I don’t exactly know Mrs. Nolan, but I know of her. She’s the teacher with an M&M candy obsession and her classroom is decorated all over in every possible type of M&M souvenir ever made. Her son died in a drunk driving accident a few years ago and now she’s made it her mission to make sure that no students ever drive drunk. She puts her phone number on the bulletin boards and tells people to call her, no matter what time of night if they ever need a ride home. Someone like that is sure to want to help me out.
“Come in,” she says without looking up from her papers. The one she’s grading right now makes her frown. Her red pen slashes across the first few answers. The pen is polka dotted and topped with a green M&M.
“Hi Mrs. Nolan,” I say, stepping past an M&M coin bank and a shelf of M&M plush dolls. “I’m Wren Barlow, I’m not in your class but I’m—uh, directing the school play.”
She peers at me from the top of her glasses and quickly marks the last three answers with a big red x. “You’re Sophie’s niece. How is she? I haven’t heard from her in ages.”
“Oh, she’s fine,” I say. Fine seems like a decent word to use even though it has no tangible meaning in this context.
“Tell her to call me, will you? I miss our Tuesdays at the Greyhound Race Park.”
I nod. Mrs. Nolan seems nice enough and she’s one of the few people who voluntarily spend time with my aunt, so it should be no problem to get her help.
“What can I do for you?” she asks, right on cue.
I smile, holding my arms up like I’m about to ask the silliest thing ever. “Ricky has been missing rehearsal because he’s failing your class, and, well we don’t have a proper understudy for him.”
“Oh I know all about that,” she says, clicking her tongue. “The boy whines every single day about needing to get back to rehearsal.”
I feel a sense of pride when she says this. He’s been whining! About my play! I really am doing an awesome job at this directing thing.
“That’s exactly the problem,” I say, my chest automatically popping out confidently. “My—er, team needs him to come back. I was hoping you could help me with-”
“You mean Gwen needs him to come back,” she says with a snort.
My eyebrows crinkle. “What do you mean?”
She lifts the stack of papers on her desk and taps them on their sides, making them all neat. Her eyes look like she’s trying to decide on the right words to use. “I’ve taken the two of them home from three parties lately. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other.”
I guess I make some kind of noise because she looks up at me and slaps her hand over her mouth. “Opps, guess that was a secret.”
“Mrs. Nolan, this play means a lot to me. I know Ricky doesn’t deserve an easy grade but I don’t want to be punished for it. Is there anything he can do to make up his grade enough to get to participate again?”
Her eyes slowly roll in a circle as she lets out a long sigh. “Here.” She hands me a colorful workbook with the kind of pages that tear out. “There are a hundred pages in here. Have him do every page and I’ll use it as a test grade that will bring up his average to a C minus.”
I peek over her shoulder. “That says eight grade math,” I say skeptically. “Ricky is a senior.” Did she grab the wrong one?
She shoves the book in my hand. “Honey you better take this before I change my mind. And it’s due on Friday, no exceptions.”
I ditch rehearsal and head straight to Ricky’s house. I’m sure Gwen and Derek have everything under control anyway. Ugh.
Ricky answers the door after my third time of ringing the doorbell. His eyes widen when he sees me. “Sorry, my music was loud.”
I hold up the workbook. “If you answer all these worksheets Mrs. Nolan will give you a passing grade. You have to do it by the end of the week.”
He takes the book and flips through all one hundred pages with his thumb. “That’s a lot of work.”
“It’s easy work.”
“Still a lot.”
I almost expect him to slam the door in my face, but to his credit, he doesn’t. “I can’t do this, Wren. It’s too much work.”
“If you can play video games all night you can do this damn work.”
He shrugs.
I resist the urge to dropkick him. “I can’t believe you. Look, I’ll do the work for you and you turn it in, okay?”
“Your handwriting is too neat. She’ll know I didn’t do it.”
“I’ll write with my left hand.”
He considers this a moment and then shakes his head. “Don’t bother. I don’t want to be in the play anymore.”
