“One day you brats will appreciate the Industrial Revolution! Mark my words!”
I’m kind of appreciating it right now.
And then she’s gone.
After my next class, Algebra II, comes my favorite time of the day: lunch. When I first got to In Between High, I hated lunch. Being the new kid, it was quite a while before I had people to sit with. I guess there are always people to sit with, but I’m talking the kind you actually want to share your chili pie with.
I sashay through the masses in the cafeteria to what is now my usual table. There Frances sits, surrounded by her friends who have all adopted me. Accepted me.
I unzip my lunch bag, excited to do the one thing at school I know I’m good at—eating. Inside I find the contents of my lunch, lovingly packed by Millie.
My brow furrows. Hmmm. Millie’s not worried about cancer? Well, the frozen burrito, bag of prunes, salt shaker, and two eggs she packed in my lunch would tell a different tale.
Ew.
“Wasn’t history today bizarre?” Frances fills everyone in on our psycho sub. “And then she starts to cry, and while she’s wailing she keeps yelling out—” Frances stops.
Oh, here we go again. I’ve seen that face before. Frances’s features are frozen in place.
I catch sight of Nash walking our way. I guess it’s to be a day of meltdowns.
“Hey, guys.” He gives a friendly smile and carries on small talk with the table. “I saw you girls tearing up the lake this week. Did you have a good time?”
“Totally,” I say quickly, hoping Frances will just stay mute and not attempt conversation. “We had a great time out on the boat. Did you happen to see Frances catch that big fish from the dock?”
He looks impressed until his eyes wander to Miss Catch-and-Release herself.
Frances’s tilts sideways, and she stares at Nash in awe. With cheese sauce dripping down her chin.
I shove a napkin in her hand and motion to her face. He’s never going to ask her out with cheese substitute oozing out her mouth.
“So you like camping, Frances?” Nash, for whatever reason, takes a stab at conversation with her anyway.
“Uh . . . um . . .”
Come on, Frances. You can do it. I’m coaching her with my eyes. I send silent, telepathic messages. Say, I love to camp. I love to be outdoors where the air is clean and fresh. (Well, unless you’re camped downwind from the bathrooms.)
“Um . . . yeah . . . I like water sports.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. Not bad. Her syllables at least formed a sentence this time.
“Cheese fries are good too.”
And this concludes the “make sense” portion of the conversation. Ah, well. Maybe next time.
“Yeah, Frances and I like our cheese fries.” I hold out her tray. “Want some, Nash?”
With a confused look, he politely declines. His brown eyes light up suddenly. “Hey, I’ll be playing at your church this Wednesday. Are all of you gonna be there?”
“You and the band, Nash?” Hannah asks, totally oblivious to Frances’s odd behavior.
“Yeah, me and the God Wads. We’re helping out with worship.” Nash runs his hands through his messy hair. “See you there, dudes. Gotta go get some chow.”
As soon as he’s gone, Frances turns her radiant smile on me. “That was better, right?”
I nod. “Yeah, I have to admit it was better.”
“I was almost smooth.”
“Frances?” Her face glows with hope. “You have three fries stuck to your shirt.”
Chapter 8
One week. Over one stinking week has crawled by, and still no word from James or Millie on the cancer business. Every day I think, this will be the day they level with me about what they know.
I’m driving myself nuts with worry (not to mention I’ve sprouted a few zits in the process), so I decided last night I would not let James and Millie see how this is bothering me. (When your roommate doesn’t let you sleep, you get in lots of thinking time. I imagine by the end of the week I’ll have a detailed plan for world peace ready.) Instead, I’m gonna devote my energy to Operation: Get Frances A Boyfriend.
“You owe me.”
I plant myself in front of Charlie Benson, who looks impressively preppie today in his Abercrombie khakis and button-down. He swivels on his lab stool, and his dark gray eyes assess me warily.
