Breaking Walls

by Tracie Puckett

  “But I designed and ordered the invitations, Carla,” I said, feeling my face grow warmer. “I secured every last one of the donations that you picked up. I arranged the band, I worked out a schedule with the administration office, and I researched the charities to donate the proceeds to. I did everything else.”

  “The answer’s no,” she said. “Plain and simple. You had your chance, and you gave up.”

  “I didn’t give up,” I repeated myself. “I didn’t think I had a choice.”

  “That’s really not my problem.”

  Lips parted, I stared at her and searched my brain.

  “I don’t get it,” I said under my breath. “You have the soup kitchen. You already have a leg-up on everyone in our district, so why are you taking this from me?”

  “I need as many ideas as I can get my hands on.”

  “But it wasn’t your idea.” I let a slow breath breeze between my half-parted lips, counted to ten, and closed my eyes. When I opened them again and looked back to her, she still hadn’t moved a muscle. “Why? Why are you doing this?”

  “It’s a competition, one I intend to win.”

  “And you’re comfortable winning like this?” I swore I saw her gearing up to argue again—you gave up!—but she eventually closed her lips, so I quietly continued, “Carla, I’m not ignorant. I know you’re right; I passed it over to you. It was just my assumption that, because our plans changed and we’re staying in Sugar Creek, that you’d gladly hand it back.”

  “And that’s where you went wrong,” she said. “Mandy, this isn’t personal. I’m not trying to be mean. I’m sorry if you think I am. It’s just not fair for you to give something away and then demand to have it back.”

  “I’m not demanding anything. I’ve tried asking you nicely for days, and you’ve ducked corners to avoid even talking to me.”

  She didn’t have a response to that, and rightfully so. She could sit there and argue that I’d given the notebook to her and that the dance was rightfully hers. She could even contend that I had no right to ask for it back, and to some extent, I understood her reasoning. But she couldn’t argue that I’d demanded anything. I’d never done anything but ask politely. And even when she rudely refused my request, I still kept my cool.

  I tried to think of a way that we could compromise. If I couldn’t take on the biggest responsibility and execute the dance, then maybe she’d let me do some of the lighter lifting. All I knew was that I needed to get my hands in there and involved with the dance any way that I could. It was my only shot at winning. “Would you be willing to delegate some of the responsibilities? I still have a lot of ideas, and my sister’s focused a lot of attention on designing a layout and gathering up the decorations from the dance committee. I’m ready to go in and do whatever I can to make the finale a success, and if I can take some of the pressure off your shoulders, then I’m glad to do so however I can. So what do you say? Could we at least team up and do this together?”

  “I really don’t think so, Mandy,” she said, crinkling her nose.

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t need the help. I have a good handle on everything, and I’d just be wasting precious time assigning you tasks that I could easily do alone. I have it under control.”

  I was at a loss.

  I didn’t know what I’d done to suddenly turn my teammate against me. We’d spent the first three weeks of the competition working seamlessly alongside one another. I thought she liked me. I thought we were friends . . . or at the very least, friendly. So what had suddenly changed? She said she wasn’t trying to be mean, but the evil eye she peered at me said otherwise.

  “I really don’t understand why you’re doing this,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose to ward off a migraine. “I just… I don’t get it.”

  “Really, Mandy? You don’t?”

  That time, and for the first time since we sat down, her tone was rich with malice.

  “Honest to God, Carla. I don’t.”

  “You don’t really need this dance.” She rolled her eyes. “It seems to me that the only thing standing between you and the scholarship is the sheer possibility that one of the other schools could beat us in the competition.”

  “And why would you think that?” I asked, because everyone knew that Carla’s soup kitchen, which had the potential to run permanently after the program ended, was the main highlight of Sugar Creek’s RI accomplishments. Seeing as it was her idea and she hadn’t missed a beat in executing the plans, Carla was the one everyone needed to look out for. How could she look at me as a threat?

