“Remind me why you’re doing this contest?” I sit down beside Maxine, marveling at her sparkly purple spandex outfit.
“It's a beauty and talent contest for all of Texas. If I can win the city pageant, then I'll go to county, then state! The local winner gets her choice of either a walk-on part in Matthew McConaughey's next movie or a lifetime supply of fiber gummies. Either way, it's a satisfying win-win."
I scratch Rocky’s head and watch his tongue loll out his mouth. “Beauty pageants are so surface level. Don’t you want to be more than just a pretty face?”
“Heck, no. Sign me up for total objectification! But to ease your concerns, there’s also a talent portion. I’m doing a dance performance, obviously. I think my competition in this area is pretty weak. Most of the women are doing lame things like singing and piano playing. One lady’s doing a line dance that you probably learned in fourth grade PE, and Myrtle Biggins says she's crocheting a potholder.” Maxine stretches toward the coffee table to set her water down, and with a wince, grabs the small of her back. “I’m okay.”
“Don’t overdo it, Mom.” Millie takes a chair beside us. “Even Matthew McConaughey’s not worth an injury.”
“I’m merely a little out of shape, a bit out of practice. But that's what Raul, my new trainer, is for."
“You got a trainer for this?” James asks.
“Yeah, but don’t tell Sam. He just got over my last midnight shopping bender when I went a little wild with some Home Shopping Network. My Raul’s more like a coach. He's choreographing my dance number, helping me select my outfits, plus he put me on a diet to maximize my energy and lose five pounds. He sends me motivational messages every hour, and they’re helping so much. Especially in the moments that I am surrounded by doubters.” She throws James a dark look.
“When is this pageant?” I ask.
“Five weeks. So I have plenty of time to fit into my new sequined onesie and fine-tune my routine. You know, I believe with all of our worldly upheavals, In Between needs this pageant. What a blessing and a gift we’re going to be giving the citizens with our talents and vivacious beauty.” Maxine pats her golden hair. “Katie, you look like you could benefit right now. Would you like me to give you a little sample so I can cheer you up?” She stands and does a cha-cha, shaking her bootie to some internal rhythm. "I've been told my groove thang can totally turn things around.”
James pops open his newspaper. “Any chance you could turn things around at your own house?”
Millie picks up some yarn and needles from a nearby basket. At some point this summer she took up knitting, but I was too busy with camps to notice. “Katie, how’s your mom?”
I rub Rocky’s head, watching my fingers slide across his bristly fur. “She’s alive, but not really there.” I feel like that description has applied to Bobbie Ann for as long as I've known her. Now she has the vital signs to prove it.
“If you want to talk, I'm here.” Maxine throws her arms around me in a sweaty, squishy hug.
“I’m not sure what to feel,” I say after a quiet moment.
“There are no rules here,” James says. “Everything you feel is fair.”
“I think I want her to get better. Part of me worries if I don’t visit enough, she won’t think anyone’s there for her, and she won’t fight.”
Millie loops the yarn around a needle. “I think she’d want you to also stay on top of school, as well. It’s important you don’t get too behind. Your mom knows you care. Don’t feel like you have to do it all.”
“I still want her to wake up, turn her life around, and make things right,” I say. “She would've been out of prison in a few years, and she still could've had 40 to 50 years of life ahead of her. Decades left to find happiness and make peace with me.” I can hear the pitiful dip of my voice. “Why didn’t she fight for that?”
“We don’t know that she didn’t, sweet pea.” Maxine pats my leg with her freshly manicured hand. “Whatever happens, know that we love you, and we’re here for you.”
“And it’s okay to be angry, sad, scared, and a hundred other different feelings,” James adds.
Maxine gives my knee a shake. “If you’d like to work through some of these feelings with interpretive dance, you say the word, and I can lead the way.” Her gaze dips to my shirt. “How do you feel about wearing my old leotards?”
“I don’t think that’s going to be necessary. But thank you. Very helpful.”