Even though he now goes to my church, one Charles Benson and I have not had a conversation since last fall—around the time I caught him doing the cha-cha with another man. Granted, that man happened to be Maxine’s elderly boyfriend Sam. And sure, Charlie was secretly teaching Sam to dance in order to woo Maxine, but still. It makes for good ammunition.
“Excuse me?” His tanned cheeks turn slightly pink, and I know we’re both thinking of that infamous moment I first met him.
Charlie is totally not my type, with all his name brand clothes and higher intellect and stuff. But that does not stop me from appreciating the light scent of his cologne creeping my way. But in a science lab that always smells like something dead, I guess anything would smell good to me.
“You heard me.” I step in closer to him. Class has yet to start, and we are practically alone in the lab. “You should consider yourself lucky I didn’t run to the school newspaper with your little interlude with Sam.”
He shrugs an indifferent shoulder. “Like I care.”
“Yes, but would your football team?” His eyes widen. “Yeah, I kind of thought they would too.” I put on my best smile. “Tell you what I’m gonna do. So we can put this to rest once and for all, I am going to give you my word I will not tell anyone you were doing the meringue with . . . a man.”
Charlie’s eyes narrow. “It was the fox-trot.”
“My silence. Forever.”
“And what is it you want?” Charlie stands up, now towering over me. Have I ever noticed how tall he is? I mean, I’m a tall girl for my age. Five-nine and a half, to be exact.
I take a step back. Katie Parker does not like her personal space to be invaded.
My eyes dart around the room, checking that no one is within hearing distance. “Look, I’m gonna level with you here, Charlie. My friend Frances is in need of help.”
I chew on my lip, uncertain how much to reveal. I can’t tell him she likes Nash. He might spread it. “I think Frances and Nash Griffin would make a great couple, but I need some assistance in making that happen.”
Charlie leans back against the lab table, looking more relaxed now that he knows I’m not asking for something major in return for my silence. Like a spleen.
“Today in class we’ll be partnering up for the science fair. I need you to make sure you and Nash are not partners.”
Charlie’s eyebrows scrunch together. “What?”
“Since you two sit at the same table, you’re always teaming up. But not for this, okay? I need you to convince Nash to be Frances’s partner.”
“And how do you want me to do that?”
“I don’t know.” At the first bell, more classmates trickle in. Including Nash. “Figure something out,” I hiss and quickly go to my seat at the table behind his.
Nash and Charlie talk for a full minute before Charlie turns around, throws his hands up in the air in surrender and shakes his head. It’s a no-go.
Great. I guess I’ll have to take care of this myself.
You still owe me, I mouth to Charlie.
Getting up, I put my hand on Nash’s shoulder.
“Hey, Katie. How’s it going?”
My face is all business. “Look, I have a huge favor.” Here goes nothing. “Frances has asked me to be her partner for the science fair, but I really don’t want to. I mean, she just asks me because we’re friends, but I know my lack of interest in all things science tends to drag her down. I was wondering if maybe you would work with her?”
Nash runs a hand through his wavy hair. “Me?”
Yeah, I know. It’s weird, I want to say. But I
don’t.
“Yeah, see, she is really intent on winning the science competition, but she needs someone with your kind of creativity, you know? Frances has got more than her fair share of brains, but I think what would push her over the top this year is to have more of an artistic touch to the project. What do you think?” Please don’t think I sniffed a bunch of dry-erase markers before class.
Nash looks at Charlie.
Then I look at Charlie. Help me, you overstuffed jock.
“Uh . . . yeah. That would be a great idea.” Charlie offers lamely. “Um . . . since Frances is always helping us with our homework, we should help her out. I think . . . I think . . . making sure she wins the science fair would be a great way to pay her back for all her help this year. And with her intelligence and your creativity, Nash, you guys would definitely win.” Charlie’s desperate face turns to me. “Right?”
“Right. Come on, Nash. I don’t want Frances to ask me to work with her out of pity. It’s getting old.”
