In the Pepto Bismol-colored bathroom, I said, "Thanks for getting me out of there." I splashed some cold water on my face, the chill shocking my skin and stealing my breath.
Erin studied me. "What's going on?"
I shrugged, because I really had no idea. A teacher had never freaked me out like this. No one had ever freaked me out like this. Ever.
"Whatever it is, you'd better get over it before play rehearsal this afternoon. You know how Mr. Jordan gets when rehearsal's off. Like a rabid dog." She laughed.
I stood on stage after my scene with Cole and waited, muscles tensed, for Mr. Jordan's critique of my performance. Perspiration collected at my hairline. Of all the drama teachers I'd had, Mr. Jordan was by far the hardest to please. And my last scene wasn't my best, because I was still distracted by what had happened in Ms. Neal's class. I couldn't get the image of her bizarre eyes out of my head. Or the image of that guy watching me--like he was probing me.
"Do you call that acting?" His voice boomed through the theater and slapped me in the face.
I knew better than to say anything when a director was agitated.
"Run the last two lines again." He glowered at me. "This time let's try some acting, if it isn't too much to ask."
I nodded. His radar was now set on me. He'd pick apart any and every move I made or word I said. I might as well have had a big target painted on my chest. Great.
The searing spotlights shone on Cole and me.
Overcoming my nerves, I said my line with determination.
In an angry tone, Cole said his line and then pushed me. On cue, I fell to the ground, hard, pain shooting through my elbow. I hoped it was enough, but knew in the back of my mind nothing was ever good enough for Mr. Jordan. He demanded perfection. Always.
Cole reached his hand down and mouthed, "Sorry." He would never intentionally hurt me.
I latched onto his hand, and he pulled me to my feet.
"Mildly better," Mr. Jordan said from his seat in the darkness of the theater. "But, don't anticipate the shove. Be surprised. We want the audience to be shocked at his display of anger. Crystal, do you understand?"
I rubbed my elbow, the bruise already forming. "Yes, sir." He'd keep me here until I got the scene right, even if I fractured my elbow in the process.
The door at the back of the theater opened, and light from the hallway backlit a familiar form. I smiled slightly. Nate. I glanced at my watch—he was early.
"Crystal!" Mr. Jordan yelled. I could tell from his tone that he'd been trying to get my attention and he wasn't pleased. Again.
I cleared my throat. "Yes?" It came out as a squeak.
"Focus. Don't make me sorry that I cast you in the lead."
My stomach tightened at his implication. I shook my head. "No, sir. I won't." Losing this part would kill me.
"If you can't handle it, I'll replace you." His gaze burned into me.
I chewed the inside of my lip while my heart hammered in my chest. I'd worked so hard to develop my acting over the years, because theater was the only constant in my life. Through all of my family's moves, theater was where I had felt like I almost fit in, and this play was exactly the kind of play I wanted to perform in my senior year. "I can handle it. I promise." I had to focus everything on the play and let nothing get in the way. Nothing.
"You'd better." Mr. Jordan stroked his scraggly goatee. "Take your places and let's do scene seven again."
While we rehearsed, I slipped a few glances in Nate's direction. Constant moving pretty much prevented me from ever having a boyfriend. I still couldn't believe he was mine with his wavy dark-blond hair and chocolate brown eyes. He ran track, and it showed in his lean, muscular body. Even thinking about holding his hand made me jittery. I couldn't wait for prom on Saturday.
The scene began, and Cole lumbered across the stage. I tried not to brace myself. As I dropped to the hardwood floor, I held my breath. Once again, my elbow was on fire.
"Better," Mr. Jordan yelled from the second row of seats. He stood. "Crystal, are you hurt?"
I nodded reluctantly.
He frowned. "Do we need to go over stage combat again?" he asked as he walked toward the stage.
"No." I didn't want to be responsible for the whole cast being held late just because I couldn't fall right. "I'll get it."
"See that you do. I don't want anyone getting hurt."
"Okay." I'd have to add this to my long list of things to work on. Awesome.
