Calvin’s voice brought us back to reality. “Caroline Ghijk, will you marry me?”
Not a single second passed before the word yes slipped off her lips. As fast as she'd accepted his proposal, I left the room in a fury.
No way. Not happening. Over. My. Dead. Body.
Chapter Five
Tuesday September 27
“What's up, Steph?” Bridget asked.
I'd rushed upstairs and called her on the webcam as quickly as my fingers could move.
“You won't believe the night I've had,” I said through tears. “He proposed to her!”
“Whoa, Steph...What’d she say?”
“Yes!”
“No she didn't,” Bridget lowered her head. “Are you okay?”
With three light knocks on the door Mr. Rivera stuck his head in. “Mind if I come in?”
I grabbed the side of the computer screen, facing it toward the window. On the other end of the room, he bit his lower lip and leaned against the wall as I stared at the desk in front of me, praying Bridget hadn't seen or heard him.
“Who was that?” she asked.
“Huh?”
“At the door.”
“Oh,” I shook my head. “Just the radio.”
“I swear I just saw Mr. Rivera in your room,” she said. “Are you sure he's not there?”
I nervously laughed as I glared at him over the screen. He was still leaning on far wall, willingly eavesdropping on our conversation. “Bridge, come on, why would he be in my room?”
“Beats me, but I swear I saw his face--”
“Oh, well, yeah.... his face, sure... but not.... him.” Holy crap, where was I going with this? “I… took a picture of him in class the other day and... made a full-sized poster for the wall.”
“I don't remember seeing-”
“I hung it up right after you left. I didn't think you'd understand--”
“Understand? Honey, that man is the father of my future children--”
“Bridge,” I warned as Mr. Rivera held back laughter across the room. “Don't say another word.”
“Why not? Even you admitted that he’s sexier than--”
“Bridge!”
“Okay, okay,” she threw her hands up. “You called dibs.”
“I never called dibs,” I said, less to her and more to Mr. Rivera, who was now standing with raised eyebrows and a grin worthy of a million dollars.
I continued staring at Alexander Rivera. Bridget kept talking, but her words were lost on me. I couldn't make sense of anything except for how incredibly beautiful the man standing in my doorway was. Our eyes met and we shared another moment of mutual attraction--
“Steph?” Bridget said. '”Hel-looo.”
“Huh?” I brought my attention back to her.
“Staring at Mr. Rivera?”
“I told you, Bridge. He isn't here—”
“I meant the poster, Steph. Geesh. Is everything okay?”
“Fine,” I nodded. “I'm just flustered. Listen, I gotta go. Tell Nate I said hello and don't forget the designs tomorrow.”
“Okay,” she said. “Call back if you need anything—”
“I will.” I ended the session and signed out of Skype as an extra precaution. I looked up at Mr. Tall, Dark, and Cuban while I pursed my lips. “What are you doing in here?”
“Your mom asked me to come up and check on you—”
“She just wanted to get rid of you so she could be alone with Calvin,” I said, walking to the window seat and sitting down.
“Mind if I join you for a second?”
“Might as well.” I stared outside at the large oak tree, wishing I had the guts to jump out and shimmy down.
“I would have warned you about the proposal had I known--”
“I know.”
He sat next to me and rested his back on the side wall. “Steph,” he said. “I can't promise you this will blow over, but I can assure you Cal is a wonderful guy.” I nodded. “He'll be good for your mom, kiddo.”
“Wish I could say the same about her for him.”
Mr. Rivera didn't dispute my statement. In fact, we both sat in silence for a few minutes, probably in mutual agreement that I was right; Caroline Ghijk has the potential to ruin Calvin's life.
“What's going on, Steph?” Mr. Rivera's hand found the familiar spot on my back as I sat staring into the dark sky.
“I hold her back from the things she wants,” I admitted for the first time. “She feels like she never gets her way and then I take the blame.”
“What about what you want?”
“That's never been important-”
“It should be the most important, Steph,” he assured me, still gently rubbing his hand on my back. The feel of his touch brought a shiver up my spine, sparking goosebumps on every inch of my body. The rolled sleeves of my sweater exposed enough of my arms to give away the involuntary expression of arousal. I rubbed my hand across the bumps, hoping he wouldn't see the effect he had on me. “What's on your mind, Steph?”
“Things that shouldn't be,” I admitted, feeling guilty about the sensual thoughts I'd been fighting since the day I'd met him.
“Easy fix,” he said, seemingly understanding my internal conflict. He walked across the room and picked up the portfolio I'd shown him at the Romeo and Juliet auditions. “I've been meaning to ask… what inspired clothing design?”
“It's a stupid story--”
“I have time,” he said, sitting on the corner of the bed. He flipped through the pages of the book and smirked. “So?”
“It's kind of childish-”
“Why would that bother me?”
“Because,” I grinned. “You're... you; an adult... a guy...normal. I promise, you wouldn't understand.”
“Try me.”
