On the Loose (A Katie Parker Production)

by Jenny B. Jones

  My heart beats triple time as I realize I am being accused of stealing. All because of Angel. Somehow, some way, she did this.

  The principal’s chair squeaks as he shifts his weight to lean over his desk. “We’re waiting.”

  “I . . . I . . . um.” Stop sounding guilty! I didn’t do anything. “I didn’t take those shoes.”

  “Really?” Mrs. Whipple smirks. Did I mention she’s Angel’s aunt? Yes, she and Coach Nelson are sisters. I assume their dad goes by the name of Lucifer. “So these shoes just magically appeared in your locker?”

  “I don’t know how they got there.”

  “Do you really expect us to believe you had no idea they were in your locker?” Mr. Wayman’s face screams doubt.

  “Yes.”

  “Miss. Parker,” the counselor drawls. “These shoes, as well as Hannah Wilkerson’s, had been locked in each girl’s respective gym locker.”

  I nod my head. Each locker has a built-in lock, and if the locker is shut, it can only be opened with the combination.

  “And how is it you think I got into their lockers?”

  Mrs. Whipple snorts and points a stubby finger. “You’re a smart girl, Katie Parker. And we know from your history you’re also a troublemaker.”

  My mouth drops. “That isn’t fair. I’m not a—”

  “Be quiet, Katie,” the principal warns. “Last semester there was some trouble between you and Angel Nelson, and she believes you’ve been harassing her.”

  I jump to my feet. “That girl gave me a black eye in PE. Are you kidding me?”

  “Sit down.” Mrs. Whipple glares above her bifocals.

  The pressure of tears pushes at my eyeballs once again. “Angel Nelson is a coward and a bully. If anyone has been harassed here, it’s me.”

  “Well, Miss. Parker, it’s not Angel Nelson who had the shoes in her locker, now is it?” The principal’s thick southern accent shreds my last nerve.

  “What about Hannah? She’s one of my closest friends. Why would I steal anything of hers? And why would I leave the stuff in my locker?”

  The counselor clucks her tongue. “Honestly, I’ve never been able to understand the mind of a thief.”

  “I’m not a thief!”

  “We are sending you home for the rest of the day.” The principal pulls out a form from his desk drawer and scribbles his name on it. “We want you to think about this situation for as long as is takes.”

  “As long as it takes to fess up to something I didn’t do?” My hands tremble on my lap. “This makes no sense.”

  The principal hands me a slip of paper. “Disciplinary Suspension” it reads.

  I crumble it up and hold it in my clenched hand. “This is not fair.”

  “Your foster parents have been called. Mr. Scott should be here anytime.”

  I stand again. Shocked. Frozen. Outraged. “That’s it?”

  The principal nods. “That’s all.”

  “But know,” the counselors hisses, “we will be watching you.”

  Mr. Wayman frowns. “One mistake, one more stolen item found in your possession, and we will punish to the fullest extent. We will not tolerate thievery.” He straightens in his leather chair. “Chihuahuas do not steal.”

  With my suspension notice in hand, I grab my stuff and bolt out of the office. Deciding to wait for James in the parking lot, I bypass the front office waiting area, and cruise right into the hall.

  And smack into Charlie Benson.

  “Oh, hey, Katie, I—”

  I jerk myself out of his grip and give him a slight nudge to get him out of my way. I gotta get out of this place. Now.

  “What is your deal?”

  I hear his voice, but I’m not stopping for him. Who cares about him? Who cares about this school?

  “Fine. Be mad. I was just trying to look out for you Friday night.”

  That stops me. I pivot and turn to face the jerk. “What?” With five good stomps I close the distance between us. “Are you serious? Do you really think I care what you have to say to me right now? Because I don’t. I don’t want to talk to you; I don’t want you to talk to me. In fact,” I poke my finger in his chest. “I don’t even want my plant anywhere near you.”

  “Going to that party was really stupid.”

  “Yeah, well you know what? Calling my house Friday night was really stupid. Because of you, my cover was blown, and Maxine stopped by the party and ruined my life.”

