Something to Believe In

by Jenny B. Jones

  She zips open her fanny pack and extracts some gizmo. Unfolded like a Transformer, the item in Maxine’s hand morphs into a small pair of binoculars. “I see that look of concern. Don’t worry. I brought you a pair, too.”

  “Yeah, that was my concern.” I take the tiny binoculars. “I was sure hoping you’d provide more evidence for our inevitable conviction.”

  “I aim to please.” She peers through the lenses, and her mouth falls in disgust. “Would you take a look at that high kick.” She waits until I comply. “Is that not a thing of beauty?”

  Feeling completely creepy, I turn my attention to Gloria as she kicks. “That’s not exactly how I would describe it.” The woman hits the floor and pops back up, shaking her shoulders to the rhythm.

  “Girl can do the splits,” Maxine mutters. “I did not see that coming.”

  Ew, boy. “I’m not sure anyone should.”

  Headlights illuminate the street, but unlike the half dozen other cars we’ve seen, this one doesn’t drive on by.

  “Looks like we have company,” Maxine whispers.

  “Hopefully, it’s not more competition here to check out Gloria. There’s no more room on your branch.” I already have a leaf cluster stuck up my keister.

  I hear the slam of a car door, then the clip-clop of footfalls drawing closer.

  Beside me, Maxine stills like a museum statue. “Someone’s coming. Not good. Not good at all.”

  Without the complete dark of night to cover us, I can only hope we blend in with the trees. If not, our cover is blown. As is my reputation and probably my three-year streak of not doing community service.

  A shadowed figure whistles a merry tune, walking on the sidewalk around the house and straight to the backdoor of Gloria’s sunroom.

  “That jerk!” Maxine hisses.

  I train my binoculars on the newest arrival. “Is that your Raul?”

  “That rat fink of a talent coach. He’s cheating on me! He’s…seeing other women!”

  “He doesn’t have to be exclusive with you. Seeing other people is kind of his job. I mean, you’re not dating him.” Then again, I can’t put anything past Maxine. “You’re not dating him, right?”

  “Of course not! But where is his allegiance? His loyalty? He said I had the best gams this side of the Mississippi.”

  “They are impressive.”

  “Darn tootin. Gloria has old lady legs. She wears pantyhose year-round, for the love of sandals and peep toes. I do Pilates like it’s gonna get me a throne in heaven. I work for this bod! I’ve suffered for my art! Last week I threw out my back, and yesterday I drank nothing but liquified kale. I’ve done everything that nitwit of a coach told me to do. How does he repay my blood, sweat, and vegetable-swigging sacrifice? By getting all cozy with Gloria and Little Bon Bon. I ought to sue.”

  “For what?”

  “For emotional distress.”

  “Pretty sure that’s a precedent you don’t want to set.” The number of cases against Maxine would be in the billions.

  “I need to fire Raul,” she says. “He cannot be trusted. It’s time to call in the big guns. I’m not letting Gloria Hardcastle take me down without a fight. I’ll dance harder. Shimmy bigger. Pop and lock—”

  A series of loud barks interrupt Maxine’s declaration of trainer independence. “You didn’t say anything about Gloria having dogs.”

  She shrugs. “Fear not.” Maxine digs into her fanny pack and extracts one Burger Barn hamburger, then another. “Here you go, boys. Who’s a good doggy? Who’re my sweet babies?” College football coaches have recruited quarterbacks for a throw like Maxine’s. The burgers arc in the air and sail far away.

  “Let’s get out of here.” Not bothering to wait for me to go first, Maxine climbs right over me on the branch, her bony knee stabbing my thigh.

  “Ow!”

  “Move it or lose it, sweet pea. Those burgers have a twenty-three-second lifespan.”

  “You’ve practiced this?” I hustle behind her, scooting my way toward the trunk.

  “Practiced it—and with variables.” Maxine steps onto a branch below. “Let’s just say if I need to do this blindfolded or during the pursuit of wily raccoons or a hailstorm, I stand ready and prepared.”

  Maxine monkeys her way toward the ground, while I try to keep up the pace.

