The Same Song

Green

Claire knew exactly what the color green looked like. Green was the grass in her backyard. Green was the frogs on her rain boots. Green was the smell of her mom's pesto pasta.

But Claire had recently discovered that green was also a feeling.

It started on a Tuesday.

Claire and her best friend Nadia were sitting on the swings at recess, dragging their sneakers through the wood chips and talking about the one thing everyone in second grade was talking about: the school talent show.

"I'm going to sing 'Rainbow Connection,'" Claire said. She'd been practicing for two weeks. In the shower. In front of the mirror. Into a hairbrush, into a banana, into anything vaguely microphone-shaped. She'd even practiced in front of her dog, Gerald, who had howled along in a way that Claire chose to believe was supportive.

"I'm going to sing it too!" Nadia said, bouncing on her swing. "It's my favorite song in the whole universe."

"It's MY favorite song in the whole universe," Claire said.

"Then we have good taste," Nadia said, and they pinky-swore on it.

On Wednesday, a sign went up outside the music room.

TALENT SHOW AUDITIONS — FRIDAY — SIGN UP HERE

There were only twelve spots. Claire counted the empty lines on the sign-up sheet. Then she counted the kids crowding around with pencils. Then she counted the empty lines again.

She wrote her name in her very best handwriting: Claire Huang, singing.

Nadia signed up right below her: Nadia Okafor, singing.

They walked to lunch together, and Nadia said, "What if we both get in?"

"That would be amazing," Claire said.

"What if only one of us gets in?"

Claire thought about this. "Then we'll be happy for whoever it is."

"Deal," Nadia said.

"Deal," Claire said.

And she meant it. She really, truly did.

Friday came. Claire's audition was at 10:15. She stood in front of Ms. Huang — no relation — and Mr. Barber and the parent volunteer whose name she could never remember, and she sang "Rainbow Connection" with her whole chest, the way her mom always told her to do things.

Her voice wobbled on the high part. Just a tiny wobble. Like a bicycle going over a crack in the sidewalk. She kept going, but she felt the wobble land in her stomach and stay there.

Nadia's audition was at 10:45. Claire waited for her in the hallway. When Nadia came out, her eyes were huge and shiny.

"I think it went okay?" Nadia whispered.

"I'm sure you were great," Claire said.

The results were posted Monday morning.

Claire saw the crowd first. Then she saw Nadia jumping up and down. Then she saw Nadia running toward her with her arms wide open.

"CLAIRE! I GOT IN! I GOT IN!"

And Claire grabbed Nadia and jumped up and down with her, because that is what you do when your best friend gets the thing she wanted.

"I'm so happy for you!" Claire said.

She was. She was happy for Nadia.

But she was also something else.

It sat in her chest like a small, cold stone. It was heavy and it was ugly and she didn't want to look at it, but it was there. She knew what it was called.

It was called jealousy.

It was green.

That whole week, the green feeling followed Claire around like a shadow.

At lunch, when Nadia talked about picking her costume — green.

During music class, when Nadia got to rehearse on the real stage — green.

At home, when Mom asked how talent show stuff was going — so green that Claire just said "Fine" and went to her room and lay face-down on her bed while Gerald licked her ear.

The worst part wasn't that Nadia got in.

The worst part was that Claire loved Nadia. She loved her like peanut butter loves jelly, like socks love shoes, like Tuesdays love the swings. And she also felt this twisting, prickly thing every time Nadia opened her mouth about the show.

Both things were true at the same time.

Claire did not know that feelings were allowed to do that.

On Thursday after school, Nadia called.

"Claire, I need help. I'm practicing and I keep messing up the second verse. Can you come over?"

Claire almost said no. The green feeling wanted her to say no. The green feeling wanted her to stay in bed with Gerald and pretend she was busy.

But her feet were already finding her sneakers.

"I'll be there in ten minutes," she said.

She sat on Nadia's bedroom floor with the lyrics printed out, and she listened while Nadia sang. And Nadia was good. She was really, genuinely good. Her voice didn't wobble. It floated, like a leaf on a pond.

The green feeling flared up hot in Claire's chest.

That should be me up there.

And then, right next to it, another feeling — quieter, but just as real:

I'm glad it's her.

Claire looked down at the lyrics in her lap. She knew every word. She'd memorized them weeks ago, singing into a banana.

"You're rushing the part about the morning star," Claire said. "Try it slower. Like you're telling a secret."

Nadia tried it again, slower. And this time, it was beautiful. So beautiful that Gerald — who had followed Claire over, because Gerald had no concept of boundaries — lifted his head and did not howl. He just listened.

"Claire," Nadia said. "That was so much better. How did you know?"

Claire shrugged. "I just know the song really well."

Nadia sat down on the floor next to her. "I wish you were in the show too."

"Yeah," Claire said. "Me too."

It was the first time she'd said it out loud. It came out shaky, and her eyes got hot, and she looked up at the ceiling because looking at the ceiling is a well-known strategy for not crying.

Nadia reached over and held her hand. She didn't say "It's okay" or "Maybe next year" or any of the things grown-ups say. She just held on.

"You're a really good singer, Claire."

"I know," Claire said. And then, quieter: "My voice wobbled."

"Everybody wobbles sometimes."

They sat there for a minute, hand in hand, and the green feeling was still there, but it was smaller now. Like it had been a balloon and someone had let a little bit of air out.

The night of the talent show, Claire sat in the third row between her mom and Gerald, who was technically not allowed but was wearing a bow tie, which made him look very official.

The lights went down. Act after act performed. A magic trick. A comedy routine. Twin sisters playing the ukulele.

Then Nadia walked onto the stage in a silver dress, and the spotlight found her, and she opened her mouth and sang "Rainbow Connection" — slow and sweet, like she was telling a secret, just like Claire had showed her.

Claire's heart did a complicated thing.

It hurt and it soared at the exact same time.

She felt proud. She felt jealous. She felt love so big it barely fit inside her ribs.

When Nadia finished, Claire stood up. She was the first person to stand, before the applause even started, before anyone else moved. She stood and she clapped until her palms stung.

Nadia found her in the audience. Their eyes met. Nadia's were shiny again, but a different kind of shiny this time.

She mouthed two words: Thank you.

Claire mouthed two words back: You're welcome.

And the green feeling? It was still there. Small and quiet, tucked away in a corner of her chest like a pebble in a pocket.

But Claire had made room for it. She'd made room for all of it — the happy and the hard and the love and the sting and the standing up to clap even when your hands don't totally want to.

That, Claire was learning, is what the color green looks like from the inside.

And she could hold it.