Say It Out Loud Read online

  My jaw drops while the rest of the class erupts into cheers. Are you kidding me? Dolly Parton? I thought Aubrey was still crushed over musical theater being canceled, but she has to be doing fine now. I glance back at her note. Oh well. I tried to do something nice. Maybe it will still do some good.

  The classroom phone rings. Ms. Bishop answers. After a moment, she says, “I’ll tell her.” Ms. Bishop calls out, “Charlotte, they need you in the library!”

  Everyone turns and stares. Oh my gosh, no. Not now. Can this day get any worse?

  I grab my bag and dart out the door. The only good thing is that they didn’t call me to the office, so I know I can’t be in trouble. But honestly, it’s going to be worse.

  The library is full of kids working at computers. I stand there for a minute, looking around, until I see a woman waving at me through an open door.

  I walk quickly to the back before anyone else sees her waving, and brace myself.

  The woman in the doorway is probably around my mom’s age, with sleek, dark hair and olive skin. “Hi, Charlotte! At last we meet! I’m Ms. Garrett, and we’ll be working on your speech together this year.” She holds her arm out as if to welcome me into her office, making her bracelets jingle and dance against her wrist.

  I duck into the tiny room. All I wanted was to be like everyone else and get to stay in classes I actually like. Why do I always miss the best stuff? It’s so wrong.

  She shuts the door and beams at me. “Make yourself comfortable. Have a seat!”

  I sink down into the cracked plastic chair in front of her desk.

  Ms. Garrett sits down at her desk and smiles. “Now, I’ve been going over your files, and it looks like you’ve been making progress with some strategies.”

  If she means I’ve been forced to do this for years and have gotten stickers but nothing has ever changed, then yeah. I guess so.

  “I see that one of the things your past speech teachers wanted you to do was ‘cloud talk,’ ” Ms. Garrett says, reaching for a pen and marking something on a piece of paper.

  “Yeah. In kindergarten,” I reply.

  “I think it’s a great strategy at any age.” She smiles, and the skin around her green eyes wrinkles just a bit. “Make your words light and fluffy, and you can pass from one to another.”

  Words aren’t light and fluffy. They’re hard, heavy, and unforgiving. They hurt people.

  I sigh.

  “I thought maybe you could read aloud from one of your textbooks,” Ms. Garrett says. “Maybe something you need to study? We can continue practicing sentences using easy onset.”

  She means practicing sentences that start with harder sounds, like K, G, P, and B—the worst ones in the whole world—and taking a deep breath right before saying them. Then I’m supposed to slowly say the beginning of the word while breathing out. I give her the longest, biggest eye roll in the history of middle school. NO. I’m not reading my textbook. And I’m missing my favorite class so I can sit in here and talk about clouds. Why can’t she take me out of something I don’t enjoy? Like PE? It isn’t fair. “I do that in class. I don’t need to do it here.”

  “Will you try it?”

  I don’t move.

  “For me?”

  For her? I don’t even know her. I’d do it for Ms. Harper in a heartbeat, though. “No, thank you.”

  “What about if we practice making phone calls?” She gestures at a play phone on her bookshelf.

  I stare at her without smiling. Preschoolers play with toy phones, not middle schoolers. I already feel so small. That would just make it worse.

  “What’s your favorite class?”

  “Musical theater. We’re doing The Wizard of Oz.”

  “Oh, I love that musical!”

  Yeah, me too. Which is why I should be there now instead of in this cramped closet disguised as an office. She’s managed to cram a desk, herself, two chairs, and a tiny bookshelf in here, but I don’t think anything else will fit.

  “Do you know your lines yet?”

  I try to play it off like I don’t care about it. “Yeah. But I only have a few. I’m a tree and a horse.”

  “Really?” She tilts her head. “I would’ve totally seen you as Glinda.”

  I give her a withering look. It’s like she knows I screwed up my audition.

  She adds, “Or maybe the Wicked Witch. You could do that for sure.”

