The New Girl

by Tracie Puckett

Chapter Four

  Tuesday, September 27

  “Shouldn't you be working on the costumes?” Bridget asked as I unlocked the front door.

  “Nope. I finished the final designs on Sunday, and I'm running them by the directors tomorrow. I'll have my crew start constructing the pieces as soon as I get the green light from Mr. Rivera.”

  “Can I see whatcha got so far?”

  “Sure,” I said, walking up the stairs with Bridget close behind.

  It’d been a little over two weeks since Bridget and I had covered my bedroom walls with a cool, calm, relaxing lavender. Since, I’d taken the time to add a little personality. I’d made a set of curtains to cover the large window, reupholstered the window seat cushions, and framed some of my favorite designs to hang on the wall. The biggest project of all had me sifting through all of the old bedding we’d collected over the years. With a little time and effort, I managed to repurpose old pieces to create some unique patterns on my comforter and pillows. The room was no longer lacking in style or consistency; it looked amazing.

  “Oh, my God,” Bridget said when I opened the door. “It doesn't even look like the same place! Ha! You even unpacked! And cleaned!” She jumped in place and then shot across the room to take a better look at the far wall. “Wow, we really should’ve taken before and after pictures!”

  “I’m still trying to forget the before.”

  Mom popped her head in. “Bridget, do you mind if I steal my daughter for a second?”

  “Go for it.”

  “The production designs are in the blue binder next to the computer,” I told Bridget. “Help yourself.”

  I walked out, closing the door behind me.

  Mom wrinkled her nose and sighed, and that was all she had to do. She didn’t have to say a word.

  “When?”

  “Huh?”

  “We're moving again,” I said, reading into her twisted expression. “When?”

  “We're not going anywhere, Baby,” she said, frustrated that I’d jumped to conclusions. “I just wanted to discuss plans for the evening.”

  “We couldn’t have this conversation back in my room?”

  “Well, no,” she said, brushing a piece of lint off my shoulder. “I wanted to hear your thoughts about having Calvin over for dinner.”

  “When?”

  “Tonight.”

  “Tonight?”

  “What do you think?”

  “It’s too fast,” I said. “You've only known him for … what, three weeks? I don’t know him at all, and I’m not sure I want to. It seems incredibly soon to bring him home.”

  “Let me put it this way, Baby,” she said putting her hands up.

  “Calvin is coming to dinner. Tonight. You can either stay or go, I don't care. But it would be nice if you could suck it up and do this for me.”

  I sighed and threw my head back. “What time?”

  “They'll be here at five-thirty.”

  “They?”

  “Calvin wants to introduce us to his little brother,” she said. “So take your hair out of that stupid bun and quit hiding your pretty face with those tacky glasses. I want you to look halfway presentable.”

  “Fine.”

  “Hair down, glasses off. Best behavior, Baby.”

  I rolled my eyes and walked back into the bedroom, slamming the door behind me.

  Bridget sat on the window seat and flipped through the designs.

  “Everything okay?”

  I ignored the question. “What do you think of the costumes?”

  “They're amazing,” she said. “My gosh, Steph. Where did you learn to draw like this?”

  “Self-taught.”

  “Shut up!”

  “I’m serious,” I crossed my heart. “I mean, theater, ballet, sports ... the typical childhood hobbies … they were never really an option for me. When you're on the move as much as we were, you need a talent that can travel with you.” I sat next to her and stared outside at the large oak tree. As much as I wanted to be there, in that moment, enjoying a conversation with my friend, I couldn’t get over that last conversation with Mom. You can either stay or go, I don’t care. Truthfully, I knew she meant that. “I wonder how hard it would be to climb out and sneak away.”

  “Planning an escape?”

  “Mom's new boyfriend is coming to dinner.”

  “Ugh, bummer,” she said. “Wanna crash with me tonight?”

  “Nah. I just need to get it over with. She wants me to meet him. She’ll be persistent until I do.”

  Bridget spared the thought of the dreaded meeting by keeping me company for a while.

  “Can I take the book home?” she asked two hours later. “Nate's coming over tonight to run lines, and I wanna show him the designs.”