“Helpful is totally who I am.”
A half-hour later, it’s just Maxine and me in the living room, side by side. She catches me up on what I’ve missed in class and her struggles finding a platform issue for the pageant.
After we discuss her lack-luster feelings on world peace, protecting the environment, and improving the food in senior centers, I let her in on my newest secret. “I talked to Charlie last night.”
“Ohhhh.” She clasps her hands, her arm of bracelets clanging like chimes. “This is better than my favorite soap opera. By chance, did you tell him you had a secret love child with his brother, and your stepson was an alien from Mars who was luring ladies to his spaceship with cupcakes and smolder?”
“I did not.”
“Hm. A little bit of a letdown, but do go on.”
“He called out of the blue, and I told him everything. I hadn’t even told Tate about my mom yet.”
“How did you feel when you heard Charlie’s voice?”
I don’t even hesitate. “Safe. Cared for.”
Maxine’s eyes alight as she smiles. “I’ve always liked that boy.”
“But I’m seeing Tate.”
“Sweet pea, we both know it hasn’t been going well. Maybe it’s time to cut that fish loose and throw him back in the pond.”
“If I break up with him, then I’d be…alone.”
She frowns. “You say that like it would be forever. You can be single and not lonely, you know.”
Now didn’t feel like the time to ditch a boyfriend. “I still like Tate. Even the thought of breaking up makes my stomach ache.”
“That sounds more like a digestive issue.” She lifts her sculpted chin with a new resolve. “We need me to win those fiber gummies now more than ever.”
Chapter Fourteen
Why is it that the lovely times move at warp speed, but the dull life moments, like a professor’s lecture or a wait at the DMV, crawl at a snail’s pace? My weekend at home flew by, filled with my favorite homemade meals, more of Maxine’s rehearsals, and lunch after church with the family at a beloved diner.
Millie sent me back to school with a giant care package of baked goods, two new sweaters, and enough hugs to last me until I return in two weeks. James sent me back with a book on women on Broadway and a lovely prayer.
Maxine sent me off with a new padded bra and a pat on the butt.
Yet, I’m still not ready to be on campus.
It’s the first night of play practice, and I scoot into a row where Jeremy sits. He looks well-rested and excited. Ah, youth.
“Welcome, everyone.” Doctor Maddox looks relaxed in a CATS t-shirt and faded jeans as he climbs to the stage and stands by two long tables pushed together and flanked by a hodgepodge of abused chairs. “Tonight, we’re doing a table read. I presume you’ve all read the script a few times and are comfortable with your parts. I’d like to hear your initial take on your characters and what they bring to this story.”
If you’d have told me years ago that I’d enjoy reading aloud, I would’ve said you were crazy. But I love table reads. It’s the first bonding experience with the cast, and it’s where I get to show people I always bring my A-game.
We all join him onstage and excitedly fill the seats as Dr. Maddox sets the scene. “The Acid Rain Diaries takes place in a bleak version of our world. It’s about isolationism, the effects of excess, and the dangers of turning a deaf ear to environmental woes. It’s jam-packed with brilliant symbolism. When Act I opens, we see Dulé, the main character, standing in line a
t a Starbucks that only serves whole milk. And what does he want? Soy. And thus, kicks off a string of commentaries on the unfairness of life.”
Jeremy nudges my knee beneath the table, and I bite my lip to trap a giggle. This play is the absolute worst, and I’m wondering if Jeremy and I are the only ones who think so. I’d envisioned college plays being a bit more mainstream and a lot less nuclear winter.
Forty-five minutes later, I sit on the edge of my chair, primed to deliver my one single sentence.
I take a deep breath and project my enunciated voice. “May I offer you an umbrella?”
“Stop,” Dr. Maddox calls. “Do it again, Callie.”
“It’s Katie.” And that was six words of perfection, if I do say so myself. “Katie Parker Scott,” I add when the professor still looks confused.
I perform my line again, changing my emphasis.
