Switched at Birthday Read online

  “I don’t know.” Scarlet rubbed the stub of wax. “We’ll just have to keep looking.”

  “But the auditions are tomorrow! For The Music Man! What if we don’t switch back by then?”

  “I don’t know,” Scarlet said. “But I’m auditioning no matter what.”

  I took the candle stub from her and rubbed it like a genie’s lamp, wishing, wishing, wishing. Nothing happened.

  “It’s hopeless.” Scarlet’s lower lip quivered. “We’re stuck like this forever.”

  “We can’t be,” I said. “We’ll find a way out of this. Somehow.” Then I remembered something Mr. Brummel had said the day before — something about his school days in Kalamazoo.

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “Isn’t Mr. Brummel from Kalamazoo?”

  “Is he?” Scarlet said. “I don’t know.”

  “Maybe he knows something about these candles.” I glanced at the clock. “The auditions for A through L are this afternoon — they weren’t starting until after the soccer game and other extracurriculars were over. He might still be at school if the auditions went long. I could go ask him —”

  “You can’t,” Scarlet said. “You have to go home and help my mother with her dinner party.”

  “Who cares about that?” I said. “This is a matter of life and death!”

  “To my mother, a dinner party is a matter of life and death,” Scarlet said. “If you don’t show up, there will be a huge scene. Steve will threaten to take away your phone; Ben will lurk around snickering and teasing you; and Mom will sit there sniffling like she’s about to have a nervous breakdown. And it will be all your fault.”

  “That’s an experience I’d rather avoid,” I said.

  “You don’t want to push Mom over the edge,” Scarlet told me. “I’ll find Mr. Brummel and ask him what he knows. Your mom won’t mind, right?”

  “Well, if you tell her it’s for school …” I really wanted to find Mr. Brummel myself. “I don’t want to be the cause of someone’s nervous breakdown. You go. But call me right away and tell me what Mr. Brummel says.”

  “I will. I promise,” she said.

  “And don’t tell him the whole story,” I said. “I mean, about the switching and everything. Unless you have to. But try not to.”

  “I won’t,” Scarlet said. “I don’t want people to know about this any more than you do.”

  I zipped to school on Lavender’s bike and burst into the auditorium. Mr. Brummel sat in front of the stage, watching Masha Llewellyn screech out a song in front of a few stragglers. I’d just made it.

  It had been strange to watch Lavender dig through the garbage in my body. I recognized the outer shell, but it didn’t look like me somehow. Those were my pink nails (already chipped), my frowning face, my long hair brushing against a banana peel (ew!), but Lavender’s blunt energy changed everything. I thought it would be like looking at myself in the mirror, but it was more like watching myself in a dream, one of those dreams where everything looks a little different from the way it looks in real life, but it’s hard to say exactly how.

  Her room was more bearable now that I’d cleaned it up, but it still had a funny smell. It wasn’t a bad smell, exactly. It was just unfamiliar. It didn’t smell like my house. I liked her mother, though. She was warm, one of those people everybody likes — everybody except Lavender, I guess.

  I slipped into the back row to wait out the last auditions of A through L. Charlie Scott sat at the other end of the row. He waved to me. I scooted over to him.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked. “Our auditions aren’t until tomorrow.”

  “I know,” Charlie said. “I just wanted to check out the competition.”

  Whoa. He was really serious about this.

  “What about you?” he asked.

  “Oh, um … I just need to talk to Mr. Brummel for a minute.”

  “You don’t have to worry, Lavender,” Charlie said. “None of the girls who tried out today blew me away.”

  “That’s good to know,” I said. I couldn’t tell him that the audition was far from my only worry.

  “I think you’d be a great Marian,” Charlie said.

  “Really?” I didn’t know what else to say. Charlie wanted Lavender to get the lead? What about me?

  “You know who else is really good?” I said. “Scarlet Martinez. I think she’d be perfect. She was, like, born to play Marian Paree.”

  “Paroo,” Charlie said. “It’s Marian Paroo.”

  “Right. Paroo.”

  “Don’t you want the part?” Charlie asked.