  Nate's name only came up in conversations regarding the show. The morning after Bridget told me about her crush on him, she never mentioned it again … and neither did I.

  “Sure. Bring it to school tomorrow, though. I want to get them approved as soon as possible.”

  “Okay,” she said, making her way toward the door. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

  “Wait,” I said quickly. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Anything,” she said, turning back.

  “Do you think ...” I smoothed my hair and took a step back. “I mean, am I … do I look ...”

  “You're beautiful, Steph—inside and out.” She stepped forward and squeezed my hand. “Don’t let Caroline tell you any different, okay? Call if you need anything. Or even if you don’t. That’s an order.”

  With a quick hug, Bridget left me alone. Still wearing the jeans and sweater I'd worn to school, I looked at myself in the mirror. The same ole clothes, hair, and glasses as any other day would have to suffice.

  The doorbell rang and the sound of Mom's heels clapped on the floor downstairs. I heard the door open and voices carry on the level below.

  “Baby,” Mom yelled at the bottom of the staircase. I walked out of my bedroom right on cue. “Come on down, sweetheart.”

  I moved down the steps slowly, finally reaching the foyer. Mom wore a gorgeous black dress with her blonde hair swept high in the back. She threw me a disapproving glance; she was mad that I hadn’t transformed myself into the beauty queen she was expecting.

  “Where's Calvin?” I asked, ignoring her disapproval.

  “He brought his famous apple pie for dessert. He's taking it to the kitchen.”

  “And his little brother?”

  “Parking the car.”

  “Parking the—you said little brother, like he was a child!”

  “No, Baby. He's here for you, silly goose.”

  “For me?”

  “To keep you company,” she said. “Like a double-date, honey.”

  “Mom,” I said, shaking my head. “I'm not interested in—”

  The doorbell rang again, and much to her advantage; I was five seconds away from smacking her square in the face.

  A man, who I could only assume was Calvin, walked back into the foyer from the kitchen. He leaned his chin on Mom's shoulder and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek. I ignored their repulsive affection for one another and opened the door, feeling the sudden brain fog set in.

  “Come in, come in.” Mom shoved by me and welcomed the man into the house. He was gorgeous—the typical tall, dark, handsome type ... and well into his twenties. His hair wasn’t neat, but a little mussed after a long day. He wore dark fitted blue jeans and a white button-up shirt. I tried not to stare, but our eyes met for a second time; he smirked, and I lowered my head.

  This was a disaster waiting to happen.

  “Baby,” Mom said. “This is Calvin. And this,” she nudged the man standing next to her, “is Alex.”

  “Alex.” I said slowly. “Right, okay. Yeah. Uh, Mom, can I talk to you alone for just a sec?”

  Without giving her time to respond, I ducked out of the foyer and into the living room.

  “Baby,” she scolded quiet
ly as she followed me. “How rude!”

  “Mom!” I yelled. “What is going on in that tiny brain of yours?” She looked stunned that I wasn’t happy with her match-up. “Do you have any idea how old he is? Or how old I am? Seventeen! A minor! And ... God! Does he know why he’s here? I can’t possibly imagine that he does! He wouldn’t show up here to meet a child.”

  “Sweetheart—”

  “I can't date him, are you kidding me? Not even for one night! He's—”

  “Calm down, Baby,” she interrupted. “You'll be eighteen in just a few months, and you're a year older now than I was when you were born. You're beautiful, mature, intelligent—”

  “I'm not disputing my good qualities,” I interrupted. “I'm questioning your quality of judgment. This is highly irresponsible.”

  “It's one night, Baby. Calvin had already made plans with Alex. He didn’t want to bail on him, so he asked him to tag along. No, he doesn’t think he’s here on a date, you’re right. But just help me out, k? If nothing else, keep him company.”

  I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. “Mom, stop. I need you to listen to me. That man is—”

  “Cute, huh?” She turned on her heels and disappeared back into the foyer.

  “Yeah,” I said to no one but myself. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

  I walked out of the living room, past the front door, and into the kitchen. Calvin leaned over the stove tasting Mom’s pasta. She stood with her hands pressed to her sides and fingers crossed.

  “It's delicious.” He kissed her cheek before turning to meet my stare. “Baby?”

