The Webster Grove Series
Page 23
“I'm sorry?”
“He might be gay.”
I smiled, realizing she must have still been on leave during our graduation when Nate came out in front of the entire student body. “Yeah... so, he mentioned you may need some help with the production this year?”
“Yes ma'am,” she nodded. “I can always use an extra set of eyes, ears, and hands in the theatre. Mr. Rivera helped out for a while, God bless him. That man is certainly amazing in everything he does, but he asked for distance from this production. I granted his wish, but that left me a little short on help. Do you think you're up to the task of filling his shoes?”
“Absolutely--”
“Then you came to the right place!”
“You just tell me when and where, and I'll be there.”
“Auditions. Tonight. Meet me in the auditorium at five.”
“Great,” I said, starting to turn out. “What show are we doing, anyway?”
“Romeo and Juliet.”
...of course we are.
“You're familiar with the show? Forbidden love, the inevitability of fate... such a wonderful play. I was so upset that I didn't get to work on it the first time around. But we're going to make magic, Miss Ghijk! The teachers at Webster Grove High School are like no other! We have heart!”
“Well,” I said, trying not to sound like a jerk. “Some of you might.
Chapter Two
Monday September 04
“Thank you for coming in this evening,” I said. “Miss Basting will be posting our final decisions on her door first thing in the morning.”
Another prospective crew member walked away with a gleam of hope in her eyes. I took a moment to absorb the reality of how quickly the tables had turned. Only five years ago I'd been standing on the other side of this table, showing my design portfolio to an eager Mr. Rivera and an unfazed Miss Holt. Now, I'm sitting at the back of the auditorium, looking out among the many hopefuls, and wondering how time could pass so fast.
“Hi, Miss Gh... uh, Miss...”
“Ghijk,” I said, snapping myself out of a fog.
“Miss Ghijk,” the girl said. “My name is Mischa Cunningham.” She tucked a loose strand of her dark hair behind an ear and peered at me through circular framed glasses. She took a deep breath and slid a small binder across the desk. “I'd like to work on costumes this year. I've been trying to get on the crew since ninth grade. Mr. Rivera and Miss Holt were never impressed with my skills, but I assure you that I'm capable. There was a student teacher in the Spring, Mr. Bryan, who believed in me. He put me on under a senior adviser. I hoped... since this is my last year... you'd consider letting me lead?”
I opened the cover of the portfolio and stared at the first design. My heart pounded as I slowly flipped through each page. A talent like hers only comes once in a blue moon, and I couldn't believe the WGHS theatre department hadn't been monopolizing her abilities since the moment she walked into the door her freshman year.
“Well?” she asked, rolling back and forth from her heels to her toes. “Do you think you could consider--”
“Where did you learn to draw like this, Mischa?”
“Self-taught,” she answered proudly.
“What about bringing your designs to life? Can you sew?”
She bit her lip. “Not well. My mother has never been... around to teach me.”
“Fortunately for you, I'm quite the seamstress, and I have no problem telling you now that I'd be more than happy to have you leading the costume crew--”
“Really?” Her blues eyes widened behind her glasses. “Miss Ghijk, you're a saint! I can do this! I promise! I just needed someone to believe in me. When I walked in those doors and didn't see Mr. R sitting here, I knew I had a shot! Thank you so much!”
She took her portfolio and started to turn away.
“Um, Mischa?”
“Yes?” she whipped back around.
“Why would it have been such a bad thing if... Mr. Rivera had been here?”
“Oh,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I think the man hates me. We've only been in school for a week and he's given me detention twice.”
“What did you do?”
“I didn't do anything. Ever since I met him at the auditions three years ago, he's treated me like I'm a delinquent. He writes me up, sends me to the office, yells at me... he doesn't treat any of his students as poorly as he treats me.” She laughed. “Dad tells me to just laugh it off. He thinks I probably remind Mr. R of an ex-girlfriend or something. Who knows?”
Her father was right. Alex's behavior toward Mischa was inadvertently my fault. She looks enough like me to be a younger sister, her talents are remarkably close to mine, and she is sharp as a pin.
The more I thought about it, the more I liked Mischa Cunningham.
“He's a jerk, Mischa” I said, immediately regretting the statement the moment it came out. “I'm sorry.” I sighed. “... let me offer you some advice.”
“Okay...”
“Mr. Rivera is... an...”
“Ass?”
I smiled. “Yes, but I was thinking more along the lines of... an extremely stubborn man. If he doesn't want to like you, he probably never will.”
“So what do I do?”
“The next time he gives you a problem, yells at you for no reason at all, or talks down to you, I want you to stand up to him. Tell him that he's being unprofessional and demand his respect. And if he's not satisfied with you standing your ground, I'll grant you permission to tell him he can come take it up with your crew director.”
“Won't that cause more problems?”
“Maybe, but regardless, you need to stand up for yourself. Don't let a childish, cowardly man push you around. You're better than that.”