  “Gee, I don’t know,” she said as if she’d read my mind. “Have you ever thought to Google attention whore ruins park re-opening?” My jaw dropped. “We all saw it on TV, and everyone at school is still talking about it. The papers haven’t stopped running the articles. And I’ve gotta hand it to you, Mandy. That was some really great acting you did out there at the park. I mean, there’s nothing like a good sob story to drum up some pity and boost your chances. You guaranteed yourself that scholarship because everyone feels sorry for you: Lashell, Gabe, the whole freaking town of Sugar Creek.”

  “That’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard.” I tried to wipe the dumbfounded expression from my face, but I stared at her wide-eyed and shocked. “If anything, I have less of a chance of winning because of what I did. And I didn’t do it for the attention. That’s the last thing I wanted,” I said, not that it mattered, because attention was all I’d gotten from it. “I meant everything I said to Gabe, and I dug my own grave by showing up at that park. There’s a great chance that I’ll never win now. But if there is, if there’s even a fraction of a chance that I could win, it’s only because of the dance. Without the finale fundraiser, then I really have nothing.”

  “Then I guess you have nothing.”

  “I don’t think you understand how much I need this.”

  “And I don’t think you understand how little I care,” she said, sliding out of her seat. “Thanks for breakfast. I’ll see you at school.”

  “Carla, don’t walk away. Please.”

  “It’s too late, Mandy,” she said, turning back for a second. “We still have three weeks. I’m sure you’ll come up with something if you’re desperate enough.”

  With that, she turned away and headed for the front entrance of the diner. The moment she slipped out of sight, I sank a little lower in my booth and dropped my head back against the top of the red, cushiony seat.

  “One,” I said quietly, closing my eyes.

  Because when all else failed, counting was all I had left to get me through. Most every one of the other infamous, self-imposed rules were out the window, all thanks to Gabe . . . but at least I had the numbers.

  “Two.”

  Who did Carla think she was, attacking me like that? I thought we were friends.

  “Three.”

  She came in here acting like it wasn’t personal, but it was. It so was. She thought I’d deliberately tracked Gabe down just for a little bit of camera time and sympathetic exposure. Yeah, right! Having my name scrawled across the front of every newspaper in a fifty-mile radius was not my idea of exciting. It was petrifying!

  “Four.”

  I wasn’t that girl; I would never sink so low as to pull a stunt like that just to get ahead. I didn’t want the exposure!

  “Five.”

  But she’d made up her mind about me, and she was going to make sure that I paid for what I’d done . . . even if it wasn’t intentional, and even if it hadn’t affected her any way.

  “Six.”

  God! What was I going to do?

  “Seven.”

  She wasn’t worth the frustration!

  “Eight.”

  So why on Earth was I letting her get to me like this? She was just another challenge, another obstacle to overcome. And if I’d managed to jump all the hurdles so far, then what made her any different? I could still win. I still had a chance. I just had to find a w
ay.

  “Nine.”

  It wasn’t about the rules anymore. It wasn’t even about sticking it out and carrying through with the commitment I’d made to the school. I would keep moving forward with the competition because of the sacrifice. I’d already lost too much to walk away now. I’d given up on the life I’d promised myself. I’d opened up, I’d let people in, only to have it blow up in my face. And then I’d let Gabe walk away, and that was the worse sacrifice of all.

  I’d come too far, and I wasn’t going to back down now. I’d find a way because I always found a way.

  I wasn’t going to let one person keep me from getting what I wanted. I’d never let that happen. I came into this program with one, major goal in mind: win the scholarship. So it was time to suck it up, cut my losses, and finally make things happen for myself. I had to figure out a plan and guarantee that I’d get exactly what I’d set out to win.

  If Carla wanted a challenge, then I’d rise to the occasion. She’d just met her match.

  “Ten.”

  Chapter Four

  “You ever gonna look up from that notebook?”