  “Steph.”

  “Steph,” he noted. He studied my face for a few minutes—reminding me of how Nate had done on my first day of school—and then extended his hand to shake mine. His grin only widened with each passing moment. “It's nice to finally meet you.”

  Mom was right. Calvin was handsome—much like his brother—though built a little larger and with a much stronger jawline.

  “Alex has moved on to the dining room, Baby,” Mom said. “You should go ahead and join him and we'll be in soon with the food.”

  I took a deep breath and pushed through the door separating the two rooms. There he sat, facing me, his back to the large set of windows that overlooked our back yard. He shook his head and bit his lip, and there my heart went, pounding way off beat. Okay. Screw handsome. Screw good-looking. Alexander Rivera was, hands down, the sexiest man I'd ever seen in my life.

  “Miss Ghijk,” he said, wearing a grin. “This may very well be the strangest thing I've ever let my brother talk me into.”

  “I have a proposition to make.”

  “Hit me.”

  “If you don't tell them, I won't kill you.”

  His eyes widened. “You drive a hard bargain,” he said. “Why the secrecy?”

  “Call me selfish, but I'm starting to like the life I have in Webster Grove. Mom, however, doesn't need much persuasion to pack up and leave on a whim.”

  “And where do I fit in to all of that?”

  “Caroline lives in her own world, Mr. Rivera,” I said. “She can't handle humiliation or rejection and she views any negativity as ammunition to uproot and start over. Imagine how she'd feel if she found out she set her teenage daughter up on a blind date with her English teacher.”

  “Not a date,” he corrected me quickly. “I’m tagging along with Cal.”

  “But it’s my responsibility to keep you company.”

  “Okay,” he said. “If that’s what you want, then we don't say anything. It's only one night.”

  “Really?” I asked, and he nodded. I breathed a deep sigh of relief. “Okay… so, I call you—”

  “Alex.”

  “Right.”

  He looked to the empty chair next to his. “You going to sit?”

  “Um ...” I eyed the seat and shook my head. “Nah, I’m good.”

  “You should probably take a seat, Steph. It’ll make this evening a little less awkward.”

  “You know, I’m fine standing.”

  He lowered his head and glared at me. “Steph.”

  Great. His teacher voice worked on me even when we weren’t in the classroom.

  I took his order, sliding in next to him and staring at the empty plate in front of me. I tapped my foot on the floor and threw a quick glance in his direction. As he often did, he bit his lip.

  “So, your brother,” I finally said. “He's a good guy?”

  “The best.”

  More silence. I don't know how long it lasted, but it felt like hours. Realistically, my bet was on sixty seconds.

  “Mr. Rivera,” I said quietly, finally finding the nerve to speak. There was no way I could call that man Alex. “How are you able to be here this evening?”

  “I know it’s hard for students to make the distinction,” he said. “But I only teach during the daytime, Steph. I have a whole separate life outside of school.”

  “No, I mean ... where does Miss Holt think you are?”

  “I suppose she thinks I'm home grading papers or drawing up lesson plans.”

  “Because that’s the whole separate life you have outside of school?” I smirked.

  “Right,” he nodded, and it made me giddy to see him fighting a smile of his own.

  “I meant, where does she think you are? Aren't you two—”

  “Contrary to popular belief, Steph, Karen Holt is not an object of my affection.”

  “But everyone says—”

  “I know what they say,” he said, shifting in his seat. “You’re in high school. You should know by now that you can’t believe half of what you hear. Rumors are nasty, nasty things.”

  “Dinner!” Mom yelled as she and Calvin busted into the room carrying salads, pasta, and bread. After they took their seats, and the food was passed around and portioned evenly across the four plates, the familiar routine began.

  “Baby, do you have any questions for Calvin?” I took a bite and ignored her question. “Anything at all?”

  “Hmm, let’s see,” I said, pretending to think hard. “Are you a serial killer?”

  “No,” Calvin said, widening his stare. Mr. Rivera chuckled next to me and Mom pursed her lips.

  “Rapist?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Married?”

  “No.”

  “Homosex—”

  “That's enough, Baby,” Mom snapped. She took a moment to compose herself and then said, “I meant serious questions.”

