Twleve Steps

by Veronica Bartles

  I cross my legs and bury my fingers in the carpet, avoiding eye contact. But this is not the time for wallowing in self-pity. Laina was actually smiling and laughing again today. She has to move on before she finds out Shane already has. “If he hasn’t asked you by now, he’s not going to, no matter how much he likes you. Call Jarod.”

  Laina’s confident smile crumples.

  “Never mind,” I say. “Ignore me. Shane probably hasn’t asked you yet because he’s afraid you’ll shoot him down or something. Want me to call him?” I pick up the phone and stand up, taking a step back from the bed. Lover boy has some explaining to do.

  Laina lunges before I can finish dialing and wrestles the phone away. “I don’t need your help.” She hugs the phone to her chest and buries her face in her pillow.

  “I’m sorry.”

  When she doesn’t respond, I leave the room. That was a total disaster.

  ***

  Laina grabs me on the way to the cafeteria on Friday and drags me to the empty girls’ bathroom next to the south stairs. She sobs for a full five minutes before she pulls herself together enough to tell me that she overheard Shane and Ryan talking about their plans for prom night.

  “He’s going with Rachel. They’re getting back together, and I am so stupid!”

  I let my jaw drop and open my eyes wide in apparent shock, tossing in a sharp gasp for good measure. “But they’re only going as friends, right?”

  “No one goes to prom with someone they only want to be friends with. I may be stupid, but I’m not dumb.”

  I hug her and hand her a tissue. “Of course they do. Last year, I went with Nick, and we’ve never been together.”

  She scoffs. “Yeah, there was never anything going on with you two at all. That’s why you got in-school suspension last semester when Mrs. Gardner caught you making out at the park when you were supposed to be in third period.”

  “Whatever. Can I help it if he’s more fun than Mr. Keeler’s boring lectures? Besides, that was months ago. And kissing someone doesn’t mean you want to be with them. Sometimes a kiss is totally meaningless.”

  Laina slumps against the bathroom wall. “Right. One kiss doesn’t mean anything. I was so stupid to think Shane liked me.”

  I shake my head frantically. “That’s not what I meant. I wasn’t talking about you.” Laina shrugs and my protests die on my lips. “He doesn’t deserve you anyway.”

  I’m going to destroy Shane Crawford.

  She sniffles and smiles and dries her eyes. “I really wish I could believe that.” She takes a deep breath and glances in the mirror to straighten her hair, and then she turns to look at me. “You’re not gonna tell anyone I thought he wanted me, right? This is our little secret. Promise?”

  I nod. Laina runs her fingers through her long, blonde curls and brushes a speck of imaginary lint from her shirt. Then, she slaps a perfect imitation of a smile on her face and we stroll to the cafeteria together.

  Luckily, she’s a pretty crier. Miss Perfect’s plastic Barbie doll shell doesn’t get all red and blotchy and puffy like real people do when they cry. She smiles and nods at Shane and his friends as she saunters past them.

  I’m not the only natural actress in the family.

  The lady with the bun who was handing out scripts and schedules on Tuesday afternoon claps her hands and motions for us all to gather around. “Attention please! We have a lot of ground to cover today, and not much time to do it in.”

  A scrawny guy with oversized glasses and big ears stands beside her, balancing a stack of papers and a large coffee cup in his hands. He reminds me of a Chihuahua, shaking like a leaf as he follows her around the stage. He nods and grunts as she tosses out random comments about the way one girl styles her hair or the way another is standing.

  Bun lady stops pacing and takes the coffee cup from Chihuahua boy. “Are you writing this down, Curtis?”

  Chihuahua boy whimpers. “I, um, I had my hands full.” He stares at his feet, and bun lady sighs.

  “Never mind. We’ll get to all that later.” She frowns and scrutinizes us with cold, grey eyes. I square my shoulders and stare back at her, refusing to let her get to me, but I totally see why Curtis is afraid. This lady is scary.