“Fine. Okay,” I said. “Um, let’s see. Television never interested me, which was probably a good thing since I didn't have one growing up. Nine years ago, I'd begged mom to take me to the library to pass the time. She'd allow me to visit, but there were strict rules guiding that privilege; I had thirty supervised minutes each Monday and I was never allowed to sign up for a card. This meant if I wanted to read a book I'd have to read small chunks each week until I finally finished it.”
“Assuming it hadn't been checked out by the time you returned,” he added.
“Exactly,” I continued. “One evening I found something in the nonfiction section. I came across this book, only pulling it off the shelf because it was purple, and took it back to my reading spot. I cracked open the cover having no idea what to expect. It turned out to be an autobiography a woman had written to tell her story of success— from penniless immigrant to a world renowned fashion mogul.”
“And she inspired you?”
“After twenty-five years of having doors slammed in her face," I said. “She took the fashion industry by storm. She didn't drown in criticism. She proved that persistence pays off and now has a global designing empire that employs thousands of designers worldwide.”
“And that’s why you draw?”
“Yes, sir.”
“...Why?”
“She was the first woman in my life that proved to me the benefits of hard work and persistence in the path of achieving dreams. I didn't grow up with a mother as strong-willed, sassy, and confident as Adriana Holbrook. I got stuck with a Caroline Ghijk, the cowardly runaway queen. I promised myself, at only nine years of age, that I wouldn't turn out like my mother. I swore I'd strive to be as good as, if not better than, Adriana.”
Mr. Rivera sat silently flipping through the pages of the portfolio. “You think that's childish?”
“A little.”
“Why?”
“Because... it's ab
out proving something. I mean, ideally, you're supposed to work at something because it's your passion, right?”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “But I didn't grow up wanting to be a teacher.”
“Really?”
“Nah,” he said, running his fingers through his hair. “When I was a kid I wanted to be Joe Lando.”
“No you didn't,” I teased. “Seriously?”
“Oh, yeah,” he smirked. “I think it had more to do with my crush on Jane Seymour than anything else.”
“Sully was just that kind of guy; all the women wanted him and all the men wanted to be him.”
Mr. Rivera smiled and shook his head. “Man, it's not often I can effectively throw a Dr. Quinn reference into a conversation and simultaneously be understood.”
“I'm a special breed.”
“You most certainly are,” he said, holding my stare.
“Everybody decent?” mom asked, poking her head in the door without warning. What did she expect? For me to be sexing a man I’d just met? She walked in, still admiring the diamond ring on her hand. “Oh, Alex,” she said. “Aren't Baby's doodles cute?”
I turned my head to look out the window. Mom's ability to issue emotional and moral support was right up there with her talent for staying put; inexistent.
“Her designs… are as incredible as she is.”
Wednesday September 28
“There you are!” Bridget yelled as I walked into class. “I was worried you weren't going to show.”
“Sorry, got a late start,” I said, looking at the empty seat next to mine. “Where's Nate?”
Bridget shrugged. “I dunno. I've text him three times and he's not responding.”
“Good morning class,” Mr. Rivera said, closing the door. “Pass 'em up.”
No one questioned him or his zero tolerance policy on late assignments or tardiness. Instead, students began sending papers forward without hesitation.
“Maybe he's skipping because he didn't do the essay,” Bridget whispered.
As if on cue, Nate walked in. The class stared at him, sopping wet from head to toe. There was no doubt he'd fallen victim to the torrential downpour outside. Mr. Rivera turned and raised his eyebrows.
“I'm sorry I'm late Mr. R,” Nate said. “I got here as fast as I could. I had something to deal with this morning--”
“Dare I ask if it was last minute procrastination on your essay, Mr. Bryan?”
“No sir,” he responded, walking to his seat. He pulled the assignment from his bag and passed it forward.
“Absolutely not, Nate,” he said. “You know the rules. I'll need you to go sit in the hall--”
“Mr. R, man,” Nate said. “You're not listening to me, bro. Hear me out!”
The class started to whisper, losing interest in what was going on between Nate and Mr. Rivera. Our commanding teacher raised his hand and the students fell silent.
“Mr. Bryan,” he lowered his head. “If you can convince me that whatever you had to tend to this morning was more important than showing up for class on time, I'll wave your tardiness. Thirty seconds. Start talking.”
“It's like this, Mr. R. Some idiot toilet papered my house last night and mom wouldn't let me leave for school until every square was taken off the roof and out of her trees, dude.”
Bridget burst into laughter along with the rest of the class. My eyes met Mr. Rivera's for only a moment before he turned back to Nate.
“Don't let it happen again.”
Rachel cleared her throat from across the room as Nate took his seat. “Excuse me, Mr. Rivera,” she said. “I thought your rule was zero tolerance? I don't recall you cutting me any slack when I was tardy on day two.”
“With all due respect, Miss Canter, a broken nail does not constitute an emergency.” Rachel rolled her eyes. “Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to continue class.” With a final look in my direction, he turned to the chalk board and began writing, unknowingly showing off one of his best assets. Thank God for tight pants.
The time sped by and class ended with the ringing of a bell. Students fled and within moments Bridget, Nate, and I were the only three students left.