“I don’t know.” Nash looks confused. Of course, he kind of always looks confused.
I go in for the kill. “Did you know she’s never made below a ninety-five percent on any assignment?”
“Hey, Frances!”
Nash catches sight of my friend in the doorway and motions her over.
Frances promptly drops her books.
I rush over to help her. And to prepare her. “Nash is going to ask you to be his science fair partner.”
She makes a strangled sound in her throat. Panic is written all over her face. In big, bold 3-D letters.
“Listen to me. When he asks you, all you say is yes, okay?” My eyes bore into hers. “Don’t try to make conversation. Don’t try to be intelligent. Repeat after me: yes.”
Frances nods.
I shake her, then catching myself, drop my hands and plaster a smile on my face. “It’s one syllable. You can do it.” I pull her to our table.
Nash steps closer to her. “So, hey, Frances—”
“Yes,” she rasps.
Nash looks at me, but I make a production out of staring at the floor.
“You know we’ve got this science fair thing coming up—”
“Yes.”
“I was wondering if—”
“Yes.”
He smiles broadly. “And I was wondering if you’d do my project for me.”
“Yes.” Frances’s black hair sways with her bobbing head.
“Quit saying yes,” I whisper behind her.
Nash laughs. “I was just teasing you. But maybe you’d want to be my partner?”
Frances blinks. Then takes a shuddering breath. “I think I’m gonna be sick.” And runs out of the room.
Charlie slaps Nash on the back. “I think she’s excited.”
The tardy bell clangs, and everyone settles in. Mr. Hughes checks the attendance, then steps up to his podium. “As I told you last week, we are picking science fair project partners today. Let’s go ahead and get that out of the way before we talk about the project requirements. Select your partner.”
Mr. Hughes doesn’t believe in seating charts (the only reason I like his class), so everyone is sitting next to a friend. Which makes it really easy for moments like this.
Unless you just partnered your friend up with someone else.
Searching the room, I see no one is left without a partner. Even the kids who are always picked last are paired up.
Except for me.
And Charlie Griffin.
Coming to the same conclusion, Charlie frowns. “I guess that leaves us.”
I imagine he’s been more excited over athletic physicals.
“Yup. You and me.” I swallow disappointment. “Me and you.”
There’s just something about this guy that rubs me the wrong way. Maybe it’s the fact his jeans cost more than my entire last year’s school wardrobe. Maybe it’s that he exudes all that preppy confidence that only comes from knowing your daddy’s the bank president, you’re a starting football player, and your name is on at least two credit cards in your wallet.
I don’t even have my name on a library card.
Charlie settles onto the lab stool next to mine. “Let’s get one thing straight: I take this stuff seriously.”
The look he shoots me stops my outburst of laughter. Jock boy takes his science fair seriously? Whatever. His girlfriend probably does his homework.
“My grade is important to me, so if you’re not ready to work on this project, then you better tell me now, so I can work by myself.”
His words have my cheeks flaming. How dare him! To insinuate that I, Katie Parker, am not a good student.
Granted, my summer is already booked with classes to make up some credits, but I’m a changed woman.
My eyes connect with his. “Look, twinkle toes, if you can’t handle being my partner, then say the word. I happen to care about my grade too.”
His eyes narrow. “Fine.”
“Fine.”
“I’ll call you tonight so we can start planning.”
I grit my teeth. “Can’t. Wait.”
Biology creeps by slowly. Mr. Hughes believes in lecturing the majority of his ninety minutes of class, so it’s hard to stay focused. Coma patients would understand. I doubt Frances got much out of bio today either, as she stared at the back of Nash’s head the entire period.
At the sound of the bell, I shoot out of my seat, rudely snubbing my new science fair partner and head to my new favorite class.
Drama I.
I love it. I had no idea I was good at anything but getting into trouble until I came to In Between High. But it just so happens that I am an actress. In the thee-uh-tuh, as Mrs. Hall, the drama teacher, would say.
