bouncing back without too much disruption. “Signing off for now, this is Talia Farrow for the Crossroads Oddcast,” I concluded. I wrinkled my nose and shrugged.

  “That was great, honey,” Mom said, turning off the camcorder. “But slow down a little. And smile!”

  I smiled.

  “Not a blubbering-idiot smile,” Bridget added hastily.

  I pouted. “So I look like a blubbering idiot in a police lineup?”

  “With peanut butter on your chin,” Mom said, rubbing her own chin to show me where. “Sorry I didn’t notice it before. But really, honey, you’re doing fine.”

  I’d barely had time to rub the peanut butter off my chin when Bridget barked, “ ‘Talia Talk,’ take four!”

  “I’d rather take five,” I groused.

  “Not on my watch,” Bridget responded coolly. “You’ve got to get your head in the game, Talia. We need to finish up so you can review the videotape while I go over my director’s list with your mom. I’ve got tons of ideas: camera angles, split screens, aerial views of football games, a crawl for breaking news—”

  “A what?” I asked.

  “Crawl. The line that runs across the bottom of the screen on CNN.”

  “For breaking news like when the school secretary calls in sick?” Mom teased.

  “Breaking news! Ms. Fishbein has a nosebleed!” I said as Mom and I doubled over laughing.

  “People!” Bridget moaned. “We don’t have all day, you know.”

  “Well, technically, we do,” Mom said, and we both laughed harder.

  Bridget tossed her head back and squeezed her eyes shut. “Amateurs.”

  11

  I slammed my locker shut and slung my backpack over my shoulder.

  “Wait up,” Bridget called, hurrying down the hall to catch up with me. She broke into a trot, then ran up to me and pulled my hair band over my head.

  “Bridget!” I groaned, glancing around to see if anyone was watching. I pushed the band back into place and smoothed my hair. “Ya mind?”

  “I like it better the other way,” Bridget said, then pulled it over my head again.

  “Bridget!”

  I straightened it again, feeling my shoulders tense and my face get warm.

  She pretended to reach for it again. I slapped at her hand, but she moved it at the last second. A cute guy walked by and rolled his eyes.

  “Chill out!” I fumed, clenching my suddenly sweaty fists. “I’m already nervous about the auditions.”

  “Ooooh, the auditions, the auditions!” Bridget cooed. “Remember what we worked on: Relaxed posture. Eye contact. Natural tone of voice. No food on face. Got it?”

  “I was thinking about smearing a banana on my nose.”

  “Yellow washes you out,” Bridget said as we made our way to Ms. Stephens’s room.

  We stepped inside and I peered around anxiously.

  My heart sank. Bridget and I had been acting like our spots on the Oddcast staff were practically a done deal, but at least two dozen sixth graders were milling around the room.

  “Amateurs,” Bridget whispered, cupping her mouth.

  “That’s the same thing you said about me when we were practicing,” I reminded her.

  The kids started taking seats. By the time they were settled, nearly every seat was filled. Bridget and I exchanged thumbs-up signs as we headed for opposite sides of the room for the only available seats left.

  “Why do you hang out with her?”

  I jumped at the sound of the voice, then turned to my right and realized I was sitting next to Meredith. Brynne sat behind her.

  “Oh, hi,” I said. “You’re auditioning for the Oddcast?”

  Meredith sat up straighter and adjusted her blouse. “No, the football team.”

  She exchanged glances with Brynne and snickered.

  I let my backpack fall to the floor with a thud.

  “I really don’t get it,” Meredith said. “Bridget is, like, the most annoying person on the planet. Why are you still hanging out with her?”

  I blushed and stared at my fingers, which were clasped together on the desktop.

  “If she were any louder, I’d need earplugs,” Brynne said through gooey, peach-colored lips.

 
“It’s not like she’s the only person I ever hang out with…,” I said, twisting my fingers together.

  Meredith’s jaw dropped. “Other than every second of the day?”

  “I mean, naturally we’re friends,” I murmured, “but I have lots of friends.” I was still staring at my hands, which were growing sweatier by the second.

  “Well, here’s the thing,” Meredith said. “I’m having a birthday party in a few weeks—a deejay, strobe lights, the whole deal—but it’s by invitation only.” She raised an eyebrow and Brynne leaned in close. “So if, like, I invited one person who I kinda wanted to come, but I didn’t invite her BFF, who I definitely did not want to come, then—”

  Brynne giggled into her fingertips.