Dr. Maddox shakes his head. “Still not right. Once more.”
I alter the direction of my head tilt and soften my voice. “May I offer you…an umbrella?”
“No,” the director says. “Tone it down. Also, there’s an emotion on your face.”
I stare at him like I don’t understand the language he’s speaking.
“Please get rid of it.”
My cheeks flame with embarrassment. “The world’s ended, and you don’t want me to react?”
“We don’t want to pull the focus off of our leads, George and Kira.” He waves a hand toward his prized actors. “Think of yourself as background noise.”
So, this is where my self-esteem has come to die. “Yes, sir.” I repeat the line again, with no expression on my face and my voice a monotone. Basically, I channel Jemma.
For the next two hours, I study every move Kira, the lead actress, makes. I take note of any frown, lifting of the arm, every pause, and direction of her gaze. I memorize the pattern of her inflection, knowing later I’ll dissect it like a lab specimen.
Throughout the table read, I surreptitiously check my phone for messages from the hospital. Or from ex-boyfriends who are hard to forget. Either would be cause for a bathroom break.
The read finally ends, and Dr. Maddox reviews some pointers before we depart. When he walks toward Jeremy and me with a smile, I’m sure he’s going to throw me some compliments.
But instead, he claps my friend on the back. “Great job, Jeremy.”
What? How come everyone’s getting verbal high fives, but me? I mean, yay for Jeremy, but I’m no slouch.
“Miss Scott?”
Oh, yeah. Here we go. Bring on the “atta girls.”
“Yes, sir?”
“I wondered if you might want to be the understudy for Kira.”
“Seriously?” Did I have time to memorize a large part that I most likely wouldn’t portray? Definitely not. Did I want to impress Maddox and let him know I was a team player? You bet your acid rain galoshes. “Sure.”
“It means we’ll need you at all of the rehearsals.”
“No problem.”
“You’ll need to have her lines memorized in two weeks.”
“I can do that.”
“The odds of you using them in a performance are slim,” Kira throws in, as she wanders toward us.
Dr. Maddox slaps a script against his palm. “But, thank you for being willing to help.”
“Absolutely.” I smile at our lead actress. “Kira, maybe you can I could get together and run lines.”
Her face lets me know she does not like my idea. “We’ll see.”
“Gotta get home,” Dr. Maddox says. “Have a nice evening, Kira, Jeremy, and…Callie.”
“Don’t say a word,” I tell Jeremy as we leave the Burnett building.
“I wouldn’t dare. But hey, he offered you the role of Kira’s understudy. That’s major.”
Yeah, majorly stressful. How am I going to fit in time to memorize her part?
“Wait! Katie.”
As I turn, Kira follows us to the sidewalk. What does she want? “Hey, Kira.”
She doesn’t bother looking at Jeremy, but has angry eyes just for me. “I want you to know if you’re entertaining any hopes of my getting sick, kidnapped, or mysteriously disappearing prior to any of the shows, you’re out of luck.”
“I would never dream of such a thing.” Dreamed it, counted on it, had already picked out a picture frame to stick my debut photo in.
“Last year, I went on with double pneumonia. Two years ago, I dislocated my shoulder during a rehearsal and didn’t go to the ER until practice was over.”
“How…noble.” As well as incredibly disappointing. “Still, it’s smart to be prepared just in case, right?”
“I could be bleeding out, my body aflame, find out I have an hour to live, and I would still show up and perform.”
Well, that still doesn’t cover death by unexpected bear mauling or explosive diarrhea, so hope is alive.
“I’m not here to steal your part,” I kindly promise. “But maybe I can learn from you, right?” Kira does not return my smile. “You’re older, you’re more experienced, and you’re good at what you do.”
She props a hand on her hip and banks her glare. “What do you want to do with your degree?”
What an odd question. “Hug it and kiss it? Probably hang it on my wall. Nothing too ostentatious, but definitely matted with my tassel.”
