The Cutting Room Floor

by Dawn Klehr

  “Please don’t make it harder than it already is, Libby.”

  “Okay. Then why don’t you come with me to the community center on Thursday? It’s yoga night, with the instructor you love.”

  “Uh, no, I can’t make it.” Riley looks at me. “Dez and I are working on the film. I’m sorry.”

  I nod, following her lead.

  “Oh, okay.” Libby clenches her jaw.

  I hold my lips tight to keep from smiling. It’s nice to be on the inside for a change.

  “Maybe next week?” she asks.

  “Sure, maybe,” Riley says.

  “Well, good luck with the film and everything.” Libby walks off, tail between her legs.

  Once she’s gone, I look at Riley, my eyebrows raised. “So, we have plans on Thursday?”

  “Yep.” She bites one of her black fingernails. “You okay with that?”

  She knows she doesn’t even have to ask.

  RILEY

  I feel bad lying to Libby and blowing her off, but I need space to figure things out. It’s not like she needs me anyway. She’s seeing Jake now.

  I manage to pull off the rest of my fake nails between third and fourth period. It’s awesome to have the use of my hands again. I might have to agree with Dez, though. Despite the fingernail fiasco, I think the rest of my beauty transformation is working. It’s been a quick jump from social death row to new it girl. I guess that’s what a pardon from the mayor’s daughter will get you.

  “Hey girl,” Caleb says. He circles before landing next to me at our lab table in Biology. “This new?” He touches my shirt.

  “Nah, this?” I ask, pulling his slouchy beanie over his eyes.

  “Nah,” he says, peeking out from under the hat. “You look good today, Riley.”

  “Thanks.” I try not to blush.

  Mr. Taylor greets us to let us know it’s time for class to begin. It’s a lab day, so he writes our assignment on the board and tells us to get to work.

  Caleb ignores him and faces me.

  “The makeover is impressive.” He readjusts his hat.

  I set my folder down next to his notebook and meet his eyes.

  “It’s just a little makeup. For the film.”

  “Maybe, but it seems like there’s something bigger going on with you.” Caleb tinkers with the microscope and readies our slides. “There’s more to this little change of yours. Yeah?”

  “Would it be a problem if there was?”

  “God, no. Let me tell you, it’s working. Especially for you-know-who.”

  I scrunch up my face, not following.

  “Desmond.” He sighs.

  “What are you talking about, Caleb?”

  “Riley, don’t tell me you don’t know that Dez has it bad for you.”

  I flush again, but this time I don’t just feel it in my face. My entire body is warming.

  “I hate when girls pretend to be oblivious,” he says.

  “So do I—but I don’t know what you’re talking about with Dez.”

  “Isn’t he the reason for … this?” Caleb’s eyes run up the length of my body. “Look, I know you’re not the type to flaunt your relationships or whatever.”

  “I don’t have a problem with being open about my relationships,” I tell him. “It’s just that they’ve never gone far enough for me to do any flaunting.”

  “Well, let me tell you, Dez would be into lots of flaunting.”

  I shake my head.

  “Haven’t you noticed the way he looks at you?”

  Maybe.

  “No, I haven’t,” I answer, hoping he doesn’t see through me.

  “Why am I not believing you?”

  Because I’m lying. Because I’m scared to admit that Dez and I might be more than friends.

  “Don’t you think that would be weird ?” I ask, thinking out loud. “Me and Dez?”

  “In what way?” Caleb leans in. “Because you’re into girls?”

  “Yeah, there’s that.”

  Is that or was that? I’m still not sure I know.

  He laughs. “Hey, people change. You wouldn’t be the first, you know.”

  “I know,” I say, remembering Lucas’s switcheroo last year.

  “This is the time to figure it out, Riley. You don’t need to put yourself into a box. Guys, girls? It’s all good. And Dez is a good guy.”

  “He is.” I couldn’t agree more.

  “I’m all for whatever makes people happy. Are you happy, Riley?”

  “Getting there,” I tell him. “Getting there.”

  Truth is, I haven’t really been happy since that last night with Emma. The night before the breakup. It was the last time things felt normal. We’d just gotten done with Tai Chi Night at the community center. I can hear the harp sound effect now, taking me back …

  “Oh my God, nice Ninja face,” Emma says when we get to her car.

  “What? I was into it,” I tell her while she flips the ignition and turns the radio on. “I’m really serious with my Tai Chi,” I add with a giggle.

  “Seriously cute,” she says. “Hey, it’s a little cramped up here. Mind if we go in the back?”

  “Sure,” I say. We clumsily climb into the back. She goes first and I follow.

  The back seat doesn’t give us much more space. It’s tight, and since we both have shorts on, our legs are touching—skin to skin.

  “Oh, I love this song,” Emma says when Tom Petty comes through the speakers, singing, of all things, “Here Comes My Girl.”

  She moves in and I quickly close the gap. Then she puts her hands on my thighs and whispers, “Kiss me.”

  It’s always a relief to know she feels the same. She wants me in that way. It surprises me every time. I pull her in and her hands move to my waist and we kiss.

  Forever.

  Or at least until the crowd starts flowing out of the community center into the parking lot. Reluctantly, we both pull away. I ask if she could come over.

