In Between

by Jenny B. Jones

  Stalling before a glass door, I pause to collect my thoughts, rehearse what I’m going to say, and check my hair in the reflection. Not bad. A good hair day and I aced an algebra test.

  I swing open the door and make my way down the hall until I come to the office I need. I clear my throat. “Mrs. Whipple?”

  The counselor sits with her back to me, facing the window, but makes no response. Maybe she’s meditating. Or thinking of more ways to torture innocent students.

  “Mrs. Whipple?”

  She abruptly spins away from the window and slams her hands on the desk. “What do you want?”

  I can do this. I can do this. I’m a card-carrying smart girl now. “I was wondering if I could talk to you about next semester, I—”

  “No, go to class.” She wipes her hands on her calico skirt, and I can tell I’ve interrupted snack time.

  “Pastor and Mrs. Scott were going to come and speak to you about next semester, but I thought I would save them the trip.”

  Mrs. Whipple drums her chubby fingers on the desk, weighing her options. “Fine. Just make it quick. I have important things to do, and the sooner you spit it out, the sooner I can tell you no and get back to work.”

  From the looks of the crumbs on her mustache, I would guess that important work involves a package of Chips Ahoy.

  Here goes nothing. “As you know, I’m in Art. I think I have a decent grade in there, but I happen to be really bad at it.” During the pottery lesson last Thursday, my vase came out looking like a shoe. An elf’s shoe.

  “Your lack of artistic abilities is not my problem, Miss Parker. You couldn’t hack band, and now you want to bail on art?”

  A million sarcastic comments screech in my head, but I plaster a pleasant expression on my face. “But I think we’re on the right track with the arts, ma’am.”

  “If you’re here to ask me to sign you up for office aid next semester, you are flat out of luck.”

  Okay, who marries people like this?

  “No, actually I’d like to be put in drama.” There. That wasn’t too hard. I’ve been in here two minutes, made my request, and so far I still have my head attached.

  “Drama?” She laughs.

  “Yeah, I know. It surprised me too. But I’d like to try it.”

  “You come in here, barely passing the tenth grade, and think I’m gonna do you favors and change your schedule? For the third time in six weeks, I might add.”

  I nod. “Yes, please.”

  “Miss Parker, I don’t have time for this. You want to be taken seriously? Then you do something to earn it. The transcript you transferred in with sure doesn’t scream out responsibility and seriousness.” Mrs. Whipple jiggles her mouse and begins typing.

  “But my grades have gone up.”

  “Humph.” She doesn’t even look up from her computer screen.

  I lay the test on her desk and slide it over. “Maybe you’d like to take a glance at this.”

  With an eye roll and a smirk, Mrs. Whipple grabs the algebra test. Her face changes to a frown. “Well, my, my. What have we here? You scored a B?

  “B+.” Thank you very much.

  She shoves it back to me. “I don’t think this proves anything.”

  “Yes, it does. I made the highest grade in the class. Me, Katie Parker. Top score.” I point to her computer. “Pull up my grades. Go ahead.”

  Mrs. Whipple hesitates, but she punches some keys, and within a few seconds my quarter grades are on the screen.

  “Hmm. Interesting.”

  “See? They’ve gone up. A lot. I’ve really been working hard. I think I’ve found something I might be interested in, something I might be good at. I won’t ask for another schedule change.” Actually, I don’t know if I’ll be any good, but after watching all those rehearsals of Romeo and Juliet, I definitely know what not to do.

  “Even if you get in drama and can’t memorize a single line?”

  “I won’t say a word to you.”

  “Even if they put you in a boy’s role, glue on facial hair, and make you wear a wig?”

  “I’ll say thank you.”

  “I don’t know . . .” She eyes me.

  “Even if I get in there, get stage fright, and pee my pants during every performance, I will stick it out.”

  “Now that would be worth the price of a ticket.” She sighs and grabs a pen. “Fine. But if your grades go down or if I hear of any trouble out of you, I’m sticking you in a double block of PE.”