"Time for notes," he said.
The cast gathered and sat on the stage while Mr. Jordan went over everything we'd done wrong. Besides being so quick to anger, he was way too picky, but he was the director, and that made him a god. I had to listen to whatever he said and do my best to please him, and the audience. This would be my last high-school production, and I wanted to nail it.
After Mr. Jordan shared his notes, including more than my fair share on improving my facial expressions, posture, and diction, Erin sidled up to me.
"Hey, what did you hurt?" she asked, concern in her eyes.
"My elbow."
Erin looked at it and scrunched up her nose. "It's bleeding a little. I'll get you a bandage from the first aid kit."
"I'm sure it'll be fine." I pulled my sleeve over it. Out of sight, out of mind I told myself—only my elbow didn't buy it.
"I'm the stage manager and your best friend. It's my job to look after you." She smiled. "Stay here, I'll be right back." Erin jumped to her feet and disappeared backstage.
Best friend? She said she was my best friend. I'd never had a best friend before.
I turned back and watched Nate get up from his seat. He walked toward me with a swagger that only he could pull off. "Hey, beautiful."
I loved how he said that. "Hi, Nate." Butterflies collided in my stomach.
"Ready to go?"
"Erin's getting me something for my elbow."
"How does it feel?" He took my arm gently in his hands, sending vibrations up to my shoulder. We'd been "official" for about a month, but my nerves still twitched at his touch.
Cole approached us. "Sorry about that," he said as he stood next to me, his floppy brown hair in his eyes.
Nate started, "You hurt her again and I'll—"
"He didn't mean it," I said, trying to defend Cole. "His character needs to look like he's really mad at mine."
Nate drew his brows together and frowned. "I don't care. I don't want him—"
"You're not even supposed to be in here during rehearsal," Cole said with an edge to his voice. I thought I saw a hint of something in his hazel eyes. Jealousy? No. Not possible. Not over me.
"You wanna start something, pretty boy?" I could hear anger building in Nate's voice.
"You're not worth it." Cole shook his head and left.
Nate grabbed my hand and pressed a soft kiss to my palm, warming my entire arm. "You were amazing," he said.
"Really?"
"Absolutely. I can't wait to see you perform."
My stomach fluttered.
He squeezed my hand. "I'm really excited for prom."
"Me too." I smiled.
Erin walked over to me. "I couldn't find the first aid kit. It's probably in the dressing room."
"I'll go with you," I said. "I think I left my book back there yesterday."
"Don't be gone too long," Nate said with a wink.
"I won't."
I followed Erin behind the stage to two large black doors that opened into an ancient lime-green room. Erin rummaged through a cabinet and found a bandage. "Here you go."
"I really don't need it."
"I'll feel better if you wear it," she said. "Besides, you don't want blood all over your clothes."
"You're right. Seeing blood makes me pass out." I'd never be a nurse. My stomach and blood weren't friends.
Erin placed the bandage on my elbow. "All done."
"Thanks." I checked my limp, light blonde hair in the mirror and tried to fluff it to make it fuller so
I'd look good for Nate.
"Excited for the weekend?" Erin eyed me in the mirror. She rolled some lip gloss across her full lips.
"Uh, huh. I can't wait."
"Prom will be awesome. I'm so happy we're doubling." She added some sparkly eye shadow to her lids.
"Me, too." Compared to Erin with her dark hair and bronzed skin, I looked invisible with my blonde eyelashes, pale blue eyes, and ghostly white skin.
Erin smiled at me in the mirror. "You think you and Nate will—"
"No." It came out forcefully.
"Why not?" Erin stepped back to look at me directly.
"We've already had this conversation."
"Yeah, but this is prom. It's special. You and Nate have been together for a long time."
"It's been a month. And I already told you, Erin, I want to wait until I'm married." She didn't seem to understand how important waiting was to me.
Erin flopped down with a thud on one of the metal chairs. "Why? That's so old-fashioned. Prehistoric even."
