Taming of the Shoe

by Rebekah Dodson

  I tried to get her to wait until we got home, but she was almost done scarfing down her apple slices when I pulled in the driveway. Mine was the only car in the driveway, which was normal. My parents usually stayed at the office until well past nine on most days, and my mother would usually rush in just in time to kiss Amy good night and remind me to do my homework. I shook my head at Amy, whose face was streaked with tiny bits of ketchup, reminded her to throw away her garbage, and then snatched up my food and followed her in the house.

  Amy went directly to the TV and turned it on. “Only an hour,” I reminded her, and she turned and gave me a thumbs up.

  I trudged down the hall in our huge house and flopped down on my bed with my audition notes. I scribbled a few things about the girls that auditioned today, but I still couldn’t rationalize casting Angelica. She was our best choice, and she was popular enough that it would make the production a packed house. But I felt that she would be better for the bitchy step-mom, Georgina, who only had one singing number, not the four Lilla had, and only a handful of lines. I already knew Jackson would probably fight me on this, so I needed a strong argument to convince him Angelica wasn’t right for the lead.

  But who was? We already had some try outs last year that were terrible, and luckily a few of them came back and we cast them this time, too. Angelica hadn’t tried out of the lead, in fact, almost no girls had last year. We were lucky to even get three this time. Angelica had everything necessary to play the role, but was she right for it? I needed a Christine, but all I was getting was a Carlotta, and I hated it. I didn’t know what to do about it, either.

  My phone buzzed at the foot of the bed and I snatched it up.

  What I don’t get about Cyrano is why he didn’t just tell Roxanne how he really felt.

  I smiled when I saw it was Taylor, but what an odd way for her to start a conversation. We were really skipping to the intimacies of Edmond Rostand? What was her goal here, exactly?

  I hesitated before typing something bold, but then in the words of Maeve, I decided fuck it. He did say ‘my heart always timidly hides itself behind my mind,’ you know. Some guys are shy and don’t have any self-confidence.

  I wouldn’t know.

  Her response puzzled me. She wouldn’t know about what? Guys? Or self-confidence? I typed the only thing I could think of. Explain?

  Guys ...

  What about them?

  I ... went to an all-girls school in Germany. So I’m sorry if I was rude today. I just haven’t talked to many guys. But you’re nice.

  I liked her honesty. It was refreshing. That’s okay. Are you, like, allowed to talk to guys? I gulped. What if she had some religious thing that she wasn’t supposed to. That couldn’t be true, right? Otherwise, why did she talk to me in the library?

  I think Papa might be more disappointed I wore shorts today than talking to a boy.

  Ah, was all I responded.

  I’m sorry I hit you with the bathroom door today.

  I grinned like crazy, but I wasn’t sure why. It’s okay, my nose will recover.

  Luckily, it’s not as big as Cyrano’s. You should be fine.

  You examined my nose? Who are you?

  She just sent a smiling emoji. What was that for? Was she being snarky now?

  I couldn’t with her. I really couldn’t. I wasn’t sure if she was flirting with me or not. Lots of girls flirted with me; I was one of the most popular kids in school. I was used to asses bouncing in front of me in the hallway and girls sliding up to me in the cafeteria. But it was usually a thirsty kind of flirt, and it definitely wasn’t about literature, ever. It was more of a midnight text that said, “My parents are asleep and my window’s unlocked.” Which admittedly I only took of advantage once when I was a stupid freshman and I don’t want to talk about it.

  It’s a nice nose.

  I stared at her next message and watched as the three little dots appeared to tell me she was typing again. Who was the shy thing I had met today that suddenly liked to throw out these lines? I was perplexed and interested all at the same time.

  ‘A great nose indicates a great man,’ she texted. Do you think that’s true?

  Maybe. I am writing a play, after all.

  You are?

  Yeah. It’s being performed in June, just around the time of graduation. We cast most of it today.

  That’s great! But three months to put on a play? Is that enough time?