  Yes! I’m out of art. “Thank you, Mrs. Whipple.” I almost want to hug the old bag. “Um, while I’m here, I want to report a really mean teacher. In fact, I think she’s a tad bit abusive.”

  “Who?”

  “Coach Nelson.”

  “She’s my sister.”

  Right then.

  The afternoon sun hits me as I descend the steps of In Between High and make my way to the bus stop.

  A horn honks, and soon I’m hearing my name called over the rumbling bus engines. I search the parking lot, and there, circling for a parking space, is James. I throw my hand up in a wave, and he pulls up to the curb. Rocky hangs his head out of the passenger window, and his tongue flaps out the side of his mouth.

  I run up to James’s truck. “Are you lost? You know this isn’t In Between Community Church, right?”

  He grins. “Get in. I thought I’d pick you up today and spare you a ride on the bus.”

  Could this day get any better? Not having to ride the stinky bus is just the cherry on top.

  The truck smells like a convenience store pine air freshener, but I gladly hop in, shoving the mongrel to the middle. He promptly plants his paws on my lap and sticks half his body out the window.

  “So what brings you out here?” I try to push the dog off with no luck.

  James navigates through the parking lot, which at three o’clock is worse than any reality-show obstacle course.

  “I thought I’d take the afternoon off, spend some time with you, and watch rehearsals. See if Sam needs me to drive a nail or two.”

  James and I swap smiles. Yup, this guy’s really making progress. I believe we have me to thank for that. Clearly I bring out the best in people. Why, Mrs. Whipple was practically begging to assist me today.

  “I also thought we’d drive through the Burger Barn and get some ice cream cones.”

  “Some chocolate mint would hit the spot.” James should pick me up more often.

  We pull through the Burger Barn drive-thru and get two double scoop cones. Rocky whines at my ice cream. “Not a chance, flea bag.”

  James hands me some napkins. “We’ll have to eat it quick. Millie put me on a diet this weekend, and ice cream isn’t on it.”

  “So basically you’re picking me up just so you can have an excuse to have dessert.”

  He grips the steering wheel. “Katie, I’m a man who hasn’t had sugar in three days. I’m prepared to stoop pretty low.”

  James takes the long way to the theatre, driving until there is no trace of his ice cream. I’m still working on the second scoop when we arrive at the Valiant.

  I jump out of the truck then reach back in to grab my backpack. The dog makes a dive for my unprotected cone. “Rocky!”

  The mutant mutt sits in the seat, licking his chops and what’s left of my ice cream, and looking disgustingly pleased with himself.

  When the three of us walk inside the theatre, both Sam and Millie look shocked to see James.

  Millie hugs her husband. “Honey, what are you doing here?”

  James winks at me. “My schedule happened to clear up for the afternoon. I’m here to help, so put me to work.”

  Millie takes James’s hand and leads him into the theatre. She talks faster than the speed of sound, updating him on all things Valiant.

  Sam and I work side by side, painting walls until my hand cramps around the roller brush. The gold paint covers the last of the graffiti, and as I step back and look at it, my heart lightens.


  “Thank God that’s gone.”

  “You can say that again.” Sam picks up the paint trays. “You better clean up. It’s nearly time for you to go home.”

  I wipe my hands across my painting shirt, clearing the gold off my fingers. “Nope. I’m staying. Millie said we could stay a few more hours tonight.”

  “How did you manage that?”

  I tell Sam all about my improved grades, then leave to wash out my roller. Watching the paint rinse out into the sink, I smile just thinking about the day. Good things do happen to me. My life has officially stopped being a series of catastrophes.

  “Katie!”

  I ignore Sam’s voice and continue scrubbing the roller. Just a few more seconds.

  “Katie!” This time it’s Millie.

  Throwing the supplies into the sink, I shut off the water and dash into the theatre.

  “What? What’s wrong?” My feet skid to a halt on the tiled floor, and I freeze at the sight in front of me.

  “You have some visitors.”