“Miss Ghijk,” Mr. Rivera said. “Can you hang back for a few moments? Miss Wright, Mr. Bryan, she'll catch up with you.”
Bridget and Nate exchanged a curious glance and moved quickly out the door, leaving me alone with our teacher.
“Yes?”
“Do you still think I wouldn't understand childishness?”
“No, sir,” I grinned. “I do think we went overboard though-”
“Let me assure that we didn't, kiddo,” he laughed. “Living next door to Nate for four years has been a nightmare. He had it coming.”
I hugged my books close to my chest, remembering the late night hour I'd spent with Mr. Rivera.
He'd been gone for an hour and I'd already slipped into my pajamas when I heard a tap at the window. I looked outside to find him squatting on a limb of the oak tree. He told me to slip on shoes and meet him in the backyard… he apparently needed my help with something.
We walked down the sidewalk and into the night, only having guidance by a few overhead streetlights. When we reached a small, one-story house on the curb, Mr. Rivera pulled keys from his pocket and unlocked the front door. He had me wait on the porch while he disappeared inside. Moments later he returned with ... God, more rolls of toilet paper than I'd ever seen in my life.
“What's going on?” I'd asked him.
“Payback.”
Walking to his neighbor's house, both of us carrying countless rolls, we stopped to make a plan; he'd take the left side, I'd take the right.
“Wait,” I said before he threw his first roll. “Why are we doing this?”
“This kid has been papering my house for years,” he said. “I told him his day would come... Ready?”
I nodded, undoubtedly intrigued by the childish spark in his eye as he tossed each roll. Mr. Rivera was truly a kid at heart. I watched him, admiring the effort he was taking to prove his carelessness.
It took fifteen minutes to fully cover the entire house and both trees. And after the 'decorating' was done, Mr. Rivera walked me home, making sure I’d climbed up the tree and into my room safely. With a wave from the window, he smiled and disappeared into the night.
Bringing me back to...
“Why didn't you tell me it was Nate?”
“I thought it would be more fun this way,” he smiled.
“Well,” I nodded. “Congratulations, you were right.”
I turned to walk out of the room as he pushed back from his chair and stood up.
“I have something for you,” he said, stopping me in my tracks. “I took the liberty of pulling some information from the internet last night.” He took a manila envelope from the top drawer of his desk and passed it to me.
“What's this?”
“An application for a summer design program.”
“I've applied for these a million times and I've never been accepted--”
“Persistence pays, right?”
“Yeah,” I grinned. “Thank you. This was really sweet of you, Mr. Rivera—”
“Alex... and you're welcome, Steph.”
Chapter Six
Wednesday October 12
Two weeks had passed since Mr. Rivera had given me the application for the summer program; which, by the way, turned out to be Adriana Holbrook's Summer Student Internship in Paris. In the envelope he included a raving letter of recommendation and an invitation for one of Adriana's assistants to attend the opening night production of Romeo and Juliet in order to view the costume designs (travel expenses paid out of his own pocket). I had sincerely thanked him a million times in passing and took his advice and applied for one of
the open spots. I put together a design proposal and sent the information the following Friday. The anticipation of hearing back was both exciting and nerve-wrecking.
I hadn't seen Mr. Rivera outside school since the night we ‘decorated’ Nate's front lawn— house and trees included. His attitude in the classroom remained professional—speaking to me only when spoken to, and vice versa. There were no more hold-backs after class for idle chit-chat, back caresses, and very few smiles sent in my direction. He kept his distance during production rehearsal, but that's not to say I hadn't caught him staring from time to time.
“That's a wrap for today,” Miss Holt said as the actors finished rehearsing the end of Act V. “Tomorrow we put all of the acts together. Friday we add lights. Continue working on your lines outside of school and through the weekend. Note: Monday will be our first rehearsal with costumes. Miss Ghijk,” she turned to me. “Let's speed it up and get those done. Remember, only sixteen days until opening night.”
“Crews, you still have sixty minutes. Also, we need some actors to volunteer to stay for an extra hour to help constructing the final set pieces,” Mr. Rivera added. “Unless Miss Holt has anything else to add, the cast is dismissed.”
“I'll stay,” Bridget said.
“Me too,” Nate followed.
“Anything for you, Mr. Rivera,” Rachel Canter said from the sidelines.
Bridget's patience with Rachel was slowly ticking away. Ever since the cast list went up four weeks ago, Rachel tirelessly memorized lines and stage blocking just in case Bridget accidentally fell over and died, needing an immediate replacement.
As Miss Rich, Blonde, and Perky had rudely reminded the entire room, the costume construction was moving along a lot slower than planned. I was leading a crew of five other students, only two who had any kind of sewing experience; one of which whose knowledge was limited to nothing more than light stitching. The pressure was mounting with a Monday deadline to meet.
“Miss Wright,” Mr. Rivera said to Bridget. “Do you have any costuming experience?”
“Yes, sir,” she answered. “I worked costumes for both the productions my freshman year.”
The Webster Grove Series Page 4
