Unmaking Hunter Kennedy

by Anne Eliot

  Point for the canvas!

  The guy next to him had finished his pile of paperwork and seemed to be openly assessing his outfit with grimaces too.

  Dustin tried again. “Thsshthese forms are a big pain, huh?”

  The guy raised one eyebrow in what looked like absolute scorn. He leaned back in his chair and gave a little snort and shook his head when he took in Dustin’s boots. “What are you? Some kind of inbred?” he asked, finally.

  Dustin stopped whistling. It was his turn not to answer.

  Even though it was almost impossible to do—he dropped his smile, and turned away, acting all sad.

  He glanced again at permanently-annoyed-girl but was met again with her hostile, closed face.

  Christ. These kids have zero sense of humor.

  His initial sense of elation fled, leaving—what?

  Was he suddenly embarrassed? Freaked out? Supremely uncomfortable?

  Yes.

  But, he also felt pretty good, considering. He sucked in a deep breath, imagining Vere’s happy reaction to this news. Dustin McHugh had it made. No one wanted a piece of him. This high school schedule was easy compared to his usual 20 hour days and nights. No one took photos or randomly grabbed him either. Hell, these kids didn’t even want to be near him. His heart twisted a little, thinking of his fans. His band, recording songs in NYC right now.

  Maybe this wasn’t the best feeling in the world.

  He imagined entering a classroom full of kids just like these two in a few, short minutes. They couldn’t all be this flipping rude. Could they?

  He zoned out and stared at the form in front of him and circled a deep groove with his ballpoint pen around and around the words that said ‘Drama 300/400 Jr./Sr. only’. The only course in the booklet for upper grades. Vere would have signed up for this same class. Because if everyone was going to treat him like invisible trash, he needed to refuel with his bestie, and soon.

  Please. Please. Please.

  What’s that song line? ‘If you’re loved by just one then you can’t be rejected?’ No...that’s not right...and who sings it? Besides I should switch it to: ‘If you love just one but she doesn’t know it...’

  “Young man. Mr. McHugh.”

  Clack. Clackety. Clack.

  Mrs. Ferriter’s face loomed over his shoulder as a cloud of cheap perfume assaulted his senses. When Dustin looked up, Mrs. Ferriter’s face had turned even more goat like.

  Did her beady eyes seem sort of disapproving or is it the hairs on her chin that are freaking me out?

  “Principal Sloan would like a word with you about your file.”

  Dustin’s heart sank into his stomach. He scanned her face for a clue as to the meaning behind her words.

  Maybe she knew. Maybe they all knew who he was.

  Please. Please. Don’t let her know.

  Mrs. Ferriter scooped up his paperwork. “You two done?” She jerked her head at the other kids. They quickly gathered up their things. “Good. All of you follow me out.” She waved a meaty hand at Dustin. “You. Head two doors south. Corner office. After you’re done, I’ll have your class schedule printed.”

  **

  “Mr. McHugh, please come in. Shut the door.” Principal Sloan’s stern, disapproving voice caught him by surprise as he stood in the hallway.

  Dustin entered the office and glanced warily at the man sitting behind a huge oak desk. The principal looked to be older than time. He had gold wire-rimmed glasses, sported the most unbelievable beige polyester shirt highlighted by an electric blue tie. Principal Sloan had a file open. He didn’t look up as he studied its contents. “Come closer, son. What do you say?”

  Dustin’s heart raced double time.

  What should I say?

  Silence was always his preferred choice when presented with dangerous people, but in this case, he opened with: “Er—nice to meet you, sir?”

  Dustin shifted his feet, his heart pounding in his chest. Did this guy know who he was or not? He thought back to Thursday in the airport. What had Martin and his mom said about the school district? Was this the person who’d done the favor?

  Dustin scoured his brain but couldn’t remember.

  Why hadn’t they emailed him at least some kind of reminder about all this crap?

  “I don’t know what your deal is, Dustin McHugh, but your file came down to me from pretty high up. The only other time we had anything this unusual and this hush-hush was when one kid’s family was in the witness protection program—back in ninety-seven.”