  “Better not,” she says. “My mom.”

  She doesn’t have to elaborate. We’ve already had many discussions about her situation at home. Emma is so worried about her mom finding out she’s gay. “She’s frail,” Emma says, but she never tells me why.

  On my way home, I text Dez. I’m out of my mind, crazy happy.

  I can see his light on and I want him to help celebrate my news—I’m officially in love.

  Dez never did answer me that night. His light went off right after I sent the text. It didn’t matter. Instead, I went to sleep and celebrated in my dreams.

  CROSSING THE ENEMY LINE

  INT. SCHOOL COMMONS—

  MID-SEPTEMBER, SENIOR YEAR—MORNING

  DESMOND sits on a chair and pretends to read a book. His eyes scan the crowd. Once he finds who he’s looking for, his body goes rigid.

  It’s TORI DEVLIN. She stands in the center of a group of girls, laughing. Once the bell rings, they separate and DESMOND makes his move.

  DESMOND

  (taps TORI’S shoulder when

  he catches up with her)

  Hey, can I talk to you for a sec?

  TORI

  (looks at him and beams)

  Sure.

  The camera moves to a poster announcing the homecoming dance. TORI bites her lip and taps her finger on her book. We can tell she thinks DESMOND is going to ask her to the dance.

  They move from the hall into an empty room.

  DESMOND

  I need your help.

  TORI

  (looks confused)

  Oh?

  DESMOND

  It’s about Riley and Emma.

  TORI

  (her warm face turns cold)

  Of course it is. What is it?

  DESMOND

  I need you
to help me break them up.

  FADE OUT

  DEZ

  I pull into the driveway on Friday, and Riley’s already on the porch steps waiting for me. Somehow she’s talked me into driving her to Tori’s Halloween party. The driving part I have no problem with; it’s her hanging out with those lowlifes that has me unsettled.

  Rye stands up and my heart stops. She’s dressed as Holly Golightly from Breakfast at Tiffany’s. She’s wearing a black dress and long black gloves and her hair is wrapped up just like Audrey Hepburn’s, with something sparkly stuck in the top.

  Last summer, Riley and I watched classic films almost every night. We’d take turns picking them. I was a fan of Jack Nicholson in Easy Rider, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, and The Shining. Riley went for the Audrey Hepburn movies like Roman Holiday, My Fair Lady, and Breakfast at Tiffany’s.

  I get out to open her door. “Well hello, Holly Golightly. Audrey Hepburn, eat your heart out.”

  “Oh, golly gee,” Rye says, doing her best Hepburn im-pression.

  “I still don’t like this, you know,” I say as we back out of the driveway.

  “I know.”

  “I wish you’d change your mind.”

  “I have to see what she knows, Dez, and I need to look at the Degas to see if Ms. Dunn’s initials are there.”

  “Well, if you’re not careful, I’m going to tell Libby. She would have your ass if she knew what you were doing.”

  “Yeah, she’s not taking this whole thing very well—and I think my excuse is starting to wear thin, especially since we’re almost done shooting.”

  “In this one instance, I agree with her.”

  “It’s for her own good.”

  I nod in agreement. Nobody understands that reasoning better than me.

  I pull up to Tori’s house.

  The large brick colonial is adorned in cobwebs with enormous spiders attached to them. Shadows of people dance in the windows and laughter escapes the door as people make their way inside.

  “I’ll text you when I’m done,” she says, giving me a peck on the cheek on her way out. I pray she knows what she’s doing.

  Just in case, I pull onto a dark street and change my clothes.

  Looks like I need the costume after all.

  RILEY

  I don’t like going back into Tori’s house. It’s cold and hard and full of the mayor’s negative energy.

  “Riley.” Tori greets me at the door and looks me up and down. “The perfect princess.”

  “I’m Holly Golightly.” I frown. I’m a total fraud—I could never be Audrey Hepburn. I’d be more realistic as Paul Varjak—the guy in love with Holly G.

  “Hmm, I don’t remember that one.” Tori wrinkles her nose.

  “From the movie Breakfast at Tiffany’s?”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “It’s Audrey Hepburn’s most famous movie. There’s even a song about it.”

  “You and your nerdy old movies, Riley. I’ll never understand it.”

  “I know,” I say, rolling my eyes on the inside. “You look great too, by the way.”

  Tori’s clad in a scarlet cape. She’s dressed as Red Riding Hood, but I can’t help thinking the Big Bad Wolf would be much more appropriate.

  See, I’m not the only fraud here.

  “Come on,” she says, taking my arm. “We’re just getting ready to start the games.”

  Tori pulls me into the fold. The rest of the Rollers are also in fairytale get-up: Natalie is Little Bo Peep, Paige is Goldilocks, and Alexa is Alice in Wonderland.

  I have to say, it’s unlike any other party I’ve been to. Mayor and Mrs. Devlin are out schmoozing with the kids. They’re dressed up like that weird farming couple in the American Gothic painting. The mayor is holding a pitchfork, which is very fitting.

  Tori stops and grins at me. I think she wants something.

  “What?” I ask.

