On the Loose (A Katie Parker Production)

by Jenny B. Jones

  Angel schools her features, bends down and pick up the book. She tosses it on my desk, her eyes shooting lethal daggers.

  “And you will apologize,” Ms. Dillon repeats.

  Angel squares her shoulders and turns her body so she is totally facing me. “I’m sorry.” Her voice carries to the back row. A leering smile grows on her face, and she drops her voice a decibel. “This is not over.”

  At lunch I sit among the churchies and other friends. I feel like I got promoted or something. I belonged before, but now more than ever I feel a part of my church friends. And soon, even I will know where Leviticus is.

  “Thanks for the ice cream, Katie!” Hannah toasts me with her push-up.

  “Yeah, this is awesome. The whole month.” Frances licks her fudge pop before it drips.

  Nash approaches our group and holds out a hand for his. “How did you get all these?”

  “I picked out fourteen from the ice cream freezer and charged them to Mr. Wayman. He said he’d buy dessert. He didn’t say I could only have one a day.”

  “Did you find out anything more about Angel?” Frances asks, her eyes looking everywhere but at Nash.

  “Yeah, actually Mrs. Beaseley told me Angel had made copies of her mom’s locker room keys, including the one to the back door. She’d pass it on to one of her friends, and while Angel was in PE, her friend would sneak in the back way and take stuff.”

  “Then Angel would go in later and plant it. Dude, that’s crazy.” Nash sits in the only seat available—the one next to Frances. “Hey, Frances, you like fudge bars too?”

  Frances grabs a napkin, blots her face, and picks up her tray. “I gotta go. Talk to you guys later.”

  I try to catch her eye and read her face, but she looks down and charges through the lunch crowd.

  Nash frowns. “What did I say?”

  My eyes meet Charlie’s across the table.

  “Did something happen on the mission campout?” Charlie asks.

  Nash shakes his head. “Absolutely nothing happened. Every time I tried to talk to Frances last week, she did just what she did right now—clam up and leave.” He peels his ice cream wrapper off and takes a sad bite. “Maybe she heard I was gonna ask her to the spring dance and doesn’t have the nerve to tell me no.”

  Our table freezes and my Oreo bar lodges midway down my throat. “What? What did you say?” My eyes jerk to Charlie, but he shrugs, totally clueless.

  “Yeah, I know I’m not her type. She’s made it very clear lately I’m not the sort she wants to hang out with.” Nash’s head droops. “But ever since I pulled her out of her cousin’s birthday cake . . . I can’t get her out of my head.”

  “Her cousin Esther?”

  I send my elbow into Charlie’s ribs. “Frances, you dork! He likes Frances. All this time he’s liked Frances!” I jab my finger into his chest. “Why didn’t you know this? Are you telling me this entire time you didn’t just ask Nash how he felt about Frances? You never once tried to initiate some guy talk about her?”

  Charlie removes my hand. “I didn’t know what to do! Do you think I match-make on a regular basis?”

  “No, but I would think Mr. Four-Point-Oh could figure it out. One of the basic rules to setting people up is to find out how the other person feels. We knew how Frances felt. But did—”

  “Wait.” Nash holds up his dessert. “What do you mean you knew how Frances felt?” He looks around then locks his eyes on mine. “Has she ever mentioned me?”

  Charlie’s cheeks explode as he leans back and laughs.

  “What are you laughing about? This is not a funny situation. Frances has totally given up. Didn’t you see her just now?” I clutch Nash’s jacket sleeve and jerk. “If you like her, you have to tell her. Now.”

  His eyes round and he shakes his head. “No. I can’t tell her. She can’t even bring herself to talk to me. Are you saying she liked me at one time?”

  I nod. “Yes. But it’s not too late, Nash.” If this were a Disney movie, I’d totally break out in song. “You’ve got to talk to her.”

  He grabs his food and slings his backpack over his shoulder. “Nah. It’s too late. She made that clear over Spring Break. She obviously doesn’t want anything to do with me. She’s a shiny, polished flute. I’m a banged-up, out of tune, used Gibson guitar.” Nash walks off. The opposite way of Frances.

