by Stacey Jay
“You’re my best friend too.” And we were never going to lose that. Not now, not ever. I gently, but firmly, removed my hand. “I had so much fun with you and Isaac yesterday. We’ve both missed hanging out.”
“Me too. We’ll have to do it again. You know, when we can find some time in our busy schedules.” But he didn’t look like he believed we would ever find that time.
“How about Friday?” I asked, determined to show him I was serious about our friendship. “We get out at noon for the conferences. Isaac has early practice, and I’ll be done with the fashion-show thing before too late. We could all go downtown again.”
“Or apple picking,” he said, eyes lighting up.
“Or apple picking. Yes! That’s perfect!” We’d loved apple picking when we were kids and begged our parents to take us every year. But between Mitch’s Hebrew school on the weekend and Isaac’s junior basketball league, we’d only made it there together twice. Now we were old enough to drive ourselves. I couldn’t believe we’d let so many years go by without taking advantage of that fact. “You’re a genius.”
“I am, actually. I am a bona fide genius.” He laughed. “My dad made me take the Mensa test this summer.”
“You’re kidding.” Dr. Birnbaum had threatened Mitch with the Mensa test before, but Mitch had always managed to be too busy to fit it in.
“He tricked me into taking it one Saturday before lunch with Bubbe.” He grabbed his notebook and shoved it into his backpack, but didn’t seem in any hurry to leave. “He and Lauren took the test too. We’re all frackin’ geniuses.” Mitch’s eyes rolled. “I’ve never seen Dad so happy. He said he’s going to make Ricky take the test as soon as he’s old enough to hold a pencil.”
“I love your dad, but he has problems.”
“He totally does. I think it’s because he didn’t learn to read until he was ten. Everyone thought he was stupid when he was a kid and he’s never lived it down.”
“Isn’t that strange? The things that mess with us for the rest of our lives? I mean, he’s a big, successful—” My cell rang, interrupting my deep thoughts. It was Isaac. I flipped the phone open. “Hey, I was just talking about you. Are you on break?”
“No, we’re done. It’s five thirty.”
I glanced at the clock on the wall above the barista station. He was right, it was already half past. Where had the time gone? It seemed like I’d just sat down.
“I was calling to see if you felt better,” he said.
“I’m feeling much better.” Aw, my boyfriend was sweeter than I gave him credit for sometimes. “I came and had a coffee at Jukebox. Mitch is here and we were talking about how much fun we had yesterday. We were thinking the three of us should go apple picking Friday afternoon. After you get off practice.”
“At the old place outside of town? The one we used to go to when we were little?”
“Yeah, that one.”
“That would be awesome.” I could tell Isaac was already plotting what to pack in Mom’s picnic basket. We were all totally on the same becoming-best-friends-again page. Yay! “We should definitely go. That place was cool.”
“I know. I’d forgotten about it. So what time do you think you’ll be out on Friday?” I tried to catch Mitch’s eye as Isaac told me he could do three o’clock and suggested we meet up at the west parking lot, but Mitch was suddenly busy organizing the sugar packets by color. “Perfect. Love you.”
“Love you too,” Isaac said. “See you in ten.”
I snapped my phone shut and shoved it back into my purse. “So we’re on for three o’clock on Friday at the west parking lot. Isaac was really excited about it too.”
“Great,” Mitch said, but he didn’t seem as happy as I’d thought he’d be. “That will be fun.”
“It will be. We’ll have a great time. Just like when we were little.”
“Just like.” He abandoned his work with the sugar, grabbed his bag, and pushed to his feet. “You need a ride home?”
“No, Isaac’s coming to get me.”
“Of course he is.” It wasn’t a mean thing to say, but for a second it seemed like Mitch meant the words as an insult. But then he smiled and ruffled my hair. “Hey, thanks for the talk. I feel better.”
“No problem.” I smoothed my hair and dodged his hand when he tried to get me again. “Anytime.”
“See you later.”