  “Sure I do,” I said. “I just think, you know, if I don’t get it, Scarlet would be good.”

  “Well, I’ve never seen her onstage,” Charlie said. “But she’s very pretty.”

  I blushed. I nearly said, “Thank you,” but stopped myself just in time.

  “Is something wrong?” Charlie asked. “Your face just turned red.”

  “No,” I said. “Everything’s great.”

  “I didn’t mean that Scarlet would make a better Marian than you,” Charlie said. “I think you’d be good too.”

  “I know,” I said. “You don’t have to apologize.”

  “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

  He took my blushing all wrong. He thought I was mad instead of flattered. How cute of him.

  “You didn’t hurt my feelings, I swear,” I said. “I actually kind of hope Scarlet gets the lead. For the good of the production.”

  Charlie shook his head. “Wow, Lavender. It’s great to know that someone cares about the play as much as I do. You’ve really got the true spirit of the theater in you.”

  “Thanks.” I blushed again. But wait: Who had the true spirit of the theater in her — me or Lavender? Between all the blushing and the confusion, my head was getting woozy. “Scarlet’s very serious about the theater too.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Charlie said. “I’ve never heard her talk about it before.”

  “Oh yes. She’s a real hoofer.” Was that a theater word? I didn’t know. Maybe it wasn’t, because Charlie looked confused.

  “Hoofer?”

  “Is that not a word?”

  “It means ‘dancer.’ ”

  “Oh.” I was an okay dancer, but I wouldn’t want to claim any special talent in it. “I meant something else.” Rats, why didn’t I know more about the theater? I sounded like an idiot.

  “Trouper?” Charlie suggested.

  “Yeah. Scarlet is a real trouper.”

  “When did you and Scarlet get so close?” Charlie asked. “I didn’t know you were friends.”

  “Friends?” Uh-oh. “Well, we’ve, you know, bonded recently. Very recently. In the last day or two.”

  “That’s cool. Some of the kids in this school are so cliquish, you know? Like, just because someone’s a little different from them, they have to make a big point of being mean about it.”

  “Oh, yeah, I definitely know what you’re talking about,” I said, a bit nervously.

  “People say mean things about other people all the time,” Charlie said. “They even make up total lies! It’s unbelievable.”

  “Unbelievable.” I shifted a bit in my seat. I didn’t like where this conversation was headed.

  “So I’m glad to hear that Scarlet isn’t like that,” Charlie said. “I didn’t think she was, but, you know, she hangs out with Zoe and Kelsey, so —”

  “Yeah, Zoe and Kelsey, those girls, well … ha, they’re, like, capable of anything.” I hoped he didn’t notice how hot my face was.

  “Anyway, Lavender, I hope you know that the rest of us don’t listen to the crazy stuff those girls say.”

  Gulp. Now it was really time to change the subject. “Which song are you going to sing for your audition?” I asked.

  “I haven’t decided yet,” Charlie replied. “What about you? Which Music Man song is your favorite?”

  “My favorite?” I didn’t know any of the songs yet. I’d be
en planning to play Lavender’s sound track that night when I got back to her house, on that weird record player thing that she had in her room. “Um, I like the one that goes ‘Doo doo doo, doo doo doo.’ ” I hummed a vague melody, hoping he’d magically hear a real tune somewhere in there.

  “Which one is that?”

  “It’s, you know, ‘Doo doo doo, doo doo doo —’ ”

  “Oh — you mean ‘Seventy-Six Trombones’?”

  “Exactly!” I said. “I love that song.”

  “That is a good one. ‘Ya Got Trouble’ is fun to sing too.”

  “ ‘Ya Got Trouble.’ Yeah.”

  The last singer finished her song. Mr. Brummel closed the piano lid and packed up his music. I was relieved — I couldn’t keep up this bluffing much longer.

  “I’d better catch Mr. Brummel before he leaves,” I said.

  “See you tomorrow, Lavender,” Charlie said. “And don’t worry — you’ll be great.”

  I had to remind myself again that Charlie wasn’t really talking to me — he thought he was talking to Lavender. But I couldn’t help but wish he was saying these words to me. And meaning them.

