“Get your fingernails out of my arms.” I try to wrench myself out of Angel’s grip.
“Whatsa matter? Are you gonna cry?” Angel’s voice is songlike.
I see red.
With all of Angel’s concentration on ripping my arms off, I take the opportunity to hook my leg around one of hers and give it a good pull.
She falls like a house of cards.
I don’t bother to hide my triumphant smile. The crowd roars in approval.
A hand latches onto my ankle and before I can step back, Angel jerks me flat onto my backside. My tailbone throbs.
Angel and I both spring into action, leaping onto one another. We become a tangled unit of arms, legs, and claws. I can’t see a thing, all I can do is strike out, desperate to pin her down. She’s like a fish, squirming and impossible to hold in one place.
My neck snaps back as Angel latches onto a handful of my hair.
“Hey! Let go.” Hair pulling has got to be illegal.
“Aw, poor baby. Did I mess up your salon style?”
I manage to flip her some and gain the upper hand. I am seconds away from pinning her.
Angel grunts. “You think you’re so much better than everyone else. You and all your new friends.”
My arms are shaking. I’ve almost got her flat on the ground. “Get over it, Angel. Find someone new to obsess over.”
My ear fills with her primal cry, and Angel knees me in the stomach.
And I go down, releasing my hold.
Pain. All I see is pain. All I taste is pain. I think I’m gonna be sick.
“You don’t want to mess with me, Katie Parker. You’ll regret it, I promise you that.”
I can’t even talk. I would hold onto my gut, but her hands are pinning mine to the mat.
No, I gotta recover. I can’t let her beat me.
Dear God, please give me strength.
Strength to beat the living snot out of her.
I rock my legs up and under Angel. My stomach rebels, but I push her off with a herculean effort.
The other girls are chanting now. Totally absorbed in our TV-worthy smackdown.
Angel tucks and rolls, springing back to her feet. She grabs me by the hand, hoists me up, and her fist punches into the right side of my face.
I stumble back in shock. In pain.
And now I’m mad.
Taking a few steps back, I get a running start and torpedo myself toward Angel.
Like a linebacker, I plow into her stomach. With my head.
Angel gets slammed into the floor.
And me? Well, I get detention.
Chapter 19
“Thanks for the ride.”
Frances stops the car at the Valiant. “Sure, anytime.”
With her daughter sprawled on the gym floor, Coach Nelson finally decided to get off the phone during PE. She sent both of us to the office. I insisted on taking Hannah, my witness.
Angel got three days suspension. I got two afternoons of after-school detention. And Coach Nelson got her wrestling mats taken away.
Frances chews on a fingernail. “What are you going to tell the Scotts?”
I shrug. “Why should I tell them anything? I’ll serve detention, and they’ll never know about the fight.”
“Katie, your eye is the size of a small orange. A bright purple orange.”
Yeah, it does hurt like crazy. I’d flip down her visor and take a look, but my injured eye is swollen shut. I don’t want to overwork my good eye. I’m gonna need it for practice.
With a wave goodbye to Frances, I fling open the door to the Valiant, and with my Cyclops eye, search for Millie. I don’t see her. Hopefully she’s not working at the theater today.
Inside, practice is well underway.
The creaking of the giant entry door gets Mrs. Hall’s attention. “Ms. Parker,” she calls. “Nice of you to join us. I suppose you have an excuse for—oh, ewww.”
All eyes roam my way. Including Trevor Jackson’s.
“Sorry I’m late. I had a little . . . accident.” As in someone’s fist accidentally found its way into my eye socket.
“Well, yes, yes, I see that. So sorry, dear. Come on down here. We’re reading through our lines in small groups. Join your group.” The drama teacher motions me over to Trevor. I smile weakly and mumble a hello to everyone. My group consists of Trevor, Chelsea, and Jeremy, who plays the part of the other wicked stepsister. In drag. That’s right. Mrs. Hall’s idea of two ugly women? A boy in drag and me. Such a confidence booster.
