Page 5 of Safety Net
That she did, along with two part-time jobs, twelve-credit course load, and a whole life I needed her to enjoy.
Naomi was the kind of friend who’d douse you first if you were both on fire. And then, she’d insist her third-degree burns were of no concern until you were salved up. It took true investigative work to learn she was homeless after the death of her mother. And hours of convincing her to come live with my family and me while she got back on her feet.
“And I have a head for obsessing over solutions,” I said.
“So, you’ve been ruminating. And how does that set you on the path of this grand anxiety breakup?”
When I didn’t answer, she sighed. The grease on her fingers transferred to her jaw as she tried to flip her braids back. I itched to hold my own hair off my neck, resisting because of the grime under my freshly painted pink nails. It was a terrible day to forgo my protective twists. My brown coils were a heavy blanket on my skin, shrinking by the second from soaking up my sweat.
“You want to know my solution or not?” We were on the final nut. I waved her hand away so I could finish tightening it myself.
“Fine.” Naomi huffed and gave up crouching to sit on the burning concrete. She winced in discomfort but toughed it out because if she felt anything like me, her knees were killing her. Her legs were far longer than mine, so she had to scoot back to extend fully.
“I’m going to stop having social anxiety,” I said.
“Ha ha.” She wiped her hands on her jeans. “Be for real now.”
“That’s just step one.”
She raised a brow, catching on to the seriousness wrapped in my absurdity. “Step two?”
“Ophelia Lawrence is coming back to Tinsel,” I said.
Naomi’s mouth parted in awe because, of course, she remembered my favorite songwriter. “How long have you known this?”
“Only a couple of days.”
“And you’ve been sitting on this information? We were just doing the world’s best rendition ofEvery Single. I was this close to hitting the high note in the chorus.”
“So close,” I agreed, laughing at the fact I’d gotten her deep enough into musicals that she knew every word to one of my all-time favorites.
“I would have liked to know one of the greatest songwriters of our generation was coming here.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, still laughing.
“It’ll all be forgiven if you say we have tickets.”
“Tickets?” I asked.
“Is she not here for a show?”
“No.” I shook my head and tested all the nuts once more. Everything felt tight enough. “She’s here to announce a mentorship program at the playhouse. Aunt Kiera and my mentor, Nola, gave me a heads up and a chance to look at the application before it goes live next week.”
My aunt was the manager of Tinsel’s Playhouse. She’d gotten me into musicals as a kid, always convincing my parents to let me tag along with her and my cousin whenever a new show was in town. And Nola was my school-appointed mentor. She wasn’t particularly one for inspiration, but she gave brilliant critiques. Her ear was unmatched at Mendell’s School of Music.
“Ophelia’s going to mentor you?” Naomi reached out to grab my arm, but thought otherwise when she remembered her hands were filthy. She settled for air-pinching my cheeks. “Oh my God, are you kidding?”
“Whoa, hold on. We do not know that yet.” My stomach jumped, restless at the thought of how low the odds of me getting the mentorship were. “I have to apply. And for the application, I have to submit something incredible. Something that will impress a genius musician who’s written Tony award-winning musicals and Grammy-winning soundtracks. She's the only Black woman to compose an entire film for a Disney princess. And she did all that before thirty-five.”
“And you’ll be writing for Broadway by twenty-three.” Naomi shrugged. “I don’t see the problem here.”
I released a low, disbelieving laugh.
“I’m serious,” she said. “Celeste, you’re talented. Anytime I’m in the music building, someone’s singing your praises. Pun intended.”
I scoffed. “It’s stiff competition. The winner gets the chance to join her in New York for a season. All expenses paid. I’d workunder her for a few months. Learn far more than I could at Mendell. And then, maybe…I could clean up my musical. I want to apply for a grant. With Ophelia’s recommendation and notes on revisions, I don’t know... I could use it to finish school and get started on doing this writing stuff for real.”
I chewed on my inner cheek. This all sounded ridiculous. A fool’s dream. Did I really think I was going to come up with something brilliant enough to impress someone like Ophelia over the course of a summer? My skin burned at how silly the plan was now it existed outside my brain.