“Later.” I watched him walk out of the new red door, strangely discontent. On the surface, everything seemed to be going perfectly. Isaac and I were together, Mitch, Isaac, and I were bonding, Sarah and I were reconnecting, and I had avoided making a fool out of myself in front of Rachel Pruitt for once in my life. I should be feeling good.
And I was. Mostly. If only I knew for sure the little differences I’d been noticing were no big deal.
Mitch’s dad getting married and adopting a kid is a very big deal, no matter what.
That marriage would change Mitch’s life, his dad’s life, Lauren’s life, and now her son, Ricky’s, life—four people were going to be powerfully affected by my second chance. Maybe all of this was going to happen eventually anyway, and I just somehow sped things up. I could only pray that speediness would be a good thing.
I hugged my purse, wishing Isaac would hurry.
Chapter Seven
FRIDAY, OCTOBER 2, 2:24 P.M.
The week had been strange and, at times, awful—little changes everywhere and the continued stuck-around-my-neck state of the locket adding up to big anxiety and plenty of sleepless nights—but all my worries seemed trivial as soon as I reached the top of the stairs and eased out onto the catwalk leading to the grid high above the stage.
The fashion show run-through was finished and the light board programmed. I was done serving Rachel Pruitt for the day . . . except for one pesky spotlight that wasn’t working the way it was supposed to be. One little light that I was going to have to crawl out above the stage and replace.
God. Help. Me.
There’s nothing that will take your mind off your troubles like being seconds away from falling to your death.
“I can’t do this. I have to come down,” I whispered into my headset, my hands fisting around the iron railing of the catwalk.
“Did you forget the safety harness for the light?” Sarah asked, her voice echoing through my pounding head. “I can have the stagehand run one up before he leaves.”
“No, I’ve got the harness. I just . . .”
I looked down again. Big mistake. I suddenly couldn’t move. All I could do was stare out onto the iron grid where the theater lights hung—black and dusty—from their C-clamps and imagine falling fifty feet to splatter all over the stage. It didn’t matter that the spaces in the grid were way too small for a grown person to fit through or that I knew members of the drama club wouldn’t be allowed to hang the lights if it weren’t completely safe.
All rational thoughts vanished in the face of the pure terror pumping through my veins. The air was too hot to breathe. My vision swam. “I’m coming down.”
“No, you’re not,” Sarah said firmly, in stage manager mode. “It’s fine. You’re going to be fine. Just replace the spot and be done with it.”
“I can’t. I’m afraid of heights.”
There was a moment of static on the other end of the headset and for a second I could have sworn I heard Sarah laugh. “Then why did you volunteer to work lights?”
“I forgot how scary it was up here.” I sounded about three years old. What a baby. The dorkiness of it all helped me draw a slightly deeper breath.
“It’s totally safe, Katie, I promise. You’re going to be fine.” Sarah’s calm voice soothed me even further. I managed to pull one hand away from the railing to wipe my sweating palm on my jeans. “Do you want me to come up there? I’ve still got a few things to do at the soundboard, but—”
“No, it’s okay. You’ll be late for your rehearsal if you help me.” Not to mention I’d be late to meet Isaac and Mitch if I kep
t stalling. “Just . . . keep talking, okay? It helps.”
“No problem. I can talk and program sound at the same time.” The beep of the computer saving settings confirmed her words as truth. “I am a multi-tasker. So how’s the secret project going?”
“What secret project?” I asked, easing out onto the grid on my hands and knees. My heart jumped into my throat and did a back handspring that would have made many on the BHH cheerleading team extremely jealous.
“You know, the tree house? The one you grilled my dad about for an hour on Tuesday?”
Sarah’s dad was an architect and had been cool enough to draw me a simple set of plans for a tree house platform. I’d spent all afternoon Wednesday and Thursday building it in my garage, enduring the stuffy air in the name of keeping my construction secret from Mitch—who had been known to wander into my backyard without announcing his presence.