“Are you kidding me? You love the play!” He had his lines memorized before anyone else. What the hell is wrong with him?
He scratches his elbow. “Look. I can’t. I thought she liked me but she doesn’t. She’s not gonna get rid of that stupid boyfriend of hers. I can’t be around her anymore.”
Sudden realization hits me, followed by blind rage. He doesn’t want to be in the play because he can’t date Gwen? What the hell is wrong with everyone in this damn school? I grip the doorframe to steady myself.
“It’s just a play and it’s almost opening day. You can’t quit on me.”
“I—I don’t know,” Ricky says, his face softening when he sees my reaction. I seize the moment and force some tears to start in the corner of my eyes. With my state of mind lately, it doesn’t take much. He groans. “Okay. No. Well, I don’t know. I’ll think about it, okay?”
“I’m counting on you,” I say, staring him in the eyes. The more guilt I can lay on him, the better. “I’ll do all this math work for you and you will turn it in, okay? Even if you ruin my life by quitting the play, you should at least use this to get a passing grade. You don’t need to ruin your chances of graduation, too.”
His lips press into a thin line. “I’ll do the stupid play,” he says under his breath. “But I swear to god I hope her boyfriend drops dead. He treats her like shit, you know.”
I nod as relief falls over me. With any luck, Ricky will be back with us by the end of the week and I can go back to hating Derek without watching him make out with another girl every day. I jog to my car before he can change his mind, or worse—tell me more things about his pathetic crush on Gwen.
There’s only a few days to go until opening day. Next Friday night will be the biggest day of my high school career. The day after is prom. Funny, how I always imagined I’d be going to prom as a senior, and I never imagined I’d be a school play, yet my real life ended up being exactly the opposite.
My phone lights up as soon as I get home. It’s a text from Ricky.
Thanks for doing the math work. I don’t want to let you down, boss.
Mom sits up in bed watching an ancient Cary Grant movie in black and white. The oldness of the film contrasts with the newness of her LCD widescreen. Dad bought it for her as a peace offering when she complained of sleeping all alone since he started working the night shift. She smiles at me when I knock on the doorframe, so I take it as a sign to come in and plop next to her in bed.
My back rests against the headboard—plywood with beige paisley fabric covering six inches of thick foam I bought at the craft store with a fifty percent off coupon. Mom’s headboard is my prototype. It has curved corners that aren’t quite symmetrical thanks to my freshman rotary saw skills, and the fabric bunches at the sides where I grabbed and stapled it to the back of the plywood. It’s totally unprofessional but Mom likes it anyway. The foam headboard in my room is a thousand times better, built by yours truly with two years of woodshop under her belt.
Mom’s hand brushes through my hair. “What’s on your mind?”
“Nothing,” I say, just as the words Derek kissed Gwen, and Ricky is a moron float through my mind.
“Doesn’t seem like nothing.” The look on her face tells me she knows more than she lets on and I’m overcome with embarrassment at the idea that she could have heard me crying into my pi
llow earlier.
“I understand why Aunt Barlow had that nervous breakdown,” I say, leaning to the right so Mom will keep playing with my hair. “Directing the play is the hardest, most unrewarding thing I’ve ever done. I don’t blame her for quitting.”
“I wouldn’t call getting your recommendation letter unrewarding.”
“Whatever you say, Mom.” She’s right, but I refuse to acknowledge that because I still think that if we were in a big city I could find a lawyer to sue for my mistreatment by Principal Walsh. Students shouldn’t be coerced into extracurricular activities. But no one around here cares about that.
“If my college didn’t depend on this I would quit just like Aunt Barlow.”
“She won’t be jobless for much longer,” Mom says. She turns from me back to the television just in time for a kissy smooch scene that reminds me of Derek.
“What do you mean by that? Is she coming back to work?” At least one of my problems would be over if Aunt Barlow came back to school. Mom shrugs. “Her bills are piling up and she can’t find work anywhere she’s applied. If she doesn’t go back to work soon, they’re going to repo her car.”
