On the Loose (A Katie Parker Production)

by Jenny B. Jones

  “He’s dancing with me.” Frances lurches out of her chair, grabs Nash’s hand, and drags him all the way to the dance floor.

  Esther’s dark eyes caress Charlie.

  “Great party.” He smiles nervously at the she-cat. Then his hand finds mine. “Katie, this is my favorite song. Come on.”

  Charlie doesn’t let go until we are in the center of the dance floor, surrounded by other people getting down with their bad selves. He lets go of my hand only to grab my waist and pull me closer.

  “You’re an actress. Act like you like me.”

  Reluctantly, I slide my arms around his neck. We start moving to the beat of a very old slow song.

  Desperate to take the awkward out of the moment, I look into his face and smirk. “So . . . Britney Spears’s ‘I’m Not a Girl’ is your favorite song? I had no idea. Is there anything else I should know?”

  His eyes are on Esther, making sure she is a safe distance away. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Nothing? Like maybe you enjoy wearing pink underwear on the weekends? Or besides listening to Britney ballads, you also enjoy songs from your Celine Dion collection?”

  Charlie tears his gaze from Esther and focuses on me. The impact of his smile catches me off guard, and my heel lands on his foot. “Oops, sorry. You know, we should probably be charting Leafy and Spiky’s reaction to this song. Unlike you, they’re probably real men and don’t go for this sort of tune.”

  “Leafy and Spiky are men? Since when?”

  “Since now.” I watch my hand in Charlie’s.

  Charlie smiles and spins me around. I come back into his arms like we’ve practiced the move a hundred times. Aside from some junior high PE classes, I don’t have a whole lot of ballroom experience.

  I search the masses for Nash and Frances. I locate them dancing near the DJ. Or Nash is dancing. Frances sways in a zombielike fashion. It’s not pretty. But they’re out there. And they’re together. And she hasn’t thrown up on him yet. I do believe this is progress.

  “So are you going to the spring dance?” Charlie asks.

  I have heard about this yearly March event, but haven’t given it much thought. Who’s to say I’ll still be here in March? “Oh, yeah. I just have to decide which boyfriend I’m going with. Which hearts I’ll break.”

  And did I mention I’ve never been to a school dance? Yeah, I know—shocking. But dances require dresses, and until I lived with the Scotts, I didn’t have a lot of clothing options. And though it’s not a prom or anything, this dance requires a formal. The only formal dress I’ve ever owned was a twenty-five-year-old prom dress my mom found for me for Halloween one time when I went as an eighties Madonna.

  Charlie’s eyes narrow on something across the room. “Smile at me. Like you mean it.”

  I think of Reese Witherspoon the moment she enters Tiffany’s in Sweet Home Alabama. I look at Charlie like he’s the only one in the room. He pulls me closer.

  “I saw you riding through town with Trevor yesterday.”

  Cut scene. Smile over.

  “So?” I don’t believe I like his tone. “We’re both in Cinderella together. Well, that is if I get a part.” And I will.

  We move across the floor in silence. I take the moment to appreciate his clothing choices. Charlie Benson can dress. Not in a really deliberate I-spent-two-hours-picking-out-this-outfit way, but in a style that looks like he just threw some stuff together and ended up looking like an American Eagle model. His khakis fit nicely on his football player body. The shirt I’m leaning against is a button-down, decorated in a small, trendy pattern. And he doesn’t even wear athletic socks with his dress shoes.

  Then I notice his frown.

  “You should be careful with Trevor Jackson.”

  He swings me out and reels me back in. Charlie is quite an accomplished ballroom dancer. It took me falling out of a tree last semester to find that out.

  “What do you mean? I’m not dating him. We’re in a play together.”

  “He’s a total player. That’s all.” Charlie’s voice is kind and caring, but it sends my blood to boiling.

  “Yeah, when Trevor took me home when I was stranded at school without a ride, I thought, that guy’s such slime. How could he not think I wouldn’t see through his ploy? Because a real gentleman would’ve let me walk home.”