“Right. The tree house. I’m sorry.” I grabbed the spotlight from the catwalk and inched a little closer to my final destination. I could do this, as long as I didn’t think about it too much. “It’s going great. I already finished the platform and cut the wood for the steps.”
“Awesome. You did it all yourself?”
“I did.” I didn’t mind her surprised tone. I’d been equally shocked that I could build something so big all on my own. It was a simple plan, but still . . . I was pretty proud of myself. “I used my dad’s nail gun and power saw and sander.”
“Ooh! That is so sexy.” She laughed. “Don’t let Isaac see you with power tools. He’d probably quit basketball to sit around and watch you whip things out of your tool belt.”
Ugh, Isaac.
Thinking about him made me happy and sad all at the same time. Happy, because things were the same as they’d ever been. Sad, because . . . things were the same as they’d ever been. He was so cute and sweet and fun, but he was also so obsessed with basketball and himself. More and more, I noticed that Isaac never asked me how my day was or what my plans were. Our conversations always revolved around him, as if he took for granted the fact that he was the more interesting half of our couple.
Which he was . . . but still . . . it would be nice if he’d at least pretend I was interesting. Mitch seemed to find me interesting. But Mitch wasn’t my boyfriend.
Mitch wasn’t the person I should be thinking about last thing before I went to bed, Mitch wasn’t the person I should hope to see sitting alone at a table in Jukebox Java when I walked by after school, and Mitch certainly wasn’t the person I should be thinking about while I was making out with my boyfriend on my back porch. I shouldn’t be thinking about Mitch at all, let alone comparing Isaac’s kisses to a kiss that had never happened.
I was as horrible a girlfriend in my do over as I had been the first time around, and I needed to get a grip in a major way.
The only reason I was thinking about Mitch’s kiss was because Isaac and I had been together forever. I’d never kissed anyone but Isaac and I’d kissed him for three years. Mitch was intriguing because I’d only kissed him once, but I knew better than to be sucked in by the lure of the new and ruin the good things I had.
Mitch was my friend and Isaac was my boyfriend. That was the way it was supposed to be. I just had to find a way to put some of the spark back into my romantic relationship.
Maybe Sarah had something. Maybe I should show Isaac how handy I’d become with power tools.
“Isaac might have to learn to deal. I’m considering a career in construction,” I said, lifting the old light up to the grid and settling the new one in its place.
“Well, you’ll have to work on one-story houses, Ms. Skeered of Heights.”
“Ha ha. Speaking of heights, you should come see the tree house this weekend. After it’s up in the tree.”
“You going to climb it with me?”
“Sure. Dad’s putting the platform on a low limb. He’s securing it and nailing the steps on the tree this afternoon while Mitch and Isaac and I are apple picking. That way it will be a surprise.”
“Very cool.” She was quiet for a second, and I heard the soundboard computer shutting off. “You done yet?”
“Almost,” I said, tongue slipping out to wet my lips. “I’ve got the old light out and the new light in. Just need to put on the safety harness.”
“Perfect! See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“I’ll let you know. I’m not back on the ground yet.” She was right, though, it hadn’t been that bad. My heart still raced like I’d downed three All-nighters at Jukebox, but I’d replaced the light and was on my way back to the catwalk without having a fullblown heart attack. “Thanks for talking to me.”
“Oh please, Katie. You don’t have to say thank you.”
“Yes, I do.” I left the old light sitting on the catwalk where Mr. Geery, the drama-club sponsor, had said he would pick it up later, and started down the winding circular stairs leading back to the stage. “The manners are deeply ingrained. My mom and dad wouldn’t even change my diaper when I was a baby unless I said please.”
“You don’t need manners with friends.” Sarah’s voice hit me twice, once in my earbud and once from just ahead of me, at the base of the stairs.
I pulled my headset off and handed it over. “I think you do. Especially with friends. I’d rather be unmannerly with people I don’t like than people I do.”
Sarah shot me a sideways look before hustling back toward the equipment lockbox. “But aren’t you always meaner to the people you love? I’m way meaner to my dad and mom than I am normal people. And Hunter . . . Well, I love my sweet little brother so much I punched him in the face on the way to school this morning.”