“Excellent.” A smile spreads across my face as Mom gives me a disapproving eyebrow lift. I slide off her bed and rush toward the door, feeling lighter than I have in weeks. The Derek problem seems manageable now.
Mom stops me at the door. “Wren, you can’t wish ill will upon people. Especially family.”
My eyes barely stay open the next day, after having spent three hours doing a hundred pages of middle school math problems with my left hand. It was worth it though, to see Ricky waltz into play rehearsal the next day. All the stress and anxiety over getting Ricky back, coupled with last minute prop decisions and rehearsal have almost made me forget about Derek.
Yep. I’ve almost forgotten about how he would have been so perfect for me if he didn’t have little secrets. If he didn’t get escorted out of school by cops that day. If he didn’t have a secret not-girlfriend he can’t tell me about.
Maybe I haven’t forgotten about it at all.
“Hey boss, guess what?” Greg calls out from the rafters above the stage.
Cast members whoosh past me as they act out scene three. “What?”
“Let there be lights!” He flourishes his hand to another stagehand who sits at the ancient light board. The spotlight flips on, beaming a bright white burst of light onto the stage. Not blue, not green. White.
I lift my hands above my head and clap for him. He gives me a wink and I try not to let the cuteness of his facial expressions make me reconsider dating him. The spotlight works, the props are complete and my actors know their lines. Everything is going to be okay.
“Oh shit,” Ricky mutters from behind me on stage. I swing around and find him ducking behind the side curtain, his face pale as he watches the back of the auditorium. My heartbeat races before I even know what I need to be nervous about. I glance toward the back, using my hand to shield the bright spotlight. Gwen walks down the aisle, arms around her stomach. She’s still wearing that baggy hoody and leggings, and she looks like she’s gained another ten pounds.
All in her stomach.
Blake walks behind her, a smug expression on his face.
Derek gets to them before I do, but only a second before. “I’ve got this,” I tell him, stepping in front of him before he gets in another fight with Gwen’s boyfriend. Gwen’s eyes are swollen and red from crying. She stares at her chipped nail polish and gnaws on her lip.
“What’s going on, Gwen?” I ask in a sincere voice. I don’t know what made her cry but she doesn’t need to lie to me. If Blake has hurt her, I won’t need to worry about Derek beating him up—I’ll do it myself.
She looks up and a leftover tear rolls down her face. She doesn’t bother to wipe it away. “I’m…Wren, I have to…” She swallows and I force myself to swallow too. I’m pretty sure I know what’s coming. “I’m sorry Wren. I have to quit the play.”
Yep. It hurt just as bad as I thought it would to hear her say those words. “Why?”
Gwen hesitates to answer and I glance at Blake. He doesn’t notice though… he’s staring at Derek. “She’s leaving school,” Blake says, lifting an eyebrow as if to challenge Derek. I don’t pay attention to their stupid staring match. All I care about is the trembling crying girl in front of me.
“Gwen, what happened? Why are you leaving school?”
Her hand touches her stomach. “I’m pregnant, Wren. I’ve known it for a while.”
Derek stiffens behind me. He isn’t touching me, but I can feel his emotions emanating off him. He’s angry, but not at her. “You aren’t that far along,” he says, looking at her stomach. “Why can’t you stay one last week and do the play?”
She shakes her head. “That’s what I was going to do. My parents just found out and they pulled me from school today. We’re moving back to my grandparent’s ranch and I’m going to be homeschooled.”
“Oh god,” I mutter under my breath. She bursts into tears again.
My heart breaks for Gwen and I throw my arms around her in a hug. Her frail body feels cold against my skin. She sucks in a breath. “I’m sorry, Wren. I really am.”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do without you,” I say as I hug her tightly.
“We’ll be fine,” Derek says, shuffling next to me. “Wren will make an awesome understudy. Don’t worry about us. You just take care of yourself.”
“You don’t need to worry about her wellbeing.” Blake sneers. “She’s my girl and I’m going to take care of her.”
Derek’s voice turns to ice. “Like how you took care of that fucking bruise on her arm?”
“You got something to say me?” Blake bellows, nearly knocking Gwen out of the way.
