Because the bell rang.
And we were late for class.
Friday, September 09
Three days passed, and each seemed to drag on
longer as they came. Nate and I hadn’t mentioned our run-in with
Miss Holt to anyone—especially Bridget. We weren't really sure
what’d happened or why. Still, it was finally Friday. No reason to
fret over the uncontrollable.
The final bell rang to end the day and
Bridget and I walked out of Physics. We strolled down the hall, out
the door, and onto Main Street. Destination: home, for a study date
(leading up to the first sleepover of my life!).
We walked through the front door to find the
house filled with an overwhelming smell of baked goods. Following
the aroma to the kitchen, we found my mother in a sun dress,
pearls, heels, and apron.
“You look like Donna Reed,” I said, taking
stock of all the baked goods scattered around the kitchen.
“Who?” she asked, pulling a fresh batch of
cookies from the oven.
I sighed and shook my head. “Mom, this is
Bridget. Bridget, I believe this creature….” I looked at Mom again
and shook my head. “This is Caroline, my mother.”
“Look Baby,” Mom said, wearing a smile. “I
baked goodies for your sleepover.”
“Yum—”
“Are they edible?” I asked, interrupting
Bridget.
“Of course they are,” Mom said. But I had
little reason to believe so. She’d never excelled in anything
domestic. “Don’t worry, Calvin taught me all the basics.”
I grabbed a cookie from the cooling rack and
cautiously took a bite.
“Okay,” I said, chewing slowly. “They're
actually not
too
bad.”
“Don't seem so surprised.” Her eyes filled
with tears. “I told you Calvin would be good for us, Baby.”
“We're going to head upstairs to study,” I
said, a little frightened by her emotional response to my
semi-compliment.
“Feel free to keep the cookies coming, Miss
G,” Bridget said.
Bridget and I turned and walked back through
the foyer.
In a matter of days, Mom had managed to turn
a cluttered and box-filled house into a fully furnished and
decorated home. The environment was so welcoming and comforting
that it almost felt like another dimension. In the past, the
closest thing we’d ever had to furniture was bookshelves made of
cardboard boxes. Now, with a dining room table, couch, and chairs,
I hoped she could stay true to her word. I was really starting to
love Webster Grove.
Up the stairs and at the end of the hallway
was a single, large bedroom; my sanctuary. Of all the places I'd
slept in my life, this was by far the best. There was a large bay
window—padded window seat included—that overlooked the backyard.
The view, however, was slightly obstructed by a giant oak tree
growing too close to the side of the house.
My room was the only one left that hadn't
been unpacked. Boxes were still stacked and piled across the
hardwood floor and in the closet. The bed was unmade and covered in
mismatched sheets, pillow cases, and comforters. My desk was empty
with the exception of a laptop and a silver touch lamp.
“Not much for housekeeping,” Bridget said
without shame.
I smirked. “We don't stay put for very long.
Why get attached?”
“You need to at least paint these butt-ugly
walls,” Bridget said. “How do you even sleep in here? That color is
hideous—”
“It's not easy,” I admitted. This much was
true… if we stayed, the lime green had to go.
Bridget raised a finger to her mouth and
looked around the room. Deep in thought, she turned back to me and
smirked.
“How confident do you feel about Monday's
English test?”
“Very.”
“Then we're not studying tonight.”
“We're not?”
“No.” She shook her head. “We're
painting.”
We ventured into town in Mom’s car—thank God
Bridget can drive— and returned two hours later with a gallon of a
lavender paint for the walls. Bridget showed me how to tape the
wooden trim along the floor and ceiling. After taping, we took a
break to make a frozen pizza.
The sun started to set and Bridget and I made
our way back to my room. After filling a paint tray and holding a
roller in hand, I stared blankly at the wall.
“Uh, Bridge....I have no idea what I'm
doing.”
“Just like painting a set,” she said, like
that should be a clue. “One stroke at a time.”
She smiled and dipped her roller into a
puddle of liquid lavender. With a few strikes against the wall, the
lime green slowly disappeared. I followed her lead and helped cover
the first wall. Then the second. Then the third. And finally, the
fourth. By five AM, the room had survived a full second coat.