I laughed and grabbed my backpack from the floor as Sarah locked up the headsets. “I’m sure that really messed him up, you being so buff and all.”
“It did. He cried.” She jogged the ten feet to the dressing room and knocked on the door. “Ya’ll almost done in there? I need to lock up.”
“Almost done, a couple more minutes,” came a muffled voice from inside. Who knew it took so long to hang up clothes? Not I. But then, I usually left mine draped over the chair at the desk in my room and did my homework on the bed when the pile got too high.
Sarah sighed, crossing her thin arms and checking her watch before turning back to me. “Hey, did you hear that Hunter’s the new equipment manager for the basketball team?”
Did I? In my old life, I certainly had. I’d heard about five minutes before I learned Hunter was the one who’d told Isaac about me and Mitch. “Yeah, I think Isaac told me. I think . . .”
Vague. Best to be vague when you were a time-traveling freak.
“He’s so excited. He thinks it will give him an in for making varsity next year, even though he’ll only be a sophomore.”
“Big dreams, little Hunter.”
“Especially considering he’s an average player. At best.”
“Maybe he’ll get better this year. Isaac improved a lot between freshman and sophomore years.” Isaac, who was probably already waiting for me in the parking lot.
I considered ducking into the dressing room to change into the clean shirt I’d brought but thought better of it. Better to stay dusty and free of embarrassing interaction for the day. So far, Rachel hadn’t found a way to put me in my place this afternoon and I meant to keep it that way. “Listen, I’d better—”
“Me too.” Sarah sighed. “Come on, you guys, I’m going to be late for rehearsal.” She banged on the heavy metal door . . . the heavy metal door that was on the opposite side of the theater than it had been.
My heart rate spiked, shooting back into crawling-out-on-the-catwalk territory. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t noticed this before. The boys’ dressing room and the girls’ dressing room were flip-flopped, like I’d crossed through a mirror and was seeing backstage from the other side.
And maybe I was, maybe this was all a crazy, looking glass world, just like Alice in Wonderland.
The thought ma
de me shuffle backward, fingers digging into the canvas of my backpack. I hadn’t read the Alice books in years, but I remembered what a bad feeling they’d given me. Even as a kid, I’d hated the idea that nothing was as it seemed, that normally cute little animals were scary and disturbed, that a card queen could order a little girl’s head chopped from her body, that—
“Hey, watch out!” Sarah grabbed my sleeve and pulled me forward seconds before a great metallic clattering filled the air. I spun to see one of the heavy stage ladders lying right where I’d been standing and a red-faced freshman boy a few feet away, his arms overflowing with a giant prop box.
“What the hell, Shawn?” Sarah yelled, pushing in front of me, gesturing to the fallen ladder with one angry finger. “You could have fucking hurt someone. Watch where the fuck you’re going.”
“I’m sorry, Sarah, I—”
“You better fucking be sorry. Now tell Katie you’re sorry.”
Shawn turned even redder, until he looked almost purple in the dim backstage light. “I’m so sorry, Katie. I didn’t even see it.”
“It’s . . . fine. No worries,” I said, trying to smile despite the fact that I was still pretty freaked out.
Whether it was the fact that I’d nearly been crushed or that Sarah was cussing like a sailor, however, I couldn’t really say. In my real life, Sarah wouldn’t say shit if she’d had a mouth full of it. Now she apparently threw the “eff” word around like it was going out of style.
This is your real life now. Get used to it.
I shivered, suddenly cold. I couldn’t wait to see Gran tomorrow and learn what she knew about the locket. I couldn’t wait until Saturday after next, when this do over would finally be over and I could start fresh with no conflicting memories to mess with my mind.
“Everything okay out here?” Rachel appeared at the dressing room door behind us.
“Yeah, Shawn just needs to try to suck less,” Sarah said, dismissing her freshman stagehand with one final glare before she turned back to Rachel. “Are y’all ready? I need to head out.”