“Thanks Miss Ghijk!”
Mischa walked away with her portfolio clutched to her chest. I dropped my head and wondered what in the world I'd just done. Who am I to tell her how to handle this? He is the very man I'd let string me along for months, only to announce at the most inopportune moment that he doesn't love me.
I felt bad sending Mischa to do my dirty work.
I'm the one he pushed around, and I'm the one who should stand my ground.
Monday September 18
I'd been living with my best friend for a little over two weeks. While the millions of boxes were still unpacked, I had every intention of cracking them open and unloading... eventually. I hadn't found the time in the last few days to get around to sorting through old memories.
Like I'd hoped, the rehearsals for Romeo and Juliet were off to a wonderful start. I'd even roped Nate into tagging along a few times, just to get him back into the theatre.
“Let's reconsider the original plan,” Nate said to Miss Basting as we stood center stage during her lunch period. “Eliminating an entire flight of stairs would open up the left side of the playing area. If you're looking for different levels, why not consider a one-step rise? Take the platform across the edge--”
“Wouldn't we mess up the blocking?” she asked, raising her hand to her chin.
“No, if anything it gives the actors more room--”
“Hmm,” she shook her head. “I suppose that might work...”
“It will,” he promised. “Mr. Rivera came up with a genius design concept the last time we did the show, and I think we could only benefit from following his lead--”
“On that note,” I said, jumping down off the stage.
“Where are you going, Miss Ghijk? I thought we were meeting to flesh out the final details before we move forward.”
“I'm gonna grab Mischa's designs from the back,” I mumbled, hoping to escape any further mention of Alexander Rivera. I walked to the end of the auditorium and rested my hands on the table in front of m
e. I looked down, took a deep breath, and tried to push the mention aside.
“Hey,” Nate said, coming up behind me. “Sorry, I wasn't thinking--”
“Don't apologize. I can't keep letting him mess with my head--”
“Barbara!” A man yelled from backstage. Nate and I exchanged a glance, both knowing exactly who the voice belonged to. Alex stomped onto the stage and met Miss Basting in the center of the floor.
“Mr. Rivera,” she said, blushing. “What can I do for you?”
“Who do you have running the crew for this show?” he asked angrily, his face red and fists clenched to the side of his body.
“Alex, honey. Are you okay? What has gotten into you--”
“I want to talk to your crew director,” he yelled. “Today! How can I get in touch with her?”
My heart skipped wildly at the sight in front of me. I'd waited an eternity to see this man again, and I never imagined it would be like this. He looked far too beautiful, but the years hadn't been nearly as kind to him as they had been to Nate. His hair was no longer short and wispy, but grown out a couple inches and curling on the ends. His dark skin was an incredible shade of tan, and from where I stood, it seemed as though he could stand to lose ten pounds. To add to the picture, he was sporting an unshaven face, which wasn't the least bit flattering on him. Nonetheless, behind the scruff he was still the same gorgeous man I'd fallen in love with all those years ago.
“I... she's...” Miss Basting put her hands to her head. He'd caught her off guard, and was, yet again, bullying an innocent bystander.
“Alex!” I yelled, stepping out from the shadow.
Alex's head snapped forward. “Steph...”
“If you have a problem with me, take it up with me. Leave her out of it!”
Alex's eyes widened at my tone. He fired back, “Who the hell do you think you are to tell my students they can talk to me like--”
“You have been treating that girl unfairly for far too long--”
“Like you know--”
“Yeah!” I yelled, climbing to the stage and meeting him face-to-face. “Let me play out a little scenario for you, Mr. Rivera. Mischa Cunningham walks into her first high school production with hopes the director will offer her a chance to fulfill her dreams. She hands you a design portfolio and you don't give two seconds of thought before you tell her no. She remains persistent, hoping one day you'll recognize her potential. Still, nothing. And now, as a senior, she's sitting in your class every day and you're taking advantage of her vulnerable emotions.”
Alex shook his head and pointed his finger in my face. “You're only hearing one side--”
“I don't care how blue her eyes are, how dark her hair is, how well she draws, or what kind of family life she has, she's not me. She's just another high school student wanting support and respect from her teachers. How dare you treat her with anything less than what she deserves--”
“Stop!” he yelled. “You can’t stand here and tell me how terrible I am, adding insult to injury, because you don't know what the hell you're talking about--”
“Alright you two,” Miss Basting stepped in. “Let's work this out like adults--”
“Barbara,” Nate came forward from the back of the auditorium. “This is something they need to work out on their own. Maybe we should just...” he nodded toward the door.
Miss Basting took the hint. “Nathaniel and I are going to go grab some lunch.”
No one said a word until the two of them disappeared through the main doors. I turned back to Alex.
“You don't get to be angry with me,” I argued. “I haven't done anything wrong. Mischa needed someone in her life to tell her that she deserved better--”
“Admit it, Steph,” he spat. “You're not the least bit concerned with how I treat my students. This is about you and your inability to get over a stupid high school crush.”