  “Then that would be cool?” Meredith asked, raising an eyebrow.

  I opened my mouth, wondering what words would come out.

  “Okay, guys, let’s get started.”

  Whew. Ms. Stephens was starting the meeting.

  “First, we’ll go over the basics: don’t bother auditioning if you’re not willing to make a major commitment. Putting on a daily TV show, even if it’s only five minutes long, takes a lot of work. Is everybody here up for three months of hard work?”

  Bridget’s hand shot into the air. Other hands went up slowly.

  “Good,” Ms. Stephens said. “If you take this seriously and put in the effort, you’ll get a lot out of it. The Oddcast can be a ton of fun, and it’s a great way to really become a part of your school. That’s why we have sixth graders go first…kind of like boot camp for middle school. So: the Oddcast staff meets Thursdays after school for an hour. We report to school at seven-forty-five every morning, spending a few minutes going over scripts and setting up the camera. The show starts at eight a.m. sharp. We’ll need four reporters and a camera operator—”

  “Uh, Ms. Stephens?” Bridget said, hoisting her arm again. “I’ll need an extra reporter, and at least two cameramen. Videographer is the technical term.”

  Ms. Stephens narrowed her eyes. “You’ll need them?”

  Bridget nodded. “As the director. If I’m named director, of course. I have a list of ideas.”

  Ms. Stephens leaned back against her desk. “And if you were named director,” she said, “why might you need two cam—two videographers?”

  “Remotes,” Bridget said briskly. “I mean, it’s a real thrill ride to see kids read announcements from behind a desk, but I’m thinking, let’s go where the action is: basketball games, fire drills, cheerleading tryouts.”

  I slouched in my chair but noticed the other kids leaning toward Bridget, warming to her ideas.

  Ms. Stephens smiled and held up her hand to quiet the class. “I like your enthusiasm, Bridget, but your ambitions might slightly outpace our capabilities.”

  “I like thinking big,” Bridget replied.

  “Let’s think doable. We’ll get our staff in place, then we’ll ease into our routine.”

  Ben Angelo raised his hand. “I nominate Bridget as director,” he said.

  “Second!” Carl Brantley said from the desk behind Ben’s.

  Meredith sneered. “Oh. My. God,” she huffed.

  “Bridget’s too bossy,” I heard one kid murmur to another.

  “Directors are supposed to be bossy,” the other one replied.

  Ms. Stephens made a time-out sign as murmurs rippled through the classroom. “Our staff isn’t nominated,” she said firmly. “It’s assigned. By me. Bridget, you can show me your list at the end of the meeting. That goes for anyone else who wants to try out for director, too.”

  Her eyes scanned the room.

  “Anyone? Anyone else trying out for director?”

  “Too much work,” one guy muttered.

  “I live for work. So I’m in?” Bridget asked Ms. Stephens.

  She smiled. “I can hardly wait to see your list. But now it’s time for auditions for everyone trying out as an Oddcaster.”

  Most of the hands in the room shot up.

  “That’s what I thought,” Ms. Stephens said breezily. “Everyone wants to be a star.”

  “Not me,” Ben said. “I’m all about the camera work.”

  “You’ve got experience?” Bridget asked him.

  “Well, I videotape my family’s birthday parties.”

  “It’s a start,” Bridget replied. “We’ll talk.”

  “Bridget!” Ms. Stephens moaned. “I’m in charge! And no one’s made the staff yet.”

  “Right, Ms. Stephens,” Bridget said with a wink.

  Ms. Stephens rolled her eyes.

  “Okay,” she said, “everyone trying out for an Oddcaster spot, get in line, please.”

  Meredith, Brynne and I, along with about twenty other kids, settled into a line. We spent the next few minutes walking one at a time to the front of the classroom, where we held a sheet of announcements and read them to the class. Some kids’ eyes never left the paper as they mumbled through the script. Others went all emo, making an announcement of library hours sound like a bulletin that a meteor had just smashed into the school. Some kids couldn’t stop tugging on their clothes or biting their nails. A few girls (including Mer and Brynne, naturally) smiled and batted their lashes like The Price Is Right models. Cullen Bates got so nervous when he started his audition that he suddenly clutched his stomach and dove for the door.

  Next was my turn.

  I stood in front of the class, held the announcements in my hand and inhaled deeply. Natural facial expressions. Relaxed posture. No fidgeting.