“I mean career-wise.”
Oh. “I want to be on Broadway.”
She looks at me like she wants to pat my head and call me precious. “Do you know how unrealistic that is?”
“I know it’s a big goal.”
“Your odds of landing on Broadway are probably slimmer than winning the lottery.”
“I played a scratch-off last week and won two bucks, so I’m all about overcoming some odds.”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “Let’s say you do get on Broadway. Then there’s the matter of actually making a living, which is even less likely.” She flings a hand toward the auditorium. “Lots of double majors among us, and not because we want to take an extra lap in the pool of student loans.”
“Don’t you want to be an actress?” I ask.
“Yeah, but I’m also realistic. And I can tell from the dreamy gaze in your eyes, you’re probably not.”
“It is kind of smoggy here though,” Jeremy butts in. “Probably clouding over her pupils.”
“Do you know the percentage of Dr. Maddox’s students who’ve successfully made a career of acting?” She doesn’t wait for my response. “Two percent.”
Math has never been my superpower, but that seems like terrible odds. “Dr. Maddox made it.”
Kira lowers her volume and steps closer. “And what’s he doing now?”
“I thought he was at the university because he wanted to be,” Jeremy says.
“Right. Because who wouldn’t choose a small university over Broadway. Look, guys, I’ve been here long enough to see a lot of theater major wannabes. There’s a huge difference in starring in your high school play and actually being talented enough to make it in college theater, let alone have a sustaining future career in the business. I think it’s important everyone has a healthy dose of reality. There’s still time for you to change your major to something more reliable—like accounting.”
If I could, I’d unlike this a hundred times. “I’ll…I’ll keep that mind.”
“You know what you should also keep in mind, Katie?” Her hair blows in the warm breeze. “You’re just an extra. If you want to get where I am, you gotta pay your dues. But for now? You have one line, so I’d focus on that. Learning any of mine would be a huge waste of your time.”
She tosses her hair with all the regality of Beyonce, then sashays back to the auditorium.
“Did that just happen?” Jeremy stares after her, a little starstruck, a little scared.
“She’s terrible.”
He shakes his head as if to dislodge Kira’s spell. “Don’t let her get to you. She’s probably jealous of your obv
ious potential.”
Embarrassment and anger light my blood on fire. “If there was one spot left on our moon bus, I would not let her have it.”
Jeremy offers me his arm. “How about I walk you to your dorm?”
My eyes trail away to the skyline, and for the first time, I notice a steeple above the roof of the Burnett building. That must be the chapel Mr. Rashad from the hospital was talking about.
The one I said I’d never want to visit.
“I think I’m gonna take a walk.”
Jeremy frowns. “It’s ten o’clock.”
“After all that, I’m pretty wired. I’ll see you later?”
“Okay, but be careful and don’t talk to strangers.”
As I walk away from Jeremy and toward the steeple, I think talking to a stranger might be exactly what this night needs.
Chapter Fifteen
I walk to the chapel in the dark of night with only a smattering of stars to guid me.
Just kidding. This campus doesn’t mess around with security, and it’s lit up like Disney World, with lights overhead, on the ground, outlining the buildings, and covering every square inch. I need sunglasses just to cross the street.
The little church is a strange thing to find on the campus of a public university, but according to the museum-like sign outside its doors, Hendrix was founded by a pastor in 1905. At one time, all students had to attend chapel once a week. When the student population outgrew the walls of the building, the tradition ended, but the building remained. It’s a delightful mushroom of a church, straight out of an old English village.
One of the two tall wooden doors stands open, so I hesitantly step inside. Instrumental hymns play softly from hidden speakers, and candles flicker from a table that invites me to register my presence. Just as Chaplain Rashad said, there’s someone manning the place. I’m relieved to find it’s not a creepy dude, but a plump, grandmotherly soul with white hair and a welcoming smile.
“Hello there! Come on in.” Her name tag tells me this is Betty.
Something to Believe In Page 8