  I didn’t answer. I kept my head low, my pencil hovering above the page, and my mind focused on the task at hand. Carla was right: I only had three weeks to come up with something, and if I wanted ample time to carry it out, then I needed the idea today. I had to move on something and fast. So I pulled my writing journal from my purse, put pencil to paper, and started brainstorming.

  “Earth to Mandy,” Jones said, waving a hand between my face and the notebook.

  Still, I didn’t look up. There had to be another grand idea. There had to be something out there that I hadn’t thought of yet, something that would outdo the dance, the soup kitchen, and all the fundraising put together. There was another idea, and I would figure it out. I just needed some peace and quiet.

  “Yo, Amandasaurus Rex.”

  “What—do—you—want, Jones?”

  His eyes widened at my tone, and I dropped my head. Great. Not only was Carla’s refusal to hand over the dance affecting my mood, but it was also starting to affect the way I treated my friends. I couldn’t believe I’d let her get to me like that.

  “I’m sorry,” I said sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to . . . I’m just under a lot of pressure with the RI group, and I’m trying to wrap my head around some new ideas.”

  “So you came to work?” he asked, glancing around the bakery.

  Julia was in the back, slaving over the hot oven to fulfill the day’s orders, and Jones was covering the front end. I wasn’t scheduled for a shift, but the bakery was the first place I thought to duck into for a few minutes of silence before I had to go back to the school for our second run at the coat and clothing drive.

  “Yeah, I just came from the diner,” I said. “I have to be at the school by noon, and I just needed to stop somewhere and get my thoughts in order.”

  “You live right down the road,” he said. “You couldn’t go home?”

  “I said I needed silence, Jones. You know how hard Dad’s been nagging me lately. I don’t have the time or patience to deal with him right now.”

  “Why the short fuse?”

  “Life.”

  “In general?”

  I took a deep breath and then turned to him straight-on, ready to vent. Unfortunately for Jones, he’d gotten the raw end of that lately. Smiles came few and far between, so when I needed someone to talk to, I usually unloaded my woes on one of two people: Jones or Georgia. And since Georgia wasn’t around…

  “Okay,” I said, dropping my pencil on the notebook. How did I possibly make it relatable? What could I say so that I didn’t have to spill the whole truth about what happened with Carla? “Have you ever come up with a really good idea—a great idea!—made a plan, known exactly where everything was headed, and then one day life turned around, bit you in the butt, and said ha! I’ll show you?”

  “Oh, totally,” he said, snapping his finger at me. I braced myself as he continued, “Like this one time, I went out with my buddies to pick up some burritos, okay? And this wasn’t just a last minute decision or anything, you know? We drove all the way out to the Taco Hut specifically to get our burrito on. So we drive and drive and drive and drive until we finally get there, okay? And then we hit the drive-thru, I order my bean burritos, and the girl on the speaker is all like, sorry dude. No beans.” He closed his eyes and shook his head “So yeah. I totally know what you mean. Sometimes life just doesn’t go as planned.”

  I buried my head in my hands. If there was any way to fend off the headache I’d been fighting all morning, it wasn’t by talking to Jones. As much help as he’d been lately, especially swooping in and being one of my closest confidants, he wasn’t exactly equipped to deal with the most serious issues. I’d need Georgia for this one.

  Jones’s hand landed gently on my back, and I felt my head drop even farther. “Did that help?”

  “No.” I closed my notebook and looked up at the empty bakery. “But thanks for trying.”

  “Is there anything I can help with?”

  “Maybe? I don’t know. I’m not asking for a miracle or for you to stress yourself out or anything, but if you happen to come up with any really great charitable ideas in the next . . . I don’t know . . . two hours, give me a call.” I swept my notebook off the counter, tucked it in my purse, and then turned back. “I’m sorry I’m being a lousy friend today.”

  “No biggie, Amanda Banana.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “Mandy Candy?”

  “Or that,” I said, half-smiling, and I think that’s really all he was after. Jones made sure he kept me smiling.