  “I’m Mrs. Mason,” bun lady says. She takes a long drink from her coffee cup, watching us over the rim. “Cinderella is my seventeenth production for the Little Community Theater, and I’ve never had a failed show. I don’t intend to start now.” She glares at us and then points over her shoulder. “This is Curtis Patrick, my intern. He will be assisting me and choreographing the dance numbers.”

  Curtis waves hesitantly, but he doesn’t speak. He looks like he wants the floor to open up and swallow him whole. I wonder why he got into directing in the first place. It doesn’t seem like the right job for such a timid guy. If he can’t hack it in a small community theater in Podunkville, Wyoming, then he’ll never be able to make it in the real world.

  I turn my attention back to Mrs. Mason, who is still lecturing us in her sharp, no-nonsense voice. “You have been chosen for your parts because you showed me in the auditions that you have potential, but no matter which role you have been assigned, none of you are stars. I will not have any divas in my show, do you understand?” She pauses and glances around the stage, but no one moves or speaks.

  “What I mean, of course,” Mrs. Mason says, “is that the actor and actress playing the lead roles are no more important to a great show than the actors and actresses in supporting roles.” She pulls a page off the top of Curtis’ stack of papers and waves it at us. “I have at least fifty other people here who would love to take your place. Every single one of you can be replaced.” She looks around, making eye contact with each of us one-by-one. “If you think you’re special, I invite you to leave right now, because this is an ensemble performance. Do you understand?”

  Everyone nods, and we shuffle closer together. Jarod takes my hand and squeezes it, and I smile up at him. And I catch Dave watching me from backstage, where he’s meeting with the rest of the stage crew. At least I won’t have to face Mrs. Mason alone.

  The stage falls silent as Mrs. Mason stares us down, daring us to rise to her challenge.

  After a full minute of silence, she grins and reaches up to release her tight bun. Her grey-streaked auburn hair falls in messy waves around her shoulders, giving her a much friendlier look. “Okay, now that we have the messy, business end of things taken care of, let’s move on, shall we? The theater is all about releasing your inner spirit in a controlled, premeditated way. If we’re going to bring the audience with us into the world of this musical, we need a balance of discipline and unreserved exuberance. You must learn to let go of your inhibitions to fully embrace your character, while staying within the boundaries of your role. And you must know every detail of your character, far beyond the words written in your scripts, or you will never be able to become the part.”

  Curtis sets down the pile of papers he’s been clinging to and steps forward. He straightens his posture, removes his glasses, and lifts his eyes from the floor, instantly morphing from a scared Chihuahua into a take-charge kind of guy. “Even the background characters,” he says, “must know who they are. If you’re playing a shrinking, shy, flunky to a power-hungry boss, you need to truly believe that your boss will skin you alive for spilling her coffee, or the audience will never believe it. You may not think that anyone will notice you or care about whether you smile or frown while dancing at the ball, but you are all here for a reason.” He grins at Mrs. Mason, who curtsies slightly and returns the smile.

  “If I hadn’t played my part right, none of you would have believed Debbie’s act, would you?” Curtis asks. “Often, the background characters will make or break the entire play. Without the supporting cast, the main characters are flat and lifeless, but with the right background, your entire performance comes to life.”

  Mrs. Mason steps forward again. “Your character is built on the tiny, even insig
nificant details. A hairstyle. A speech pattern. The way you walk. Even the props you carry will contribute to your persona.” She stops pacing and stares down the cheerleader from Northridge. She shakes her head slightly and takes a small sip from her coffee mug.

  Suddenly, Mrs. Mason throws the contents of her mug at the cheerleader, who yelps and jumps backward in surprise. But instead of the hot coffee we expected, a flurry of rainbow-colored confetti floats to the floor.

  “Remember,” Mrs. Mason says, “that in the theater, as in life, things are not always as they appear to be.”

  Everyone laughs and the cheerleader grins sheepishly. “You scared me,” she says. “This is a brand-new sweater. I would’ve died if I got coffee stains all over it.”

  “Ah, but I made you believe that my confetti mug was full of hot coffee,” Mrs. Mason says. “And that is the point. That is what we’re here to do.”

