by D'Ann Burrow
“Hello, Kennedy.” The school counselor strode out of her office, her arm outstretched, waiting for a handshake. I felt my heart start to churn while she was still most of the way across the room.
Aunt Loretta was shooting me a look. If her eyes could send lasers, they’d be guided in on the counselor’s hand.
I was supposed to shake it.
“Kennedy, I’m Mrs. Ross.” Her hand bounced ever so slightly, signaling that she expected a response.
I stood, reaching out my hand for a fraction of a second. Taking hold of her hand with just the tips of my fingers, I nodded. “Sorry, my hands are wet. Hand sanitizer. I just touched gum or something.”
I gave her my best horrified-grimace, thankful to see her shrink back, clearly not wanting already-chewed-gum germs.
She brushed nonexistent gum off her hands and ducked to the side to glance in Tanner’s direction. Her words lost some of the gooey-welcoming-a-new-student edge. “I’ll be right with you Mr. Shields.”
Aunt Loretta patted my shoulder. “I’ll leave you in good hands.”
“But…”
She was quick to interrupt me. “No buts. It’s just for the time-being…until I can talk with your daddy.”
“Come on in, Kennedy. We’ll get you taken care of. Now, let’s talk about your schedule.”
9
Rule #133 – To be or not to be isn’t really the question
3:13 p.m.
Lost
* * *
I looked down at my map.
I looked up at the stage.
I looked down at my map.
The map was certain the theater classroom was in here. I wasn’t so sure. I should have taken the counselor’s secretary up on the offer to have a student take me on a tour, but I’d had one look at Scarlett’s friend and knew I didn’t want to give her the slightest bit of ammunition to pass along to my cousin.
I could just hear them…with their fake, exaggerated accents.
“Well, bless her heart, poor thing didn’t know the difference between the athletic wing and the science floor.”
“Could you just imagine, no boys at her school?”
It wouldn’t be any worse than if they saw me right now.
“Dear me, she was just standing there…in the cafeteria.”
Behind me, the cafeteria ladies were wiping down the tables with rags that looked to be a little questionable in cleanliness. I needed to remember to bring sanitizing wipes tomorrow. I tried to flag down the one closest to me, the one wearing a sweatshirt that read “Sic’ em Owls” even though it had to be almost 90 in here. I thought the school was air conditioned.
A woman in a dirty apron approached me. I’d seen her at lunch. She’d been the one standing at the cash register scanning ID tags. Something about her presence made me feel like she must have been in charge, therefore she’d been elected to deal with the errant student idly standing in the middle of the cafeteria. “Do you need something, honey?”
Yes, I’d like a way out of here. A one-way ticket back to San Diego would be nice. I’d settle for just a ride to the airport.
I turned my sarcasm down a few notches. This lady hadn’t done anything. And besides, she reminded me of Maggie. “I can’t find the theater.”
“Oh.” She gave me a knowing look. “You must be new here.” She rolled her eyes, wiping her hands on the front of her apron. Now I knew how it got dirty. I made a mental note to never buy the food from the cafeteria. “They really should make it more clear on the map.”
She took the paper out of my hand, and I tried not to cringe as I thought about what germs were likely getting transferred onto the page. I’d burn it when I got home. “You just have to duck through that curtain, go down the hall, and you’ll find some stairs behind the stage.”
“So it’s in the school dungeon?”
“Something like that, yes.” She laughed to herself and started to say something else but was interrupted by a metallic crash they probably heard back in the school office. She let out an annoyed huff and left abruptly. “Sheila, what did you do now?”
Not waiting to see what Sheila had done, I followed her directions exactly—or at least as exactly as I could follow her marginally specific description of how to find the theater room.
Duck under the heavy, velvet curtain that probably hadn’t been cleaned since the 80s. Check.
Cross the stage, weaving through the boxes, trash, and ancient set pieces. The stage was more storage room than performance space. Mrs. Kirby would have a heart attack.
Push open the door, complete with creepy, squeaking sound effects? Check again.
The stairwell was lit by a single light bulb suspended by a wire. How had this passed the fire marshal’s inspection? Although, given that this was a small town in Texas, it’s likely that no one even thought to ask to see the theater classroom.
I made a mental note to bring a flashlight to school for the rest of my visit. No way was I getting stuck down there if the light bulb burned out. And they always burned out. No one pre-emptively changed one.
As my foot touched the bottommost stair, just when I was beginning to suspect the send-the-new-kid to be eaten in the basement was some kind of twisted school initiation, I heard the first sign of others down in the guts of the school. Voices rose and fell, grew softer and louder and then ended with screams worthy of any haunted house.
10
Somewhere I Shouldn’t Be
3:14 p.m.
* * *
Everyone around me was screaming. Loudly. Louder than any of Addy’s tantrums, and I always thought she could out-scream anyone. She always beat my mom. Just when I thought I’d have to figure out how to look cool while covering my ears, everyone got quiet.
And they all sat around looking like this was perfectly normal. Apparently I was the one who was weird because I was mildly freaking out at this group screaming exercise.