"I decided a long time ago—"
"I know, I know, you're religious and all that." She leaned back and balanced the chair on its back legs.
"When I was younger it was about that, but as I've gotten older, I've realized I'm not ready for sex." I shook my head. "I don't want that emotional baggage."
"You're being way too dramatic about it. It's not that big of a deal." Erin waved her hand.
"But shouldn't it be? Shouldn't sex be a big deal?"
Erin shrugged.
"I hate all the pressure about it too. Everyone talks about tolerance and respect—why can't I get the same respect for my decision? Why can't I wait?"
"Of course you can. It's just—"
"Not normal? Not cool? Weird? I've heard it all before."
"Well . . ."
"I'm tired of people trying to push it on me. I want to wait, and that's what I'm going to do. I don't want any emotional ties like that to a guy. Not even to Nate."
"And Nate knows this?" Erin let the chair back down on all four legs.
"I've been very clear about it." I adjusted my purple shirt and fluffed my hair again.
"But prom is—"
"A dance. Not some life-changing event."
"It could be." Erin smirked.
"Erin!" I gave her an exasperated sigh.
She held her hands up. "Okay, okay."
"Let's go. Nate's waiting for me."
As Nate, Erin, and I walked out to the parking lot, I couldn't help but think about what Erin had said. I hoped Nate didn't have different expectations because it was prom. Glancing at him, I assured myself everything would be fine.
Nate pulled out his key fob and unlocked the doors to his big 4X4 truck. I climbed into the front seat and set my bag on the floor, inhaling the scent of his musky aftershave, which still lingered in the cab. He opened his door and slid into his seat. He started the ignition, and the engine roared to a start.
"Ready for Saturday night?" he said as we pulled out of the almost-empty high school parking lot onto Main Street.
"Yes. You?"
He reached over and grabbed my hand. "After prom will be amazing. I have it all arranged."
Something in the way he said it made my stomach queasy. Erin's earlier comments about prom bounced around my brain. Maybe I did need to rethink what Nate expected at prom. I'd heard rumors about him before we dated. He was 'experienced.' I wasn't. He knew I didn't want to be. Right?
"I rented a cabin for after the dance. We can celebrate all night."
"All night?" It came out shakier than I thought it would.
"Of course. Senior prom is the night." His flawless smile spread across his face, exposing bright white teeth.
After a few moments of awkwardness, I said, "I don't know if I can stay out all night."
His head jerked toward me. "What? Why not?"
"You know my parents. I have a curfew." Blaming my parents seemed like the best thing to do.
"On prom night?" He pulled my hand up to his mouth, gently brushing his lips against it. "No one has a curfew that night."
I cleared my throat while trying to clear my head. "I do."
"Come on, Crystal. We deserve to celebrate."
"I know. I want to celebrate with you." I tried to make amends by scooting as close as the seatbelt would allow and laying my head on his shoulder.
"Then trust me." He paused. "Talk to your parents. I've made all sorts of plans. Erin and Charlie will be there. A bunch of us will be there for an after-prom party."
We won't be alone. Maybe I am overreacting. I looked at him. "What are the plans?"
A smirk played across his lips and it made my heart turn to Jell-O. "I want to make this night a special one for you."
I wanted to trust him, but I still worried about what could happen. I didn't want to tempt fate, and, like I'd told Erin, the only baggage I wanted for college was my suitcase.
"Don't worry," Nate said, interrupting my thoughts. "I know what you're thinking."
"You do?" My reaction betrayed my surprise.
"You'll be safe with me." He held up his hand. "Promise."
I considered his words. I didn't really have any reason to doubt him. Besides, I was probably over-thinking the whole situation—something I was particularly good at.
"I know what's important to you. I don't understand it, but I can respect it." He gave me a quick glance. "You're not like any other girl I've known, and I don't want to mess things up between us."
His sincerity warmed me—I had overreacted.
"So, you'll ask your parents if they can make an exception for prom?"
"I'll think about it."
He made a pout—an irresistible, made-me-want-to-kiss-him pout.
