Olivia palmed her forehead. ‘Jackson! You know which committee. The dance!’ This conversation was clearly headed for a dead end. She tried switching tacks. ‘Bad news, though: Ivy is leaving for the entire summer.’
There was a lull on the other end and then Jackson asked, ‘Cool, where are you two going?’
‘We? No, Ivy is going, not me. I’m going to have twin-teration anxiety.’ Olivia cringed at her bad joke. She waited again. ‘Jackson?’
Then Olivia heard something to put a stake through any girl’s heart. ‘’Zis will match ze colour palette much better.’ A girl’s voice, and in a French accent, no less!
Parlez-vous ‘buzz kill’? thought Olivia drily.
‘Hey, Olivia . . .’ Jackson was back on the line. ‘I have to run, sorry. My wardrobe manager wants to show me some pictures of outfits for my appearance.’
The line went dead and Olivia was left staring at a blank screen. What was going on with Jackson? He had always said he didn’t care about wardrobe as long as he didn’t look ridiculous. The boy actually hated shopping. Sometimes Olivia wondered how they could be such a good match! So why was he discussing outfits when he was meant to be out for dinner with a fan?
The committee started to file in, something that should have made Olivia feel less lonesome. One of the members hollered an enthusiastic ‘Yeehaw!’ in honour of the barn-dance theme.
Olivia gave a half-hearted ‘Yeehaw’ in return. But it was tough to be a cheerful cowgirl when she had the boyfriend blues.
Rather than their usual seats front-and-centre, Lucrezia, Melinda and Veronica took the back row, leaning backwards in their chairs and popping big gobs of green gum. Could they look any less interested? Olivia wondered. She ignored them, put her phone away, and started the meeting.
‘Congratulations, you guys!’ Olivia tried to force her peppiest smile. ‘This is our very last committee meeting!’ She had expected cheers, but all she got was radio silence.
One of Lucrezia’s bubbles made a loud crack and the two other girls giggled.
Olivia felt her fingernails dig into her skin. ‘Cut it out, you three,’ she snapped.
Lucrezia stood up, wiping the bubble gum from the corners of her mouth. ‘Who do you think you’re talking to?’ Lucrezia jutted her hip as if daring Olivia to answer. She didn’t. ‘We’re a grade older and it’s about time you learned your place, even if you are the chairperson.’ The three girls started to strut to the front of the room. Was Olivia about to become the Terrible Trio’s next victim . . . in front of everyone? ‘We’ll be taking over from here on in, thank you very much.’
In the background, Olivia noticed a figure appear in the doorway – Jenny! ‘Excuse me a minute,’ Jenny said, pleasantly but firmly.
That was so not the Jenny Olivia remembered. Everyone in the room quietened down. Olivia had never seen Jenny so – what was the word? – confident before. Smile in place, Jenny strode up the aisle straight to the front of the room, Charlotte in tow.
Charlotte sidled up to Olivia. ‘I’ve been giving Jenny a few pep talks. Watch and be amazed.’
‘Pep talks?’ Olivia was still trying to process this sudden turn of events.
‘Check it out.’ Charlotte opened her tote bag and let Olivia peek inside, where a well-thumbed hardback of Stand Up for Yourself (And Don’t Take any Garbage) was hiding, speckled with a dozen colourful post-its. ‘Taught me everything I know about life.’ Charlotte slid the tote back over her shoulder.
That book explains Charlotte’s attitude? Olivia didn’t know what to say. Charlotte may have been a bit, ahem, overzealous with her confident attitude in the past, but as Olivia looked at Jenny squaring her shoulders at the Terrible Trio, she thought the strategy seemed to be working quite well for Jenny at least.
‘Lucrezia, Melinda, Veronica.’ Jenny’s voice didn’t wobble once. ‘I have news for you. You may not be in charge of the dance. But . . .’ she paused, ‘you can be in charge of the dance refreshments. After all, your drink mixes were to die for last year. The committee would love you to whip up something similar for the dance this year. How does that sound?’
‘You mean it?’ Melinda asked.
Lucrezia’s perfectly pink lips pulled into a genuine smile. ‘We came up with that recipe all by ourselves last year.’
Olivia couldn’t believe what she was witnessing. Was that all it took? All this time and the only thing those girls needed to feel valued was an area of responsibility? Olivia had made a rookie mistake, and she was usually so good with people! Why didn’t I think of that? Maybe this whole Jackson issue has been distracting me more than I thought.
In a snap, Jenny had zapped the problem. She came over to Olivia. ‘I’m sorry for unloading so much responsibility on you. It wasn’t fair, but now I’m here to help. OK?’
‘Thank goodness.’ Olivia blew out a sigh of relief.
‘Great.’ Olivia noticed that, for the first time, Jenny’s mousy-brown hair was pulled back away from her face. ‘And now that I actually have an opinion, the first thing I can help with is the theme.’ Not this again, thought Olivia. ‘Do you really want to impose a barn-dance theme on everyone?’ Jenny asked. ‘Wouldn’t you rather make sure everyone dressed how they wanted? The whole point was to make sure everyone was happy and comfortable, wasn’t it?’
‘You’re right!’ Olivia’s heart sank. ‘Oh my goodness.’ She really had been a dictator. And worse, she hadn’t even been trying!
‘May I have your attention?’ Olivia rapped her knuckles on one of the tables, trying not to cringe at the collective groan that rippled through the room. She noticed some of the committee members were already wearing cowboy hats. She didn’t want to disappoint them twice. She took a deep breath. ‘What about a barn dance, but with a pink-and-black theme?’ she proposed. ‘The girly girls can be pretty in pink and the goths can feel included, too. Plus, everyone can have fun with gingham!’
The committee broke into whoops and squealing; a big step up from the ghostly silence following Olivia’s last announcement. As people started texting their friends in excitement, Olivia felt her cheeks blush with a new burst of energy. She was back on track.