Exit Stage Left

by Nall, Gail

  “Harrison,” I bark like a drill sergeant.

  He nods and we leave the table.

  “What are they up to?” Chris asks through a mouthful of Cheetos.

  “Casey?” Amanda says to my back.

  I stride through the cafeteria, Harrison on my heels. I don’t stop until we reach the lobby, where I’m far away from Amanda and can dial the number to Happy Valley Stables. In two minutes, I’ve reserved a lesson for me and Harrison.

  “Thursday after school, we become skilled in the equestrian arts,” I inform him. “After which we can comfortably open a dude ranch or declare our pre-veterinary majors.”

  Harrison nods. “Except we have no experience.”

  “Oh, it’s easy.” I wave my hand like I ride horses every day. At least, I hope it’s easy. I’ve never ridden before, actually.

  “Um, Case?” Harrison’s face goes beet-red. He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks at the floor, as if that’ll hide the fact that he’s probably flushing down to his toes.

  “What?”

  “The thing on Friday . . .”

  And there goes my newfound good mood. “Please don’t tell me you think I shouldn’t get back together with Trevor.”

  “I have an opinion, but it’s none of my business. But the thing is . . . I think Trevor asked Amanda to set up me up with the Grimaldi twins’ cousin, and . . .” Harrison looks so pathetic, adjusting his glasses and pulling on the collar of his shirt. If he’d just tell everyone already, he wouldn’t get stuck in situations like this.

  “And what? You’re nervous?” I ask, with a lilt to my voice that really says, You wish Rosalita was a boy?

  “No. Not nervous. Just . . . I’m a little freaked out. I mean, you’ve seen Johnny and Steve-o. What do you think their cousin looks like? What do you think she acts like?” He shudders a little.

  And that’s not the response I was looking for, Harrison. But fine, I’ll play along. “And you want me to, what, protect you?”

  “No!” He gives a nervous laugh, as if he’s already picturing himself in a headlock courtesy of Rosalita. “I can take care of myself, thank you. But I thought maybe, if I needed it, you could distract her or pretend to get sick or something so I’d have an excuse to leave early.”

  “You got it. I won’t let you get mauled by some scary Grimaldi cousin.” He shades an even deeper red and makes a halfhearted attempt to swat me. What I really wanted to say is Just tell everyone the truth already! But maybe I’m not the most qualified person to say things like this.

  “Mom! Can I have thirty dollars?” I give up ransacking my room for stray dollar bills and go in search of my mother.

  “What do you need money for? You already got your allowance this week.” Mom’s head pokes out from the downstairs bathroom.

  “I’m going to learn how to ride on Thursday.”

  “You’re going to what? When?”

  “Ride horses. On Thursday,” I explain slowly.

  “Right . . . What’s with this sudden interest in things that have nothing to do with theater?”

  “Harrison and I are just expanding our . . . um . . . horizons.” I’m not particularly in the mood to explain to my mother that Ms. Sharp dashed my dreams of Broadway stardom when she gave the lead to my so-called best friend.

  “I don’t see how horseback riding helps with your college applications.” Mom says all this in her I-know-you’re-not-telling-me-everything-Casey voice. “What about a job?”

  “No.” Although . . . the whole reason for me not having a part-time job was because of theater. Maybe once the show is over, I can work in a cute little boutique or a store at the mall. Get discounts on clothes. Try not to think about everyone else auditioning for the spring student-written play festival. “I wish I could, though. Maybe after the show,” I tell Mom.

  She crosses her arms. “You know, if you hate your role so much, I’m sure some other girl would be thrilled if you dropped out. Then you’d have more time for things like a job and horseback riding.”

  I’m so floored, I can’t even move. Is my own mother telling me to quit the musical? I mean, yes, I despise my part, but I can’t quit. I’d let everyone down. And there would be this big hole in my life—something that can’t be filled by a mall job. I need to find something to fill that hole before the show is over, or it’ll consume me entirely.

  “I can’t quit, Mom. Now, can I pretty please have thirty dollars or not?”

  She gives me a half smile. “You know, sometimes you remind me of your dad. In a good way,” she’s quick to add.