Theater was some kind of cult.
I was going to have to go up, find the counselor, and tell her to put me somewhere else. Anywhere else. Because I wasn’t doing this.
“Oh. I didn’t see you there.” A teacher I’d never seen before slowly came to my side. Judging by her clothes and kind of odd smell, she’d probably been down here since the 70s. I’m not sure if she’d ever been out. That was definitely the last time she’d changed hair styles. She spoke with a thin wispiness that suggested she’d taken a drug trip and never got off. “A new student. Yes, I think the computer told me about that. Let me see your schedule.”
I tugged it out of my pocket, the pink schedule change form announcing I was new in the class as if the whole third-week-of-school-and-no-one-had-seen-me thing didn’t do it for me. I held it out to her, and she almost gave me a paper cut whipping it out of my hand. She slid her glasses to the end of her nose, twisting her head to the side. “But I thought it was a new student who was arriving.”
“Um, I can go back to the counselor.” Please let me go back to the counselor. Five minutes in the classroom and I was already turning into a guy who stuttered. And I was never a guy who stuttered.
She turned away from me, the schedule still in her hand. Her index finger scratched at her cheek as she turned in my direction with a frown. “I distinctly remembered the message said it was a female student as well.” She crept up on her computer and pecked at one of the keys. The screen cast a bright glow in the mildly darkened room. “Let me see.”
Everyone in the class was watching me. Less than five minutes ago, they were screaming like some kind of murderer was loose in the room, and now I was the weird one.
I looked at them without trying to look like I was looking at them.
Three girls with braces. One girl who was probably the school’s only hippie. A guy with hair so long that I thought he was a girl. Two dudes who definitely played for the other team, and I didn’t mean junior varsity.
Sixteen people in the class, and I didn’t recognize a single one. Well, maybe I recognized th
e blonde in the far corner. I think she was in my government class. Or maybe Spanish last year.
A dramatic sigh came from somewhere behind the glowing computer screen. She stood, a look of disappointment on her face. “I suppose I remembered incorrectly. I seem to have deleted the message the computer sent. It appears your paperwork is correct, though. You have been added to the roster. And you haven’t been in theater before?”
“Nope.” I resisted the urge to add that if I had taken theater in the past, I wouldn’t be here right now.
“This presents a bit of a problem.” She straightened her back and tugged her glasses off. The trapped-in-the-70s vibe disappeared, and a slightly-freaky teacher appeared in her place. “This is our senior level class—an audition-only class that the counselor appears to have decided to waive. Within these walls are our school’s most talented thespians. Many of the students here will be going on to careers in the professional theater. We’ll be preparing for college auditions this year. You will not ruin it for them.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I felt them judging me. “I don’t plan to.”
“Good.” She walked away from me, tapping her glasses against her leg while her long skirt swished around her ankles. “Which brings us to the second problem you present.”
I wanted to ask her if we really had to do this right here — right now, but it didn’t seem that I had a choice. She was watching me, an eyebrow arched so high that it was hidden beneath her graying bangs. Crap, she wanted me to say something. “And that problem is?”
“We’ve already begun our partner exercises for this quarter. The remainder of the class paired up on the second day of school. They’re performing duets.” Her second eyebrow joined the first, disappearing from view. “Not trios.”
“Maybe I could do a solo.”
“Monologues are discussed during the second grading period.” She tsked away at my clear lack of understanding how this class worked. “I don’t know what to do with you.”
And just as if she heard her cue being read on-stage, the door opened and Scarlett’s cousin practically tumbled into the room.
“Sorry. I couldn’t find the classroom.” She picked up her notebook, somehow without spilling an avalanche of paper everywhere. Her eyes closed, and it looked like she was doing some kind of yoga-inspired deep breathing. Made sense since she was from California. “I’m, um, new here. I’m in this class.”
“Well, it appears Dionysus is smiling down on us today.” The theater teacher gave a self-satisfied nod of her head, handed me my schedule and motioned toward two empty seats in the back of the classroom.
11
Football Locker Room
4:10 p.m.
* * *
“Didn’t see you in conditioning today.” Alex looked up at me from where he was sitting on the bench tying his shoe. His ruddy cheeks were already flushed a vivid red while his white blonde hair stood up like dried hay. Clearly conditioning had been more intense than usual.
“That’s probably because I wasn’t there.” As the only member of the football team not currently wearing my practice uniform, it wasn’t too hard to figure out that I wasn’t there.
“Coach said you aren’t going to be in there anymore.” Brock leaned against the beat-up JV lockers, resting one foot against the lowermost latch. Beads of sweat poured down his deep umber forehead. “What gives?”
Physically, the two couldn’t be more different, but they were unified in one singular thought—that I shouldn’t be the starting quarterback this year.
It didn’t make a difference that I was ranked as one of the top ten in the state out of all the size divisions. It didn’t matter that I’d busted my ass all summer putting on twenty pounds, just like Coach Dillon wanted. It didn’t matter that I went in for Vandever when he went out with a broken leg our sophomore year. I shouldn’t have been the one the coaches picked. They were both convinced Alex should have the position.
