Take My Advice

by Tristi Pinkston

  “True that.” He chuckled. “You know what, Jill, you’re not so bad. You’re like a human and stuff.”

  “I thought we already established that.”

  “We did. But I guess I’m still surprised.”

  I laughed too. “And you’re not a Neanderthal. What a shocker.”

  “Don’t let that get out. I’m still shooting for a college scholarship, and I need my reputation intact.”

  “Deal.”

  We sat for another minute, but this time, it was a friendly silence. Then he held out his fist. “Truce?”

  I bumped his knuckles with mine. “Truce.”

  “And you know what? I think you should talk to Scotty. Ask him what’s up. He can’t go on treating you this way—it’s not cool.”

  I shook my head. Now Bruce was giving me advice? It was weird. Definitely weird. But he was right—if I didn’t ask, this could go on forever, and I’d be curious forever, and I’d never get any closure. That just wasn’t right. I needed closure. Badly. I’m just that way.

  “I know—I should talk to him. I’m not sure how, though. He sees me coming and heads the other way. I can’t exactly chase him through the halls, screaming his name.” Well, I could, but that would just be silly.

  Bruce grinned. “I’ve got an idea. Let me handle it.”

  “Jill!”

  I turned at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. I had been just about to enter my classroom, but stopped in surprise. The entire football team was marching toward me, Scotty pinned between two of the biggest players. He had a look of abject fear on his face. I couldn’t blame him—those guys were huge.

  “Uh, what’s going on here?” I asked.

  The biggest guy—his name was Will, if I remembered right—spoke up. “Got a call from Bruce. Said you wanted to talk to this guy, and to please make sure it happened.”

  Oh, no. This had been Bruce’s big idea? Physical intimidation was never the way to get answers out of someone—unless you were the Mafia or something. I didn’t know—maybe the football team was the Mafia.

  “You can let him go, guys,” I said, and their grip on Scotty’s arms slackened.

  “We’ll be right over here to make sure he doesn’t try any funny business,” Will said, and I nodded.

  As soon as they were out of earshot, Scotty said, “What the heck’s going on, Jill? I didn’t know you had your own team of henchmen.”

  “I didn’t either, until now.” I was so embarrassed, I didn’t even want to know how red my face was. “I swear, I didn’t put them up to that. It was Bruce’s idea.”

  “Yeah, Bruce.” Scotty glowered. I had no idea what was up with that. “So, what do you want?”

  “Um . . .” I guessed I had to ask him, but it would be a lot easier to tell him never mind. “I just wondered what was up. You’ve been avoiding me.”

  “Avoiding you? You have a bunch of cavemen at your beck and call, and you think you’re not a person to be avoided?”

  Hmmm. He sort of had me there. “But you avoided me before I had the bunch of cavemen.”

  He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Listen. Heather told me you and Bruce are an item. I don’t play those kinds of games, all right? You should have told me about him when I asked you out—save us both a lot of time.”

  I shook my head. “What? Bruce and I aren’t together. Far from it.”

  “So, what was all that about, having me help you take pictures for him?”

  “We’re friends.” I surprised myself by saying that, but it was true. “We’ve never dated, I don’t have any interest in dating him, and that’s the end of it. And you’ve gotta know, Heather doesn’t like me very much. I’m sure she’d say anything to cause trouble for me.”

  Scotty shook his head. “I don’t know, Jill. She sounded pretty sure of herself.”

  “And I sound pretty sure of myself!” I took a deep breath and tried to calm down. “Listen. You’ve worked with me on the paper for how long? You should know me better than this.”

  “I thought I did,” he mumbled, looking down at the shiny hallway floor.

  “Okay, tell you what. You can go right on believing whatever you want, and I’ll forget all about it because I know the truth.” I turned and stomped off into my classroom, absolutely furious. Thing was, I didn’t know who I was the most mad at. Heather, absolutely. I’d thought she was so nice, but no. That was a huge error in judgment on my part. Bruce, totally. He was trying to be helpful, but he’d sure gone about it in a weird way. Funny, now that I thought about it, but weird. Scotty—oh, you bet. If he couldn’t ask a simple question, if he’d believe someone else over me and never give me a chance to defend myself, he was outta there. I did not have time for that kind of crazy.

