“Oh,” she said, disappointed. “Then I might not do my monologue.”
“That’s fine,” I replied. “You don’t have to.”
She looked startled by this and walked away anyway.
“We had judges last year,” Marjorie revealed. “We have judges every year. And prizes in different categories.”
I paused. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“I thought you knew,” she told me.
I scribbled notes, crossed things out, and tried to keep my handwriting legible. I reminded myself that the goal was not perfection. The goal was for everyone to feel included and for nothing to catch fire.
Plus apparently I was going to have to create categories, find prizes, and conjure judges out of thin air.
Then Great Aunt Cathy entered as if everyone had been waiting for her. Her coat was immaculate, her posture sharp, her gaze already assessing the setup.
“Well,” she said. “This is… quaint.”
Marjorie straightened. Mr. Humphrey looked up and stamped a form enthusiastically.
“Where is the schedule?” Great Aunt Cathy asked, skipping the lineup to come stand at the desk.
“We’re still collecting forms,” I said.
“Collecting,” she repeated. “Without a preliminary structure?”
“Yes,” I said, because it was the truth.
She turned slowly, her attention settling fully on me. “And you are?”
“Kitty, your great niece,” I dryly prompted. She knew full well who I was. Great Aunt Cathy had a memory that had never once forgotten a single thing, including the fact that I was the one who got caught spilling grape juice on her fur coat when I was five even though Lydia had knocked into me.
“Yes,” she said. “Of course you are.”
She picked up one of the forms and scanned it. “This handwriting is appalling.”
“That’s mine,” I said.
She nodded. “I assumed.”
Anne stood just behind her, hands folded, expression polite in the way that suggested apology without words. Our eyes met briefly, and something passed between us that felt like shared understanding.
“Anne,” Great Aunt Cathy said, not looking at her. “Come forward.”
Anne did, hesitantly.
“You should participate,” Great Aunt Cathy announced.
Anne blinked. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Nonsense,” Great Aunt Cathy said. “It’s good for visibility.”
Anne glanced at me, then back at her grandmother. “I was planning to help instead.”
“Helping is not memorable,” Great Aunt Cathy replied. “Talent is.”
She took a blank form and began filling it out herself.
