Amalia's California Diaries by Ann M. Martin

Amalia's California Diaries by Ann M. Martin

Author:Ann M. Martin
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781504052689
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2017-07-27T00:00:00+00:00


11:12 P.M.

Long night.

Where to begin?

Okay. Start at the good part.

Mami drives me to Rico’s. But because she came home late from work, I’m the last one at the rehearsal.

I notice Justin hanging out with Bruce at the snack table (“the trough,” as Mr. Chavez calls it). I see Maggie playing keyboard, ignoring him. This is not good. I make a mental note to talk to her later.

Then I see Rico. He’s grinning.

I assume he’s told everyone about Christina’s offer. But no one seems excited.

Suddenly he jacks up his amp and strikes a loud TWWANNNNNG! on his guitar.

“Yo, listen up, everybody! Amalia has a big announcement!”

He’s left all the glory to me. (I love Rico. Even if he is a guy.)

I jump onto the platform and grab Maggie’s mike. She’s giving me this curious look.

Everyone bursts into wild applause when I tell them about the gig.

I save the part about the money for last.

When they hear that, they’re screaming. Jumping on me. Hugging me. Lifting me off the ground.

“I said 500, not 500,000!” I shout.

No one cares. I could have said 50, and they’d be happy.

Rico starts playing “For She’s a Jolly Good Fellow.” His parents announce they’re getting ice cream and snacks to celebrate. I’m feeling fantastic.

Then I look at Maggie.

She’s still at the keyboard. Sitting. Her brow is all wrinkled.

When she sees me, she smiles. But I’m not fooled.

Something’s wrong.

I wait until snack break to approach her. By that time, we’ve settled into rehearsal and played through a few songs.

While everyone is pigging out, Maggie’s off in a corner with a bottle of spring water.

I ask her if she’s OK.

Fine, fine.

I want to say something about her eating, but this isn’t the right time. So I remark that she seems to be ignoring Justin.

She shrugs. She says they’re still friends, just her crush on him is over. No big deal.

We sit. She sips.

Finally I ask how she feels about the Homecoming Bash.

Her face tightens up. “Great news,” she says quietly.

“Don’t knock me over with your excitement,” I say.

I mean it as a joke. But Maggie doesn’t smile. She tells me the date is too soon. She doesn’t feel ready.

I remind her she knows the numbers cold.

She tells me it’s not just a question of knowing. The songs need rewriting. The bridge to “Slow Down,” the second

verse of this, the third verse of that…

I assure her they’re fine and no one will notice.

“I notice,” she replies. “They’re my words. I can’t sing them if they stink. I have enough trouble singing anything these days. I’m straining above middle C. Maybe I’m getting a node on my throat. I’ll be lucky if I have a voice by the Homecoming Bash.”

“Maggie, you just need to relax,” I say.

“Easy for you to say. You don’t have to make a fool of yourself before the whole school. You’re not tired all the time because you can’t eat right. You don’t have to worry about looking fat—”

“You’re not fat!”

Once again, wrong, wrong, wrong, WRONG thing to say.



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