  Three more branches to go and dark clouds cover the moon. I swing my leg beneath me until I make contact with the next branch, testing it with my weight.

  I hear the limb groan before it breaks.

  But I can’t move fast enough.

  The branch beneath me snaps in two, and down I go.

  Swallowing a yelp, I sail toward the hard ground below. Leaves swat at my arms and legs. I spit out an acorn and cover my face as I fall.

  I don’t want to die like this!

  I can already see my tombstone: She was always a sucker for peer-pressure…

  A thick limb clotheslines me in the chest, knocking the breath clean out of my body.

  “Ow!” I land spread eagle in the dirt, amidst dry leaves and gnarled roots. Every bone in my body vibrates.

  “Get up!” Maxine yanks on my hand. “I don’t know mouth-to-mouth!”

  Dogs bark in the distance, their rolling bellows coming closer, echoing louder.

  The stars in the sky drop and dance in circles around me, and my head spins as I move to sit up. “Am I dead?”

  “Not yet,” Maxine yells as I stagger to get upright. “We gotta get out of here. Hey, are you okay?”

  Wet stuff drips onto my cheek. Still gasping for air, I swipe at my face, only to hold up bloody fingers. “Oh, no. My face kind of hurts.” The landscape tilts as stars float before my eyes. “Does this look like I broke my nose?”

  Amidst a cacophony of barking dogs, my grandmother opens the gate. “It looks like I’ll be doing most of the pedaling home.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “You were doing what?” Four days later, Jeremy turns in his seat in the Burnett theater, as if getting closer will make the truth any less crazy.

  “Helping Maxine spy on her Mrs. Silver Texas competition.”

  He frowns at my black eye and ultra-sexy nose cast. “You sure grieve weird.”

  “It wasn’t my fault. Maxine made me do it. She’s a cult I can’t escape.”

  “And clearly an abusive one. Didn’t you break your ankle two years ago?”

  “Yeah, doing a heroic deed. But that one was for Frances.” I’d fallen through the roof of a dilapidated snack bar at a condemned drive-in theater in a protest staged by Frances. “You’re thinking of the time Maxine made me climb the water tower for shady purposes, and the fire department had to rescue us. I did have lots of bruises from that. Clearly, I’m a delicate flower. Built of parts and pieces that can’t take a strong wind or a torpedo fall from a tree.” Though this time, I didn’t break anything. My nose was dislocated, popped back in place, then gifted with a stupid cast that looks like a giant breathing strip for snoring. “I was hoping, at the very least, I’d get a nose job out of our accident. I think Audrey Hepburn’s schnoz would look quite nice on my face.”

  “Did Mrs. Hardcastle catch you?”

  “No. She ran into her back yard just as we raced away. Maxine got her intel, and then we heard a huge lecture from James and Millie.” I also received a round-trip to the emergency room. “This isn’t exactly the cherry on top of my month.”

  “I’m glad you’re back.” Jeremy gives me a light hug, careful of my scratches and bruises. “Rehearsal hasn’t been the same without you.”

  “I know you’ve missed my powerful one line.”

  “I’m sorry about your mom.”

  Honestly, I’ve yet to figure out what to say to this. I usually settle for “thank you,” but it’s getting old, and it feels odd to throw gratitude at someone for the sentiment. I’m sorry about my mom, too. I’m sorry she’s gone. I’m sorry we never made things right. And I’m sorry I never got to ask her the hundred
s of things that come to me daily since she died. Did she have any memories with her grandparents? What was her favorite fruit? What did little girl Bobbie Ann want to be when she grew up? Did she regret the choices she made and ever wish she could apologize? Did she keep any of my baby pictures or were her belongings nothing more than the small box of useless junk the prison gave me.

  Did she ever truly love me?

  Jeremy nudges me with his shoulder. “If you need anything, let me know. I have a stash of Reese’s in my dorm room that can help anything that ails.”

  “I may take you up on that. But right now, what I need the most is to get back to a regular routine.” I tap my nose. “And not sneezing.”

  Dr. Maddox breezes in, his grad assistant scurrying behind him like a frenzied squirrel. The professor shoves a hand through his hair, removes the glasses from his face with one brisk grab, then levels us all with a death glare. “Good evening.”

