“Of course,” I told her. “I’m happy to help.”
She glanced at her watch. “Okay, they should be about done. Could I ask you for one more favor?”
“Absolutely.”
“I need to close up the stage area and the theater,” she said. “A few of the kids came in today for an extra practice and to work on the sets. Could you check the classrooms we use on your way out? Just make sure everything is out and make sure they are locked?”
“For sure,” I said. “I’d be happy to.”
Joanne gathered up her things and handed me back my flash drive.
“Thanks again, Daisy,” she said, standing. “I truly appreciate your help. And your ear.”
“Anytime,” I said, shoving the flash drive in my bag. “Happy to do what I can.”
She touched my elbow. “Cross your fingers. Maybe we can get this pulled off yet.”
TWENTY ONE
I found a bag.
I’d closed up two of the three classrooms. I pushed chairs back under tables, picked up a couple pieces of trash and shut off the lights. Which was sort of like picking up after my own kids.
I walked into the last classroom and did the same things: shoved three chairs back under the desks they belonged to, dropped two soda cans in the recycle bin and was getting ready to kill the lights and go home when I noticed a purple backpack in the far corner. It was expensive looking, with wide black straps and sparkles in the fabric.
I went over to the corner and looked at it. There was no name written on it. For all I knew, it might have been left there by a student the day before. I wasn’t sure.
I picked up the bag. It didn’t feel like it was full of books. More like clothes. Which meant it was more than likely the property of someone in the play.
I unzipped the first small pocket and found a tube of lipstick, some gum and a couple of pens. I zipped that pocket back up and then unzipped the other small pocket. I pulled out a piece of paper that had been balled up like it was supposed to be thrown away. I set the bag on the nearest desktop and unfolded the wadded up paper.
It was a letter.
Addressed to Madison Bandersand.
It read:
Ms. Bandersand,
Thank you for your interest in the University of Minnesota’s theater program. Each year, our program receives hundreds of applications for a limited number of spots. While your application was impressive, we regret to inform you that we are unable to offer you admission at this time. We wish you good luck in your future academic and dramatic endeavors.
It was signed by someone with a fancy sounding title.
I read the letter again to make sure I understood it.
And then I recalled her telling her friend Holly that she’d already gotten in.
I sighed. I thought about my interaction with Madison and what I’d just witnessed between her and Joanne. She hadn’t proven herself to be a terribly likable kid, but it had to be hard to get that letter, especially when everyone was assuming you’d get in. I remembered Eleanor telling Joanne and myself that they were still waiting to hear about admission. Now I knew why she hadn’t heard anything.
Because Madison had gotten to the mailbox first.
“What are you doing?” a voice asked from behind me.
I turned around.
A very angry Madison Bandersand was standing in the doorway.
TWENTY TWO
Madison marched over to me and ripped the letter from my hand, her eyes blazing. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Madison, I was just—”
“Were you going through my bag?” she asked, grabbing the backpack. “That’s mine! You have no right to go through my things!”
“I wasn’t going through your things—”
“First you were eavesdropping on me and now you’re going through my things?” she asked, her brown eyes wide. “What is the matter with you?”
I took a deep breath. “Hey. Madison?”
“What?!”
“Shut your big mouth for a minute and listen to me.”
She jerked back, almost as if I’d struck her, but she finally closed her mouth.
I took another breath. “I came in here to close up the room. I pushed in the chairs and picked up the trash, like I did in the other two rooms. I saw the bag sitting over there in the corner. I picked it up. There was no name on it. All I was looking for was something with someone’s name on it so I’d know who it belonged to. That’s it.” I took another breath, exhaled. “And as I told you the other day, I wasn’t eavesdropping. I was picking up costumes. The door was open. I wasn’t hiding. So don’t accuse me of things that aren’t true.”
Her mouth twisted back and forth in an angry little knot. Her eyes darted around the room. She squeezed the bag to her chest, the letter still in her left hand.
“Did you read the letter?” she finally asked.
I hesitated. “I did. I wasn’t sure what it was when I unrolled it. I thought it might be a piece of homework or something. Something with a name on it.” It was the truth.
“It’s not what you think,” she said, lifting her chin up.
“Madison, it doesn’t matter what I think.”
“Well, it’s not what you think,” she repeated. She stared down her nose at me, a move that very much reminded me of her mother. “It’s not a rejection letter. They made a mistake. I’ve… I’ve already talked to them. It was a mistake. They’ll be sending me the right one any day now. The acceptance letter, I mean.”
“Okay,” I said, holding my hands up.
“You don’t believe me?” she asked, widening her eyes again.
“I didn’t say that.”
“But I can tell you don’t,” she said. Her tone was accusing. “By the way you’re standing there.”
“Madison, I don’t—”
She collapsed into the desk, her body jelly-like as it molded into the chair. She dropped the bag to the floor and balled up the letter again. She threw it across the room and dropped her blond head on to the desk
And then she started to cry.
I gave her a minute to sob and heave and water the desktop with her tears. I didn’t know her well enough to put my arm around her and comfort her, and I was also a little afraid that she might punch me in the mouth if I tried to touch her.
Finally, she looked up. Her mascara was running, long lines from her eyes to her cheeks. She looked like a cheetah.
“Please don’t tell my mother,” she said, then dissolved into another fit of tears.
I waited her out again.
She looked up again and now the mascara was smeared all around her face, a cross between a football player and a raccoon. She wiped at her face, but all that did was spread it around more.
“You can’t tell her,” she said. She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I’ll pay you.”
“You don’t have to pay me,” I said. “It’s none of my business.”
“I’m appealing the decision,” she said quickly. “I’m sure it will get reversed. I’m sure they’ll let me in. I think they must have gotten me mixed up with someone else.”
“It’s none of my business,” I repeated.
“How much do you want?” she said. Her eyes were still wet with tears but her voice was firm. “I just got my allowance. Or we can go to the bank.”
I frowned. “Madison, I don’t want any money.”
“But please! You can’t say anything! To anyone!”
It was clear that she’d inherited her mother’s flair for the dramatic, as well. I was sort of surprised that she hadn’t gotten into acting school. “I won’t,” I said, my tone just as firm as hers. “I told you. It’s none of my business.”
She sniffed several times, then rooted around in the backpack before pulling out a tissue. She covered her nose and then made a sound like a goose honking. She wadded the tissue up and dropped it into her backpack.
“I’ll get it straightened out,” she muttered. “I will.”