  “Thanks!” I would have tried to get a few more sentences out of him about how great I was, but I really had to act fast. I dashed up the aisle. “Mr. Brummel! Can I talk to you for a second?”

  “Hello, Lavender,” Mr. Brummel said. “What can I do for you?”

  “Um —” How to put it without giving away my secret? “Did I hear you say you’re from Kalamazoo?”

  This was not the question he was expecting. “Yes,” he said after a moment of no doubt wondering why I was asking. “I grew up there.”

  “Kalamazoo, Michigan?”

  “I believe that’s the only Kalamazoo on the map,” Mr. Brummel said. “What’s this about?”

  “Well, I turned thirteen yesterday —”

  “That’s right! I saw you and Scarlet celebrating in the hall. Did you have a happy birthday?”

  “It was okay for a while …” I began. “And then it turned weird.”

  “Weird? Hmm. What happened?”

  He was smiling at me in a funny way, and I couldn’t figure out why. Did he think something was wrong with me? Could he tell that he was not really talking to Lavender, but to me?

  “Um, well, I guess the only weird thing that happened was that the candle on my birthday cake came from Kalamazoo. And I really liked that candle. Do you know where I could find another one? They’re all out of them at the ValueMart. I even tried to order one off the Internet, but I couldn’t find any information on the Kalamazoo candle industry.”

  “Hmm,” Mr. Brummel said. “That sounds very mysterious.”

  “Exactly! It’s very mysterious.”

  “But I have a feeling the mystery of the candle is not the real issue here. Are you worried about your audition, Lavender?” Mr. Brummel started down the aisle toward the door. I trotted along beside him. The auditorium was deserted now. I wished there had been some reason for Charlie to stay.

  “It’s not that so much. It’s —”

  “Because you have nothing to worry about,” Mr. Brummel said. “I understand you’re nervous. But you’re talented, and you’ve got guts….”

  “But —”

  “Just make sure you know the character,” he said. “Through and through. That’s the key.”

  “I will, but —”

  “Through and through. Go home, brush up on your audition song, and I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.” We walked outside to the parking lot. Mr. Brummel opened his car door. “Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  I watched him drive away. Then I got on my bike and rode north toward Goodwood Gardens. I was halfway to my house when I remembered I had to go to 34th Street — where Lavender lived — instead.

  For a moment I thought of her at my house, with Steve and Mom and Mom’s party.

  I almost — almost — felt sorry for her. And relieved for me.

  I took my time getting back to Scarlet’s house, and still made it back by seven. Ben sat at the kitchen island playing Nintendo. Scarlet’s mother was spraying Windex on the brass cabinet handles. As if they weren’t already blinding.

  “Scarlet, you’re filthy! Go take a shower right this instant!” she said. No Hello, no How was your day? or Did you win the soccer game?

  On second thought, it was probably better that she didn’t ask about the soccer game.

  “Hurry up!” she added. “The Mortensons will be here in an hour. And don’t touch the kitchen cupboards. I just cleaned them.”

  “What if I want a snack?” I asked.

  “A snack!” was the only response I got to that.

  “The Leech spazzed on her game today,” Ben announced. “Even her friends were chewing her out.”

  “Who asked you?” I snapped.

  The last thing I wanted to think about was soccer. Not that I cared, but I hadn’t ruined the game on purpose. I’d tried to kick the ball to my teammates. Was it my fault that the other team’s players got in the way?

  “That reminds me, Scarlet,” her mother said. “You left your phone on the counter. You’ve been getting texts all afternoon.”

  I picked up the phone she was talking about and looked at it blankly.

  “Take it upstairs,” Scarlet’s mother said. “And get in that shower.”

  I walked slowly up the stairs, looking at the phone. There were ten frantic texts from Zoe: Where are you? Call me! What’s up? Why are you acting so weird? — that sort of thing.

  I went into Scarlet’s room and gasped again at its luxury. Scarlet had a suite all to herself: very big, with a deck overlooking the backyard, and a private bathroom with a shower and a Jacuzzi. I filled the Jacuzzi and got in, trying to relax. Her phone jangled. Zoe again.