  Dustin opened his mouth to say he was not a federal witness but the guy held up his hand and stopped him.

  “I don’t want to know. Get it? For your safety, and the safety of the school, I’m not allowed to ask. So don’t tell me. My concerns lie in other areas. The only information I’ve been privy to is your penchant for vandalism and reckless driving. Oh and personal endangerment. I also have a note here about your possible depression? If you are depressed, Dustin, we do have counseling available. As for the other stuff, I need to warn you that it will not be happening here. So. Are you? Are you currently depressed?”

  “No sir,” Dustin almost choked on the words.

  “Will you be requiring any counseling at this time? Your file says you’re living with your great aunt as guardian. I’ll call her to let her know we’ve had this conversation. I have to return this form to the district this morning to show that we talked.”

  Dustin breathed a sigh of relief. He had no clue how Martin had managed to hide his identity but he was, at this moment, truly grateful for his agent’s abilities.

  “So is that a definite ‘no’ for counseling?” he asked again.

  “I had a therapist at my...old place. He told me I only needed a therapist if I wanted one. I don’t. I’ll refuse to go if anyone tries to make me.” Dustin hated that he had to justify himself to this guy, but it had to be better than being found out. “I can honestly say to you that I’m starting to realize that since I’ve come to Colorado, I’ve never been happier. Really.”

  “Good. Good. Let’s hope it stays that way. Let me know if you need anything.” The principal was busily filling out an orange form with the name Dustin McHugh typed in all caps at the top. “The other shenanigans will not be tolerated. Do you have that under control?”

  “I do, sir. The Roth family is helping me out. The kids, brother and sister, will be driving me to—uh, to,” he used Mrs. Roth’s words, “here and to all school functions.”

  “Charlie Roth? Really. Interesting.” The principal scratched his ear and wrote more on the bottom of the form as he blabbed on, “Charlie’s a darn good football player. That kid’s got his head pretty much on straight. Hope to work him out a fine scholarship this year. Didn’t know he had a sister.”

  “Vere. His sister’s name is Vere. Vere Roth. She’s a junior.” For some reason it bothered Dustin that the principal didn’t know Vere’s name.

  Principal Sloan hadn’t heard a word he’d said. “All right. So long as we’re clear, McHugh.”

  “We’re clear.”

  The principal put down his pen and directly looked at Dustin for the first time. “You’re a tall one. But you don’t look to be very sports oriented. I’ll tell you though, our basketball team is always looking for—”

  “Drama!” Dustin couldn’t help but interrupt. He could hardly believe the principal had bought into his dork factor. The guy was a total tool. “I’m going to join the drama club, sir.” He flashed his retainer, which earned him the expected and hoped for disdainful squint. Dustin grinned even wider and had the urge to laugh because his new power to horrify people was beyond awesome.

  “Yes. Yes. Drama.” The principal sighed and looked away as though he couldn’t stand to look at Dustin’s smile. He seemed to lose all interest in Dustin and glanced at his watch. “Don’t waste any more time, son. Head out. You should be able to make it to second period.”

  24: drama class just got better

  VEREr />
  Seventh period. Last class of the day.

  Vere checked her phone for the time. Ten minutes early.

  Drama class, followed by Drama Club.

  Mrs. VanDeWirth, followed by more Mrs. VanDeWirth.

  Vere’s all-time favorite topic, combined with her most favorite teacher.

  Pure perfection.

  This year, Vere meant to go for stage director, or lighting master. As an upperclassman, she’d have a better chance this year at getting some real responsibilities back stage.

  Vere pulled open the auditorium doors. She loved how it smelled in here, some dust, some must, and all the rest pure magic. This part of Palmer Divide High had been around since 1967. The theater still boasted the original red velvet seats, now crushed and worn into a faded pink color. They were still sturdy with metal backs and bottoms and Vere loved how the crunchy springs in the seats sounded when you first sat in them.