“Guys!” I try stepping between them but Gwen grabs my arm so I yell at them from the sidelines. “Stop it! Derek, go backstage.”
“No,” he says, standing to his full height. “I’m not going anywhere. Gwen you can stay here if you feel safer. We’ll drive you home.”
“Derek—” I don’t even know what I’m going to say. I don’t even want to be in this situation but I’m the director and the responsibility falls to me. “Derek just stop. Blake can take care of her.”
“I’m just trying to help,” Derek says. His eyes flicker with anger and pain at the same time.
“Yeah well you’re not helping,” I snap, letting all my pent up frustration about his secrecy come out in full force bitch mode. “All you do is ruin things.”
“Let’s go,” Blake says, wrapping his arm around Gwen. “She just wanted to say goodbye. She doesn’t need all this fucking drama.”
They turn to leave, Gwen looking like she’d rather be anywhere but walking away. I hold out my arm, pressing my palm against Derek’s stomach as a way to deter him from making any more of a scene. For a moment, it almost feels like I’m touching my old friend. The guy I spent so many evenings hanging out with, laughing together like we were soul mates who just didn’t know it yet.
But then I look at him and he looks at me like he doesn’t even know who I am. I pull my hand back quickly.
We watch them walk a few steps and then Gwen stops, grabbing her boyfriend’s hand. “Can I say goodbye to Wren for a second? I just remembered something about the play that I need to tell her.”
She dashes down the aisle and gives me a hug. In my ear she whispers, “Tell Ricky I’m sorry. Tell him I love him.”
All I can do is nod and then watch her walk out of the auditorium and ultimately, out of the play. Gwen Summers is no longer the lead role in LOVE & SUICIDE.
I am.
The energetic, muscular ab king on my television tells me what a great job I’m doing as I bang out the last three crunches on my 20 Minute Abs workout. I’ve lost track of how many days it’s been since I started this challenge of getting ripped abs in just thirty days. It’s been longer than a month and I’m still not bikini-worthy. Gues
s all that pizza with Derek didn’t help much.
My long, hot shower doesn’t help me shove Derek out of my mind. But I’ll have to if I want to get through the next four days of rehearsal until opening night. I had spent all night hoping to get a call from Gwen telling me that this was all one big mean prank on me and that she’s still going to be in the play. But by four-thirty in the morning, I had to accept the fact that it wasn’t a prank. Life can be cruel and unusual sometimes.
Mom drinks coffee in the kitchen and offers me some toast when I emerge, still towel drying my hair. I grab a couple slices of her homemade bread and throw them in the toaster, telling her I’ll have to take breakfast to go today.
“Why the rush?” she asks.
I spread a layer of butter across the toast and wrap them in a paper towel to eat in the car ride to the school. “I’m getting there early to figure out what I’m going to do with Mary.”
“Who’s Mary? A friend of yours?”
I shake my head as I run around, tossing the wet hair towel and grabbing my backpack. “Mary was Margot and then she was me, and now she’s nobody.” Mom’s eyebrows flatten in confusion. Guess she hasn’t had enough coffee yet. “Mary is a character in the play with a small role, but now I have no one to fill the spot.”
Mom nods and gives me a coy smile. “Maybe your aunt can help you out with that today.”
I snort. “Aunt Barlow won’t help me with anything. I’ve already tried.”
Mom sips her coffee and smiles at me over the rim of her cup. “You didn’t hear this from me, but someone went to the principal and begged for their job back yesterday.”
“What!” I beam with excitement and Mom shushes me, nodding toward the garage where Aunt Barlow could come inside at any moment. “You didn’t hear it from me!” she whispers and then shoos me off to school.
A wave of relief floods over me as I drive to the high school and eat my now soggy toast. The play is Aunt Barlow’s problem now. I can’t wait until first period theater arts class so I can hand her the director reigns. I still have to act in the play as Gretchen, but I finally have my lines memorized and, after all, being the lead in the play was my plan in the first place. Now, after a two month train wreck, I’m finally back to square one.
Understudy Page 11