  If I were Dad, I’d have already left for Kansas, and to hell with everyone else. “Good. Thirty dollars?”

  Mom sighs. “You can have it, if you clean the bathroom.”

  She knows me a little too well sometimes. “You know the smell of Lysol in that tiny little space makes me feel like I’m going to faint.”

  “If you faint, Aunt Pittypat, I’ll be sure to bring the smelling salts,” Mom says in a really pathetic Gone with the Wind impression. Talk about overacting. She retrieves the Lysol from below the sink. “Don’t forget the baseboards.”

  I’m scrubbing away at the shower and singing “Climb Every Mountain” at the top of my lungs when Eric shows up at the door with his fingers in his ears.

  “Hey, Drama Queen! Can you turn it down?”

  “Climb every mountain!” I sing even louder, punctuating each syllable with a shake of my sponge at him.

  Eric pulls his fingers out of his ears and throws his hands up in front of his face. “Quit. What are you cleaning the bathroom for anyway?”

  “Mom’s paying me.”

  “I’m sorry, what?” He stands there in his La Italia dishwasher’s uniform and pretty much glares at me.

  “Paying. As in money. I’m taking a horseback-riding lesson on Thursday and I needed thirty bucks.”

  “You have got to be kidding me.” He turns away and I think he’s actually counting to ten. “Okay, the fact that you are the spoiled youngest child notwithstanding, since when are you into horses?”

  I decide to let the spoiled comment go. Eric exists in a constant state of Why Me? I don’t think he could function if he didn’t have something to whine about. He’d never admit it, but he definitely likes the drama. “I’ve decided I want to become a veterinarian or maybe own a ranch. I’ve always liked horses.”

  “Right. Like that time we took the little cousins to the petting zoo and you ran away screaming when that pony snorted at you.”

  “I was eight.”

  “You were thirteen.”

  “This dress is totally prom-worthy. I wonder if Ms. Sharp would freak out if I borrowed it in April.” Amanda smooths the light blue dress and then strikes a pose in the mirror.

  I make a face. Of course it’s prom-worthy. It’s pretty much red carpet–worthy too. Ms. Quindell may be ancient, but she can make some killer costumes. And now I’m trying really, really hard not to picture Amanda in that dress, on Trevor’s arm at prom. I know it won’t happen, but somehow that doesn’t stop the image from burning itself into my brain.

  I slouch in my dressing room chair. It’s only Wednesday, and it feels like this week is dragging. I’m supposed to be fitting my costumes—or costume, since I get only one for the whole show—starting at four, but Amanda is running overtime with all her millions of outfits. I look at my phone. 4:15. At least Eric can’t leave me behind without Mom freaking out on him, even if I do make him late to work.

  Ms. Quindell steps back and peers at Amanda’s dress. She’s only been making costumes for Holland plays for ages. You’d think she’d be a little faster by now. “We need to take it up another inch,” she says.

  And I need to get out of here for a little while. “I’ll be right back.” Before either of them can say anything, I’m out into the wings and making my way down the theater steps. I don’t know where I’m going. Outside, maybe. I’m halfway down the aisle when I hear a shuffling noise behind me.

>   When I flip around, no one’s there. Except for someone who’s on the stage. Not sitting or standing, but lying down. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I retrace my steps until I reach the stage.

  It’s Oliver. Lying flat on his back, earbuds in, eyes closed.

  I quietly lift myself onto the stage and sit so my feet are dangling off the side. His eyes are still closed, and he probably has no idea I’m here. I don’t even know why I’m here.

  Now what?

  I’m debating between saying his name really loudly and poking him in the arm when one eye opens. Any normal person would probably be completely freaked out to find a girl they barely know just sitting there, staring at them. But Oliver smiles and tugs one of his earbuds out.

  “Nap on stages much?” I ask.

  “It’s a good place to think,” he says, sitting up. “Aren’t you supposed to be in a costume fitting? I think I’m right after you.”

  I roll my eyes. “It’s running over. Might be a while. Amanda has ninety-nine costumes to try on.” The bitterness seeps out of my voice. Great. Now Oliver will think I’m some kind of sore loser.