  “And the forecast today is mild and partly cloudy, with a high of eighty-three and a sixty-percent chance of rain,” I concluded. “Hope you didn’t forget an umbrella. Signing off for the Crossroads Oddcast, I’m Talia Farrow.”

  I paused, then looked nervously at Ms. Stephens. She glanced up from her notes, nodded at me with a smile and looked at the class.

  “Girls and boys, Talia approached me a few days ago about the idea of adding a commentary to the Oddcast.”

  Bridget cleared her throat loudly.

  “It was kind of Bridget’s idea,” I said softly.

  “Would you mind reading your draft for the class? Let’s see what they think about adding a commentary to the show.”

  Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh. That was the sound in my head. Pretty hard to ignore, except that I was distracted by the boom, boom, boom in my chest. My fingertips were sweaty as Ms. Stephens handed me the essay. My voice trembled as I began, but I caught Bridget’s eyes and couldn’t help smiling.

  “So here are a few things I’ve learned so far that might help my fellow newbies,” I read, hitting my stride.

  I noticed the kids chuckling lightly as I continued my essay. I bounced on the balls of my feet—probably a strict violation of the “no fidgeting” rule, but I was too lighthearted to notice. This was really fun. And the kids were laughing. My essay couldn’t be totally lame if they were laughing, right?

  The kids laughed loudest at the friend amnesia part. Apparently, Brynne, Mer, Bridget and I had company in that arena.

  “I’m sure I have lots more to learn, but that’s all my brain can handle for now. Best of luck, fellow newbies. Signing off for now, this is Talia Farrow for the Crossroads Oddcast.”

  The students were smiling at me. A few even clapped lightly.

  “Do you think that would make a nice weekly addition to the Oddcast?” Ms. Stephens asked them.

  “I think it’s a spectabulous idea,” Bridget blurted.

  And spectabulously enough, most of the class was nodding in agreement.

  “So about the party…”

  Ms. Stephens had wrapped up the Oddcast auditions, promising to post our names on the door the next morning if we made the staff. Bridget stayed behind to show Ms. Stephens her list of ideas. Meredith, Brynne and I gathered our backpacks as Meredith leaned in to whisper her reminder.

  “The party?” I asked.

  Meredith huffed. “The party I told you about twenty minu
tes ago, Einstein.”

  “She’s registered at Threads,” Brynne said breathlessly.

  “Threads?”

  “The coolest store in the mall,” Brynne said. “Just to make it easier for people to know what to get her.”

  How thoughtful, I thought with an inward snicker.

  “And even people who aren’t invited can still check the registry and give her a present, so spread the word,” Brynne continued.

  Classic, I thought, trying to suppress my smirk.

  “Definitely,” Meredith said. “My registry’s even posted on the Internet, so a couple of keystrokes and you’re done.”

  “I’m going to register there for my party!” Brynne gushed.

  Meredith slung her backpack over her shoulder. “So,” she said to me, “I’ll give you an invitation?”

  “Um, sure. Why not?”

  I walked out and sighed with relief when I saw my grandpa waiting for me in the school parking lot. I opened the door, slung my backpack into the backseat and fastened my seat belt as I sat down.

  “How was school, missy?” Grandpa asked.

  “Okay,” I said. “We just had Oddcast auditions. I think I did pretty well.”

  “When will you know if you made it?” he asked.

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Well, I think you’re a shoo-in.” He tapped the steering wheel and hummed as he pulled out of the parking lot.

  “Grandma’s got spaghetti cooking,” he said. “Dinner at our place sound okay tonight?”

  That was weird. We ate at Grandma and Grandpa’s a lot on weekends, but usually not during the week. “Is Mom coming?” I asked.

  Grandpa shook his head. “No, she’s eating out with a friend tonight.”

  My eyes narrowed. “Jake?”

  Grandpa’s eyes followed the road. “That okay?” he asked.

  “Sure. Why wouldn’t it be?” There were those stomach knots again.

  Grandpa drove in silence for a few minutes, then quickly opened his mouth to say something but shut it. A minute later, he tried again. “You know, for years, your grandma and I have been trying to talk your mom into dating,” he said. I swallowed hard. “That might sound odd; after all, your dad was our son. But your mother’s like a daughter to us, and we want her to be happy. And she is happy—no doubt about it—but she’s got her whole life ahead of her, and we think she could squeeze a nice fella into that life, if she would just give somebody a chance.”