Too Good to Be True by Laurie Friedman Page B

happy or excited. Everyone was that excited. It felt great to be part of something so impressive, especially after putting in so much hard work.
    Then, suddenly, the night was over. Sort of. One more thing happened that made my night. As I was packing up to go home, Billy and Brynn came backstage.
    â€œCongratulations!” Brynn said. She hugged me. “You did an amazing job.”
    I hugged her back. I know it wasn’t easy for her to say that. It was really sweet.
    And Billy gave me flowers. Pink roses. “For you,” he said as he handed them to me.
    I must have looked a little too excited because he added, “They’re friendship roses.” I knew he didn’t want me to misinterpret their meaning. I wanted to cry. Not because he gave me flowers or because they were pink, but because the two of them had both come to see me dance.
    As great as everything that happened tonight felt—the show, the applause, the praise from Ms. Baumann, being a real part of the team—none of it could come close to the feeling of knowing that Billy and Brynn and I are all friends again.

If you want to be happy, be.
    â€”Leo Tolstoy
Thanksgiving, 6:17 P.M .
In Dad’s office at the Diner
    We always have Thanksgiving at Gaga’s house, but this year, Dad said he wanted to start a new tradition and have it at the diner. Gaga agreed, but only because Dad said he would use all of her favorite recipes. As it turned out, Gaga was waiting outside the diner early this morning when Dad, May, and I showed up to start cooking. She told Dad she wanted to be his “sous-chef,” which I know meant she wanted to keep an eye on how he was doing things. But Dad was a good sport and said he was happy to have the extra help in the kitchen.
    So today, my entire extended family, the ladies from Gaga’s Happiness Movement, and Mr. Sherman all packed around a long table inthe diner for Thanksgiving lunch. Dad cooked all of Gaga’s traditional recipes, with her help, plus a few things he added to the menu, including crawfish beignets and lobster pie.
    When I saw what he was cooking, I said, “Dad, those foods bring back some bad memories for me.”
    But Dad laughed and told me not to worry. “Today I’m the cooker, not the eater,” he said. I felt kind of bad when he said that, and I told him he should eat too. Dad patted his belly (which has definitely gotten bigger since he opened a restaurant) and told me he doesn’t have a problem in that department.
    One of the things I always like best about Thanksgiving is that everyone is usually in a pretty good mood. But today, everyone was particularly happy.
    The ladies from the Happiness Movement were happy, but I guess they always are.
    Mr. Sherman, who seems happy whenever he’s around Gaga, looked especially happy.
    Even my uncles, Dusty and Drew, were happy. They said it was because we were alltogether as a family. Truthfully, I think they were just glad they were going home after lunch to watch football, which is something that never happened when lunch was at Gaga’s house because she always made everyone stay for a family Scrabble tournament.
    My cousins (with the exception of Harry) were happy because Dad said we could hang out in his office until lunch was ready. It’s a cool place to hang out, so we sat in there for a long time, just eating Tootsie Rolls and talking.
    My mom and her sisters were happy. They all had on matching turkey sweaters that Gaga had knitted for them. You wouldn’t catch me dead in one of those sweaters, but they seemed to like them. They were smiling and taking group pictures with Gaga, who looked happier than anybody. Kind of strangely happy.
    â€œDo you think she’s been smoking something?” my cousin Harry asked me.
    I’d kind of been wondering the same thing myself. She’s a founding member of the Happiness Movement, so happy is to be expected, but she was way beyond