  “You shouldn’t have been there in the first place.”

  “That’s not for you to say, is it?”

  “Excuse me for caring about you.”

  “Did I ask you to?”

  “No, but that’s what friends do.”

  “Friends? I’ve had better treatment from Angel.”

  “Oh, really? If I remember correctly, Angel gets you into trouble. I was trying to make sure you stayed out of it.”

  “Well, maybe you should mind your own business. Why don’t you keep an eye on Chelsea, your girlfriend?”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Haven’t you noticed how cozy she is with Trevor?” In some distant part of my brain, I immediately regret saying that. But the majority of my head doesn’t care a bit. I just got accused of stealing. I just got suspended, for crying out loud. I can say whatever I want.

  He huffs. “Now you’re just trying to start crap.”

  “They’re awful friendly with each other. I would think it would be a better use of your time to keep an eye on her rather than where I’m at during the weekend.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Right. Whatever.” Is there steam coming out of my ears yet?

  “I just don’t want to see you get in trouble. Or get hurt. Is that so terrible?”

  “But I did get in trouble. And I got humiliated. So thank you. What a great thing for a friend to do.”

  “I meant real trouble. The police could’ve busted that party. Or someone could’ve gotten hurt. Or . . .” He runs a hand through his hair. “Forget it.”

  “Wouldn’t I like to.”

  “I’m sorry I messed everything up.” He shakes his head.

  “No, hey, no problem. Who needs dignity?” I laugh bitterly. “If you hadn’t jerked my somewhat-redeemed reputation out from under me, then this would have anyway.” I wave the suspension notice in his face.

  “What is that?” He snatches it out of my hand. “You’re suspended?”

  My face burns crimson. “Yup.”

  “For what?” His eyes scan the paper. “Stealing?”

  “Yeah. Stealing. So now I’m a party-ruiner and a criminal.” I turn to walk away, but his hand on my wrist halts my attempt. “Let go of me, Charlie.” Before I start clinging to your shirt and bawling.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  I pull on my arm, but he doesn’t let go. “It doesn’t matter. Just back off, okay? I gotta go.” I try not to, but I can’t stop myself. I search his face for disappointment, revulsion. For any sign he believes I would do what that slip of paper says. I see only a blank expression.

  With a final tug, I free my arm and turn away. “Forget it.”

  “Tell me.” He moves in front of me.

  I run a shaking hand through my hair. “Angel set me up. I don’t know how she did it, but she did. She planted some stuff in my locker.” And I tell Charlie, the boy I am totally furious with, the entire story.

  He raises a thoughtful eyebrow, as his steely gray eyes meet mine. “I think I can help.”

  My raw attitude flares again. “Look where your help got me Friday night. Just leave me alone and mind your own business.”

  “Don’t be mad, Katie.” He tilts his head. “I said I was sorry.”

  I stare at him and shake my head.

  “You don’t need to be hanging around Trevor. I told you he was trouble.”

  And you don’t need to be hanging around your Gucci-snot girlfriend, but do I butt in and tell you that? Um, no.

  “I g
otta go.”

  “You still mad?”

  “Yes, Charlie, I am.”

  “And there’s nothing I can do to fix it?”

  Shaking my head, I walk away. Leaving him standing in the middle of the hall.

  “Nothing?” he yells.

  I shuffle toward the main exit. “I don’t ever want to talk to you, Charlie Benson. Nothing you can say is going to change my mind.”

  His voice calls out as I put my hand on the door. “I can prove you didn’t steal the shoes.”

  My hand stills. “Well . . . now that changes everything.”

  Chapter 29

  James slams the car door. “I never could stand that principal.”

  “So you talked to him?” When James arrived at school, I waited in the car while he went in and spoke with the twins of terror, Mr. Wayman and Mrs. Whipple.

  “Yes, for all the good it did. He didn’t hear a word I said.”

  I study his face. “So you believe me?”

  He rips his glasses off. “What kind of question is that? Of course I believe you.”

  If relief were a blanket, I’d wrap myself in it and snuggle deep. I wasn’t sure how James would react—what he would believe. Despite the sheer hideousness of the day, I smile.

