I hadn't seen Mr. Rivera outside school since
the night we decorated Nate's front lawn. 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
it all together. Friday we add lights. Continue working on your
lines outside of school and through the weekend. Note— Monday is
our first rehearsal with costumes. Miss Ghijk,” she said, turning
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
finish set construction,” 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 added
from the sideline.
I caught Bridget glaring at Rachel, and I had
to laugh. Her patience with her understudy 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.
And my patience with Miss Holt was equally
comparable. As Little Miss 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. 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.”
“I'll take your volunteer services, but I'm
putting you on with Steph. Find out how she can use your help, and
get to work.”
The few actors who’d volunteered to stay
behind aided Mr. Rivera, Miss Holt, and the original construction
crew. Bridget joined me, sitting down at a table in the back of the
auditorium. I had three large sewing machines set up and only one
costumer helping with the progress (while the rest sat gossiping
and messing with their phones).
“What do you need me to do?” Bridget
asked.
“At this point… there's not much anyone else
can
do.”
“Mind if I stick around and chat? I didn't
really want to help with the set anyway.”
“Sure,” I said, still sewing.
“Have you found a dress for homecoming?”
“Nope,” I said. “Who has time to think about
a dance when your butt is on the line?”
“How many do you have left?”
“Six.”
“Is that a lot?”
“Let me put it this way,” I started. “If I
didn't have an English report due tomorrow and a physics exam on
Friday, I'd be fine. But I haven't even started on the paper for
Mr. Rivera's class and
forget
about studying.”
“At least there's the weekend—”
“Yeah, at least.” I sighed. “So, what are
your plans for homecoming?”
“Nate and I are going to skip the football
game and just go to the dance.”
Bridget and Nate had a standing tradition;
for the past eight dances, middle school included, they attended
each and every one together.
“Can I ask a question?”
“Maybe,” she teased.
“When are you going to tell him about—”
“I don't know,” she shrugged. “Possibly
never.”
Bridget and I sat gossiping, laughing, and
talking for the next hour. When it was time to call it a night,
Miss Holt walked off the stage sporting her
better than thou
attitude.
“Time to pack up, ladies,” she said, with a
phone to her ear. “No, Mom, I already told you I can't,” she talked
into the cell. As she walked away, I distinctly heard her say
“because Alex is taking me to dinner.”
Without a word, I started to sort the unused
material and hang the finished costumes on the wheeling rack. I
closed my eyes, fighting tears.
Karen isn’t an object of my
affection
, I remembered him saying. And yet, there she was…
getting ready to go to dinner with him.
A heavy emptiness settled in the pit of my
stomach, but I couldn’t figure out why.
“You okay?” Bridget asked.
“Yup.”
“I wonder who Alex is,” Bridget said, helping
me hang the costumes. “I guess she's moved past her obsession with
Mr. Rivera.”
“Alex
is
Mr. Rivera,” I snapped.
“
No way
!” she said. “Are you sure?”
When I didn’t answer, she tapped my shoulder excitedly. “Maybe
they're finally hooking up. Nate's been on to them since sophomore
year—”
“Shut up, Bridge,” I said, and immediately
regretted it. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean… I’m sorry.”
She stared at me with concern, putting her
arm around me and pulling me tight. “What's wrong with you
today?”
“Headache,” I said, discreetly wiping a tear.
“I'm just stressed...sorry I snapped.”
“Whatevs,” she said nonchalantly.
“Oh,” I said, more than ready to change the
subject. “I ordered something for you.” I pulled a long cardboard
tube from under the table and handed it to her. “Keep this sealed
until you get home.”
“What is it?”
“A surprise.”
She turned the tube in her hand several
times, trying to figure out what was inside. Suddenly, her face lit
up and she jumped two feet in the air.
“
Oh my God
,” she said. “Is it…. Did
you really?” I wore a half-hearted smile and nodded. She shrieked
and hugged me again, practically snapping my neck beneath her tight
grip. “I love you, Steph.
I love, love, love you
!”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
“Right above my bed.”
“Huh?”
“I’m hanging Mr. Rivera right above—”
“
Keep it down, or I take the poster
back
,” I warned. “Now, I'm going to roll these costumes down to
the drama class. Can you pack up the last machine please?”
“Yes ma'am!”
I rolled the rack down the hall and to the
final classroom on the left. Once in the room, I unlocked the
costume closet and slid the clothing inside. I closed up shop and
moved quickly back to the auditorium to find a distraught Bridget
fumbling with the sewing machine.
“It’s not that big of a deal, hon. You
should’ve told me you didn’t know how to close it.” I took over and
snapped the lid on the machine. “See?
Easy peasy
.”
A tear streamed down her cheek as she backed
away from the table. “Nate asked Rachel to the dance.”
“What?
When
?”
“While you were gone! Mr. Rivera asked
everyone if they had any big homecoming plans, and Rachel nearly
screamed with joy when she said she was going with Nate.”
“Did you ask him about it? Maybe she was just
trying to get under your skin—”
“I couldn't.” She wiped away another tear.
“He’s already gone.”
“Bridge,” I said, hugging her. “I wouldn't
let this upset you until you really know what's going on. Talk to
Nate. I’m sure there’s an explanation—”
“He's had a crush on her since sixth grade,
Steph,” she said, still wiping away tears. “That’s all the
explanation I need.”
“Oh, Bridge….” I hugged my best friend and
let her cry on my shoulder for a few long minutes. “Do you want to
come over this evening? We can make some popcorn, watch a movie.
