Eighteen Roses by Shannon C. F. Rogers

Author:Shannon C. F. Rogers [Rogers, Shannon C. F.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Feiwel & Friends

12

“You came back!” Jason says when I enter the auditorium on Tuesday for the next meeting of the Open Mic Club.

The crowd has thinned out considerably since last week. The twenty dudes from the first meeting whittled down to only Jason, Noah, Rahul, Russell, and Danny. Five.

Plus me.

I came back. Because, this morning, my mind wiped clean of debuts and dresses and candles and roses and vomiting, having dumped it all into my notebook, I woke up with an epiphany.

“Hey, I was thinking,” I say. “How much money did we make for the old folks’ activity fund?”

“About a hundred dollars and some gum,” Jason says. “Why?”

Rahul and Russell bump chests.

“Do you guys know the Sunshine Theater?” I ask.

“Yeah, of course.” Jason nods. “That place is awesome. Heard it was closing, though.”

“But it can’t close. It’s an institution,” I say. “There’s nowhere else like it here. What if we held a fundraiser to save the movie theater? Like, as the club?”

“So, you are staying in the club, then?” Jason asks.

I feel my face get hot. “I mean, yeah, I guess.”

“Wow, now we definitely need to apply for the diversity grant,” Danny says.

“We can get twice as much funding if we’ve got a girl!” Russell says.

I do a double take at Russell, long limbed, and nondescript, in his dorky fleece and ill-fitting jeans. Did he just quote Mean Girls?

Noah looks skeptical. “A fundraiser sounds like a lot of work, Cruz. It would take more than a hundred bucks and some gum to save that place.”

I wave my ninety-nine-cent notebook in the air.

“It’s no sweat. I’m kind of a budding event planner right now. And I think the idea would just be to get them over the hump, pay their debt down a little—revitalize interest in the place. Maybe we can get some eccentric billionaire to swoop in if we do a comedy show, maybe get somebody to headline? Get a local band or something?”

Danny Wong raises his hand and says, “My cousin is the drummer in that band Burly Boba.”

“No way!” Noah says. “Nice.”

Okay, if he likes Burly Boba, maybe that means he’ll actually help out.

I push forward. I have to get them all on board. I just have to.

“And if it works, I can get Mr. Marco, he owns it, to agree to let us do our shows there, to raise money for the club and you know, work on new material and stuff,” I say. “We could have a regular place to perform.”

“I think it’s a great idea,” Jason says.

The guys start chattering about the Burly Boba band and who we could potentially get as a headliner.

Good. Things are happening. I’m making things happen.

I am in control. Of the narrative.

I hug my ninety-nine-cent notebook to my chest, a lifeline.

Later, Mr. Marco leans on his elbows and reads his newspaper at the ticket counter at the Sunshine.

“Marco, this is happening. Just accept it,” I say.

And yet he continues to ignore me.

Maybe he just needs a jump start.

“Wow,” I say. “Thank you

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