  There, filling the theatre, stand Pastor Mike, his wife, and everyone from Target Teen. They’re decked out in work clothes, many of them carrying brushes, hammers, drills, and tool boxes.

  Pastor Mike steps forward, wearing his Jack Sparrow grin. “Did somebody order a miracle?”

  “I did.” My arms break out in goose bumps. “I ordered one.”

  “Well, we were in the neighborhood. Thought we’d drop by and see if you needed any help.”

  I can’t stop shaking my head, and my eyes well up like I’ve just been crowned Miss America. They did this for me. And the Scotts. All those things Angel said about the churchies replays in my head.

  She was wrong about them. I can permanently delete those doubts.

  Frances breaks through the crowd, her parents close behind her. “Let’s get this party started.”

  I hand her a paintbrush and give my friend a quick hug. Yes, me. Hugging.

  Sam and Millie start assigning jobs. Soon the Valiant is filled with the sounds of tools, hard work, and laughter. And progress. The hours fly by, but every few minutes I have to stop and look around, in awe at the transformation happening around me.

  “You got yourself some good friends.” Sam hands me a bottle of water.

  My hair is damp with sweat, but I don’t care. “The Valiant . . . it’s going to be finished on time. I know it.”

  “See? Faith. I told you it would work.” He puts his work-gloved hand on my shoulder. “Did you pray like I asked you to?”

  “Yeah.” I nod. “Could be just a coincidence though.”

  “Girl, there are no coincidences. We got about seventy people here who can testify to that.”

  “We’re gonna make it, aren’t we?”

  Sam takes a swig of his own water and wipes his mouth. “You see, Katie, it’s kind of like me and Maxine.” His eyes crinkle beneath his cap. “I never had a single doubt.”

  Chapter 41

  Opening night. It’s finally here.

  Maxine and I sit in the front row of the Valiant, and I can’t take my eyes off the place. I can’t believe it. The churchies worked with us all week, putting in some long, exhausting evenings, and it was only a few hours ago we hammered our last nail and painted our last stroke. The Valiant looks like something out of an old movie, with its cool Art Deco style. It’s like the theatre has come to life.

  I wish I could say the same for Millie.

  She’s been a bundle of nerves all day. I thought she would be excited over our progress and the way the theatre transformed this week. But she’s been zombielike since this morning, staring off into space and not saying much. Could be all the paint fumes she’s inhaled lately. But I know that’s not it.

  “Where’s my daughter?” Maxine pops a bubble and shifts in her seat to look behind her.

  “Probably checking her cell phone.” Millie’s been doing that constantly, checking for messages or missed calls. It’s a safe bet she’s expecting Amy to call. So far, nothing. As excited as I am for the play and for the town to see the Valiant, my stomach flutters when I think of Millie. What if Amy doesn’t show up? It will ruin everything for my foster mom.

  Maxine holds up her new watch, something she dug out of a cereal box this morning. “She should be out here by now. Work is over. If it’s not fixed by now, it’s too late.”

  It’s a little more than two hours until show time, and Bev has a few of the cast members on stage practicing scenes for the last time. I hope the actors are as ready as the theatre is. Stephanie’s death scenes have improved I think. Our Juliet may not be ready for the Oscars, but at least she’s not overcome with giggling fits every time she has to stab herself.

  We’ve all been here the entire day. I’m exhausted, but also totally wired. After working like a dog, it’s hard to now sit still and just relax.

  “Okay, now take it from Romeo’s entrance. I really want to nail this scene.” Bev’s voice is hoarse, and her words come out in squeaks.

  Romeo, already in costume in a pair of really horrible purple tights, approaches Juliet’s bedroom window. (Tights? No wonder Stephanie couldn’t stop laughing.)

  “But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief . . .”

  If the moon is sick, it’s probably from having to look at Romeo’s buns squeezed into a pair of spandex pants.

  Romeo continues the wooing of his lady, and I lay my head back on the chair and allow my eyes to close.