  She nods, and Curtis passes out pencils. “I want you to use the empty page in the front of your scripts,” Mrs. Mason says, “to write out a complete character sketch for your part. Fill in all of the details that are missing from the script. If you don’t have a name, give yourself one. Write down your favorite color, the name of your childhood pet, your worst fears. I expect you to know everything about your character. Make it fit the role spelled out in the script, but don’t let the written words hold you back. Turn your character into a real person with strengths and weaknesses, hopes and dreams. In twenty minutes, we will break into small groups to introduce ourselves to one another.”

  She glances at her watch and then back at us. No one moves.

  “Well, what are you waiting for? Go!”

  I find a quiet spot between the curtain and the stage steps and start writing. “My name is Arika, and I used to be my mother’s favorite until she remarried and my perfect, little stepsister stole the spotlight.”

  ***

  “Ugh! I’m totally exhausted.” I slump into the passenger seat of Dave’s car and kick off my shoes. “If I’m this tired after only our second rehearsal, I seriously doubt I’ll make it to opening night. And my feet are freaking killing me. If I have to dance with that uncoordinated Duke Dipweed one more time, I swear, I might murder someone. I think he broke all of my little piggies when he stomped on my foot.”

  Dave laughs as he slides behind the wheel. He slips the key into the ignition, but doesn’t start the engine. “Oh, come on. Nathaniel’s a good guy. I think he gets nervous, dancing with you.”

  I prop my feet up on the dashboard and wiggle my toes. “Well, I think ol’ Nate needs more dance lessons or something, because my feet can’t take any more of this torture.”

  “I can help with that.”

  I shoot him a quizzical look. “”You’re going to give him dancing lessons? This I’ve got to see.”

  Dave blushes and shakes his head. “No, the other part.” He smiles. “Here, give me your feet. I’ve got the magic touch. I promise, by the time I’m done with you, you’ll feel like you were dancing on a cloud all afternoon.”

  I shift around in my seat until my back is propped against the door and my feet are in his lap and close my eyes. And Dave wasn’t kidding about that magical touch. After about five minutes, I’ve practically melted into a giant puddle of goo.

  A sudden, sharp tapping on my window startles me awake, and when I open my eyes, the sun is already starting to set behind the mountains. I sit up sleepily and pull my feet back before turning to look out the window.

  Jarod stares at me with his arms crossed and a giant frown on his face.

  I roll down the window and smile. “Hey, Jar. What’s up?”

  “Are you guys having some kind of car trouble?” he asks. “I figured you’d be long gone by now.” He glares at Dave and then leans on the window, his face mere inches away from mine. “I can give you a ride home.”

  Dave smiles. “Nope. We’re fine. I was helping Andi with her sore feet, and I guess we kind of lost track of time.” There’s an edge of challenge in his voice, as if he expects a fight.

  “As long as I’m here,” Jarod says, “I might as well give you a ride home, Andi. I’m supposed to drop by to see Laina anyway.”

  Dave reaches across the seat to pat my knee. “Thanks for the offer, but we weren’t actually going home yet. Andi and I were going to meet up with some friends for dinner in a bit.”

  I don’t remember making plans, but I nod like some deranged bobble-head doll. Dave and Summer were talking about something at lunch today, when I was busy watching Jarod. I probably said yes without even knowing what I agreed to.

  Jarod glances at me and then turns a challenging glare back to Dave. “Are you sure? It’s kind of getting late.” He reaches through the window and pats my shoulder. “Why don’t I just take you home? I don’t want you to miss curfew.”

  I push his hand away. “I think I’ve got plenty of time, Jar. It’s only, um …”

  “It’s almost seven. How will you be home for eight o’clock curfew if you go out now?”

  Dave turns the key and revs the engine. “Guess that means we don’t have time to waste chatting with you in a parking lot, do we?”

  “Besides, I have until eight-thirty,” I say. “That’s plenty of time to eat.”

  “Are you sure?” Jarod asks. “You look a little confused.”