  The floors were concrete except for the stage which was made up of a light-colored pine. Today, the huge, heavy red curtains hung open, exposing the stage that now held a ton of students all waiting for class to start. Why had she thought she would be the only one who would want to come in here early?

  The school funding had cut Mrs. VanDeWirth’s hours back. To compensate, they’d combined the junior and senior drama classes into one larger class. Because of the size, they’d been instructed to meet here instead of in Mrs. VanDeWirth’s classroom.

  Vere’s confidence wavered when she saw how many people were sitting cross-legged or sprawled around on the stage floor. How would she stand out in a class this size?

  Vere slipped silently into the back edge of the crowd and sat on the floor. There had to be at least forty people here already with more trailing in through the side doors.

  Her stomach growled. She rummaged in her backpack, searching for snacks.

  “Hey, Vere.”

  A familiar low baritone rumbled at her from above. She startled, pulled her head out of her backpack, and checked her bun as she struggled to swallow the whole pretzel stick she’d just shoved into her mouth.

  She twisted and looked up. Way, way up. Her gaze traveled past a pair of tanned legs in sun-faded, khaki shorts. Then it traversed an impossibly white shirt and a perfectly sculpted collarbone and chin. Her gaze had made it all the way to a pair of perfect green eyes with midnight black lashes.

  Then she died.

  “Uh. Hey, Curtis,” she gasped, way too quickly.

  The pretzel stick was now suffocating the back of her throat with dry dust and stinging salt.

  “It took me awhile to find you in this crowd,” he said. “Should have known to check the dark corners of the room first.” He smiled.

  “Yeah. Corners.” She took a deep breath and worked to swallow the lump that now blocked her pretzel from going down. “Are you lost? This is really far from the gym,” she said, finally.

  Her only solace was that her head wasn’t stuck in a shirt this time. She wiped her mouth, wondering if she’d blown any food bits at him on accident.

  “Don’t I know it.” Curtis Wishford grinned down, crossing his arms. A move that fully showed off his nice biceps.

  His grinning, dimpled perfect face threatened to make Vere die all over again. (If that was possible when she was already dead.)

  Dead and gaping at him like an idiot.

  Help. Help. Someone help me think of something perfect to say.

  Crickets. Crickets. Crickets.

  Someone help. I’ve been hypnotized. By crickets!

  Curtis’s jaw moved steadily as he chomped on a piece of gum as though he had his own rhythm.

  Bright, neon-yellow gum.

  It bounced around his mouth, two chews to the right, one to the left and back. Crack. Snap. And chew.

  Great. Who stared at gum? Dead people. That’s who.

  “Um. Charlie never comes in here so...”

  “I’m not looking for Charlie. Mind if I sit?”

  Her brows went so high she felt them almost shoot off the top of her forehead. But she managed a nod.

  He dropped a notebook next to her backpack and sat. As in right next to her.

  “I signed up for this class on a whim,” he said.

  “You did?”

  Was this really happening? Could she handle this?

  Obviously NOT.

  Come on Vere.

  You practiced all weekend. You’ve got it.

  She took a deep breath and kicked her brain into gear. “You’ll like it. I love this class.” He was looking straight into her eyes but she felt too ill to hold his gaze, so she glanced away and pointed at the audience seats. “I love this auditorium, and Mrs. VanDeWirth.”

  OMG. I think I quake-yodeled that entire sentence. Please don’t let him say anything. Please....

  “I know you do.” He stretched his legs out and leaned back.

  “You do?” she asked, completely distracted by the fact that Curtis Wishford smelled like spicy, warm sweat. He must have just worked out. He was always working out or about to work out.

  It wasn’t a bad smell. But maybe it wasn’t a great smell either.

  Ha. Wait till I tell Jenna this one.

  “Yeah. You talk about drama all the time when I’m over for dinners and stuff.”

  She gaped at his long muscular legs stretched out in front of both of them. Dark hair covered his calves and what she could see of his thighs.