  When I stepped onto the stage that afternoon, I was a little apprehensive. I remembered all too well how things had gone last time—the scene with the slate, my bizarre almost-panic attack, Dylan having to come fetch me from my locker. I still hadn’t figured that out. What was it about smashing that slate over his head that had sent me over the edge? Was I that opposed to violence?

  Mr. Bell gave me a compassionate smile, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking. I took a few minutes to compose myself, and by the time Dylan joined me, I was perfectly calm.

  “Okay, we’re going to practice the scene where Anne and Gilbert put aside their differences and become friends,” Mr. Bell called out.

  “Are you okay?” Dylan asked me quietly.

  “Sure. Never better.”

  I got over my nerves pretty fast, and soon, I was caught up in the scene. It went smoothly right up until the end, where Gilbert takes Anne’s hand for a minute and smiles, then turns and walks away. I felt Dylan’s hand close around mine, and he smiled. All of a sudden, it wasn’t Gilbert smiling at Anne—it was Dylan smiling at Jill, and electric sparks shot up my arm. What on earth? I looked at my hand and I looked at him, and that weird out-of-body experience thing I’d had the other day happened again.

  But this time, I knew what was going on, and it jolted me. I liked Dylan. I mean, liked him. Not as a friend, even though he was, but in a romantic, wanna-hold-hands-with-you-forever sort of way. I took a step back, blinking. When had I started feeling this way? And why hadn’t I figured out it before?

  “Jill?” Dylan waved his hand in front of my face. “Earth to Jill. Where the heck are you?”

  “Hmm? Oh, I’m right here. Never left. Never better. Just standing here on a stage.” I smiled again, knowing that I looked and sounded like a total dork. I needed time to process this new and startling information, but I wasn’t going to get it until later. Mr. Bell wanted to go over another scene. Pushing Dylan out of my mind, I focused on talking to Marilla, convincing her that I hadn’t stolen her broach.

  “Jill? You’ve been pretty quiet tonight,” Dad said over the large pizza in the middle of the table.

  “Yeah, I know.” I looked down at the red-and-white-checkered tablecloth. When Dad had suggested we try this new place, I wasn’t sure if I was going to like it—I like all my regular places—but it was pretty good, actually. “Hey, uh, Dad? You remember what it was like to be in high school, right?”

  He rubbed his hand over his thinning hair. “I might look a little decrepit, but my memory is still intact.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” I slid another piece onto my plate to give myself a second to pull my thoughts together. “Were you ever in a situation where you liked someone, but they liked someone else, and that someone else was your best friend, but she was dating someone else, and it was all big and hairy and tangled up?”

  Dad raised his eyebrows. “I really have no answer for that. Let’s try to straighten this out. You like someone, and it’s complicated.”

  I nodded. “See, I didn’t know I liked him until today. Or maybe I did. I sort of freaked out the other day and I think that might be why. But today, I realized it. And I don’t know what to do.”

  “And he likes Amanda.”


  My gaze flew to his face. “Hey, how’d you know? I was very careful not to use names.”

  He chuckled. “Yes, but you said ‘best friend,’ and as far as I know, your best friend is Amanda.”

  “Oh, yeah. Right.” I was more worked up than I thought. “Yes, he likes Amanda. But she’s dating Ethan. She could break up with Ethan and then this guy I like could ask her out, or I could tell him how I feel and see what he says, or . . .” I sighed. “I don’t know, Dad. What should I do?”

  He took a long sip of his soda before he answered me. I didn’t blame him—it was definitely the kind of question that required lots of sugar. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “What I do think, though, is that you shouldn’t make any decisions until you’ve thought about it for a couple of days. If you only just realized it today, you’re not in a rush. Feel it out. And then go with your gut.”

  Feeling it out. Yeah, that sounded about right. I never made good decisions when I rushed into them.

  “And Jill? There’s something I want you to know.”

  Uh-oh. Not another serious talk. Those were always bad. “Yeah?”

  He smiled at me. “I’m really proud of you. You’ve grown up a lot these past few weeks, and I’m impressed by the young lady you’re becoming.”