  “Well, you deserve a day off anyway. You’ve been working really hard. Your grades are good, and you have a big part in a very important play.” He pats my knee and then starts the car. “Not to mention, you’ve had to put up with Maxine for a roommate.”

  He’s right on the last part. Someone should nominate me for sainthood. Except for the fact I went to a party last weekend without my foster parents’ permission. The guilt of that little deception still gnaws at me.

  I sigh. “Let’s just get out of here.”

  James puts the car in reverse. Stops, and shifts it back into park. “You can drive.”

  “Oh, no. No way. Remember—light poll? Crash? Many unhappy In Betweenies on Smith Street?”

  He opens his car door and slides out. “Get in.” He notices I’m not budging. “You can do it.”

  We switch places, and I settle into the driver’s seat. I adjust the rearview mirror, the side mirrors, the seat, check my lip gloss, my seatbelt, and finally change the radio station.

  “Any day now.”

  I shoot my foster dad a withering look and finally back the car out of the parking spot.

  Dear God, if I hit a car before we get out of here, please don’t let it be an expensive foreign import. How about a nice, banged-up farm truck? Plenty to choose from here.

  Though it takes us nearly twenty-five minutes to get there, I pull us safely into the Scott’s driveway.

  “I did it.” I beam with pride. “I really did it! And I did a good job, huh?”

  James opens the car door. “Yes, great job. Though you know at some point you’re going to have to drive faster than ten miles per hour.”

  I level him with a frown. “Kinda ruining the moment here.”

  Together we walk to the front porch.

  Where three chickens wait for us.

  “Chandler, Joey, and Ross are out again.” I step over one and head inside the house. Where I’m greeted by slow melodic violin strains piping from the surround sound speakers. Millie, in another new pair of fancy pajamas, sits cross-legged in the middle of the living room, eyes closed, hands resting on her knees.

  James shuts the door and finds me staring at his wife. He shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “She’s meditating.”

  I notice the dog flopped over beside her, and Millie opens one eye. “I’m just being quiet and still.” She closes her eye. “You should try it.”

  “Oh, thanks,” I whisper. “But I think I’ll just go on up to my room.”

  “It wasn’t a question. Sit down.”

  James shakes his head and leaves me to Señora Serenity. I settle into the same position next to her on the floor.

  “Why are we doing this?”

  “Shhhhh. Are your eyes closed?”

  “Well, Millie, since your eyes aren’t open, I could say yes here, and it really wouldn’t—”

  “Shut them.”

  I snap them closed.

  “Stress makes people unhealthy. Did you know that, Katie?”

  I believe it. I totally feel sick now, maxed out on my share of stress.

  We sit through five more violin concertos. Millie breathes in and out like she’s being graded on volume, and I’m so busy trying hard not to laugh, I am nowhere near relaxed. Plus, it’s hard to be all at peace when you’re suspended.

  She slowly rises from the hardwood floor. “Come on, I’ll fix you something special for lunch.”

  I join my foster mom in the kitchen. After James hands Millie a skillet and a few other items, he sits at the bar drinking coffee. We discuss the day, and I fill them in on my recent encounters with Angel.

  Millie throws some stuff I don’t recognize in a frying pan. I hope that’s not the main course.

  James puts his mug down. “Why didn’t you tell us Angel had gotten aggressive with you in PE?”

  I shrug. “I dunno. I didn’t want to upset you guys. I thought you had enough to deal with.”

  Millie slices into an onion. “Is there anything else we need to know?”

  Oh, like I lied to Maxine and told her I was working on my science fair project, but actually I was going to a party without your permission? Or that there was underage drinking at this event? Or that my foster grandmother showed up and busted the party in her Sponge Bob house shoes? Oh, and PS, I’m the laughingstock of the school.

  “Nope. Can’t think of a thing.”

  We talk more over an appetizer of cheese and crackers in the breakfast nook.

  “All right. Lunch is served.”