  “I can’t talk now,” I said. “I’m busy.”

  “This will only take a sec,” Zoe said. “You hurried away from the field so fast we didn’t have a chance to do a postgame analysis.”

  “Can’t it wait?” I said.

  “No,” said another voice.

  “Who’s that?” I asked.

  “It’s Kelsey,” Zoe said. “We’re three-way-calling you.”

  “What was wrong with you today?” Kelsey demanded. “Did you have a brain injury?”

  “You’d better not play like that next week,” Zoe said. “It’s our last chance to make the finals.”

  “If we lose, you’ll be more unpopular than Lavender Schmitz,” Kelsey said.

  “I don’t know about that,” Zoe said. “Scarlet could never be less popular than Lavender. She’d have to, like, grow a hump on her back and have reverse plastic surgery to make her uglier, plus spray some kind of stink perfume all over her —”

  “Hey, cut it out,” I said.

  “What, do you like Lavender?” Zoe said. “Then you really do have a brain injury.”

  “Um, no,” I said carefully. “Of course I don’t like her. I just think it’s mean to talk about other people that way.”

  Zoe snorted. “Since when?”

  “Since now,” I said. “I have to go.”

  “Watch some game tapes,” Zoe said. “And take some vitamins or something.”

  “I don’t care about soccer, anyway,” I said. “I’m going to audition for the musical tomorrow.”

  “What?” Zoe cracked up. “You were serious about that?”

  “I thought you were kidding,” Kelsey said.

  “I’m not kidding,” I told them.

  “This I’ve got to see,” Zoe said.

  “Why?” I asked. “Is there a problem?”

  They kept laughing. Clearly they knew something I didn’t.

  “I’ve got to go,” I said, and hung up.

  How bad could it be? As far as I could tell, people applauded no matter what Scarlet did. Well, as long as she wasn’t spoiling a soccer game …

  … which, I thought, Zoe and Kelsey didn’t have to be so cranky about. Weren’t
they Scarlet’s best friends? Where was the love? The support? The friendly encouragement?

  If I, as Lavender, had screwed up a soccer game, many of my classmates would have booed me and thrown things on the field. But Maybelle would have tried to cheer me up.

  Maybelle. I missed her. I’d seen her in the halls during the day, but couldn’t figure out a reason to say hello to her that didn’t seem too strange.

  Now I was left with Zoe and Kelsey, who I didn’t like anyway.

  I put their sneering out of my mind. All I cared about was playing Marian the Librarian in the school musical. Zoe and Kelsey could laugh about it all they wanted.

  Scarlet’s mother burst into the bedroom. “Aren’t you ready yet?” she shouted to me in the bathroom. “I’m picking out a dress for you to wear and leaving it on your bed.”

  That was fine with me. I wouldn’t have known what to pick anyway.

  “And honey,” Scarlet’s mother added, “please, please try to get along with Ben tonight. Don’t pick a fight with him in front of the Mortensons, okay? I want them to see what a happy family we are.”

  “I won’t pick a fight with Ben,” I said. “But what if he picks a fight with me?”

  She appeared in the doorway, frowning. I sank a little lower beneath the bubbles.

  “Don’t be smart,” she said. “It takes two to tango.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll be good.”

  “When you come downstairs I expect a smile on your face and your best manners.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll smile.”

  She left. I got out of the tub — nice soft towels, brand new, with no worn patches — and got dressed. Scarlet’s mom had picked out a white dress with a ruffle across the neckline. Yech.

  I had a feeling pretending to be a happy family wasn’t going to be easy. And that white dress didn’t help one bit.

  “Canape?” I dipped the tray low so Mrs. Mortenson could take an hors d’oeuvre.

  “Scarlet, aren’t you lovely,” Mrs. Mortenson said. Her hand hovered over the tray. “These look delicious. What are they?”

  I brought the tray close to my face, studying the little round thing she’d pointed to. It was a tiny orange cracker covered with brownish-gray goo.