  I smack Charlie on the shoulder. “Good job, Einstein.”

  “What? How could I possibly know?”

  Boys are so stupid. I mean seriously, Charlie’s good friend likes my best friend, and he didn’t even know it. Why did I ask for help from a guy whose first pick for a girlfriend is Snobby Barbie?

  “Where is Chelsea anyway?”

  Charlie checks his watch. “She’s rehearsing.”

  “I didn’t have a rehearsal—”

  “She said it’s not for the entire cast.”

  My eyes narrow. “Just for her and Trevor.” Speaking of Trevor, I have to figure out a way to tell him I can’t go to the dance with him. I’ve avoided him all day. Well, I was going to avoid him when I saw him, but actually I haven’t run into him a single time.

  “So when you were talking about English class earlier, you mentioned Angel saying to you that it wasn’t over.”

  I ignore Charlie, still fixating on this secret rehearsal. How many rehearsals does it take to do a little waltzing, a little shoe fitting, and one big kiss?

  “Katie, what do you think Angel meant by that?”

  I snap my attention back to Charlie. “I don’t know. You’re the brainiac here. You figure it out. It’s not like I have anything left to lose. What’s she gonna do, steal my fake rubber nose before the play? TP my house?”

  Charlie slaps the table. “The science fair.”

  “What?”

  “We set up for the science fair in the gym, right? She could easily get in and sabotage our project.”

  “Angel got expelled today. She can’t be on campus.”

  Charlie rolls his eyes. “Yeah, like that’s gonna stop her.” He grabs my hand. “We’ve got to stop her.”

  “Nothing’s gonna happen. Why are you so paranoid?”

  “Just humor me.”

  I am. I’m letting you hold my hand. Which, by the way, do I tell him he’s still got my hand? Do I remove it? What exactly are the rules for non-boyfriend hand-holding? What’s the protocol for hand-holding in a moment of scientific passion?

  “I think we should hide out in the gym and watch for her.”

  “Charlie, that’s crazy. Besides, I have play rehearsals.”

  He looks down at our hands. And drops mine like a football with a penalty flag. “It’s not crazy. Katie, we have worked for weeks on this project. Can you honestly sit there and tell me you are one hundred percent sure there is no way Angel would try something like destroying our project?”

  “No, I can’t say with one hundred percent certainty, but—”

  “Then it’s settled.” Charlie jumps up from his seat and stacks his trash. “I’ll take the after school watch. Then you come over after play practice.”

  “No. Look, I’m grounded as it is. I can’t get in anymore trouble.”

  “Our ferns need you.” A hint of a smile plays at his lips.

  “I can’t. If I could break into the school and hide out in the dark gym with you, risking expulsion just to stare at science fair projects no one is gonna touch, I would. But I can’t.”

  “I cannot believe I let you talk me into this. By the way, Mrs. Hall says we can only stay as long as she’s in the building. Something about getting fired would make it hard to pay for the PI she’s hired to tail her husband.”

  I sit under a table, my body scrunched into a ball next to Charlie. A sheet covers our hideout just a few tables down from our science fair project, but still allows for us to make out any human forms coming to torch our data or kidnap our plants.

  “I knew you’d cave.” I hear the smile in his voice and find myself smiling
back in the dark. “Nice of Mrs. Hall to bring you over after practice.”

  “It’s rehearsal. Practice involves Gatorade and jock straps. What we do is art.”

  “You sound like Chelsea.”

  I gasp and ram my elbow into his ribs. “I do not!” Okay, cozy moment over. I now feel the need to hurl.

  “Just kidding.”

  “What do you see in her anyway?” Wow, turn off the lights, throw a sheet over my head, and I’ll say anything.

  His shoulders, pressed warmly to mine, lift in a shrug. “I don’t know.”

  “That’s romantic. So you saw her across a crowded room and thought, I have absolutely no opinion about that girl. I think I’ll ask her out.”

  “No, I mean . . . I don’t really know anymore.” Under the table our eyes meet. “It’s not the same. I’m not the same.”

  So many comments pounding at my head for release, all of them involving Chelsea insults, but I shut them out.

  “What about you and Trevor?”