  Vere had her legs tucked crisscross under her long skirt. Her skinny smooth legs would look weird next to his bumped and bruised football-huge shins, wouldn’t they? Curtis Wishford always seemed so comfortable in his own body. How could she get some of his confidence to rub off on her?

  Keep talking to him. You can do this.

  “So...do you know what else I like?” She managed and shocked even herself with her next move: she smiled.

  “I’m hoping I do.” He smiled back, with what looked like a calm, interested and flirty smile!

  Was this conversation working so well because the stage lights were only half up? Maybe it was the long weekend of practice she’d had with Charlie and Dustin, or maybe, she really was truly dead.

  Either way, Vere was in control of herself in front of Curtis for the first time in years ! She couldn’t believe it.

  She hadn’t even started to blush.

  Oh, thank you, Dustin McHugh!

  Curtis went on, “I signed up for Drama because Charlie told me it would be the best place to track you down once a day so we could hang out.”

  “What?” So much for control.

  Her cheeks went from zero to two billion on the pink tracker in less than one second. That had to be a record.

  “You heard me. I was thinking we could hang out a bit.”

  She checked her bun again and focused on getting air. She placed her hands flat on the stage floor and wondered if the vortex created by her empty lungs would eventually suck her through the stage and into the orchestra pit below.

  Breathe, Vere, breathe. Don’t put him on a pedestal.

  “What do you mean by hang out, exactly?” she squeaked.

  Thankfully, Curtis seemed not to notice her upset. He’d been tracing a small knot in the wood with his finger the whole time and hadn’t looked up.

  Wait. Did Curtis seem a little nervous?

  “I mean, I don’t know. I’ve just had the urge to hang out with you. I tried to mention it last week, but Howie messed up my mojo-magic. I’m so busy after school with football, and you’re so...so shy around me.” Curtis paused his hand and looked up. Looked up and right at her!

  Good God. Why do you have to be so gorgeous?

  Vere closed her mouth fast because it had opened really far by then.

  He ran his hand through his hair. “I was hoping you’d like the idea. Do you mind?”

  “Is Charlie putting you up to this or something?” She shot him a suspicious frown. She would have to play this off as funny until she could get a handle on his level of
seriousness. “I just want you to know, Charlie’s flat broke so whatever he offered you, he has to pay me two hundred bucks first.”

  Curtis laughed. “No one’s behind this but me. Charlie only gave me his blessing, if that counts. I kind of wish I’d had the courage to do this last year. Really. I’ve had a crush on you for a long time.”

  Vere made sure her voice was dry and over-skeptical. “Really?” She raised her eyebrows and double crinkled her forehead while she leveled him with her ‘don’t-mess-with-me’ stare.

  “You’re blushing, Vere, so either you like the idea, or you hate it. Which is it?”

  Vere risked a longer look into Curtis’s eyes.

  Truly, this did not appear to be a joke.

  Vere. Say something!

  Can’t. Crickets are back.

  When her silence stretched into an obvious problem, Curtis glanced down and fiddled with the edge of his notebook. “If you aren’t into it, into me I mean, I’m dropping this class. No biggie.”

  “No!” she gasped, his words bringing her out of it. “I like the idea! I mean—it’s good...a great idea. And cool. It will be really cool, you know...to just hang out once a day...in here. It seems like a safe place to do that. Not like I need to be safe—from you.”

  He laughed, his eyes smiling warmly at her. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that, once I stake my claim, my girls are never safe.” He gave her a strange sideways look as if he might regret what he’d said to her, or regret what she’d said.

  Did I hear that right? What did he mean by ‘my girls’? And why the plural?

  Stop. Stop over thinking this moment.

  You’ve waited for this for so long. Don’t over analyze.

  And stop gawking at him like he’s the Statue of Liberty and you just got off a boat to America.

  She willed his lips to move, to say anything, to rescue her. When they didn’t, she couldn’t stop her mouth from motoring-on a second time. “As for me being into you, well, you’d have to be in a coma or blind to not notice that I’ve had a crush right back at you. And since I was six. You knew that.”