  The corners of my mouth twitch. At least she has a sense of humor. I’d laugh, but I’m not giving in just yet. She has to work for it.

  “I have an idea. So you don’t have many lines. Fine. But I’ll bet you know everyone else’s.”

  Yeah, I do. I memorized most of the script over the weekend. I shrug.

  “What if we read from the script in here?”

  I’m listening…but I glance off into the dusty corner like I’m not the least bit interested.

  “You play the main characters, and I’ll read against you. We can work on your goals that way. Oh, and this is very important—I want you to look me in the eye when you say the lines. We need to work on keeping good eye contact. Do you have the script with you?”

  I want to hate everything she suggests, but this actually sounds fun. “Yeah.”

  “Great! Let’s get started.” She moves stacks of papers aside.

  “Hey, Ms., um—”

  “Garrett. But you can call me Ms. G.”

  “Yeah, Ms. G. Do you think next time you could get me out of a class I don’t need?” I rummage in my bag for the script.

  “Hmm, let’s see.” She pulls up my schedule. “I really don’t want to get you out of one of your core subjects.”

  I sit up straighter. “But this is important! Right now I’m missing song rehearsal, and pretty soon we’re going to start blocking and learning choreography. I should be there. People are counting on me.” I place the script on her desk and give her a winning smile. “I was thinking I really don’t need PE.”

  “Is that so?” She takes a sip from her coffee mug.

  “Yeah. It makes me sweaty and gross, and if you get me out of PE, I won’t stink up your office. Everybody wins!”

  She chokes on her coffee.

  I wait for her to stop coughing. “B-besides, I’ll get plenty of exercise onstage. That should count for something.”

  “We’ll see.”

  I slump in my seat. It was worth a try at least.

  She turns the script sideways so we can both see it. “Ready when you are.”

  I sigh. If I had a choice, I’d never be ready for this. Even for a play as awesome as this one. “Where do you want me to start?”

  “At the beginning. Where else?”

  One week later, Mom’s curled up on the sofa grading papers, with a jar of trail mix on one side of her and a pencil pouch full of stickers and different-colored pens on the other. I fall onto the other couch and cover up with the blanket that she keeps on the back of the cushions.

  “Finish your homework?” she says.

  “Yeah…. Hey, Mom?”

  “Mmm?”

  “I’m not okay with them canceling musical theater.”

  She gives me a wry smile. “They don’t need your permission, hon.”

  “I know. I just…” I finally decided that the class isn’t so bad, and they’re just going to take it away? “I don’t think they should. I want to stop them.”

  She peers over the top of her stack of student papers. “Them?”

  “Mr. Sinclair and everyone who thought that canceling musical theater was a great idea. It’s too important to all the kids in my class. The school can’t just get rid of it.” I’m going to be an awesome tree and a horse, but someday I might have even bigger roles! I want the chance.

  She puts down her blue grading pen. “I don’t know th
at you can do anything about it.”

  “I know I’m just a kid, and that means no one listens to me, but there has to be something I can do!”

  She shakes her head. “Charlotte, people listen to you!”

  I give her a look. “Do not.”

  “They do! I listen to you.”

  I sigh. “But you’re my mom. You don’t count!”

  She gasps and clutches her hand to her heart like she’s deeply wounded. “I beg your pardon!”

  “Sorry,” I say quickly. “I just…I need other adults to listen, too.”

  She settles back into the couch and studies me for a moment. “This means a lot to you, doesn’t it?”

  I nod.

  Mom tucks the graded papers into her tote bag. “Then make sure your voice is heard by someone who can do something about it. Tell your truth. Tell it loudly. If people don’t listen, say it louder.”

  My shoulders fall. I’ve been so bad at speaking up when it’s important. And now that I have a chance to do it again, I don’t think it will do any good to talk to Mr. Sinclair. “But the principal isn’t going to listen to us!” I frown. If I can even get the words out. Unless…I don’t have to say them. I can write them!