  “I’ll let you know if any bright ideas strike,” he said, pointing to his head. “You never what’s going to happen in this noggin of mine.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know, Jones,” I said, winking. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “It wasn’t such a bad turnout, eh?”

  “I’m honestly very impressed.” I gave Fletcher a thumbs up.

  “You guys did a fantastic job,” Mr. Davies added. “Hard work and perseverance paid off. I’m proud of both of you.”

  “Thanks,” we said in unison, and my cheeks flushed warmer. I didn’t exactly hate all the praise we got for the hard work we put into our events.

  With the three of us all alone in the gym that Sunday night, things were relatively quiet. Still, Fletcher, Mr. Davies, and I couldn’t quit talking about how successfully the drive had operated since the moment we opened the doors on Saturday morning.

  Lashell had stuck around and helped with the clothing drive from open to close that day. While she had left about an hour ago with the other volunteers, our teacher stuck around to assist Fletcher and me with the clean-up. Gabe hadn’t stayed nearly as the long as the rest; he’d dropped in for a few minutes in the afternoon without saying much. He poked his head around, said a few hellos, and then went out the door and on his merry way without a single glance in my direction. And that much I knew for sure. I had my eyes on him the entire time he made his rounds, and he hadn’t once acknowledged my existence.

  All in good time, I kept reminding myself. All in good time.

  “All right, gotta ask, Mandy,” Fletcher said, turning to me. “Whatcha gonna do if you win the scholarship?” I looked up from my box and watched him wide-eyed. “Any big plans?”

  Easy—Desden University, English major, a lifetime of writing.

  But Fletcher didn’t know that, and no one besides Gabe knew that I’d actually applied and been accepted. But there was no harm in sharing my plans, especially with Fletcher. What harm could it do? He was starting to grow on me, becoming an unexpected friend of sorts. Before this week, and even being team members for our district’s RI group, he and I had never gotten particularly close. We’d kept our exchanges short, sweet, and to the point, and we hadn’t tried to force a friendship that went beyond our mutual desire to win the competition.
But lately we’d worked together so much that talking to him had become easier—fun, even. In fact, had it not been for our budding friendship and collaborative effort on the clothing drive, I wasn’t sure that the Sugar Creek RI group would’ve had much to focus their attention on over the weekend.

  “I’ve already been accepted to DU’s English program, so that’s the plan,” I said, folding scarves and tucking them inside a cardboard box. “I’m in. I have my acceptance letter, and now I’m just looking for a way to fund it.”

  “I hear ya,” he said, filling up a box of his own. He folded the four cardboard flaps down until the lid stay closed.

  “What about you?” I asked, looking over my shoulder to watch as he started to take down the first rack of adult coats. “What are your big plans?”

  “DU is definitely my top choice,” he said. “They have the best performing arts school in the state, and I want to stay as close as I can to my friends and family.”

  “Stickin’ with the theater, then?”

  “Oh yeah,” he said, clearing the rest of the rack. “You’re still planning to see the show this weekend, right? We open Friday.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I promised, knowing that if I didn’t show up, I’d be the only one of our eleven RI teammates who didn’t. Fletcher had rallied hard to get everyone to agree to attend the opening night of Sugar Creek’s musical production of Little Shop of Horrors. We all knew it was a great idea to support one of our teammates, but since Fletcher had convinced the drama club to donate a portion of the ticket proceeds to the RI fund, then we felt especially obligated to be there front and center for the curtain on Friday night. “Are you nervous?”

  “Nah,” he said, shrugging a shoulder. “I tend not to get stage fright. It’s a blessing and a curse.”

  “Hey, who knows?” Mr. Davies butted in. “With Mandy a writer and you on stage, maybe someday you’ll star in one of her shows.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” I said with a smile, knowing it was better left unsaid that I had zero intentions of playwriting, screenwriting, script writing, or basically any kind of writing that would inevitably impress my mother.