"Okay, I'll ask." What would it hurt to ask my parents for a little more time on prom night? After all, senior prom only happened once.
"I promise it will be fun." He caressed my hand in such a sweet and tender way that I knew I could trust him. I was lucky to have such an understanding boyfriend. Leaning my head on his shoulder again, visions of prom danced across my mind. It would be a night I'd never forget, and I couldn't imagine spending it with anyone but Nate.
We drove down the tree-lined street to my family's small, gray rental house. Nate pulled into the driveway next to my dad's dark blue Pontiac. "Ask your parents." He reached over and gave me a cinnamon-flavored kiss.
I slowly walked up to the front door and waved as Nate drove away. With the memory of his kiss still on my lips, I gathered my courage to ask for an extended curfew. I opened the front door and stepped inside.
"Hi, Princess," my dad said as he came in from the kitchen. His sandy blonde hair was a bit messy, and his glasses sat uneven on his nose.
"Hi, Dad. Hard day?" I put my bag on the old beige couch.
"Working on my sermon for Sunday." He gave me a hug and a kiss on my cheek. "I thought you were going to call for a ride."
"Nate gave me a ride."
"Oh." That one word communicated exactly how he felt about Nate. The same way he'd feel about any boyfriend. If my dad had his way, I'd be his little princess forever.
He adjusted his dark-rimmed glasses and glanced out the window. "Why didn't he walk you to the door?"
I shrugged.
He shook his head. "Young men these days don't know how to treat a girl. They need lessons on manners and what's appropriate when taking a lady home. When I was dating your mother—"
"Dad." I smiled at him. He was pretty old-fashioned.
"I still don't like you spending so much time with him."
"He's a good guy, Daddy. Really." I absently brought my fingers to my lips.
Dad studied me with his light blue eyes. "I don't know."
I didn't want to get into another discussion about Nate. Dad didn't like me having a boyfriend. Period. Nate didn't measure up to his expectations and I doubted anyone ever would. This was not the time to ask for an extended curfew.
"
Your mom left some dinner for you in the refrigerator. I'll keep you company while you eat, and you can help me with my sermon." He patted my shoulder.
"Where's Mom?"
"She had a headache, so she took some Advil and went to bed."
Usually, both of my parents greeted me when I came home at night—kind of a ritual, I guess. Maybe my parents were from the Dark Ages. They did things differently than other parents. Asked more questions. Had more rules. Worried more. But they acted that way because they cared about me, and they wanted to be involved in my life. So what if they were a little archaic?
Vincent Crandall brushed a piece of lint from his pin-striped Italian suit. He strode across the boardroom, which was located on the top floor of the largest bank in Las Vegas, and took his seat at the head of the long table. A quick scan of the room showed everyone in attendance.
He glanced at the Rolex on his wrist. "It's time to begin," he said. He smoothed his midnight-black hair, reminding himself to make an appointment with his stylist for a trim.
The people around the table turned their attention to him and waited for his words. He instructed Stuart, a balding man with a dark brown suit, to read the minutes from the last board meeting and asked for someone to move to accept the minutes. Priscilla, the slim, attractive woman did so and Richard, sitting to her left, seconded it.
"Lance, I'd like to hear your report on our newest resort casino," Vincent said.
"We're set to begin construction next week. It'll be the largest, most exquisite casino in the area. All the permits are in order so it should be smooth sailing for Queen of Hearts." Lance smiled with an air of confidence that pleased Vincent.
"How are the financials on our other casinos?"
"The accountants are reviewing them as we speak." Lance adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses.
"Very good. Lance, you'll find my appreciation for your work in your next paycheck." Vincent had learned early in his career that money was the best motivator, and that everyone has a price tag.
Lance dipped his head. "Thank you."
Vincent turned to a portly man in his fifties. "Gerard, where are we with the protestors to the Albuquerque Gentlemen's Club?"
Gerard licked his lips. "We still have a Christian group opposing the location. They say it's too close to an elementary school. We haven't quite convinced the city council—"
Aura Page 2