  “It would be if I could find a lead,” I muttered to myself as I clutched my phone. I sat up cross-legged in my bed and banged my head lightly against the headboard for a minute as I stared at her text. God, I hope so.

  She didn’t answer immediately, just sat there typing, then not typing. She was giving me massive anxiety. Finally her answer came across. Well, I hope you find someone.

  I frowned at that and wasn’t sure how to answer. My phone buzzed as her next message arrived.

  Hey, so... I have a question for you.

  I wasn’t sure how to respond to that, either. My anxiety ramped up and I wiped at my forehead.

  Shoot.

  I know we just met and all but ... I have a performance next Friday with my dance troupe. It’s a small musical production of The Little Mermaid. I was wondering if you’d like a ticket? I have four of them, but I only have my Papa and my friend Callie going.

  I frowned even harder now and felt her last sentence tugged at my heart. She only had two people in this whole town? Granted, I didn’t have any family, but I had a million and one homies. Also, granted, I never talked to most of them since Maeve, but I’m sure they were still hanging out somewhere. I didn’t know who Callie was, but I assumed she went to school with us. Well, at least Taylor had one friend.

  And hopefully, maybe, two. There was just one problem.

  I have to watch my sister every night, I texted. I don’t know if a seven-year-old would like a dance musical.

  Oh, I think she’d like it. Most of the dancers are pretty young, about her age I bet. I’m the oldest one.

  How old are you, anyway? As soon as I sent it, I thought it was probably a mistake.

  Sixteen. I’m a sophomore. You?

  I didn’t know what to say to that. I had friends of every class, sure, but mostly they were juniors, like me. A sophomore, already in Calc who spoke fluent German and some French and loved literature just like me? I was interested in more ways than one.

  I’m seventeen. Junior.

  That explains why you’re so popular, then.

  You’ll get there. Why, Ethan, why would you say that? I hit my head against the headboard again.

  Why? Who actually wants to be popular? That sounds like hell on earth. Like Dante’s Inferno, high school musical style. Ew, no thank you.

  It’s really not that bad... I trailed off and hit send anyway. It wasn’t that bad until you realized no one bothered to reach out to when your best friend died. But that wasn’t something I wanted to unload on Taylor; it was none of her business anyway.

  We texted back and forth about Dante’s Inferno for the next few minutes, joking lightly about how the different levels of hell translated to high school. She told me about her school in Germany and arts, dance, and music had been the focus, even though she excelled in math and science. I resisted the urge to ask her what she wanted to be when she grew up. That was a whole can of worms I’d reserve for another time. Nevertheless, I found myself laughing with every text about the hijinks of a private Christian school. I could relate. It wasn’t that different from my prep school, but somehow so much worse. She was funny. I liked that.

  “Ethan! We’re home!”

  I set my phone aside and hurtled out of my room. “Mom!” I rushed into the kitchen.

  “Shh, you’ll wake your sister.” Without looking at me, she pulled open the fridge and snagged a bottle of red wine and poured some into a goblet on the counter.

  I tried to cool my jets. “Where’s Dad?”

  She nodded to the office behind the ki
tchen, what used to be a garage at one point.

  It was well after ten and I was tired, so I didn’t waste any time. “Can I take Amy to a dance performance next week? My friend has tickets.” Friend? Were we? We’d just met...

  My mother looked haggard since I saw her this morning, when she looked more bright-eyed and put together. Her eyeliner was a bit smudged around the edges, her normally dark lipstick was long gone, and her normally bouncy gray-blonde hair was flat and devoid of curl. How could she age so much in just the last sixteen hours?

  “I suppose so.” She leaned against the counter and sipped her wine in large gulps. “Is it kid friendly?”

  I told her it was.

  She shrugged and finished her wine. “I’m off to bed, another long day tomorrow. How was dinner?”

  “It was fine. We had mac and cheese and hot dogs.” I hated lying to my mother, but she’d give me more grief over McDonald’s.

  She rolled her eyes at me like she was the teenager. “Ethan, that’s not very nutritious.”