  “That’s not what I meant, I just—”

  “Forget it,” I snap. “I can take care of myself. And the day Trevor Jackson is interested in me is the day I run across campus naked.”

  “Well, of course, he could be interested in you. You’re smart, you’re funny, you’re pretty—never mind. Just keep an eye out. The dude’s ruthless.”

  I’m smart? And funny? Charlie Benson thinks I’m all of that? My head spins.

  Why didn’t he say I was a good actress?

  Oh, well. Take what you can get.

  “So . . . are you saved yet?”

  My bubble of temporary happiness bursts. “Ever heard of a little tact? Who just comes out and asks that?”

  Charlie smiles. “I do.”

  “No, I’m not there yet. I’ll text you when I do.”

  “You wanna talk about it?”

  “No.” The song fades and a fast paced beat begins. I step away from smooth moves Charlie. “I’m gonna check on Frances then monitor our plants. I want to make sure they survived that last song.”

  “What if Esther comes back?”

  “Tell her you’ve got a girlfriend.” And it’s not me.

  I weave in and out of dancers, but Frances and Nash are nowhere to be found. They’re not at any of the tables either. Probably outrunning Esther. Or Grandma Vega.

  Taking my search into the hall, I see a familiar blur go by.

  “Trevor?” It’s like I conjured him up.

  He hoists a golf club bag on his shoulder and turns around. “Well, hello there. What are you doing here?”

  “A party. And you?”

  “Just hitting a few today before the sun sets.”

  He’s a country club member. Reason number 496 why this guy would never be interested in me. He’ll probably grow up and marry someone with the last name of Hilton or Hilfiger.

  His golf attire is adorable. Most people look like dorks in golf-wear. Not Trevor. He could wear a trash bag and still look totally hot.

  He smiles and his eyelids drop a bit as he comes closer. “Katie, you did a great job during your audition.”

  Now this is a man who appreciates art. Who knows talent. Who would never allow Chelsea Blake to slip her perfectly pedicured foot into my glass slipper. “Really? I don’t know. I have so much to learn.”

  “I did notice there are a few things you need to work on, just to take it to the next level.”

  Was that suggestive? Because coming out of his mouth, it sounded totally hot.

  “Like what?” I ask.

  “Maybe we should get together sometime. Work on a few things.”

  My head is about to explode. Did Trevor Jackson just say we needed to get together? Is this my life? This stuff does not happen to me!

  I shake my head to make sure I’m not dreaming. Nope, he’s still there. Looking gorgeous. And watching me. I want to get my phone out and take a picture of this moment.

  “Um . . .” I giggle. “Yeah. That would be great. Anytime.”

  With a single finger he taps my nose. “I’ll call you.”

  I stand there in a Frances-like stupor as he struts away. Oh, my. I think I’m having a hot flash.

  “See what I mean? Total parasite.”

  I wheel around. And find Charlie.

  “How long have you been standing there?” My face flushes. How dare he ruin this perfect moment?

  “Long enough.” He shakes his head. “Frances needs you. If you can tear yourself away from Trevor long enough to help her out.”

  I bite my tongue. “What’s wrong?”

  “She passed out.”

  “Where is she?”

&n
bsp; “On Esther’s cake.”

  Chapter 17

  “It wasn’t a total disaster.” I try to console Frances at church Sunday morning. It’s not working.

  “My grandmother says I’ve ruined Esther’s entire fifteenth year.”

  I think Esther’s lack of personality will ruin her year before an absence of cake does her in. “Frances, really, I wouldn’t give it another thought.”

  “One day later, and I’m still blowing pink icing out my nose.”

  “Maybe Nash would find that sort of thing hot. I mean a girl who can produce icing on command? What’s not to like?” My eyes are on the door, as I watch all the teens filing in for the pre-church youth service. These Christians—sometimes I just don’t get it. We have church. Then we go to the sanctuary and have some more church. From what I hear, our youth service is better than Sunday School. Frankly, how could anything with the word school attached to it be holy? Or the least bit interesting.

  “It was really sweet the way Nash tried to help you up.”