“Katie, what happened to your eye?” Jeremy’s voice is so loud it echoes in the theater.
I want to slither into the orchestra pit and never come out.
“Are you okay?” Trevor touches my shoulder, his face drawn with curiosity and concern.
“I’m fine. Really. I just thought I’d get into character. A little early.” I laugh. Alone.
“Let’s get started. We’re already on page fifteen, but I guess we can start back at the beginning.” Chelsea’s concern is touching. Seriously, I’m about to shed a tear over her genuine warmth. I glare at her with my one good eye.
We continue our read-through for another hour, stopping at the sound of Mrs. Hall clapping.
“Actors and actresses! Your attention, please!” Today Mrs. Hall is decked out in a billowy skirt of eggplant purple. A silver vest covers a frilly lavender blouse. I like this teacher a lot, but one day the fashion police are going to taze and hog-tie her.
“If you have noticed, there are a few roles we did not cast with students. As I mentioned weeks ago, these roles will be open to the public. Community involvement will mean more ticket sales.” Mrs. Hall paces the stage. “Now, we need an onstage orchestra for the ball. Does anyone have any family members who would be interested?”
Mrs. Hall jots down the names that are called out.
“And we have the plumb role of the fairy godmother. I see an older, more mature woman for this character. Do any of you have gifted grandmothers?”
A throat clears behind me.
Mrs. Hall continues. “A great aunt, perhaps?”
“A-H-H-H-E-M!”
The teacher jots down more names. “I feel the part calls for someone who’s ethereal and radiating joy.”
“I’ve got the joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart? Where? Down in my heart? Where? I’ve got the joy, joy, joy, joy—”
My head does a one-eighty and there behind me stands Maxine, belting it out for all to hear.
“What are you doing?” I hiss.
Mrs. Hall frowns, but continues. “This person would need to have a nurturing, mother-like aura.”
Maxine steps out from behind me. “Cookies? I have some home-baked cookies for everyone!”
“No!” I grab her basket of baked goods. Everyone takes their eyes off Maxine and stares at me. “Believe me. It’s for your own good.”
“Introduce me to your teacher,” Maxine whispers.
I sigh. “Mrs. Hall, this is Maxine Simmons. She was just leaving.”
Maxine pokes me in the ribs, her voice low. “Nice shiner, you little scrapper. I’ve got some heavy-duty makeup that will cover that right up. You know, hide it.”
“Mrs. Hall, Maxine would make a great choice for the fairy godmother.” I can’t believe this is coming out of my mouth. “She has a lot of stage experience.” She was a showgirl in Vegas. She wore feathers and a leotard. “She is very . . . motherly.” She hasn’t smothered me with a pillow yet. “And we could probably learn a lot from her.” My foster grandmother can burp the Spanish alphabet.
Mrs. Hall studies Maxine from her viewpoint onstage. “Very nice that you could drop by our practice, Mrs. Simmons. Do you always travel with a wand?”
Maxine pulls out a star-topped wand sticking from her purse and waves it. Glitter flies everywhere. “I sing too. Tell them I can sing, Katie.”
I bite my lip. “Oh, she can sing all right.” She belongs on an outtake of American Idol.
M
axine graces everyone with a granny-like smile. “My daughter and son-in-law own this theater. And my friend Sam is the theater caretaker. I’m here all the time.”
I snort.
The sales pitch continues. “My apartment was devastated by the tornado. I’m lucky enough to live with my family temporarily.” Maxine’s arm slinks around me, and she draws me to her side. “I would love to help those less fortunate, those without homes.”
Should I start humming the “Star-Spangled Banner”?
Mrs. Hall grins. “We would be delighted for you to read for the part of the fairy godmother. Just come with me, and we’ll do a quick audition. Students, any protests?”
Maxine’s arm around me tightens. “One word, and I’m taking pictures of your shiner and sending them to Millie.”
I close my eyes in defeat and watch my foster grandmother flitter and flounce away.
“Hey, cool lady.” Trevor breaks the silence in our group.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “She’s just nifty.”
