Scarlett Fever by Maureen Johnson

Author:Maureen Johnson
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781471403057
Publisher: Hot Key Books
Published: 2014-07-03T04:00:00+00:00

Eine Kleine Schadenfreude

The call came as Scarlett was walking home through Central Park after school a few days later. The number was unknown, which caused her heart to palpitate. But it was Chelsea, and she did not sound like herself. Her voice was bumpy and broken.

“Sorry to bug you,” she said. “It’s just, I called Amy and she wasn’t answering, and my mom is out, and I didn’t know who to call and … ”

And then she burst into tears. Chelsea’s projection, even when weeping, was a little too good, and Scarlett had to hold the phone away from her ear. It sounded like she had gotten a call from a tropical storm.

“Are you … ?” Obviously, Chelsea wasn’t okay. That was a stupid question to be asking.

“The show,” Chelsea managed. “It’s closing. We just found out. I’m going to tell Amy in a minute … but my mom is out and … and I just had to call someone … and … I was wondering … if you could maybe … come over?”

There was no point in Scarlett wondering why she had gotten this call — there was no one else. You can’t say no in situations like that.

“I’ll be right there,” she said.

Chelsea was waiting by the door when Scarlett arrived. The living room was even more of a mess than before. There were shoes and clothes all around, covering the sofa and coffee table.

“Sorry,” Chelsea said. “Come into my room.”

Chelsea’s bedroom was probably the biggest in the apartment, but it was just large enough to hold a twin bed, a dresser, and a small elliptical machine. Given the limited space and the fact that Chelsea went to the gym all the time and danced six days a week, the machine seemed like overkill. But that was a stupid point to make. Of course there was an elliptical machine.

Scarlett had expected Chelsea’s room to be absolutely pristine and neat, set up entirely for efficiency. This was only partially the case. Her exercise and dance shoes were lined up neatly, her bed was made up snugly with a buttery-colored bedspread and accent pillows. But the walls were totally covered with taped up bits of paper. One entire wall was covered end to end at eye-level height with lists, lists written in silver or blue marker on colored pieces of paper, cataloging songs to learn, things to do, names of people, movies, books … The other walls were mostly covered with pictures from magazines of actors, old Playbill covers, show advertisements, and quotes.

One card was prominently displayed right above Chelsea’s bed, as if it was designed to communicate its message to her as she slept. It read: “ACTORS WORK AND SLAVE AND IT IS THE COLOR OF YOUR HAIR THAT CAN DETERMINE YOUR FATE IN THE END.” — HELEN HAYES.

Chelsea sat on her floor, squashed between her row of dance and workout shoes and her nightstand. She reached up and turned on her little bedside lamp. It was so light and chintzy that it almost toppled from the pressure of a single finger.

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