  “I need a favor,” she says, tugging me into the corner.

  “Okay, what is it?”

  “I hate to ask this here, but I’m running out of time.”

  I flip my wrist, telling her to go on.

  “I need your testimony. For church?” She looks up at me under her lashes.

  I stare at her, pretending not to follow.

  “It’s when people talk about their life, their path, how they found God. I was hoping you’d share your story. Pastor Al said you could do it next week.”

  “Wait—you already asked him before talking to me? I don’t do well in crowds, Tori.”

  Next week is too soon. I need more time.

  “What are you talking about? You’re an actress.”

  “But this is my real life, and I’m not ready for some public declaration.”

  “Riley, I need this. I have to help someone with their testimony before I work in the church like my parents do. They’re counting on me. Can you do it for me? Please?”

  “I don’t know,” I say.

  “Like I said, act. Just look at it as another part.”

  “In church? Isn’t that sacrilege or something?”

  “You’d be surprised.” Tori smirks but her eyes are sad. “Just think about it, okay?”

  I nod.

  “Let’s go back,” she says. This time she practically skips when she brings me over to join her friends.

  Over the next hour, we play games. We bob for apples—something I didn’t know people really did. Well, most of us bob for apples. Tori and Natalie drink punch and watch since they don’t want to ruin their makeup. Then it’s charades. When it’s time for the scavenger hunt, I sneak out.

  Down the hall, two zombies—Marcus and John—are pouring what looks to be vodka into their punch. Now that is something I’m used to seeing at a party. They laugh and join the crowd.

  Then Alexa storms past me into the bathroom with tears in her eyes, and though I need to get downstairs to do my detective work, I can’t help but follow. Alexa’s at the bottom of the Roller food chain and I know what that’s like.

  I knock on the door. “Alexa? It’s me. Riley.”

  The door clicks and opens an inch. I slide in.

  Alexa is staring at herself in the mirror. A cosmetic bag sits inside the sink.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  She shakes her head and more tears stream down her face.

  My insides tighten. Alexa is beautiful, and her tears make her blue eyes even more striking. They remind me of Emma’s.

  “Tori,” she hiccups. “She said I look terrible and told me to do something with myself.”

  I burn up.

  Alexa dabs the rest of her tears with a tissue and powders her face. Then she takes a tube of bright pink lipstick and begins to slide it across her bottom lip.

  “No,” I say, a little too loud.

  I’ve startled her, and she drops the tube in the sink. I move closer and wipe her lip with another tissue. My stomach is doing full-on somersaults now. I force my hand away from her face and into her makeup bag.

  I find what I’m looking for. A tube of gloss. It’s amazing that I’ve become a bit of an expert with this stuff.

  “Here.” I hand her the tube. “This is better. More natural.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t think that’s what Tori had in mind.”

  “Don’t listen to her. You’re so pretty, you don’t need all that stuff.”

  Her face relaxes, and when she smiles, I know I have to get out of there.

  I ignore my hormones and get my mind back in the game. I pass the zombies in the hallway, a creepy comic book villain lurking in the corner, and two sexy (or slutty, as Tori’s been calling them all night) pirates in the kitchen. Then I sneak downstairs to the rec room. Just past the bar is where I saw the statue, that night of the Dirty Deeds. The Degas w
as sitting on a shelf next to the flat screen.

  My fingers tingle. I just know it’s Ms. Dunn’s.

  It’s dark, so I flip on the light. The statue is still there. I take a quick glance behind me up the stairwell, to be sure nobody’s coming. Then I hurry over to the Little Dancer sculpture.

  I pick it up and turn it over, but I don’t get a chance to look.

  “What are you doing down here?” A man’s voice jolts me back two feet. He’s walking toward me from the other side of the room. Damn big house—there must be two stairways.

  I slide the statue back onto the shelf.

  The mayor approaches me. “It’s Riley, isn’t it?”

  I clear my throat and slowly release a breath. “Yes, sir. I was just looking for the bathroom.”

  “Well, you passed two of them to get down here.”

  “Oh, I—“

  He moves even closer. “If you’re down here looking for something to spike the punch with, Riley, you won’t find it. This is a dry house.”

  “Mr. Devlin, I wasn’t looking for alcohol,” I say, having a strange desire to fit into this party, with these people.

  “I’m sure.” He doesn’t buy it. “Why don’t you just go up and join the rest of the party.”

  I do as I’m told. Something about him is more than off.

  I text Dez to come pick me up ASAP.

  DEZ

  Riley somehow got out of the Devlin party unscathed and under the radar. But at school on Monday, her name is all the buzz. Apparently I’m not the only one noticing the changes in Rye. She’s almost stopping traffic in the halls.

  Yet not everyone is stoked.

  Libby charges at me before second period. I can almost feel the target on my head.

  What is it with these chick attacks in the hallway?

  “Dez, we need to talk,” she barks at me, moving to the corner away from lockers and people.

  I don’t follow.

  She waves me over, her face all crinkly, telling me she’ll make a scene if I don’t do as I’m told.

  I slowly walk over.

  “Yeah,” I say, meeting her eyes. She will not intimidate me.

  “I want you to back off Riley,” she demands.