To avoid the fumes, we gathered blankets from
the linen closet and made a large bed on the floor of the guest
bedroom down the hall. Snuggled tightly under the blankets, I
rolled to my side and nudged Bridget.
“Hmm?”
“Thank you,” I said.
“For what?”
“Your friendship. Making this adjustment so
easy.”
“I’m awesome, I know.”
We shared a sleep-deprived laugh.
“The room turned out great,” I said, closing
my heavy eyes.
“Yup.”
“Good night, Bridge.”
“Night,” she said, rolling to her side.
I closed my eyes, and for the first time in
my life, counted my blessings. Mom had never been much of a mother,
only a clueless teenager with a driver’s license. But still, she
put a roof (or two) over my head each year. Bridget and Nate were
the closest thing I’d ever had to siblings and the best friends a
girl could ask for. My designs were getting better with time, and
Mr. Rivera himself had recognized the potential. Oh, and speaking
of… I’d developed my first real crush.
It was hard not to be swept away by the
sincerity in his eyes… the sweetness in his voice… the kindness of
his words—”
“Steph,” Bridget interrupted my thought.
“Yeah?” I said, pushing the mental image of
our teacher aside.
“You ever been in love?”
“Nope.” Not unless you count whatever it was
that had me hung up on my teacher.
“I think I am,” she said, sleep falling on
her faster than before.
“With Mr. Rivera?” I teased.
“No,” she mumbled, rolling over.
“With who?” Silence. “
Bridge
?”
She opened her eyes, no longer looking the
slightest bit tired. “Nate.”
I drew my lips together and nodded.
Of course she liked Nate… I saw that one
coming from a mile away….
But did he like her?
Tuesday, September 27
“Shouldn't you be working on the costumes?”
Bridget asked as I unlocked the front door.
“Nope. I finished the final designs on Sunday
and I'm running them by the directors tomorrow. I'll have my crew
start constructing the pieces as soon as I get the green light from
Mr. Rivera.”
“Can I see whatcha got so far?”
“Sure,” I said, walking up the stairs with
Bridget close behind.
It’d been a little over two weeks since
Bridget and I had covered my bedroom walls with a cool, calm,
relaxing lavender. Since, I’d taken the time to add a little
personality. I purchased sheer curtains to cover the large window,
reupholstered the window seat cushions, and hung my favorite framed
designs on the wall. I went shopping last night for new, matching,
cream-colored bedding and purple accent pillows. I was proud of how
much I had—with a lot of help from Bridget— transformed the
room.
“Oh my God,” she said when I opened the door.
“It doesn't even look like the same place! Ha! You even unpacked!
And
cleaned
!” She jumped in place and then shot across the
room to take a better look at the far wall. “Wow, we really
should’ve taken
before and after
pictures!”
“I’m just trying to
forget
the
before
.”
Mom popped her head in. “Bridget, do you mind
if I steal my daughter for a second?”
“Go for it.”
“The production designs are in the blue
binder next to the computer,” I told Bridget. “Help yourself.”
I walked out, closing the door behind me.
Mom wrinkled her nose and sighed.
“When?”
“Huh?”
“We're moving again,” I said, reading into
her twisted expression. “When?”
“We're not going anywhere, Baby,” she said,
still frustrated that I didn’t believe her. “I just wanted to talk
about plans for the evening.”
“We couldn’t have this conversation back in
my room?”
“Well, no,” she said, brushing a piece of
lint off of my shoulder. “I wanted to hear your thoughts about
having Calvin over for dinner tonight.”
“Honestly, I think it’s too much too fast.
You've only known him for… what, three weeks? It seems awful soon
to bring him home—”
“Let me put it this way, Baby,” she said
sternly.
“Calvin is coming to dinner. Tonight. You can
either stay or go, I don't care. But it would be nice if you could
suck it up and do this for Mommy.”
I sighed and threw my head back. “What
time?”
“They'll be here at five-thirty.”
“They?”
“Calvin wants to introduce us to his little
brother,” she said. “So take your hair out of that stupid bun and
quit hiding your pretty face with those tacky glasses. I want you
to look halfway presentable—”
“Fine—”
“
Best behavior, Baby
.”