  “Uh-oh,” Jeremy mutters.

  Maddox gets a response of muffled, subdued greetings. We are students in fear of this version of Dr. Maddox. Gone is his happy, amiable expression. No trace of his jovial voice. He pops a hand on one hip and sets his square jaw. “This production’s a mess.”

  “So’s the script,” I whisper.

  Maddox begins to pace. “I’m not happy with all the line prompting that’s going on. Every one of you needs to get your scripts memorized.” He holds up the book I’ve come to loathe. “As of tonight, no more script. We’re getting rid of the crutch. And for the love of fallout shelters, remember your blocking and stay out of each other’s way. This play is serious and packs one punch of a message.”

  “The message being that they should see another play,” Jeremy mumbles.

  “You either get it together,” Dr. Maddox says, “or I replace you.” He slips his glasses back to their rightful perch on his nose. “Any questions?”

  Our heads shake in synchronized denial.

  Then his eyes narrow in my direction. “Kathryn, right?”

  Seriously? “It’s still Katie.”

  “Is that thing on your nose a prop?”

  “No, sir.” I’m not that method. “It’s real.”

  He regards me like I’ve just told him I intend to deliver my lines naked. “I don’t appreciate this addition at all.”

  “I’m…sorry?”

  He walks away to stage left only to return to the center, his hand stroking his chin. “I suppose it adds a layer to your character. I will allow it.”

  What a peach he is. “Thank you.”

  “You’ve been gone for a few days, correct?”

  “Yes. I emailed you.” I don’t have to hold a mirror to know a crimson stain climbs up my neck and creeps onto my cheeks. Everyone’s turned in their seats watching me.

  “Remind me why you’ve missed class and rehearsal.”

  Jeremy’s large hand clasps mine.

  “My…” I swallow against the lump in my throat and try again. “My mom passed away.”

  A collective “aww” swells in the room, and I flinch. I don’t know these people, and I don’t need their faux sympathy.

  “My condolences,” Dr. Maddox says. “We’ll keep you in our thoughts.”

  I don’t have to come up with a trite response because Maddox turns his raptor attention to another student, moving on and forgetting about Kathryn and her poor mom.

  Rehearsal finally begins, and I sit in my seat like a brainless zombie while I wait for my scene. I don’t want to be here—not at this practice and not at this school. I want to go home where I can crawl into bed and burrow under the covers and not come out until I’m good and ready. Which might be never. I wish I could click my heels and wake up four years from now—with a heart that’s healed, clutching my college diploma.

  I surreptitiously get out my phone and scroll through social media. Morbid or not, losing a parent gets you a crazy amount of attention on the socials. I didn’t even post about my Mom, yet somehow I have one hundred comments on Facebook, and twice that on Instagram. Who knew there were GIFs that conveyed condolences?

  “Katie Parker Scott?” Sierra, the grad assistant, yells, pulling me from my reverie. “Get on stage!”

  Oh, my gosh. I missed my cue! “Sorry!” I scramble down the carpeted slope, run to the left stage door, and sprint into my spot. My chest heaves from the panicked effort as ten actors stand frozen in various blocking positions, appalled someone would miss her mark.

  Kira turns to George, pushing play on the scene. “Enrique, I can’t take the last seat on the space bus to the moon. Not without you.”

  I step forward. “Do you want…a…” My brain goes blank. It’s a cavernous, empty space.

  Think, Katie! What’s the word I’m looking for? Pointy device. Offers rain protection. Easy to lose and never where you last put it.

  “Umbrella,” Dr. Maddox calls.

  His assistant pipes up. “The line is ‘May I offer you an umbrella?’”

  “Yes. Exactly.” I turn to Kira, fighting back the urge to cry. “Maybe I offer you an umbrella? I mean, may I offer you…this umzbrella. An umzbrella. An umbrella!” Oh, geez. It’s suddenly 400 degrees in this theater, and my deodorant is not into working overtime. “Sorry. Can we try that again?”

  Kira huffs like I’ve ruined the entire rehearsal. “Just ask me if I want an umbrella.”

  I nod manically. “Right.”