  “Who said anything about the principal? Think about it for a minute.” She settles back into the couch.

  It hits me. “Wait, you mean like the principal’s boss?”

  She smiles. “But why stop there?”

  * * *

  The next day, musical theater moves into the auditorium so we can do our blocking on the stage. All of our rehearsals will be here from now on.

  We go through the play one scene at a time, running the lines as we go and learning where we’re supposed to be. I have to yell at Dorothy in the big scene when she starts picking apples out of the trees, but it’s so hard. It’s one thing just to know the words and say them without stuttering, but now I have to mean them, too. It’s not going well. I’m pretty much just shouting my lines into the auditorium. Grace tries to keep a straight face, and says, “I’m sorry, but you’re like the nicest person ever. You can’t yell at me! It’s just too much!”

  I am not the nicest person ever. She has no idea.

  Ms. Harper says, “Oh, but she’s going to yell at you!” She turns to me. “Move a bit more to your left.”

  I do.

  “Great. That’s your new mark. You need to be standing there every time, and mean it when you say the lines. Got it?”

  I nod.

  “Okay, let’s take it back to Dorothy picking the apple. Once more, with feeling. Get her, Charlotte!”

  I can do this. I know it.

  Dorothy reaches up for the imaginary apple, and this time when I yell, “Hands off my apples!” she doesn’t laugh. We’d look a lot cooler if we were actually in costume, but our fitting isn’t until next week.

  When we finish the scene, some of the kids in the audience clap and smile. Grace gives me a fist bump and says, “That was awesome! Remind me not to tick you off.”

  I laugh. I actually did it. I yelled and hit my mark. And I meant it.

  For the first time in my life, I feel like I’m actually part of something.

  Ms. Harper checks her watch. “We don’t have time to block another scene today. Go ahead and pair off with a friend. I’d like you to run lines with each other for tomorrow’s scenes. Remember, the goal is to be completely off-book by next week! Tell the truth and make it count—this is going to be our very last show!”

  Grace is already walking off the stage with Jack, but Sophie, aka Apple Tree #2, says to me, “Hey, you want to read with me?”

  “Sure.” We sit down in two of the auditorium seats near Grace and Jack. “Hey,” I say. “Have you ever done a play before?”

  “Nope. I guess I’m trying something new.”

  “Same,” I say. “My parents kinda talked me into it. But I’ve always loved musicals.”

  Sophie smiles. “It’s just not fair that they’re ditching it our very first year. I can’t believe this is it.”

  It’s super quiet back here, but I don’t care. I’m saying it anyway. “I was thinking, though—what if it doesn’t have to be?”

  She looks at me funny. “But it is. Ms. Harper said.”

  “Yeah, I remember. But maybe she didn’t think of everything.”

  Grace turns around and drapes her arm over the back of her seat. Jack even glances in my direction. They’re definitely listening. Good. Maybe they can help.

  A moment later, Sophie says, “If we can do something to save this class, I’m in.”

  I look up. “Really?”

  The bell rings. Ms. Harper calls from the stage, “See you tomorrow! Keep working on those lines!”

  Grace rushes over and says, “I heard you talking about saving musical theater. Tell me everything.”

  I grin. She was listening. “I have an idea.”

  “As long as it’s better than telling the principal that his plan is terrible,” Grace says with an eye roll.

  “Yeah, Grace already tried that,” Jack says, his curls spilling across his forehead as he tucks his script into his backpack.

  I turn back to Grace and say, “You d-did what?”

  She beams. “I walked right up to Mr. Sinclair during lunch and I gave him a piece of my mind.”

  My mouth drops open. “Seriously?” I sling my bag over my shoulder as we move toward the exit.

  “Oh yes, I did!”

  “She definitely did,” says Sophie. “It was awesome.”

  “How’d that work out?” I say. I wish I had the same lunch period as them.

  Grace purses her lips. “He said he was sorry and told me to study more.”

  I groan. “That’s not cool.”