  Millie plops a burger on my plate. I pick a sesame seed off the top of the bun and pop it in my mouth. “Can I have some mayo?”

  My foster mom shakes her head. “No more mayonnaise for us. I threw it out. You won’t even miss it.”

  “Well, a burger sounds good. Should hit the spot after the morning I’ve had.” I open wide and sink my teeth in.

  And promptly spit it out.

  “Ugh. What is this?” I chug down some water. “That’s no hamburger.”

  James lifts his bun and inspects the contents.

  “I didn’t say it was a hamburger. It’s a tofu burger.” Millie tears into hers. “Things are gonna change around here. We’re gonna get healthy.”

  James pushes his plate away. “Or die trying.”

  “I have an idea.”

  “Does it involve more tofu?” Because these new ideas of Millie’s are not working for me.

  Millie’s eyes sparkle. “It involves shopping.”

  “Shopping?” So much better than meat substitutes.

  “You mentioned the spring dance the other day. James can take us to the mall. You’re going to need a formal. What do you say?”

  I say I totally don’t deserve a new dress! I’m a rule-breaking, deceitful loser.

  “I can see you in something full-length. A soft pink to complement your strawberry-blonde hair.”

  I’m the sludge on Spam. I’m the permanent ring in the school toilet bowls.

  “Strapless? Maybe with a gauzy sash. Very old Hollywood.”

  No. Must resist. “Are you up to it, Millie?” So weak . . .

  “I can’t wait to find out. I think I’m good for a few hours.” She smiles then points to my plate. “Eat that burger and we’ll even get new shoes.”

  I rip into it. “Mmmm.”

  Though I’m suspended, I decide to go to play rehearsal after shopping. It’s at the Valiant, so it’s not like I’m going to be on school property. Shopping was . . . heaven. I got the works—a fitted yet flowy dress, like something you’d have seen on the red carpet circa 1950. And these shoes that sparkle when they catch the light with a cool vintage heel. And when I tried them on, I felt like a princess.

  James drops me off at the
door, and I know he’ll probably hit the couch after his afternoon in the mall.

  “Hi, Katie! How are ya?” Sam polishes the brass trim on the concession counter. His hat perches crooked on his head, and he wears his typical uniform of overalls.

  “Hey, Sam.” I give him a quick hug. “Things are all right.” I mean, I guess things could be worse. Like I could be dead. “How’s it going with Maxine?”

  “Hot date tonight.” He raises his eyebrows. “Gonna take her to Ida Mae’s House of Vittles and buy her the best chicken-fried steak in town.”

  “Sounds very romantic.” I stare at the theater doors. “Well . . . I guess I better get in there.” Time to face Trevor Jackson.

  With a heavy heart, I pull open the door and ease my way downstage.

  “Hey, Sweet Pea.” Maxine’s voice stops me at row three.

  I do a double take. “What are you doing here?” Maxine wears a powder pink tutu and a rhinestone crown.

  “I got the part of the fairy godmother. Didn’t you hear?”

  My eyes search for Trevor, and I locate him onstage, running lines with Sydney Mason, the girl who plays the prince’s mother. Has he seen Maxine? I stand in front of her, trying to shield my cast-mates from the sight of her.

  “This isn’t a dress rehearsal!”

  “I’m into character. I guess I’m more serious about this than you.”

  “Yeah, seriously deranged.” I look her up and down, from her flouncy tulle tutu to her ballet slippers, criss-crossed on her white tights. “You look like Miss Havisham in toe shoes.” I jerk my head toward Trevor. “Do not say anything to him. Please?”

  Maxine adjusts her sparkly crown. “What on earth would I have left to say to him?”

  I nod slowly. “Good.” And I walk past her downstage.

  “Especially since I’ve already had a nice, long chat with him just a few minutes ago.”

  I turn around and pin Maxine with the meanest, maddest, baddest dirty look I’ve got. She waves her wand at me and cackles.

  I take a seat on the front row next to Jeremy, my fellow ugly stepsister.

  He smiles around a mouthful of braces. “Can you believe the play’s in less than three weeks? Today’s the last day we can use our scripts.”