Fourth Comings_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [71]
“May is the month when bumblebees zoooooom!”
“And help make all the flowers bloooooooom!”
Two more kids stood up. The first, a boy, wore a garbage bag painted with yellow stripes, and a set of deelybobber antennae on his head. He held a card that said MAY. The girl was wearing a green leotard and tights, her head surrounded by crinkly pink crepe-paper petals.
“Birds winging, children singing…”
“Badly,” Hope muttered under her breath.
“It’s all a part of spring springing!”
I grabbed the remote and pressed Pause. Manda and Hope protested.
“I’ll turn it back on as soon as you tell me what the hell we’re watching!”
(I know I overreacted, but I was still bummed about my botched interview, and a little more so by the fact that neither Hope nor Manda—but especially Hope—had asked me about it.)
“Duuuuuuuuh!” Manda said, elementary school style. “It’s our first-grade pageant. ‘Twelve Months of Memories.’ Written and directed by our teacher, the wonderfully talented Mrs. Kornakavitch.”
“Where did it come from?”
“My mom found it in the attic,” explained Manda. “I just got it today. I haven’t seen it in fifteen years!”
“Doesn’t that freak you out?” Hope asked Manda.
“What?”
“That we’re old enough to say, ‘I haven’t seen this in fifteen years.’”
“Or old enough to say, ‘I’ve known you for twenty years.’”
“Twenty years!” Hope exclaimed. “We’ve known each other for twenty years!”
“We have,” Manda said. “It’s hard to believe, isn’t it?”
I nodded in agreement. I often forget that Manda has known Hope longer than I have, that they have about ten years of shared history that has nothing to do with me.
(The irony, in retrospect, is that I wondered if Hope was as unnerved by my parallel friendship with Bridget as I was by hers with Manda. I didn’t even think about you.)
I cringed as the kiddie choir launched into another ditty with a surf-pop melody meant to conjure up images of summertime sunnin’ ’n’ funnin’.
“We get outta sch-oo-oo-oo-oo-ool in June!”
“Have fun ’cause we’ll be ba-aa-aa-aa-ck here soon!”
The calendar boy for June was wearing a T-shirt and swim trunks, accessorized with a snorkel and a life jacket. The calendar girl for June was dressed like the Little Mermaid, with a tangled red wig, a purple shell bikini top, and an iridescent green flipper bottom.
“That’s me!” Manda said.
Was it a trick of the light? Or was it possible that Manda had more significant cleavage at six than I do at twenty-two?
“I had the best costume,” Manda said.
“You totally did!” Hope said, bouncing up and down. “I was so jealous! With my red hair I thought I should have been the Little Mermaid.”
“Hope was December. And she got to sing a solo in the grand finale….”
Hope blushed, feeling shy about a performance that bowed in 1991.
I bragged for her, “I’m sure that’s because she was the only one who could carry a tune.”
I didn’t have to search hard to find Hope on screen because her crazy blaze of hair rose higher than everyone else on stage. That is, except for the boy sitting next to her, who startled me with his familiar face….
“Is that…?” I asked, knowing the answer.
“Yup,” Manda said. “That’s Marcus next to Hope. And she didn’t sing a solo. She sang a duet!” Manda’s laughter had a serrated edge that cut right through me.
Manda fast-forwarded through the rest of summer and fall. A quick succession of twosomes in costume—Uncle Sam and Lady Liberty for July, a fat jack-o’-lantern and a green-faced witch for October—took center stage for a few seconds before returning to their spots on the risers. Manda clicked the remote again after the November Pilgrim and Indian took their bows.
The lights dimmed and a boy and a girl filled the spotlight. They were twin angels, tall, red-haired, and dressed all in white. Fake painted-cornflake snow fell from the rafters and clung to their feathered wings. The piano music swelled and the boy—You! Marcus!—opened his mouth to sing.
“The days go by, go by so fast…”
Hope had the next line.