  I force a laugh. “What about us? There really is no us. He asked me to the dance—well, sorta. And now I can’t go because I’m grounded. I kept trying to tell him tonight at rehearsal, but I couldn’t. I want to go to that dance so bad.” I rest my head on my bent knees. “You should see my dress. It’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever owned in my entire life.”

  The gym makes creaking noises as it settles in the silence. “I know you’d look great in the dress. There will be another dance.”

  “Maybe not for me. Not here. Who knows where I’ll be next month. Next year.”

  “That dress would’ve been wasted on Jackson anyway. The guy’s a jerk. You’re too good for him.”

  This doesn’t fire me up like it once did. In some part of my brain, am I starting to buy this? There are tons of red flags where Trevor’s concerned. But doesn’t every guy come with warning labels?

  “You’re not gonna get grounded for being here, are you?”

  “Nah, the Scotts know we’re with Mrs. Hall.” They just don’t know exactly what I’m doing.

  Forty-five minutes later my body is screaming in protest. “I can’t move my neck,” I whisper.

  “I know. I lost all feeling in my legs.”

  I really regret not bringing snacks. “Charlie, do you give up yet? She’s not gonna show. I think even Angel has her limits.”

  “Just give it time. I have a feeling.”

  “That’s just your butt falling asleep.” I roll my shoulders and try to readjust in the small space. “Angel would have to sneak out of her house to get here. I’m sure her mom is watching her like a—”

  Creeeeaaaak!

  Charlie and I freeze like statues as a door slowly opens somewhere toward the front of the gym.

  No way. Angel wouldn’t be that stupid.

  I put my mouth next to Charlie’s ear. “It’s probably Mrs. Hall ready to go.”

  He lays a finger over my lips and shakes his head.

  The wooden floor groans with each step as someone crosses the gym and gets closer and closer. Charlie removes his finger from my mouth, but I continue to hold my breath. My heart hammers in my chest, and I close my eyes. Why am I here? Why did I agree to this? What if it’s not Mrs. Hall? Even worse what if it’s not Mrs. Hall and it’s not Angel, and this someone sees the outline of two idiots sitting under a gigantic model of the solar system, and we get hauled to jail for stalking science fair projects?

  Charlie nudges me, and I lift my head and open my eyes. He nods and points.

  Sure enough, my eyes focus, and I can make out the tell-tale spike of Angel’s hair. My ears perk as I hear her unzip a bag and rummage through it. Maybe she’s just impressed with our scientific findings and wants to take a picture.

  I see the outline of two hands reach for our plant, lift it overhead and—

  “Stop!”

  Ready to spring, my body jerks to a halt at the cry of a fourth person.

  I lift the sheet. “Mrs. Hall?”

  The lights shutter on, and my drama teacher eases out from behind the bleachers and steps forward. “Set the fern down, Miss Nelson. Nice and slow.” Mrs. Hall catches our shocked expressions as Charlie and I climb out from our post. “What? You didn’t think I was going to let you hide out in here alone, did you? I have too much experience in spying and covert operations to leave you to fend for yourselves.”

  Angel looks from Mrs. Hall to me and Charlie. Then back to Mrs. Hall.

  “I said drop it, Angel.” The teacher pulls out her phone and punches in some numbers. “Mr. Wayman? I need you to meet me at the gym pronto. Yes, this is Mrs. Hall. What? No, I didn’t get my scarf stuck in the door again.” She shuts her phone and walks toward Angel.

  I stretch and follow Charlie toward our table.

  “You were right, Charlie.” We stand in front of Angel, and I lock my eyes with hers. “I said she wouldn’t sneak in and destroy our project, but you were right.” I pin her with my cold stare. “And to think I gave you the benefit of the doubt.”

  She rolls her eyes in disgust.

  “Would you let it go?” My voice echoes off the wood floors. “Whatever it is you are so freakin’ mad about, it’s not about me. Don’t you get that yet?” You’d think the girl had never seen a single episode of Dr. Phil. “You talked me into that theater last fall. I didn’t ask you to deceive me into tagging along for your little joyride of destruction. And I’m the one who worked my tail off fixing all the damage you and your friends did. You just had to do a little community service. Why are you still so mad at me?”