“A stupid high school...” I dropped my head and took a deep breath. “You know what Alex? I loved you, and you lied to me. You were one of the only people I truly trusted, and then you abandoned me.”
“I abandoned you? You stayed in Paris for five years!”
“You told me to leave! You told me there was nothing left for me in this town! Do you not recall what you said?...No? I'd be more than happy to act it out for you. Oh looky here,” I yelled, sarcastically. “We're on a stage. Let's get into position shall we?” I forcefully shoved him two feet over and took a step back. “Yeah, this seems about right. Here you are, here I am. And I say 'you don't love me?' and then you reply...?”
“I'm not doing this,” he said, throwing his hands in the air.
“No, Steph. I don't,” I raised my voice. “So you can't come in here and yell at me because of a mistake you made! You don't have a right to be mad at me, hate me, or think you deserve some kind of apology! If you loved me, and you lied, and now you're feeling guilty, then that's your own damn fault Alex!”
The room fell silent as we stood staring at each other. Five years of pent up anger had finally found its way out of my body, and fortunately it went directly to the person who deserved it the most.
“You're right,” he whispered.
“...what?”
“You're right,” he said again, taking a step forward. “I made a mistake telling you I didn't love you. I thought you'd come back from the internship and thank me for making you realize that you couldn't give up your dreams--”
“You broke my heart, Alex,” I admitted out loud for the first time. “It took me three years to finally realize that I'm not the one who screwed up. And only then, it was because Nate told me the truth.”
“Steph...”
“You wanted me to leave and conquer the world. You asked me to chase my dreams... but the day you told me that we didn't have a future together... you destroyed every dream I had. I could have lived without the internship, carried on without the experience, but ... losing you ... damn near killed me. You were all I wanted, and you took that from me.”
His brown eyes softened and he bit his lip.
“I'm so sorry, Steph. I wish I—”
“No,” I said, fighting with every inch of my heart and soul not to shed a tear in front of him. “I can't relive these emotions--”
“Steph,” he reached for my hands and closed the gap between us. His familiar smell took me back to a world of warmth, love, and security. He shook his head and lowered his gaze, making my heart skip one too many beats. His face inched closer to mine and I knew I couldn't let him do what he was about to do.
But his tear-filled eyes were seemingly sincere.
Feeling his hands brush my fingers felt so wrong, but so right.
Inches away from finally feeling his lips again, he brushed across something that I knew would ruin the moment. He pulled back and jerked my left hand upward to take a closer look.
“What the hell is this?” he asked, staring at the diamond ring on my finger. I swallowed hard and stared into his eyes, unable to find an answer other than the obvious one. “Steph... are you engaged?”
Chapter Three
Monday September 18, 7PM
My encounter with Alex earlier today hadn't gone nearly as smooth as I'd hoped for. The moment after I choked back a sob and answered his question, he turned on his heels and left the auditorium, but not before slamming the door loud enough to make a point. I stood motionless for at least five minutes before Nate and Barbara Basting returned to check on me. I managed to keep from crying as I explained, in as little detail possible, what had happened.
Now, hours later, I sat at the table in Cal's dining room, pushing the last of the asparagus around the plate with a fork. Surrounded by family and friends, I still had a hard time concentrating on anything other than the anger in Alex's eyes when I told him about the recent engagement.
“Auntie Stephie!” Gracie yelled, throwing a roll in my direction.
“Gracie Loreen Peyton!” Bridget scolded. “You apologize right this instant!”
“Sorry, Stephie,” Gracie said, sliding down in her chair and sulking.
I managed to smile at my four-year-old niece, the product of Isaac Peyton and his soon-to-be wife Bridget Wright. Much like Isaac, Gracie had gorgeous blonde hair and blue eyes. Like her mother, she had enough energy to keep her going for hours on end.
“Everything alright, Steph?” Isaac asked from the chair next to his daughter. “You've been acting funny all evening.”
“She's fine,” Nate assured him when I didn't answer.
Cal, Nick, Isaac, Bridget, Gracie, Miss Bryan, Nate, and myself sat in silence for a few moments. When Cal had pitched the idea of throwing a big dinner party for my friends and family, I'm sure he never imagined how incredibly awkward the night would be if I wasn't in the mood to entertain each and every one of them.
“Thanks again for dinner, Cal,” I managed to say through a forced smile. “Delicious as always.”
The rest of the group chorused a flood of thanks as well.
“Well,” Cal said, leaning back in his chair. “Obviously we have a special occasion to celebrate.”
“We do?” Gracie sat up with anticipation. “Bring out the balloons! Cake! Ice cream! Oh, please tell me you have ice cream, Cal!”
“Cool it, drama queen,” Isaac snapped at his daughter.
I smiled, wondering how often he had to say that to both Gracie and her mother.
“What's the special occasion?” Nick asked.
“Steph,” Cal urged. “You wanna share your news?”