Chelsea grabs her designer purse. “I’m out of here. See you all later.” She lowers her lashes. “Bye, Trev.”
‘Bye, Trev?’ What was that?
Jeremy gathers his stuff. “I gotta go too. I hope your face is better tomorrow.” Call me, he mouths. I watch my red-headed friend walk away.
This leaves me and Trevor. Alone.
If this were a movie, the cameras would be coming in for the close-up.
Say something witty, Katie.
“So how’s the baseball team looking this season?” Sports. Always a good topic with boys.
Trevor frowns. “The season ended last night. We lost.”
Oh, right. And this is where I exit.
“So what did happen to your eye?” He moves in closer. One single theater seat separates us.
“It was. . . nothing.”
“You ran into a door?”
I return his smile. “Fell off my bike.”
His laugh is better than all the ibuprofen I took. “Hey, I’m really sorry you didn’t get the role you wanted. I did not see that coming.”
“Yeah. I guess I can work on my range with the stepsister part. Being mean will be a stretch for me.”
His eyes rove to my swollen face. “I think you’re on the right track.”
We share in the laugh this time, and I feel one more link added to our connection.
“So what are you doing this weekend?”
My heart quickens at his question. Where is he going with this? Is he going to ask me—
“Because some people are having a little get-together, and I wanted to know if you’d like to go.”
Play it cool. Don’t start shrieking until you get outside to the parking lot. This may not be a date. He may just mean this in a friendly sort of way. Not in a will-you-wear-my-letterman-jacket sort of way.
“Um . . . yeah. That sounds great.” The Scotts may totally disagree. “What time?”
He scribbles something on a piece of paper. His dark hair catches the stage lights. “Eight. Here’s the address.”
Oh, okay. Not a date. Exactly. “I’ll meet you there.”
“See you tomorrow at rehearsal.”
I hold the paper tightly. “See you then.”
“And Katie?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t run into any more doors.”
Chapter 20
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Wednesday morning I shoot out of bed, yelling. My pulse pounds.
The fog clears, and I realize I’m in my room. In my own bed.
But a crazy woman stands over me, a copper pot in one hand. A wooden spoon in the other.
“What are you doing?” I shout. “Are you trying to kill me?” I clutch my racing heart.
Maxine laughs. “You look funny when you sleep. Your mouth hangs open like this.” She opens her mouth like a rhinoceros. “And your nose twitches like—”
“Maxine, what are you doing?” I check the alarm clock. Ten ’til seven.
She throws her kitchenware on the bed. “James and Millie left for the hospital about thirty minutes ago. Her surgery is in two hours. That gives you an hour to get ready and one hour for us to get there.”
“Get where?”
“To the hospital, Señorita Sleepy Pants.”
And now I’m awake. “Millie banned us from the hospital today.”
“James and Millie are gone. And I am in charge. And I say we’re going to St. Mary’s Hospital.”
I brush my bedhead out of my eyes. I always wake up looking like I battled a wind storm all night.
“How are we gonna get there?”
Maxine throws me my pink, fluffy robe. “Meet me in the conference room at oh-seven-hundred hours. You will be debriefed.”
She walks out the door, Rocky at her heels.
“I’ll be what?” I call.
“Meet me in the kitchen in ten minutes! I’ll fill you in!” And she skips down the stairs, beating her pot like a drunk percussionist.
Minutes later I step into the kitchen. “What is that smell?”
Maxine closes the oven and wipes her hands on a gingham apron. “Breakfast.”
My stomach quirks at the strong aroma. “Sure doesn’t smell like Millie’s waffles.”
“Bah! That’s sissy food. What we need is the breakfast of champions.”
“Wheaties?”
“My special triple-decker pizza. It’s not quite done.”
“What exactly are you up to?” I’m afraid to ask. The answer always gets me grounded.
She opens the freezer while humming a chirpy little tune. “This morning calls for a good stiff drink.” Maxine pours something into a frosty mug. Next she plops ice cream into the drink.
“A root beer float?”