  Angel’s reptile eyes narrow to slivers. “You were supposed to be one of us. I took you in. I was your friend when no one else would be.”

  “In the short amount of time I’ve known you, you’ve broken into a theater, nearly destroyed it, got me hauled to the police, you’ve stolen things and planted them in my locker, and now this.” I wave my hand over the table. “And I should want to be friends with you because . . .?”

  Her eyes tear up. “You don’t even know me. Don’t stand there and judge me.”

  “Ten seconds ago you were about to kill my plant and demolish our science grade. I’m way beyond the point of reserving judgment.”

  Angel turns her head and stares at the floor. Her fury radiates like the stink from the composting experiment three tables down.

  “That’s all you and your friends do—judge people like me. You’re so high and mighty.”

  I move closer. “I’m just never gonna have a big enough rap sheet for you, am I? You’re gonna spend your whole life waiting for the world to hug you back, but it’s not going to. I’ve been there. This is not how you make things better.”

  “Oh, maybe I could go to church and then my life would be perfect,” Angel sneers.

  “If things are that bad for you, there are options,” the drama teacher says. “Have you talked to the counselor?”

  We all gape at Mrs. Hall.

  “Right. Well, maybe you could talk to our junior high counselor.”

  Angel takes a few steps back. “Save your advice. I don’t need it. I don’t need any of you.”

  “You walk out that door, young lady and—”

  Angel ignores Mrs. Hall’s commands to stop and bolts out of the gym and out the doors. The three of us chase after her, sprinting into the parking lot, but it’s too late.

  Her car peels out, her tires screeching, and she races away in a plume of smoke.

  Charlie digs in his jacket for his keys, but Mrs. Hall’s hand on his forearm stops him.

  “No, don’t go after her. We’ve done our job.” She retrieves her phone again. “I know people who know people . . .” she nods and quirks a brow, “. . . who can find her.”

  Overcome with a crazy impulse, I throw my arms around my teacher. “Thank you.” I pat her back and let her go. “Thank you for . . . everything.”

  “Anytime, Katie.” Her face glows. “We drama queens have to stick together, right?” She glances at her w
atch. “Speaking of that, I have a few calls I have to make for the play, then I’m out of here. I have another stakeout, er, meeting with Mr. Hall across town. You kids head out; I’m gonna lock up and wait for Mr. Wayman.”

  Charlie and I shower her with praise and appreciation until she closes herself back into the gym. The sun sets in pink and lilac brush strokes in the In Between sky as my coconspirator opens his truck door.

  “Can I give you a ride?”

  “Nah, I’ll just call James.” I unzip my backpack and search for my phone with my hand. “Augh. Are you kidding me?” I mutter aloud. “I must’ve left my phone at the Valiant.”

  Charlie walks around and opens his passenger door. “Hop in. We’ll call the Scotts on our way and tell them you’ll be home soon. Can we get into the theater?”

  I shut my door and enjoy the scent of Charlie all around me. “Yeah, I know where the spare key’s hidden.”

  Charlie drives us through down and straight to the Valiant. We jump out, and I grab the key under the fourth largest rock in the front landscaping and wiggle it in the lock.

  “That’s odd. It’s unlocked. Oh, well. Sam’s probably cleaning up.”

  We chat at mach speed, sailing through the lobby, laughing and talking over one another as we rehash the evening’s events.

  “This night just could not get any crazier.” I giggle and yank the heavy theater door open. And stop.

  Charlie crashes into the back of me.

  We both stand, rooted to the spot.

  Silent.

  On stage, intertwined, are Chelsea and Trevor, making out like it’s their last moment on earth.

  “Well,” I say. “That’s definitely not in the script.”

  Chapter 37

  “Katie, would you listen to me? Open this door.”

  Outside Trevor bangs on the women’s dressing room door on opening night. Woman at Ball Number Four slinks toward it.

  I throw out my arm and block her. “You touch that door, and I will not be responsible for my actions.” She doesn’t look too alarmed. “I used to be friends with Angel Nelson.” She disappears.