Page 8 of Heart Check
I look to Miguel to confirm, and they nod wearily. “If you can call it rehearsal. We spent half of it trying to troubleshoot the stage lights and the other half figuring out where we can get the cheapest lumber to build the set forChicago.”
Liv throws up her hands. “I wasn’t made to work backstage! All of this”—she gestures at herself, from the box braids piled atop her head to her giant platform boots—“was meant to beunder the lights.” It’s true. Her light brown skin glows even under the fluorescents of the diner, and she’s the kind of extroverted that means we’ve been friendly ever since we ended up in art together last year.
My stomach sinks. “Let me guess. Budget trouble?”
Miguel sighs, running a frustrated hand through their undercut. “It’s bad enough we’re stuck in a black box theater when Washington has a full proscenium stage. But with this year’s budget cuts, now it’s looking like we won’t even be able to put on a halfway decent production. Mr. Wood said there was nothing he could do about it as long as ticket sales are so low, though.” They shake their head. “And I thought thingswere bad over in band. At least sometimes people hear you play at football games.”
Heat rises to my face. The hockey team gets a whole new arena, but the theater department can’t even get new lights?! “I wish I could say I’m surprised, but that sucks. I’m already planning to stop by Principal Castillo’s office this week, so it’s just one more item on the list of grievances.” I sigh. “In the meantime, fries are on the house today.”
They protest, but I wave it off. If I can’t fund a new theater, it’s the literal least I can do.
If you’re a chosen one in Hamilton Lakes, all the resources keep flowing your way. The athletes with their brand-new stadiums and world-class coaches, and then (surprise!) their full-ride scholarships to the top schools in the country; the monthly assemblies celebrating our teams’ latest wins, as if they needed the spotlight, as if anyone missed the news in the first place; the fundraisers asking for even more donations to get them the state-of-the-art equipment they clearly deserve.
If you’re one of them, you get everything you need without ever having to ask.
And if you’re someone like me—and Marissa, and Liv, and Miguel—you have to spend every spare minute scrapping for whatever you can lay your hands on.
I’m still boiling with frustration when another group settles into my section, and I have to work extra hard to keep the polite smile on my face.
“I can’t believe how much homework Ms. Moore assigned this week.” A guy in aggressive plaid groans.
“Seriously. And scheduling the unit test for next Thursday?Sheknowsthere’s a game Wednesday!” says a girl I vaguely recognize from my precalc class.
The first guy rolls his eyes. “Literally her whole class is going to be there.”
Well. Maybe not the whole class. It’s not like Iwantto go to the game, but I can’t help the brief pang of being left out of the number one topic of conversation around me. When everyone started going to games in middle school, I just didn’t see the appeal—and when it became clear Hamilton Lakes’s support of athletics came at the expense of everything else, I got kinda stubborn about it. I’ll go to their games when they take my business seriously.
I drop off menus and water with a tight smile, reminding myself not to get into a fight at work. They’re allowed to get joy wherever they can. Who can blame them for finding it in the sports culture they’ve been surrounded by since birth?
And they’re responsible for my tips. So.
“Harper, hey!” The girl (Josie?) calls out for me to stop, eyes bright. “I’m sure you’re swamped with requests, but what’s your waitlist like right now? I was thinking about commissioning a necklace for winter formal!”
My smile turns genuine. “I can make that happen. The new site has an order form built into the home page, so you can describe what you’re looking for. Turnaround time is probably a few weeks right now, but business always picks up in the fall, so I’d act fast.”
“Thankyou.” She presses her hands together in fervent prayer. “I’ll do it as soon as I get home!”
“Nice.” I grin. “I’ll be back for your food order in a few minutes.”
The school might not take me seriously, but theydothink my “crafting” is “cute.” Ever since middle school, it’s the only thing that’s ever made anyone look twice. When Ella S. was showing off the new Kate Spade bracelet she got for her birthday (though who gets a several-hundred-dollar piece of fine jewelry for a thirteen-year-old, I don’t know), I’d watched from the outskirts. No way could my mom afford something like that.
But I’d gotten a beading kit formybirthday. And I bet I couldmakesomething like it.
I loved the creativity and experimentation of it, and it was nice to have something to do with my hands, something to keep me busy in the long, quiet hours after school since I wasn’t doing gymnastics or tennis or soccer like my friends. Too expensive, and not interesting enough to wheedle my way into them. That was before I met Marissa, and it never felt like I was on the same wavelength as the rest of my classmates. I made three different bracelets before I was happy with the final product. I would’ve sooner died than admit it out loud, but wearing it to school that Friday filled me with a flash of belonging I didn’t even know I craved.
Suddenly, everyone wanted their own Harper original. I’d never felt so powerful. After that first beading kit, I begged for pliers and clippers and fancier stones—and, well, the rest is history. Most of my classmates still think I do this as a fun side gig, but I know it can become a sustainable business if I put in the work.
I grab my phone and open my Notes app, addingJosie (?)to my to-do list. That commission will be good money, but I need to be working on somethingambitiousthis year if I’m goingto win the grant. That’s why I decided to start my own site—to show I’m serious about launching my products more widely and that I’m invested in creating a sustainable e-commerce front for Beads by Braedon. My new line of necklaces is exactly the thing to display on there. I’ve done the traditional charm bracelet thing, with specialty beads and phrases that depict your interests, but I’m playing around with wire working, like on Marissa’s pendant, and more abstract stuff. Symbols of your goals or the energy you want to bring into the new year. Lightning bolts and fluffy clouds and four-leaf clovers… a poem on a chain.
My stomach clenches. Will that be good enough for the grant? For a real business program like the one at Michigan?
I click my phone off decisively. It has to be.
I’m not going to be overlooked. Not this year.
The bell over the door jangles, reminding me I have plenty of reasons not to get lost in an anxiety spiral today. We’re swamped and short-staffed, and the only thing I need to be thinking about is how big the group is, how much it’ll mess up my flow, and how annoying they’ll be to serve.
I glance over my shoulder while grabbing silverware and menus.