And now, since I was forced to drop conditioning, a tiny part of me thought they might be right. Damn it, I wasn’t giving up starting quarterback. If I did, I could kiss a college scholarship goodbye.
I needed that scholarship. Mom needed the scholarship.
Someone was going to have to take care of Addy someday, and I couldn’t do it without college. I wasn’t going to let an idiot counselor cheat me out of something that was mine.
“Yeah, why did Santos say to ask you why we had to do the extra workout?” Derrick glared at me before he leaned over the sink and dumped a bottle of water over his head.
So, Coach Santos felt the need to announce it to the team. Figures. He’d always been a jerk. He played ball with Alex’s dad, and I had a feeling he was on Team Alex.
“I had a schedule change.”
“So you’re not going to be in the class at all? What’s that going to do to you this season?” Derrick looked at me with more than a hint of skepticism in his eyes.
“Nothing.” I’d just opened my mouth to answer, but our trainer, Kurt Mears, ambled into the room just in time. Holding a clipboard in his hand, he looked ready to battle anyone who dared to contradict him.
“I’ve already worked it out with the office. Tanner’s going to be getting to school an hour earlier than everyone. Every day.” He cut his eyes in my direction and spoke it like it wasn’t a question, it was already decided. Looking at the way his jaw locked, he was sure the matter was settled. “I’m going to be taking him through conditioning solo.”
The guys looked at me with a mixture of reverence and fear.
Weight training with Coach Mears wasn’t a joke. Most days, we worked with the other coaches. Dillon only left Mears in charge as a last resort, and that’s probably because he liked his team to be able to still walk the next day. As a trainer, he tested us to know exactly what our limits were — and he generally pushed us right up to the edge and sometimes made us jump right over.
And I was going to be working with Mears every day. The counselor hadn’t exactly mentioned that.
First theater. Now Mears. What pit of hell had I landed in?
“Get moving. It’s not getting any cooler out there.” Mears nodded to the door. He wasn’t making a suggestion.
Amid a surprising lack of grumbling, the rest of the team charged toward the door. I took my place at the back of the pack.
“Shields, a second of your time.” He waited for the door to close behind the last straggling team member and looked me over from top to bottom. I could imagine he was already trying to decide which area to work on first. “I’m not joking. Coach said I’m in charge of you. I’ll meet you here at 6 tomorrow.”
“Six?” I tried not to think of when I’d have to wake up.
“Six.” Cut and dried, no questions asked. “If you’re late, I’ll back it up to 5:30.”
“I won’t be late.”
“Be sure of it.”
12
Rule #116 – Sometimes things just change
4:45 p.m.
School parking lot
* * *
Someday, I’d look back on this day and laugh. I might even laugh with Ellie when I talked to her tonight on the phone. Maybe. Some things were just too painful to admit.
Like right now.
This morning, I’d asked Scarlett where to meet her after school so I could ride home with her. Twice. And at lunch, I checked just to make sure.
I was supposed to wait for cheerleader rehearsal to end at 4:30, then I was supposed to go to the parking lot and wait by the car.
I sat in the library and tried to work on homework that didn’t matter, but the chair felt funny, and people around me were talking. Sister Josephine would never allow any idle chatter in her library, and the guy making moves on the freshman at the table next to me didn’t really have an I’m-helping-her-with-her-homework vibe.
At precisely 4:28, I packed my things and left the library.
I made it to our parking spot at 4:29. One entire minute early.
&
nbsp; And no car.
No Scarlet.
And she wasn’t answering her phone.
If this was some kind of first day prank, it wasn’t funny. I had a half-dozen other people I could call to drive me home in my phone. Unfortunately, they were all a four-hour plane ride away.
I wanted to go home, but I didn’t mean Aunt Loretta’s.
Home wasn’t an option right now—either my house or Loretta’s. Because I was stuck in the high school parking lot.
A dirty Jeep crammed full with at least two students beyond the safety rating crawled by. I tried not to notice that everyone in the car stared at me. Of course they did. I mean, I was standing in an empty space in the middle of the parking lot.
I caught the eye of a guy driving past in a truck. One eyebrow arched in an unspoken question. No way was I answering it. I could see the mounds of trash on the dashboard. Something might be living in his car. It happens.
I tugged at the hem of my shirt, adjusting non-existent wrinkles, just to give myself something to do.
I could try walking home.
I was in good shape. Running three miles on the beach each morning was a breeze. I could handle the trip to my aunt’s house. But that would mean I remembered how to get there. And between Scarlet and Loretta, I’d never been through town the same way twice. I had no clue where to go, and I didn’t even know the address. Poor planning on my part.
GPS couldn’t get me home if I couldn’t tell it where to go.
The secretary stepped out of the front doors and practically hopped down the front stairs toward the staff parking lot. That’s when I realized I had a problem. I didn’t have Aunt Loretta’s number. I didn’t know her address. And Scarlett conveniently forgot to drive me home. Surely my aunt would realize she was missing someone.