  “Really, Dad?” I blinked back the prickly tears in my eyes. I didn’t think I’d ever heard him say something like that before.

  “Really.” He slapped his hand on the table. “Now, this pizza isn’t going to eat itself. Let’s get busy.”

  I laughed. “Yes, sir.”

  Chapter Twenty

  After I went to the hospital and half-heartedly chewed Bruce out for sending his friends after Scotty, I felt a little better. I couldn’t be too mad at him—his actions had been sweet, although horribly misguided. Then I concentrated on feeling things out, seeing how I felt.

  Amanda and Ethan were pretty tight. I didn’t see any signs of an impending breakup. Did that mean I was supposed to tell Dylan how I felt, or not? It was all too confusing.

  In the meantime, I became hyper aware of every single thing Dylan said, did, ate, wore . . . I was stalking him in my brain and couldn’t figure out how to stop. It was embedded in my memory that he wore his blue shirt on Tuesday, the one that made his eyes pop. They weren’t quite as poppy as Colby’s, but that was all right. They were poppy in their own way. And on Wednesday, he drank chocolate milk. See? Stalking him. Stalking him!

  As time went by and we became more and more invested in the play, I became more invested in him. All these hours we were spending together couldn’t be good for me. It was getting to the point where if I went a weekend without seeing him, I’d have withdrawals.

  Finally, it was the week of the play, so we were putting in more rehearsal hours than ever before. I wondered if Dylan had any idea what was going on inside me. He seemed the same as always—laughing, easygoing, relaxed. I, on the other hand, was a big ball of stupid nerves.

  After practice that Wednesday, he pulled me aside back stage. “Can I talk to you for a minute, Jill?”

  “Um, sure.” What did he want? Something good? Something bad? What?

  He reached out and took my hand, much like Gilbert took Anne’s. My heart leaped up into my throat. “Listen, Jill. I know you’re stressed about the play, but you’re going to do great. You really are. You’re a natural. I’ve never seen anyone take to the stage like you have. You’ve just gotta believe in yourself, okay? Loosen up. Have fun with it. Just imagine me off stage pulling silly faces at you the whole time, okay?”

  I giggled, more as a release of tension than anything. “Pulling faces at me?”

  “Yeah. Like this.” He stuck out his tongue and demonstrated. “It’s all going to be okay.”

  “Thanks, Dylan. Yeah, I think this is going to be a really good play.”

  “Of course it is. We’re the leads. They can’t possibly go wrong.” He nudged me with his elbow. “You gonna be all right?”

  I inhaled. “I think so. Yes.”

  “Okay. Now let’s go get some rest so we can do it all again tomorrow.”

  Right after school the next day and before our evening’s practice, I had an appointment with Shauna next door to get my hair colored. She had been a stylist years before, and I figured she was my best bet. I had to be a redhead, and a good one, for cheap. I couldn’t afford one of those fancy-schmancy salons. I took Amanda with me, and we made ourselves comfy at Shauna’s kitchen table.

  “Have a snack,” she urged while she draped a towel around my shoulders, and then a cape. I didn’t mind if I did—she’d placed a whole plate of chocolate chip cookies within arm’s reach, and they smelled delicious.

  What did not smell delicious was the hair dye. As soon as she began to apply it, I was gasping and wheezing. Amanda got up to open the windows, and then the back door. Nothing we did got rid of the smell.

  “This is just part of the pains we take to be beautiful,” Shauna said. “The smell will fade away in a couple of days.”

  “If I live that long,” I said, my eyes watering.

  Dean came into the kitchen, holding his nose. “If I’d realized you were playing beauty parlor today, I would have left the house,” he said. “Now it’s too late. You’ve burned off all my nose hairs.”

  Shauna playfully swatted at him. “I did not. Now get out of here or I’ll dye your hair too. Cover up all that gray.”

  He turned and disappeared into the back room, which doubled as his office.

  She chuckled and turned back to me. “Now, where were we? Oh, that’s right. And have another cookie.”

  I walked into dress rehearsal with my newly red head held high. The chemical smell was still hovering around me like a cloud, and I hoped it wouldn’t kill off any of the cast members. My hair looked good, though—really good. It wasn’t long enough to do the traditional Anne braids, but that didn’t matter.

