Chapter Thirty
Three weeks into October, and Bellwood hastransformed. Fall, which truly seems like pure magic, paints the small town in copper, mustard, and auburn. The combination creates an ambiance of warmth that makes the cool air tolerable. Esosa misses the summer. She complains about the cold. And according to Adrian, the cold hasn’t even started yet.
I don’t mind the weather. It’s definitely the coldest I’ve ever experienced, a stark difference from Nigeria’s smothering heat. But the cozy knitted sweaters and hot drinks make up for the cold.
As I bring a cup of pumpkin spice latte to my lips, Sybil and Bethany watch me close, waiting for my verdict.
“So?” Sybil leans into the table, her dark eyes set on me. “What do you think?”
We’re at Sip Gist, a cute café with a countryside cottage aesthetic. After learning I had never drunk a pumpkin spice latte, they insisted we go to the café that serves the best in town. Though I suspect they have an ulterior motive, because the best café in Bellwood is also where Ara works. The situation is giving make-up-and-be-friends vibes.
I don’t have a reason to make up with Ara, because I’ve never had a problem with her. The problem has been on her end, and I don’t particularly understand why, especially since Sybil and Bethany confirmed she doesn’t have a reason to hate me. I’m dating her ex-boyfriend, but she could not care less. I got the lead in the musical, but she never really wanted it to begin with. So what exactly is her problem with me?
I push my confusion aside, set my cup down, and smile. “It’s really delicious.”
“Right?” they both say in sync. “The best.”
As they sip their own drinks, Ara walks to the table with our order of pastries.
“Here you go.” Her signature monotone is intact. She places a piece of pecan pie in front of Bethany, an almond croissant in front of Sybil, and a raspberry Danish in front of me. She sits in the empty chair after distributing the order. “How’s it going?”
“Good. We’re just catching up,” Sybil says, more chipper than usual. “Enore saw her first Broadway show yesterday. That’s cool. Right, Ara?” Mentioning my name so abruptly and then directing a question at Ara isn’t the slickest attempt at whatever it is she’s trying to do.
Bethany must think so too, because she gives Sybil a side glance before clearing her throat. “Anyway, what did you see?”
“Midnight’s Muse,” I answer.
“Oh, I heard that’s really good. How’d you like it?”
“It was…” I think back to everything I experienced only hours ago—the sensational show, the emotions I felt from seeing a Nigerian girl onstage, the possibility that awoke in me. I’m still on a high from the experience. “It was magnificent—the best thing I have ever seen in my life.”
“Well, damn,” Sybil says. “Look at the way your face lit up.”
“Yeah,” Bethany adds. “The instant glow.”
“Well, I loved it—everything about it.” I focus on the pastry on my plate while pondering. “There’s this school. Davi told me about it. It’s called Juilliard. Have you heard of it?” I look at them.
“Well, yeah. Who hasn’t?” Sybil laughs.
“I think I want to go there.” Last night, I spent hours reading about it. It seems like the perfect fit for me, more perfect than any academic institution.
“Juilliard.” Ara’s monotone breaks through my thoughts. “It’s the best performing arts school in the country. You know that, right?” She gives me a once-over, then looks through the café’s bay window, her stare distant. “My mom went there.”
“Your mom?” I ask.
“Yeah,” Sybil answers. “Ara’s mom is, like, a total Broadway star. But she’s retired now.”
Bethany gives Sybil another side glance. Obviously, she wanted that response to come from Ara.
“You know you have to audition to get into Juilliard, right?” Ara says. “And the half-ass performance you’ve been giving at rehearsal won’t cut it.” She pushes her chair back and leaves without another word.
Sybil and Bethany share a look of shock and disappointment before turning to me. “We’re so—”
“No.” I hold up a hand, stopping their apology. “She’s right.”
The delivery could have been different, but it doesn’t change the fact that Ara is 100 percent right.