  “Yeah, it was. Until my dad got all possessive and pulled that fork on him.” Frances groans and lays her head down on the aluminum seat in front of her. “My life is over. My dad’s never going to let me date. Nash won’t ever want to be seen with me again.” She bangs her head on the chair. “My own grandmother doesn’t even like me. If only life were as easy as a calculus test.”

  Yes. If only.

  “Maybe I could talk my dad into moving.”

  “Frances, nobody but Charlie and Nash even know about it. Let it go.”

  “Hey, Frances! Get all that icing out of your hair?” Hannah bellows across the room, heralding her arrival.

  “Nobody knows?” Frances whines. “The video footage is probably all over YouTube, titled “Girl Falls In Cake. Loses One Earring and All Her Self-Respect.”

  “Hello, girls. I like your shoes, Katie.”

  Frances lifts her head in bewilderment. I turn around to be sure my ears aren’t deceiving me. Because that sounded like Chelsea Blake. In fact, it sounded like Chelsea being nice.

  “Um . . . hi, Chelsea.” Or girl who looks like Chelsea. Her boyfriend stands by her side. His eyes flit to me before he smiles warmly at Frances.

  “Great party Saturday, Frances. Thanks for letting us work on our projects there,” Charlie says.

  “Yeah, I heard about your little tumble.” Chelsea awkwardly pats Frances’s shoulder. “These things happen to all of us.”

  “Really?” Frances grits her teeth. “You’ve done a whole body belly flop into a five-tier cake? You’ve sent the cake and the table it’s on crashing into the ground? Did you single-handedly cause a cake to explode under your impact, covering every person within a ten-foot radius, including your grandmother, with strawberry icing?”

  Chelsea attempts a smile. “Well, no.”

  “Charlie, where is Spiky?” I notice my science partner does not have the other plant. “I brought Leafy this morning. I thought we agreed we would take them with us everywhere.”

  His girlfriend laughs. “I wasn’t going to let him bring that silly plant with him to church. Come on, Katie. You were just kidding about that, right?”

  I glare at Charlie.

  Chelsea continues. “Actually, I was talking to Charlie, and I really don’t know if your project is up to his caliber. I think you’re underestimating Charlie’s ability if your idea of an experiment involves him toting around a fern all day.” She laughs like there was a punch line.

  “We came up with the idea together.” My eyes shoot daggers—no, machetes—at Chelsea’s brilliant boyfriend.

  “Well, maybe you should come up with something else,” Chelsea purrs. “Charlie is in the running for valedictorian. He doesn’t need you bringing his grade down.”

  “Now, wait a minute, I—”

  “Katie,” Charlie’s hand on my shoulder cuts me off. “Why don’t you show me how your plant is doing. I could get a comparison.”

  I close my mouth. And glare. “Fine. I’ll take you to Leafy.” We walk toward the stage. “But I don’t want your girlfriend’s negativity anywhere near my plant.”

  We walk next to a giant speaker upstage where I have placed Leafy. “He seems to really like music. I wanted him to be close.”

  Charlie nods. “Yeah. That’s great. Just write down your data.”

  “Are you not going to say anything?”

  He lifts up the plant and inspects a frond. “Say what?”

  I grab my plant back. “Like you’re sorry?”

  “Sorry? For telling you to watch out for Trevor?”

  “What? No. For Chelsea totally insulting me. Insulting our plant.” I hold Leafy to my chest. “And get off Trevor’s back. It’s getting annoying.”

  “Chelsea’s just looking out for me. She can be a bit much.”

  A Rottweiler with rabies is a bit much. Chelsea is beyond bearable. “If I’m holding you back, Charlie, then do your science project on your own.” My cheeks burn red. Am I too stupid to be this guy’s partner? At least I’m not dumb enough to date someone like her.

  “No, of course you’re not holding me back. Forget what she said. We have a good project, and we need to stick with it.” Charlie runs his fingers through his hair. “Hand me the plant so I can check it out.”

  “You’re not touching him. You weren’t responsible enough to bring his brother. If Chelsea really wants the truth, you’re the one not pulling your weight in this project.”