Forget about boys and school; party the night away—”
“I thought you had to write your paper for
English—”
“Crap,” I said, suddenly remembering my
incredibly long to-do list. “Yeah, I do. But you know what? Don't
worry about it. I'll get up early tomorrow morning. No biggie.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
Thursday, October 13
The alarm sounded at four AM. I opened my
eyes and stared at the clock, hating myself for procrastinating.
But Bridge had needed me the night before, and I was glad that
she’d let me distract her—even if it only lasted two hours before
she had to go home.
I rolled out of bed and into the bathroom,
taking a quick shower to help wake myself up. Back in my room, I
settled in front of the computer and got to work. My thoughts were
running wild, inconsistent, and barely logical. After pounding out
the five-page requirement, I looked at the clock and realized I was
already five minutes late for Mr. Rivera's 7:20 class. I printed
the essay, threw it in my bag, slipped into a pair of shoes, and
bolted to school as quickly as possible. By the time I reached the
classroom, Mr. Rivera was already fifteen minutes into his lecture.
Not wanting to interrupt, I slid down the opposite wall and waited
in the hallway until 8:05. The bell rang and the door swung open.
The students filed out and went their separate ways down each
corridor. Nate walked out with Rachel and ignored my “hello.”
Bridget soon followed, not noticing me.
“Bridge.” I grabbed her wrist. “Can you hang
back for a second?”
“No. I have a French test to fail....”
Obviously her mood hadn’t improved much since the night before. I
gave her hand a quick squeeze.
“You’ll do fine. I'll catch up with you at
lunch.”
“Sure,” she said, drifting away.
I stepped into Mr. Rivera's room and lightly
tapped the open door. He looked up from his desk and raised his
brow.
“Miss Ghijk,” he said. “Did somebody toilet
paper
your
house last night?”
“No sir,” I said, ignoring his playful smirk.
“I'm sorry I didn't make it to class on time—”
“Happens to the best of us,” he said, leaning
back in his chair. “What’s going on?”
“I was wondering if I could still turn in the
assignment…. I know it’s late, and I’m really sorry—”
“Not a problem,” he said. “But there’ll be a
ten point deduction from your grade.” I handed him the paper and
turned to walk out. “Steph,” he said, standing up. “I'm sorry,
kiddo. As much as I want to help you out, I can't show
favoritism.”
“Mr. Rivera,” I said, looking back. “I don't
expect preferential treatment. I waited until this morning to do
it, so… I get what I get.”
“Is that why you were late? You were working
on the paper?”
“Yes.”
“Is everything okay...at home? With
Caroline?”
“Yes.” I pursed my lips. I didn’t mean to be
short, but my nerves were on end. And truthfully, I was still a
little aggravated about the phone call I’d overheard the night
before.
“Then, I’ll ask again,” he said. “What’s
going on?”
“Listen, I've been up since four o'clock. I'm
tired, cranky, and quite frankly, not in the mood to have this
conversation. Now, if you don't mind, I've gotta go to class. I
can't afford two write-ups in one day.”
I turned on my heel and headed for the
door.
“One last thing, Miss Ghijk,” Mr. Rivera said
as I crossed the threshold.
“What?” I asked, whipping back to look at him
again.
He scribbled something on a piece of paper
and passed it to me—a note, allowing my tardiness to second
period.
“This will buy you some time,” he said,
grinning. “Run home and put on matching shoes, kiddo. High school
is a terrible place to make the wrong fashion choices.”
I looked down at my feet and closed my
eyes.
Crap.
Wednesday, October 19
The dining room was dimly lit as Mom, Calvin,
Bridget, and I sat around the table eating Calvin's famous apple
pie. I didn’t need any reminder about the first time I’d tried his
dessert, but I couldn’t turn down the offer when he asked. I’d
honestly never tasted anything so delicious in my life.
I was still unhappy about Mom’s spur of the
moment engagement, but I was taking it in stride. Like Mr. Rivera
promised, his brother was a great guy. And even if I still thought
they were rushing into this relationship way too fast, there were
some
perks. If nothing else, having Calvin around meant we
might actually start eating something besides frozen, processed
junk.
“They sucked,” Bridget said with her mouth
full. “Every dress in the store was ugly, tacky, slutty, or
overpriced.”
“Now what?” Calvin chimed in, pretending to
be interested in her hunt for the perfect dress.
“Who knows? Homecoming is only two days
away....”
“What kind of dress do you want?” I asked.
I’d finished the final costumes for
Romeo and Juliet
on
Sunday—just in the nick of time—and while I enjoyed a short break,
I would’ve loved the chance to design something for Bridget. “I
could probably come up with something if you’re interested.”
“Really?” Bridget asked. “You're not tapped
out?”
“I am,” I admitted. “But…come on, B, it’s
you
.”
“Awesome!” she said. “Because there’s one
design in your portfolio I'd love to try!”
“Let's go take a look.”
We walked upstairs to my bedroom, closing the
door behind us. And each time I walked in there, I couldn’t help
but love it a little bit more. I mean, purple walls and a poster of
Alexander Rivera were unbeatable, right?
Yes
. Okay. I actually had one made for
myself. After the webcam call with Bridget, there was no way I was
getting out of it. And the picture wasn’t so bad. To help me carry
out the little lie I’d told her that night, Mr. Rivera let me sneak
a quick—supposedly unsuspecting—shot of him with my phone before he
left on the night of the engagement. And… well, yes. Having the
poster on my wall felt childish, but a little comforting
nonetheless. And since Mom never bothered coming in, it was one
less thing for me to explain.