  “In my defense, none of those questions were intended jokingly.”

  “It's okay, Caroline,” Calvin said.

  “No, it's not,” she said. “You both mean a lot to me, and I’d appreciate it if you would take the time to get to know each other.” She gave me a hard look. “You need to take this seriously.”

  Pain flickered in her eyes. I hated that. Mom had a super-special way of making me feel incredible guilt.

  “Where are you from?” I asked, humoring my mother. Plus, if I finally nailed down Mr. Rivera’s ethnicity, Bridget could die happily; she groveled in the knowledge that lessened his mysteriousness.

  “Grew up right here in Webster Grove,” Calvin said, taking a bite of the salad he'd helped Mom prepare. “I’ve lived here all my life. Only ever left for college.”

  “On a larger scale, though. What about your parents? Where are they from?”

  Mr. Rivera smirked and lowered his head. “Our grandparents are Cuban.”

  “Ah,” I said, hiding a smile behind my fork. “Interesting.”

  With that, thirty minutes passed slowly. The handsome teacher and I barely spoke a word to one another or to Mom and Calvin. The lovebirds never looked away from one another; they were seemingly head over heels and completely unaware of the world around them.

  “Who's ready for pie?” Calvin asked after the dinner plates were clear.

  “Me!” Mom bounced in her seat and clapped her hands, doing an uncanny impression of Rachel Canter�
� better yet, Bridget. Mr. Rivera and I shared a glance that told me he’d been making the exact mental comparison.

  Calvin collected the dirty dishes and disappeared to the kitchen. He returned moments later, balancing four small plates with a single slice of apple pie on each. He passed them around and reclaimed his chair next to Mom. “Eat up, hon.”

  “Cal makes incredible pie,” Mr. Rivera said with his mouth full. Unsurprisingly, he was beautiful even when he was sloppy.

  “I agree,” Mom said, squeezing Calvin’s hand. “He's amazing in the kitchen ... and the bedr—”

  “Don't say it, Caroline,” I warned her. “Don't—you—dare—say—it.”

  The room fell silent again as the Rivera brothers stared between the Ghijk women. The quiet lingered for another two minutes. I savored every bite, knowing that the quicker I ate, the sooner Mr. Rivera would leave. And truthfully, I didn’t want him to go; I enjoyed having his company.

  I lifted the fork and took the final bite, knowing it couldn't last forever. But with that one last piece of pie, a searing pain ripped through my mouth.

  “Holy crap!” I cried.

  Mr. Rivera's hand landed softly on my back. “Steph?”

  “Blood,” I said, only intending to make a silent observation. I wanted to enjoy that moment, the way his hand fell protectively around me, but the painful throbbing and bleeding of my gums had required most of my attention. But after another second passed and the pain subsided, I looked over to see his eyes were still locked on me, full of concern. I spit the chewed up pie into my hand and found, mixed into the crusted apple bits, a large diamond ring.

  Calvin buried his head in his hands.

  “Idiot,” he scolded himself.

  “I think this belongs to you.” I passed the ring to Mom and cleaned my hand and face on a cloth napkin.

  “Calvin?” she questioned the jewelry with wide eyes.

  “Caroline,” he said, kneeling on the floor.

  “Oh, come on,” his brother said. “Cal, get up.”

  “Caroline,” Calvin continued, ignoring his brother’s objection. “I know we haven't known each other long—”

  “Three weeks,” Mr. Rivera interjected.

  “But no one else in the world will ever captivate me the way you do, love me like you have, and complete every inch of my heart and soul—”

  “Again,” I said. “Only three weeks.”

  “Baby, please,” Mom pleaded. “Hush.”

  It wasn't until his thumb began to rub my shoulder that I realized Mr. Rivera's hand was still planted firmly on my back. I looked to him, looking at me, sparking something ... something wonderful.

  I needed comfort, and something in his touch told me that he understood that. He was there.

  Calvin’s voice brought me back to the conversation.

  “Caroline,” Calvin said. “Will you marry me?”

  The moment the word yes slipped off her lips, I was out of my chair and leaving the room.

  No way. Not happening. Over—my—dead—body.