  “See how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O, that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek!”

  I open an eye at the sound of someone entering the theatre doors. A guy wearing an “In Between Times” ball cap makes his way to the stage. He and Bev have a quiet conversation, then he gets out a camera and starts snapping photos. It’s just like Hollywood and the Red Carpet—the press is here for the premiere.

  Stephanie, perched in a second story window with her chin on her hand, notices the flash and begins to pose, totally breaking character. I smile to myself. The girl’s waited a long time for this moment. Her photo op has finally arrived, and I imagine she feels a little like I did when I got the B+ on my algebra test. Ah, finally! What I’ve been working for!

  The photographer stands in one of the theatre seats and snaps a few. “Romeo, could you turn your head this way just a bit. Perfect, perfect.”

  I lean into Maxine. “Maybe I should tell him Maxine Simmons is in the house. Let him get some pictures of a real star.”

  Maxine’s hand forms a rock ‘n’ roll sign. “Vegas forever, baby!”

  “Okay, practice for another thirty minutes, then I want the entire cast in costume. Keep it going. We only have about an hour before you guys need to be ready.” Bev sneezes and sits back down.

  Juliet flips her hair and smiles. “Three words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed. If that thy bent of love be honorable, thy purpose marriage, send me word tomorrow.”

  “Those Elizabethans sure worked fast,” Maxine whispers. “Juliet meets Romeo, then immediately expects the guy to cough up an engagement ring? Humph! Mr. Simmons waited a respectable week before asking for my hand.”

  “You and Juliet were total hoochie mamas.”

  “All my fortunes at thy foot I’ll lay . . .”

  As Stephanie delivers her lines, she gets closer and closer to the edge of the window. Like Rocky in the truck, she is practically hanging out. I know she’s sitting on a ladder back there, so that can’t be easy.

  The photographer jumps off the chair and squats on the floor for a different angle. The rapid fire clicks of the camera have Stephanie posing like she’s a model on a runway.

  “Juliet, could you just lean out a little more? You’re in the shadow, and I’m not getting a clear shot of you.”

  Bev drops her tissue box and bolts out of her chair. “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Ste
phanie, don’t lean out any farther. Stephanie, no. You need to—”

  A shrill scream pierces the air, and suddenly Stephanie goes airborne.

  It’s like a bad slow-mo scene from a movie. Everyone is on their feet, racing toward her, but she’s so far away.

  I hear myself yelling, “Noooo!” And I propel my body onstage.

  Too late.

  “Oomph! Ohhh! Urghh!”

  The star of the show hits the staircase with a thud, cartwheels halfway down, only to fall off the edge.

  Crash!

  From the stairs, Stephanie cannonballs into a first-story canopy roof. Her body plummets through the material, leaving a giant hole. Arms and legs flailing, she soars down, down toward the stage floor.

  Splat!

  Landing spread-eagle in a row of borrowed shrubs.

  “Owwww.”

  Everyone rushes the stage, circling the fair Juliet.

  “Stephanie, can you hear me?”

  “Stephanie, don’t move!”

  “Can you wiggle your toes?”

  “Call an ambulance!”

  “Stephanie, do you see my Diet Coke back there?”

  A panicked James and Millie explode out of the lobby doors and sprint downstage.

  “What happened?” Millie’s raised voice ricochets through the theatre.

  In two short moves James is next to our Juliet. “Are you okay? Everybody back up. Please.” James kneels beside her. “Stephanie, can you hear me?”

  Stephanie lies motionless. Absolutely still.

  Okay, Lord, if she’s dead, I take back every single thing I ever said about her. Even horrible actresses don’t deserve to fall through a two-story set. (Every last piece of it.)

  Sam joins us on stage. “The ambulance is on the way.”

  James leans down, putting his ear near Stephanie’s face. “She’s breathing.”

  My own breath comes out in a whoosh, and I’m lightheaded with relief.

  “Thank God.” Millie says. I totally agree.

  James tries again. “Hon, can you hear me?”