  Dylan gave a low whistle when he saw me. “Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about,” he said, grinning.

  Heather crossed her arms and glowered at me. “I’m not sure. I think she looks like a neon sign.”

  I ignored her and spoke to Dylan as though she wasn’t even there. “Dylan, have you considered that maybe Heather got the wrong part in this play? I think she’d make a perfect Josie Pye.”

  “The thought hadn’t crossed my mind, but now that you mention it, I can see the resemblance,” Dylan replied. Heather just scowled harder.

  Dress rehearsal went well. I had been practicing changing my clothes really fast at home, and it definitely came in handy. Amanda was there to do all my buttons, which saved my life, and I didn’t miss a single entrance cue.

  We’d done the whole play from beginning to end before, but now, with the set and the costumes and everything, it felt real. I really was a little orphan girl trying to find her place in this world. I teared up more than once as the emotions hit me—would Marilla consent to keep me? Why did Matthew have to die? At times, it was hard to force the words out, but when we were done, Mr. Bell didn’t mention it. Instead, he praised us all, and told us to do it exactly that way the next night.

  I changed out of my last costume and put on my regular clothes, a little reluctant to become Jill again. Being Anne was fun.

  “Hey, Ethan and I are going for ice cream,” Amanda said, grabbing her backpack off the floor. “Wanna come?”

  “Actually, I’m really tired, but thanks for the invite.” I grabbed my bag too and turned off the light of the classroom we were using as a changing room. “Have fun.”

  “Okay.” She giggled, and looped her arms through Ethan’s. They really did make a cute couple.

  I turned and saw Dylan standing in the hallway behind me. He was watching Amanda leave too, but I couldn’t read the expression on his face. Was he upset at all? Regretful? No—he looked complacent. Maybe he’d given up on liking her. That was good for me, right?

  “Hey, want a ride home?” he asked, tossing his keys in the
air and catching them.

  I realized just then that sure enough, I had ridden over with Amanda, and I didn’t have a way home unless I wanted to walk, and I really didn’t, because it was dark and there might be bad guys and kidnappers. “Sure. Thanks.”

  I threw my stuff into the backseat of his car and climbed in as though I’d done it a thousand times, which I sort of had. Then I watched him as we drove home. He hadn’t washed off his makeup yet. They hadn’t done a lot to him—just powdered his face and touched up here and there with a little bronzer—but he looked pretty good. Not that I wanted him to wear makeup all the time. I mean, it looked good for a guy’s stage makeup.

  He rolled down the car window. “No offense, Jill, but your hair is pretty stinky.”

  “I know. And I’m sorry. I was supposed to get it dyed last week, but then stuff kept coming up. Am I killing you?”

  He glanced over at me and grinned. “I think I’ll survive. Hey, I was talking to Mr. Bell, and he says he’s doing a theme of all classics this year. The spring play will be Little Women.”

  “Really? I love Little Women.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that because I thought we could try out together.”

  “What?” I looked at him in alarm. “Isn’t one play torture enough? Do I have to do two?”

  He shrugged. “You don’t have to. I just thought it would be fun. I’ve had such a great time doing this with you, I wanted to do it again. No big deal.”

  Crud. I’d hurt his feelings. “I’m sorry, Dylan. I didn’t mean that I don’t want to be in another play with you. I meant, I don’t want to be in another play at all. Nothing personal. I like hanging out with you too.” My cheeks grew a little warm. I hope he’d think my blush was just my stage makeup.

  “Oh, yeah?” he asked.

  “Yeah. You’re not so bad, you know.”

  He grinned again and slugged me on the shoulder. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I stood in the wings, my hair and makeup perfect, my knees knocking off each other like pool balls. I peeked out into the audience. There were Dean and Shauna, just like they’d promised. And over on the side were my mother and father. They sat together, yet they’d come separately. They seemed to get along just fine as friends, and I was glad for that. For just a split second, I wished they were back together, but then I pushed that thought away. I couldn’t wish something for them that wasn’t good for them. It hurt, and I would chop off my right arm if it could be different, but it couldn’t, and I had to learn to be okay with that.