  “Overrated,” he says. “Costume changes, I mean. It’s way less stressful to only deal with one or two. Then you can focus on the actual performance.”

  Huh. I never thought of it like that. Of course, his one costume isn’t bound to be some hideous monstrosity either. “So what are you listening to?”

  “Violent Femmes.”

  “That’s . . . old.”

  “They’re classic,” he corrects me.

  “Same difference. I think my dad liked them.” Actually, I know he did. Or maybe does, but I wouldn’t really know that.

  “You haven’t really listened to them, have you?” And with that, he scoots forward and hands me his earbuds.

  It seems kind of rude to decline, so I listen. A memory of jumping around and dancing in the living room with Eric and Dad years and years ago creeps into my head. I pull out one of the earbuds and look at Oliver. “And what am I listening for?”

  His mouth quirks sideways, almost like he’s trying not to laugh. “Nothing. It’s just fun music.”

  I pop the earbud back in. And take it out again ten seconds later. “These lyrics aren’t exactly deep.”

  “Now you’ve got it. Just listen and relax.” This time he reaches over and puts the earbud back in for me. His fingers graze my neck, and I can’t help shivering just a little.

  I try to listen as Oliver sits next to me, tapping his hand against his thigh, almost as if he can still hear the music. He catches me watching and stops. Then he leans back on his hands, and suddenly I’m aware of how close together we’re sitting. My mouth goes a little dry, and I’m not sure if I should stay perfectly still or if I should figure out some way to move over.

  I close my eyes and try to pay attention to the music, and not to the half inch separating my leg from Oliver’s. “It’s not bad,” I tell him after a few minutes.

  “Told you,” he replies.

  I turn it up and lie down on the stage myself. After a minute, Oliver joins me. He said this was a good place to think, but I’m finding it a good place to forget. Which is nice, for a change.

  “Casey?”

  Amanda’s voice is barely audible over the Violent Femmes. I open my eyes and yank out the earbuds.

  “Ms. Quindell sent me to get you. This is my last dress,” she says, her eyes flicking to Oliver. I could swear she smiles a little.

  “Right.” I leap up and give Oliver back his earbuds. “Um, thanks. See you around.” Then I floor it back to the changing rooms, Amanda trailing behind me.

  “Amanda’s about done,” Ms. Quindell says.

  “Okay,” I say automatically. I can tell Amanda’s dying to ask me about what was going on with Oliver, but she doesn’t. Thank God, because I don’t know what was going on. He’s new and different—that’s got to be all it was.

  Ms. Quindell hands me a heavy garment bag. “Here’s yours, Candy, honey.”

  “Casey,” I say, but not loud enough. She waves me in the direction of the curtained-off changing stalls and goes back to adding pins to Amanda’s dress. I unzip the garment bag and remove the most atrocious piece of clothing I’ve ever seen in my entire life.

  Big, black sack of cloth. I’m pretty sure the only skin I’ll have showing is on my face. I didn’t even realize how distracted I was from my problems during those few minutes with Oliver. But it all comes crashing back now. I change into the thing and rejoin Ms. Quindell and Amanda.

  A strangled noise comes from Amanda’s throat. She covers her mouth and looks away.

  “Are you laughing? I’ll have you know that if you were wearing this, I would not laugh.”

  Amanda bites her lip. “I’m not laughing. It’s just . . . you look so pious. And you would too laugh if I was in it.”

  But I feel like I lost my sense of humor when I lost everything else. Although, by this time next week, I’ll have Trevor back and I’ll be on my way to superior horsewomanship. Things will be mostly okay by then. I force a laugh to try it out. And I’m pretty sure I sound like a hyena that’s been hit by a car.

  “Nice try. You might want to work on that before Friday, though. Although if your raisin face never scared Trevor off, I doubt anything else can.” Amanda smiles at me and glides from the room.

  True. But now she’s part of the me-and-Trevor equation. And I need to stop thinking like that. I’ve got to be more positive.

  Ms. Quindell blinks at me from behind pink-framed glasses perched on the tip of her nose. “All right, then. Let’s see.” She stabs pins into the sides of the sack. Then she kneels on the floor and folds up the hem. All I can see is the top of her wild, white hair. She stands up and takes a step back to admire her creation. “Looks good, don’t you think?”