  She blinks. “Then do it.”

  “Oh! Of course. May I give you an umbrella?”

  “No!” Dr. Maddox says. “You sell umbrellas. You’re not giving them away. Your role is a commentary on commercialism, and its ever-present hooks into our society.”

  Sure it is. “Okay, how about we go again.”

  Five minutes later and three tries, I finally get it. Also, I’m pretty sure most of the cast hopes I step into a campus crosswalk and get hit by a bus.

  “That was rough,” I say an hour later when Jeremy and I grab our stuff to leave.

  “Give yourself a break.” He takes a chug from his Kristin Chenoweth water bottle. “You just lost your mom, for crying out loud. Your mind is understandably elsewhere.”

  “Ms. Scott?”

  I turn at Dr. Maddox’s voice and find him walking up the aisle toward us. At least he got my last name right. “I’m sorry about rehearsal.” I hoist my backpack over my shoulder. “It was an off night and won’t happen again.”

  “Can you give us a minute, Jeremy?” He gives a pointed look to my friend. Whose name he knows.

  “Sure.” Jeremy tucks his script into his backpack. “Katie, I’ll be in the lobby.”

  Dr. Maddox waits until everyone’s mostly dispersed and out of earshot. “Miss Scott, you seem to have a lot going on. In fact, I’m surprised you’re here tonight.”

  “I wanted to come back.” My voice sounds ridiculously nasally. “The theater always makes me feel better.”

  “I am deeply sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you.” There are those two words again. I say them on autopilot, with robotic intonation. Maybe I should just record them on my phone and play them back whenever the need arises. Save my voice for the words I’m not currently hating.

  He steps closer, his head lowered as if weighed down with pity. “If you need to take some time, we would all understand.”

  While his offer is generous, it’s also not necessary. “I’m fine. I—”

  “You could audition for the spring show when things have settled down and possibly rejoin us then.”

  I suck in a breath as his meaning crystalizes. “You mean, I could quit.”

  “We could easily find a replacement for your part.”

  Had the stage lights suddenly fallen and a thousand shards of glass stabbed my body, it could not have hurt more. “Easily, I’m sure.” I say it like I agree my part in this production is no big deal. Yes, I understand how minimal my existence here is, and I’m totally fine with it! “Anyone could deliver one line, right?” My lips pre
ss into a jovial smile. “I’ll get it together. I promise I’ll deliver my line like a champ at the next rehearsal. It’ll be so fabulous, a talent scout will probably start stalking me, so be prepared for that.” My laugh is obnoxiously high-pitched, vibrating my nose with pain. “Have a nice night.”

  “At least think about it,” Maddox says. “The odds of Kira needing an understudy are exceedingly slim. An earthquake is more likely. A typhoon in the student union. ESPN broadcasting the next football—”

  “I get it. Kira doesn’t need an understudy. I’ll take all this into consideration.”

  “Only saying this out of concern for you. Don’t be a hero when you don’t have to be.”

  “I’ll…I’ll give that some thought.”

  He gives my shoulder two awkward pats, then walks away.

  I find Jeremy in the lobby, taking a selfie next to a poster for the play.

  “What did Dr. Maddox say?” He shoves his phone into the pocket of his jeans.

  “He told me I could quit the show if I wanted to.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he thinks I don’t matter.”

  “Katie, I’m sure that’s not what he said.”

  “Basically, it was.”

  He slows his steps. “So, are you going to take him up on his offer and quit?”

  I turn back to the stage. Instead of feeling that ever-present pull, that tug to its curtained embrace, I feel absolutely nothing.

  “Maybe I should.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Miss Parker Scott, we have your mother’s ashes.”

  What other college girl got to hear these words today? I’m guessing probably just me.

  The day after the disastrous play rehearsal, the In Between Funeral Home called me, right in the middle of Intro to Theater. They left a message at the exact moment Dr. Maddox was droning on about Shakespeare’s Globe theater, and my fingers were locked in a death cramp from taking so many notes.

  “Earth to Katie.” Tate waves his hand in front of my face as we sit at a table for two in the cafeteria for lunch. “Did you hear a word I said?”