“Take your seats, students! Take your seats!” Mrs. Hall, whose hair color selection for this week appears to be jet black, claps her hands, her gold bangles going off like chimes.
I plop into a front row seat directly in front of the stage. I feel so at home here. The heavy black curtains, the wooden stage floor, the hum of the lights. The gum under my seat.
Ew.
“I have some news. Do you want the good news or the bad news first?” She proceeds without waiting for a response. “The bad news is my husband and I are getting a divorce. He has left me for a younger model who goes by the name of Buffy. I, of course, am a professional.” Her hands go everywhere when she talks, and her billowy sleeves swoosh around like they’re putting on their own show. “This will not interfere with my work here, fellow actors and actresses.”
I really like Mrs. Hall, but she’s a little too free with the personal info.
She smiles deliberately. “Now onto the good news, which I think you will find très magnifique! We all know many parts of our community were devastated by the tornado last week. I have given this much thought, and I’ve decided we shall put on a benefit show, the funds going toward families in need.”
What a great idea. Except as a lowly Drama I student, I will get relegated to some minor part like Woman Number Four or Student in Crowd. All the upperclassmen will get the plum roles.
“The play will be the night before the annual spring dance.” She holds up a hand at the groans. “Now as you know, my advanced drama classes are currently working on Guys and Dolls, so this event is going to depend solely on my Drama I students.”
A roar of applause fills the theater. Lead role, here I come!
“You will be working with my other two intro classes, so while we will be working on scenes in class some, there will be after school practices. And since this will be a large event, I have scheduled our production in the Valiant Theater.”
That’s the Scott’s theater! This is even better.
Mrs. Hall holds up her hands for attention. “This is a large project to undertake, and we don’t have a lot of time, so a couple of senior drama students will be helping me direct.” She lists off some students, most of them unknown to me. “And I am pleased to say Trevor Jackson, who wil
l be going to Texas State on a thee-uh-tuh scholarship next fall, has agreed not only to play the leading male role in our production, but also to student direct. Students, a warm welcome to Trevor Jackson.”
My heart does a little flip as the sound of a seat being vacated ricochets in my ear. I turn around, and there, right behind me is none other than the Trevor Jackson.
Sighhhhh.
Our eyes meet briefly as he moves to take the stage next to Mrs. Hall. Did we have a moment there? I think we just had a moment.
He was sitting behind me the whole time, and I didn’t even know it?
I suddenly get why Frances drools when she sees Nash.
“Thank you.”
Oh. He speaks.
Trevor runs a hand through his dark brown hair. His state champ baseball ring gleams on his finger. This boy is the total package—beautiful, an all-star athlete, and a sensitive, yet talented actor.
Which makes him totally off limits to me. He’s so out of my league. I’m meat loaf. He’s filet mignon.
“I’m glad to be working with you guys. I hear there’s a lot of talent in this particular class.”
Did he just look at me? I think he looked at me.
“We will be holding auditions after school next Friday. You can pick up your preview scripts today if you’re interested.” Trevor smiles, and my eyes are drawn to his perfectly white teeth.
Raising my hand, I’m determined not to be a Frances. I will be confident. “What is the play?” I toss my hair.
Oh, my gosh. Did I just flip my hair? Noooooo! Next I’ll be giggling and batting my eyelashes. (Which is still better than Frances’s drooling.)
His voice is deep and smooth. “We’ll be performing Cinderella.” His mouth lifts easily. “I’ll be Prince Charming.”
Oh, yeah.
Prince Charming, meet your princess.
Chapter 9
When James preaches about hell, I think of PE.
Even though it’s a chilly, almost-spring day outside, in this gym of torture, I’m about to bake alive. Sweat drips out of every pore on my body. My hair is wet. And I can smell my own armpits.
On the Loose (A Katie Parker Production) Page 6