I rolled my eyes and walked back into the
bedroom, slamming the door a little too hard behind me.
Bridget sat on the window seat and flipped
through the designs.
“Everything alright?”
I ignored the question. “What do you think of
the costumes?”
“They're amazing,” she said. “My gosh, Steph.
Where did you learn to draw like this?”
“Taught myself, actually. Because…theatre,
ballet, sports...the typical childhood hobbies… they were never
really an option for me. When you're on the move as much as we
were, you need a talent that can travel with you.” I sat next to
her and stared outside at the large oak tree. “I wonder how hard it
would be to climb out and sneak away.”
“Planning an escape?”
“Mom's new boyfriend is coming to dinner this
evening.”
“Ugh, bummer,” she said. “Wanna crash with me
tonight?”
“Nah. I just need to meet him now and get it
over with.”
Bridget spared the thought of the dreaded
meeting by keeping me company for a while.
“Can I take the book home?” she asked two
hours later. “Nate's coming over tonight to run lines, and I wanna
show him the designs.”
Nate's name only came up in conversations
regarding the show. The morning after Bridget told me about her
feelings for him, she never mentioned it again… and neither had
I.
“Sure. Bring it to school tomorrow, though. I
want to get them approved as soon as possible.”
“Okay,” she said, heading for the door. “I'll
see you tomorrow.”
“Wait,” I said quickly. “Can I ask you
something?”
“Anything,” she said, turning back.
“Do you think.... I mean, am I…do I
look...?”
“You're beautiful, Steph— inside and out.”
She stepped forward and squeezed my hand. “Don’t let Caroline tell
you any different, okay?”
With a quick hug, Bridget left me alone.
Still wearing the jeans and sweater I'd worn to school, I looked at
myself in the mirror. The same ole clothes, hair, and glasses as
any other day would have to suffice.
The doorbell rang and the sound of Mom's
heels clapped on the floor downstairs. I heard the door open and
voices carry on the level below.
“Baby,” Mom yelled at the bottom of the
staircase. I walked out of my bedroom right on cue. “Come on down,
sweetheart.”
I moved down the steps slowly, finally
reaching the foyer. Mom wore a gorgeous black dress with her blonde
hair swept high in the back. She threw me a disapproving glance;
she was mad that I hadn’t changed.
“Where's Calvin?” I asked, ignoring her
disappointment.
“He brought his famous apple pie for dessert.
He's taking it to the kitchen.”
“And his little brother?”
“Parking the car.”
“
Parking the
—you said
little
brother,
like he was a child
!”
“No, Baby. He's here for you, silly
goose.”
“For me?”
“To keep you company,” she said. “Like a
double-date, honey.”
“Mom,” I said, shaking my head. “I'm not
interested—”
The doorbell rang again, and much to her
advantage; I was five seconds away from smacking her square in the
face.
A man, who I could only assume was Calvin,
walked back into the foyer from the kitchen. He leaned his chin on
Mom's shoulder and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek. I ignored the
repulsive affection and opened the door, feeling the sudden brain
fog set in.
“Come in, come in.” Mom shoved past me and
welcomed the man into the house. He was tall, dark, handsome... and
well into his twenties. His hair wasn’t neat, but a little mussed
after a long day. He wore dark fitted blue jeans and a white
button-up shirt. I tried not to stare, but our eyes met for a
second time; he smirked, and I lowered my head.
This was a disaster waiting to happen.
“Baby,” Mom said. “This is Calvin. And this,”
she nudged the man standing next to her, “is Alex.”
“Alex….” I said slowly. “Right, okay. Yeah.
Uh, Mom, can I talk to you alone for just a sec?”
Without giving her time to respond, I ducked
out of the foyer and into the living room.
“Baby,” she scolded quietly as she followed
me. “How rude!”
“Mom!” I yelled. “What is going on in that
tiny brain of yours?” She looked stunned that I wasn’t happy with
her match-up. “Do you have any idea how old he is? Or how old
I
am?
Seventeen
! A
minor
! And... God! I can't
date
him
, are you kidding me? He's—”