Page 28 of Safety Net
I blinked, surprised by the request and, honestly, honored she'd trust me with something like this. “You want me to do all the talking?”
“Basically.” She paused for a second, pressing her lips together as she thought. "I really admire how you communicate. You always make everyone feel included."
That was the highest compliment I’d ever received. And a slight indication Celeste had noticed me.
“I need you to know, I was born for this kind of work,” I said. “I won’t let you down.”
She smiled. “I know you won’t.”
CHAPTER NINE
CELESTE
Ilearned to play the flute at the age of eight, thanks to a free summer music program at my school. After two months of practicing how to direct my air flow to hit a note properly, I fell in love.
Growing up, I rarely spoke a word at school and only a couple of times at home. Selective mutism was what my school counselor called it. Dramatic was what my parents dubbed it. I’m not sure if I believed in nature or nurture. What I did know was I didn’t remember a time when I wasn’t afraid to speak. But as soon as I had a flute in hand, I couldn’t stop making noise.
So, I believed in music. I believed it was my native language. As soon as I mastered it, I didn’t want to be silent. Why stay quiet when I could tell such beautiful stories through the notes?
My aunt, Robyn, noticed my love and decided to take me in as her own. Whenever she went to the theatre, I got to tag along with her and her son, Ellis. We’d always sat in the mezzanine, lap full of popcorn, and cheap, tiny binoculars that never failed to make Ellis and me fall into fits of giggles. I didn’t feel like I was the only outsider when I watchedThe Phantom of the Opera.The Lion Kingmade me brave enough to ask Aunt Robyn to take me to auditions…we didn’t make it out of the parking lot.Anniewas my favorite, a girl my age who ended up with a happy family despite a rough start.
Whatever problem I had could be solved by listening toDefying Gravity. Whatever loneliness I felt would fade whenever I pulled on my headphones, mimed the flute parts of the overture fromRodgers and Hammerstein's Cinderella.
After immersing myself in musicals for years, it felt like the natural next step was to write my own. So, in middle school, I started scribbling one down on loose-leaf paper. At first, it was a hodgepodge of all my favorites—Frankenstein's musical monster. But as I got older and more skilled, the arrangements became my own. The story, though still inspired by my favorite fairytale, evolved into something unique.
Currently, it was nowhere near perfect. I didn’t think it could be with who I was now: timid and unsure. But I would make it the best it could be before presenting it to Ophelia.
The only place I could get real work done was in my treehouse. My brothers built it for me one summer after losing track of me one too many times in the woods behind our house. It’d been their job to watch me, and they figured the perfect way to do so was to build a place I didn’t want to leave.
They’d done a good job for teenagers. The treehouse stood the test of time. It was large enough for a chest full of art supplies and blankets. I’d hung princess curtains in the windows, strung fairy lights on the outside and inside. We’d rigged a bucket where I could request snacks to be sent up without having to climb down the ladder. It would always be the safest place to dream and create.
I delved deep into edits for hours on the weathered, wooden floor. The late evening air caused sweat to form my armpits and the back of my knees. Despite the slight discomfort, curling onto my worn beanbag brought me a sense of calm.
The middle part of the musical sagged. My songs there were overly sentimental, harping too long and hard on the overall themes. As a viewer, I loved a good sad beat. But there was such a thing as dragging it out.
It’d been hours since I spoke to anyone when my snack bell dinged. I pulled off my headphones, confused. Eli and Luka had gone out to dinner with old high school friends. I hadn’t heard the noisy sedan pull back into the driveway. And my parents never ventured into the backyard. They only went outside when it was a necessary transition point to a car.
I pushed back the curtains, peering down to find Ellis waiting with a bag of fast food.
“I don’t think it’ll make the trip up.” He tried to put the bag into the basket, demonstrating how it’d surely topple over.
I laughed and gestured at the ladder. “You can come up.”
“I’m not allowed. You banned me six years ago.”
I frowned, trying to remember. “Did I?”
“I left loose gummy worms on the blanket Grandma gave you for your thirteenth. It was the hottest summer since the nineties. The wash made the yarn fuzzy, and you couldn’t get Grandma to make you another because she’d moved on to wreath-making.”
I clicked my tongue on the roof of my mouth, remembering. “Oh, right.”
He shrugged. “Honestly, the punishment fits the crime. I would have made you crochet me a new one.”
“Who says I still won’t?”
“My apology fries and shake from Raven’s?” He held up his bag. “And an update on your dream cast for your upcoming award-winning musical.”
I nodded. “You’ve served your sentence and paid your fine. Come on up.”