  We walk quickly toward the double doors to the bus loading area.

  “So what are we going to do about it?” Sophie says.

  “We’re going to write letters,” I say.

  Jack says, “That won’t work! Mr. Sinclair will just throw them in the trash!”

  I smile. “G-good thing we’re not sending them to Mr. Sinclair, then.”

  Sophie leans closer, her lips curling into a smile around her braces.

  “We’re sending them to everyone else. His boss, his boss’s boss, the newspaper, everyone! They’re going to know what’s going on and that we’re not happy about it,” I say.

  Grace cheers and pumps her fist in the air. “YES! That could actually work.” She shakes her head and says, “You are tiny but fierce.”

  I’m not tiny. She’s just tall.

  “GET TO YOUR BUSES,” a teacher yells across the courtyard. “NOW!”

  “Tomorrow morning before homeroom,” Grace says. “Meet in the lobby. We’re doing this.”

  I sprint to my bus, climb the stairs, and find packed seats everywhere except next to Ben and next to Maddie.

  Ben scoots over so I can hurl myself into the seat. I take big gulps of air that taste like exhaust fumes, which makes me cough and sputter as the bus engine revs to life.

  “Another close one,” he says as the school gets smaller behind us. “Have you thought about running track?”

  I cough-laugh. “If I were any good at running, I wouldn’t”—cough—“be cutting it so close.” I peek over my left shoulder. Maddie sits slumped in the seat, and my heart breaks. I’ve never seen her look so sad. But she doesn’t want me to sit with her. She told me so herself. I turn back around.

  Ben flips open his notebook and starts sketching. “What were you doing, anyway?”

  I shrug. “Just finishing up with musical theater.”

  “I didn’t know you could sing.” He looks up. “I’m the worst singer ever.”

  I wish he wouldn’t put himself down like that. “Maybe you just haven�
�t found the right song. Everyone can sing,” I say, looking him in the eye the whole time. I promised Ms. G that I would try to make better eye contact when I’m talking—even if I stutter.

  “Nope,” he says with a shake of his head. He goes back to his drawing. “Not me. My dog howls when I sing.”

  I laugh. “No way.”

  “It’s true.” He chuckles. “I finally gave up because I didn’t want to hurt her ears.”

  Maddie’s voice cuts through the music. “Leave me alone!”

  Ben and I immediately turn in our seats, just in time to see Tristan grab Maddie’s notebook. The red one. The one she writes all her thoughts in and won’t even let me see. Maddie grabs for it, and he tosses it to a girl across the aisle. She passes it to the person behind her. I want to rush down the aisle and help, but what can I do about it? I’d get in trouble for getting up. I sit up on my knees so I can follow the notebook.

  The speaker crackles to life. The bus driver says, “I don’t know what you’re doing back there, but it needs to STOP. Now.”

  The notebook disappears into the back of the bus. I glance at Maddie, who’s scanning the faces of kids behind her. She turns back around, her eyes full of panic. I wonder what she wrote in that notebook. I know what I write at home, and I’d never let anyone read it. Ever. I face the front and hug my legs to my chest, resting my head on my knees.

  Ben glances at me. “It’s just going to get worse. You know that, right?”

  Yes, I know! I sigh. “Yeah, I kind of figured.”

  He lowers his voice. “It was really brave of her to snitch.”

  I snap my head up so fast, he jumps. “How do you know it was her?”

  “I heard Tristan and Josh talking about it in the hallway.”

  “Yeah, but how do they know for sure?”

  He glances back at their seat and says, “They saw her leave the principal’s office on their way there.”

  “Everyone got called to the office that day.”

  “But they think she was the first one. I don’t know.”

  We ride along in silence for a moment or two. I can’t believe they talked about it where Ben could hear them. And now Ben thinks Maddie did a good thing. I wish I could tell him that I did, too. Maybe I didn’t say it, which doesn’t count as much, but at least I wrote it. I rest my head on my knees again.