  I wasn’t sure if it was the hour or my age, but I very suddenly wanted to scream at her, It’s not like you’re around to make sure we are eating healthy or anything. I clamped my teeth down on my tongue. “Sorry.”

  Her face softened. “Try better next time, all right?”

  “Yes, Mom.” I turned to pad back to my room. “Goodnight.” I think she mumbled goodnight, but I didn’t really hear her.

  As soon as I got back to my room, I texted Taylor. I was sure she was in bed but didn’t think about that until after I hit send. Yeah, the dance thing sounds pretty cool. Thx.

  She immediately responded: Yay. See you tomorrow.

  Goodnight.

  I snagged my pills from the cabinet on my headboard and washed one down with some leftover Mountain Dew from yesterday. I collapsed in bed and, for the first time in months, slept all the way through the night.

  Chapter 6

  Taylor

  I stared at my phone at ten-thirty at night. I wasn’t supposed to be up this late, and if Papa caught me, I’d be grounded. But he said goodnight. We had talked for a little over two hours ... granted, I had done most of the talking. It was almost like our roles were reversed now. At the library today, he’d been the one asking the questions, and now I was. He was definitely easier to talk to over text than he was in person.

  What was wrong with me? My whole life, I’d basically been taught that boys were evil and to be avoided. My father even told me they would lust after me if I showed any skin, and mother always encouraged modesty. But I couldn’t get over the way he looked at my legs, like they were something magical. It certainly didn’t seem bad at all, not that I knew what bad was. I’d heard plenty of eye-witness accounts of girls who had been taken advantage of by lustful boys who just wanted to be inappropriate. Back in Germany, our church forbade hand holding and encouraged the “three feet rule” whenever the sexes were mixed.

  And honestly, I hated it. True, I didn’t have any friends besides Callie, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want more, boy or girl. Just all the boys in my classes seemed so ... gross. They told disgusting jokes that I didn’t really get, and they always made weird sounds and hit each other all the time. They didn’t seem anything like Ethan, who carried himself like he actually belonged there.

  I wish I had just a modicum of his confidence. How did he do it?

  As I settled under my comforter, I wondered what that dark look had been when he mentioned his friend. I had so many questions. Did he break his heart? Move away? He seemed so sad, almost like he was hiding it – or worse, was ignoring it. That wasn’t healthy, either, that much I knew.

  It didn’t seem more than like a few minutes went by until my alarm blared, announcing it was morning. I threw open my closet and rifled through my long skirts, finally settling on a black and white zig-zag print and a black button-down shirt over it. I was sad my purple skirt from yesterday was ruined, but glad Papa hadn’t asked me about it when I came home in my dance clothes. I brushed mascara over my eyelashes and clear gloss across my lips, the only makeup I was allowed to wear aside from the brown eyeliner, and padded down the stairs of the small, two-bedroom house I shared with Papa.

  He was sitting at the kitchen table with his tablet in front of him, where I knew he’d be flipping through the news. His tablet was playing his audible Bible version, something from Psalms, I realized. I knew sometimes he liked the feel of a newspaper in his hands, but most days his tablet was easier. He took a swig of coffee as I took my seat and reached for the cereal.

  He smiled at me, making his thin-framed glasses hike up his nose. “How was school yesterday, Tay? I know you came in late and I barely saw you.”

  “Good.” I buried myself in reading the back of the cereal box. I had no idea if the school would tell him about my detention, but I had no desire to tell him about it right this second. I hated lying to him, I couldn’t recall a time I ever did, but it wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have at seven in the morning.

  “You making friends okay at that school?”

  “Yes. In fact, can I have my friend Callie over this weekend? Just for an afternoon.”

  “I don’t see why not.” He drank from his mug again. “Any friends that ...”

  I lifted and eyebrow. “Aren’t girls?” I shook my head. “I’m staying away from the boys, Papa.” I chuckled, but that was lie #2. Hell? What’s what? I wasn’t going there.

  Thankfully, he seemed to accept it. “What about dance? Dress rehearsal next week, right?”