  “I’m not confused, Jar. I’m sleepy.” I smile sweetly and pretend not to notice the way he’s clenching his jaw. If Jarod has plans with Laina, he can’t complain about me spending time with someone else. “Seriously, Dave gives the best foot rubs ever. It totally feels like I’ve been walking in the clouds all day. I’m so relaxed.” I yawn and stretch, arching my back to get the best effect.

  I may not have a Barbie doll body, but I do know how to use what I have.

  “We were planning to meet up with Emily and Summer and a few other people in a little bit.” I can’t help smirking a little bit at the way Jarod’s staring. If I play this right, he might even decide I’m worth fighting for. “I’d invite you to join us, but you already have plans.”

  “Well, maybe Laina and I …” Jarod hesitates.

  “Yeah, that’s probably not a good idea,” I say. “Laina’s not really Emily’s biggest fan, so she wouldn’t want to hang out with us. You can come if you want, but I think you’ll have to choose. Me or Laina?”

  Jarod gulps and shakes his head. “No, you’re right. Laina’s expecting me. I should go.”

  Of course he chooses her. I swallow my frustration, squeeze Dave’s hand, and smile innocently at Jarod. “Would you mind letting my parents know that I’ll probably be home a little late tonight? We were thinking we might go out to a movie after dinner.”

  Jarod frowns. “You need to be home before eight-thirty. Your dad is a ‘kill the messenger’ kind of guy, and I don’t feel like being murdered.”

  I shrug. If he’s choosing Laina, Jarod doesn’t get to tell me how to spend my time. “Like you said, it’s kind of late already. I don’t see how we can do dinner and a movie by then. But don’t worry about me.” I glance at Dave and then wink at Jarod. “I’ll be fine.”

  “What movie are you going to see? Which theater? What time?”

  I giggle and slip into my bubbly voice. “Oh, my gopher, Jarod. Are you stalking me now? I don’t think we made definite plans yet. But we might go see that new one with Gertrude McPherson.”

  “Really?” Jarod asks. “You want to see a thriller about a psychopathic killer that murders her parents and steals her sister’s identity?” He shakes his head. “Weren’t you the one who slept with a nightlight for a week after we watched The Hobbit because Gollum freaked you out?”

  I blush. How did he know about the night light? “I loved that movie. And if I get scared, Dave can protect me.”

  There’s no way I’d ever go to see Sweet, Little Sister. I don’t do scary, and I can’t handle gory stuff. Emily’s been begging me to see it with her, and it was the first movie I thought about. I don’t even k
now what else is playing. But I’m not about to admit my mistake.

  Besides, Dave’s smiling and nodding while I ramble on, so either he’s playing along, or I really am a terrible friend who forgot all about our plans.

  I need to start listening to my own lunchtime conversations.

  “So will you tell my parents or not?” I ask. “I only have, like, ten minutes left on my phone, and I don’t want to waste them calling home if I don’t have to. I’d rather have them available in case I’m ever stranded out in the middle of nowhere with a jerk and need to find a ride home or something.”

  Jarod’s jaw tightens. “I’ll tell them.” He kicks a loose rock across the parking lot. “But keep your phone on. In case anyone needs you.”

  “Thanks, Jar. You’re the best.” I grin and roll up the window before he can answer.

  Jarod backs away as Dave pulls out of the parking lot. Part of me wishes he would jump into his car and come racing after us, like he did when Dave gave me a ride home from the diner, but I know he won’t. Not tonight.

  Not if he already has plans with Laina.

  Dave laughs. “Are you sure there’s nothing going on between you two? Because I gotta say, from where I’m sitting, that looked like a whole lot of something.”

  “What? No, of course not. He’s in love with my sister, remember? Besides, we … you and me … aren’t we kind of …?”

  My voice trails off and I realize that I don’t exactly know how to classify whatever it is that I’ve got going on with Dave. We’ve been spending nearly all of our time together since we went to see The Phantom of the Opera. He eats lunch with me and my friends. We’ve gone out to dinner twice (three times if you count tonight), and he sometimes holds my hand in public. But he’s never even tried to kiss me. Not once.

  And I suddenly realize I didn’t even miss it. If I was falling in like with Dave, I’d miss that, wouldn’t I?