  “And you’re not holding up your end of our bargain by hanging out with Chelsea.”

  “I’m not . . .” I shake my head. “You say I haven’t . . .” My brain is about to explode with horrible, mean things. “First of all,” I spit out, “your girlfriend is . . . is . . .”

  “She has nobody here. No girls to hang out with anyway. Why aren’t you helping?”

  “You haven’t helped Frances.” And your girlfriend’s a shrew!

  “Whatever. I got Nash to Esther’s party, didn’t I?”

  I jab my finger into his chest. “I need more output from you.”

  “Fine,” Charlie frowns, then looks away. “Just help Chelsea this morning. Please?”

  The only thing that’s gonna help her is a personality transplant.

  “Do it.” His voice is bitter in my ear.

  “Why are you acting like you’re mad at me?”

  Charlie’s eyes finally focus on mine. “I just . . . I . . . I’m not mad at you. It’s just—”

  “Hey, guys, take your seats. We have lots to talk about today.” Pastor Mike jumps on the stage, dissolving my conversation with Charlie.

  “Try and be her friend, okay?” Charlie takes Leafy from my hands and places him back on the floor next to the speaker.

  Charlie and I walk back to where we left Frances and Chelsea. Frances doesn’t bother to hide her relief at our return.

  “Chelsea was just telling me she’s thinking of spending Spring Break with our youth group,” Frances says with forced enthusiasm.

  Charlie catches my eye and inclines his head toward Chelsea.

  “Wow. That’s . . . um, great. You know we’re doing mission work that week, right?”

  Chelsea flips her golden hair. “Well, of course. I bought some new Coach luggage. I can’t wait for everyone to see it.”

  I take my seat. “Yeah, that will look great. I’m sure all the homeless people will love your designer bags.”

  Pastor Mike sets his Bible down. His bald head shines under the stage lights, but he doesn’t wear his usual pirate grin. He looks tired and worn.

  “Welcome, everyone. Guys,” the pastor runs a hand down his face. “I have a lot to share with you today.” The room quiets, as his intensity has everyone’s attention. “Last night we got a phone call. My wife’s father was killed in a car wreck. She flew out at midnight to be with her family in Memphis. And I’ll be leaving this afternoon.”

  My heart clenches. Tears sting the back of my eyes. I may be on a permanent hi
atus from God, but I like Pastor Mike. And his wife. I feel terrible for her. Yet another example of God not stepping in. Why did this guy have to die? Where was God? He wasn’t too busy healing Millie, that’s for sure.

  Pastor Mike swabs at his eyes. “Right now, I just want to pray for my wife, her family, pray for all of us.”

  We bow our heads. I stare at my lap, not wanting to close my eyes. Not wanting to make that full connection with the G-Man.

  “Dear Heavenly Father, I come to you tonight shaken and saddened. Lord, I pray for my wife, for my mother-in-law, and family. I ask for strength and comfort in this horrible time. God, I don’t have any answers here.”

  That makes two of us.

  “I don’t know why this happened. I do know when we hurt, you hurt.”

  Whatever.

  “Hebrews tell us faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. I sure can’t see the sense in any of this. All my family is seeing is pain, and all we have are questions.”

  Preach it, brother. I totally understand.

  “But we will rely on you. Put our trust fully in you.”

  Whoa, no. Where are you going with this?

  “Lord, there are others here tonight who are also hurting. They have problems that seem much bigger than you. Questions that don’t have answers. Situations that don’t make sense.”

  I can testify to that.

  “Maybe their parents are getting a divorce. Maybe someone is sick. Maybe every day at school is torture. I know there are needs in this room. There are doubts. There are people mad at you, God.”

  Try furious.

  “And this morning I ask your Holy Spirit go to work on these kids. Let them know your love is constant. And even though life is unpredictable, your love is never changing. You care more for us than we do. There’s a person sitting here right now who feels like you’ve turned your back on him. Or her.”

  I lift my eyes to see if the pastor is looking at me, but his head is down. His full concentration is on this prayer.