  I munched on my Cheerios slowly. “Yup.”

  “I’m excited for the show. I wish your Mom would see it.”

  “You’re going to record it for her, right?”

  “Absolutely!” He finished his coffee, switched off his tablet, and pushed away from the table. “I’m off to the VFW to help with breakfast this morning, then swimming class this afternoon.” He patted me on the shoulder and went to the sink to rinse out his mug and loaded it into the dishwasher. He turned, wiped his hands, and said, “Have a good day, and I’ll see you this evening for dinner.”

  Papa was a veteran of two wars, and he still walked past me like he was in the military, with his back straight and his head held high. He still had the military haircut, too, shaved short on the sides and slightly longer on top ,and he went to the same barber for the last twenty years every two weeks like clockwork. After the military, he got a degree in accounting and still worked part time doing taxes and books for a few local churches and clients, even though he told everyone he was ‘retired.’ I didn’t think he’d ever retire, but he certainly kept busy all the time.

  I stood and took my milk bowl to the sink. “Papa?” I asked as he was disappearing into the living room to get his coat and keys.

  “Yeah?” he called from the other room.

  “Yesterday I got invited to a theater club after school. Do you mind if I go check it out?”

  “Will you be out after dark?”

  “I don’t think so. He said it goes until about six.”

  His eyebrows went up at that. “He?”

  I gulped. “The, uh, choir teacher. Mr. Jackson. He told me about the theater club.”

  “Oh.” I could almost see him visually relax. “Well, I suppose that’s fine, as long as you’re home before dinner and dark.” He winked at me. “You know the rules.”

  “Yup.” I hugged him and he turned to go, then I went back to my bedroom to grab my backpack.

  When we first moved here, Papa had offered to drive me to school, but considering our house was two blocks from the school, I declined the offer. I liked the walk; it was spring, and the weather was sunny and warm after all.

  It also gave me time to think, though today my thoughts kept straying to a certain blond-haired boy, and I wasn’t sure if I liked that or not. I felt terrible lying to Papa about detention and talking to Ethan, but after my conversation with Ethan last night, I just wanted a friend. Callie was great, but she did
n’t get literature like Ethan did, even though I only had one class with Ethan, just like Callie. He seemed nice, and I wanted to get to know him better. What was the harm in that?

  Sin, a little voice inside me peeped.

  I had a foolish notion of what “better” looked like. I watched the other girls at school who held hands with boys, and I’d even seen a few kissing against the locker. I hid behind my books most of the time, but I still observed the way the girls’ faces flushed and the smiles they carried all day after kissing. I heard muttered gossip from girls around me in class and at lunch about their boyfriends, while they tittered behind hands and passed notes in class. I didn’t want that kind of attention, but it made me wonder: what would it like to have a boy care about me like theirs did?

  I’d never been kissed by a boy before. I wondered what it felt like, and I let my imagination take me away as I rounded the corner into the school parking lot. Those girls always looked so blissful, and I wanted that feeling, too. But I was also terrified. All my life, I’d learned kissing was the first sin that led to other immoral acts, and that scared me. Would my soul be in danger if I kissed Ethan? Even worse, what if he didn’t want me to kiss him and I crossed some invisible line?

  Get ahold of yourself, Taylor, my inner spirit whispered softly as I pushed through the doors to my first period. You just met him. You have no idea if he thinks that way about you. And he probably doesn’t. Who would, anyway?

  “Get out of my head,” I whispered to the evil spirit, shrinking behind my math book as a couple of girls by the water fountain glanced my way. I hurried past them to my first class and sunk into a seat in the back. At least I hadn’t ripped my skirt today, so it was already a better day than yesterday.

  An hour later, I sat in English, daydreaming as I looked outside. Henrys talked about the theme of Cyrano, which I already knew, and wrote a paper on last year, so I didn’t really care. The P.E. class was outside on the track again, and there was Ethan, trailing behind like always. From here I could see him sneak a glance at his phone, and then like magic, mine buzzed in my pocket. I jumped.