  I take a deep breath and walk toward the makeup mirrors.

  It’s worse than I ever imagined. Eric will die laughing when he sees it. The dress-sack billows out around me and makes me look about ten feet wide. It hangs straight to the ground and goes up to my neck in a high collar trimmed in white. The headpiece sits like a black cloud on my head, hiding my hair so I look bald underneath it.

  This will scare Trevor away. Or make him die of laughter too. I’ll have a whole graveyard of people who laughed themselves to death over my costume. Meanwhile, Amanda will be in her perfect blue dress, looking, well, perfect.

  “All done, Carly,” Ms. Quindell says.

  This time, I don’t even bother.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Thursday drags just as slowly as Wednesday did, but at least I have something to look forward to. Item Number Two on The List: horseback riding. I’m wearing my most equestrian-looking outfit, and I even added a horseshoe necklace for effect.

  Amanda’s true to her word and ignores Trevor, but that’s not stopping him from showing up at her locker or complimenting her hair. It’s so weird, seeing him pay attention to her. It’s not like he’s ignoring me, though. He laughs when I crack a joke and answers when I ask a question, but he’s not his usual flirty self. At all. I have to figure out a way to change that on Friday. And I’m afraid the only way to do that is to be completely blunt. As in Hey, Trevor, I miss you. Let’s get back together. And then back him against the wall and throw myself at him.

  Hmmm. That would definitely work.

  When I meet Harrison at my locker after school, Trevor’s glued himself to Amanda right across the hall. She doesn’t look at him, but she does her trademark Amanda Hair Flip. And he grins at her. The whole thing is eating me up inside. I know she’s not trying to flirt, but she’s doing it unintentionally.

  At least I hope it’s unintentional.

  Harrison adjusts his glasses. “They aren’t doing anything. Just talking. At least, he’s talking.”

  I slam my locker door shut. “I’m ready to ride. How about you?”

  Harrison nods. He doesn’t look especially equestrian in his Book of Mormon T-sh
irt and dark jeans with the cuffs carefully folded up.

  “Hey, Casey,” Trevor says as we pass him and Amanda.

  “Hey,” I say, trying to be casual.

  Then he turns back to Amanda.

  I reach over and rest my hand on his arm. “See you tomorrow.” And then I give him the look I used to when I’d ask him to meet me in the Alcove of Sin or outside in the parking lot.

  He looks at me in a way that still makes me melty inside. “See you.” Then he turns back to Amanda, who gives me a reassuring smile.

  “Case, come on. You can make eyes at Trevor later. We’re going to be late.” Harrison pulls at my arm.

  Trevor doesn’t even glance my way as I leave.

  Harrison drives us in his hand-me-down Volvo to the Happy Valley Stables on the far end of town. The car is pristine inside—completely unlike Eric’s rolling garbage can of a vehicle.

  “Did you have your costume fitting?” I ask as Harrison slows at a yellow light. I’d even talk about the Violent Femmes and whatever it was I had going on with Oliver yesterday—anything to get my mind off Trevor. “You’ve could’ve made it through the light, you know.”

  “If you say another word about my driving, you’re riding in the trunk, okay?”

  I roll my eyes. But I don’t say anything else, because I can live without another lecture on why I should get my license already. So I go back to complaining instead, this time about my costume. To which Harrison says, “Well, it is a nun outfit, Casey. It’s not supposed to be hot.”

  So not helpful.

  When we get to the stables, Theresa the riding instructor gives us a tour and hands us each a helmet.

  I buckle the strap beneath my chin. “It’s smashing my cute ponytail.”

  “It’ll keep your brains inside your head if you fall off.” Theresa looks like a real horsewoman with well-worn riding breeches, scuffed boots, and a messy low ponytail. And yet somehow, she still looks insanely good. I make a mental note to wear a low ponytail next time. And maybe scuff up my boots a little.

  “All right!” She claps her hands together, which reminds me of Ms. Sharp. “Let’s get you guys on some horses.”