gross and sweaty when I met the talent agent. (Will have to work on this part for the movie version…maybe I can have a dressing room with a private
clean
shower?) He came right up to me and said, “Excuse me, but are you represented by a talent agent?”
“What?” I said, but then I played it cool. I said, “No, I am not currently represented by a talent agent.” Thank goodness I had practiced for this moment in the downstairs bathroom mirror.
Mrs. Jelly, the costume designer and also Louisa’s mom, came over and said, “Nice job, honey. Let me take your hat.”
I nodded and the hat flew off just like I had practiced in front of the downstairs bathroom mirror. I caught it between my thumb and forefinger and handed it to Mrs. Jelly. I gave her my special wink, just like the one that Frank gave the audience in
Our Town.
“Such a ham bone,” said Mrs. Jelly. “Be sure to give me your little suit,” she added, before leaving me alone with the agent.
“I’ve got to say, I’m surprised you haven’t been discovered yet,” he said. (Maybe he didn’t hear the “little suit” comment? I hope not, please I hope not.)
“Really?” I said.
“Can I buy you a hot chocolate?” the man asked. “I’d love to discuss your future. You are a unique talent.”
This is my real story. I am not making anything up. So I promise, I stood in the hallway, next to the row of dented lockers, and this man said, “You are a unique talent.” It was just like I had imagined it, except I thought I would be outside in the snow when it happened for some reason, and I didn’t imagine Rosemary Carmichel eavesdropping while she got
To Kill a Mockingbird
out of her locker.
I said, “Hot chocolate? Wow.” I wish I had thought of something better to say. But I’m writing the truth as it really happened, and the truth is that I said, “Hot chocolate? Wow.” Like most parents, Mom and Dad had not come to the dress rehearsal. I was supposed to call home for a pickup, but I thought fast and decided I could tell them that I had gotten a ride home with a friend. They didn’t know I had no friends.
For some reason, I already knew that I wouldn’t tell my parents about the talent agent. It just seemed like something that could be all mine, and I didn’t want them worrying and ruining it for me. I told Mom once about how I prayed every night to be a star and she looked kind of sad and said, “You’re my star, lovebug, no matter what.” Which means she doesn’t think I can be real star. I don’t need that kind of negative energy! I changed out of my costume, and we walked down the steps of my school.
So this talent agent is super handsome. He looks like Frank Sinatra, the original Nathan Detroit and my idol: tall and with really, really blue eyes. His eyes are the color of the pond behind our house when it freezes and I can dance on it. “My name is Malcon,” he said, “like
Malcolm,
but with an
n.
”
And I go, “Wow.”
He took a puff of his cigar. (How did I know? In my dreams, he had a cigar, too!) At this point, we were walking along Surfside Road. The air tasted salty, and the first of the summer people were crowding the island, their BMWs and Jeep Cherokees parked all over the sidewalks as if they own everything, because, I guess, they do.
Malcon had talked about hot chocolate, so finally, as we passed Windy Way, I said, “Where are we headed?” I’m thinking, maybe Cumberland Farms? Do they have hot chocolate? My dream did not include Cumberland Farms.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Malcon. “I have some hot chocolate in my car, if you’d like, and then I can give you a ride home.”
I knew that Mom would not want me to get in some man’s car. She had told me enough,
Don’t take candy from strangers, Don’t talk to strangers, Don’t get a ride from a stranger, just call me.
To tell you the truth, Mom is a little paranoid. For one thing, there really aren’t any strangers on Nantucket. Hello, the whole
clean
shower?) He came right up to me and said, “Excuse me, but are you represented by a talent agent?”
“What?” I said, but then I played it cool. I said, “No, I am not currently represented by a talent agent.” Thank goodness I had practiced for this moment in the downstairs bathroom mirror.
Mrs. Jelly, the costume designer and also Louisa’s mom, came over and said, “Nice job, honey. Let me take your hat.”
I nodded and the hat flew off just like I had practiced in front of the downstairs bathroom mirror. I caught it between my thumb and forefinger and handed it to Mrs. Jelly. I gave her my special wink, just like the one that Frank gave the audience in
Our Town.
“Such a ham bone,” said Mrs. Jelly. “Be sure to give me your little suit,” she added, before leaving me alone with the agent.
“I’ve got to say, I’m surprised you haven’t been discovered yet,” he said. (Maybe he didn’t hear the “little suit” comment? I hope not, please I hope not.)
“Really?” I said.
“Can I buy you a hot chocolate?” the man asked. “I’d love to discuss your future. You are a unique talent.”
This is my real story. I am not making anything up. So I promise, I stood in the hallway, next to the row of dented lockers, and this man said, “You are a unique talent.” It was just like I had imagined it, except I thought I would be outside in the snow when it happened for some reason, and I didn’t imagine Rosemary Carmichel eavesdropping while she got
To Kill a Mockingbird
out of her locker.
I said, “Hot chocolate? Wow.” I wish I had thought of something better to say. But I’m writing the truth as it really happened, and the truth is that I said, “Hot chocolate? Wow.” Like most parents, Mom and Dad had not come to the dress rehearsal. I was supposed to call home for a pickup, but I thought fast and decided I could tell them that I had gotten a ride home with a friend. They didn’t know I had no friends.
For some reason, I already knew that I wouldn’t tell my parents about the talent agent. It just seemed like something that could be all mine, and I didn’t want them worrying and ruining it for me. I told Mom once about how I prayed every night to be a star and she looked kind of sad and said, “You’re my star, lovebug, no matter what.” Which means she doesn’t think I can be real star. I don’t need that kind of negative energy! I changed out of my costume, and we walked down the steps of my school.
So this talent agent is super handsome. He looks like Frank Sinatra, the original Nathan Detroit and my idol: tall and with really, really blue eyes. His eyes are the color of the pond behind our house when it freezes and I can dance on it. “My name is Malcon,” he said, “like
Malcolm,
but with an
n.
”
And I go, “Wow.”
He took a puff of his cigar. (How did I know? In my dreams, he had a cigar, too!) At this point, we were walking along Surfside Road. The air tasted salty, and the first of the summer people were crowding the island, their BMWs and Jeep Cherokees parked all over the sidewalks as if they own everything, because, I guess, they do.
Malcon had talked about hot chocolate, so finally, as we passed Windy Way, I said, “Where are we headed?” I’m thinking, maybe Cumberland Farms? Do they have hot chocolate? My dream did not include Cumberland Farms.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Malcon. “I have some hot chocolate in my car, if you’d like, and then I can give you a ride home.”
I knew that Mom would not want me to get in some man’s car. She had told me enough,
Don’t take candy from strangers, Don’t talk to strangers, Don’t get a ride from a stranger, just call me.
To tell you the truth, Mom is a little paranoid. For one thing, there really aren’t any strangers on Nantucket. Hello, the whole
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