“Yup. Drink up.” She slides one across the table, and I catch it in both hands. “Cheers.”
She clinks my glass with hers and guzzles her root beer down. “Must go check the pizza.”
“Maxine, you know I can’t drive us to the hospital. I’ve only had one driving lesson.”
She cuts the pizza into sections. “Well, of course you’re not gonna drive. We don’t have time to knock down any power lines.”
My foster grandmother serves me a plate of the biggest, cheesiest, meat-loaded pizza this side of Italy. “Are these green beans on here?”
Maxine shrugs. “I thought we could use the protein. Let me pray for our food.” She clears her throat. “Dear Precious Lord, you know I try hard to be obedient. Well, today is not a good day. Okay, neither was yesterday. Or the day before. Anyway, today we will be visiting Millie. Katie will be skipping school. I will be skipping my Days of Our Lives. And Lord, about Marlena—”
“Get on with it, Maxine.”
“Ahem. Right. So, God, we ask forgiveness for disobeying, but we will be doing it anyway. Please be with the doctors. We ask for healing for Millie and strength for the family. And we pray the wind won’t be against us as we bike our little hearts out. For our dear Millie. In Jesus’ name we pray, amen.”
“I am not getting on your bicycle, Maxine.”
“We leave in forty-five minutes. Ginger Rogers is waiting.”
“Oh, no. No way.” Ginger is Maxine’s bicycle built for two. The last time I took a ride, I ended up falling twenty feet and belly flopping into a pool. Owned by Charlie’s grandmother.
“Look, Katie Parker, here’s the deal. If you go with me, you’re in trouble. If you let me go alone, you’re in trouble. Either way, you’re facing some serious doggy-doo. Now I helped you camouflage that black eye Monday night, so you owe me. And I say we’re riding Ginger Rogers to the hospital.”
“It’s an hours’ ride at least.”
Maxine smiles. “Then you better eat up.” And she hums the rest of her happy melody.
“I can’t go much further. I’m not gonna make it. You’re going to have to pedal alone.”
Maxine whips around, smacks me in the forehead with her gloved
hand, and continues to pedal. “I did not raise you to be a quitter!”
I huff and puff air, pushing the pedals to climb the hill. “You didn’t raise me at all.”
“And there’s our problem. Now keep pedaling.”
Through the insulation of my bike helmet, I hear a sound like tin foil. Something being unwrapped. And then I notice Maxine’s feet are propped up on her bike. “Maxine!” I growl. “Are you eating?”
“Nuh-uh.”
“I smell food.”
“Iths jus pitha.” I can see her jaws moving as she chews.
My legs have moved past throbbing to numb. My lungs burn for air. And Maxine’s kicked back, having an appetizer.
But I’m too tired to be mad.
We cross one more busy highway, our last before the hospital. Only two cars honk as Maxine steers us into traffic. She honks back with her squishy horn tacked to the handle bars. I’m sure the Lexus was very intimidated.
Maxine signals with her hand, and we turn into St. Mary’s parking lot. She steers us around the building and motions for me to stop.
“Um, Maxine?”
She rips off her helmet and shakes her golden hair. “Yeah?”
“This is the plastic surgery wing.” The Walter C. Monroe Cosmetic Surgery Center, a sign says.
“Oh.” She pats her face. “Habit, I guess.”
And we pedal to the next entrance.
Sliding doors whoosh open as we walk through the surgery center lobby. I walk behind Maxine. If we get in any trouble (which we will), I want her to walk through the fire first.
We shuffle down the hall and into a large waiting room.
An empty waiting room.
“Katie?”
I jump and spin around.
James. Holding a cup of coffee and a newspaper. “What are you doing?”
“Uh . . . uh . . . uh . . .” I grab Maxine and shove her in front of me. “It was her!”
“Katie, you were specifically told to go to school.” James’s frown deepens.
“I tried to tell her, James. She wouldn’t listen.” Maxine settles her purse into a chair. “You know kids these days.”
“And you, Maxine. I am ashamed of you. I have enough to concern myself with without worrying about you pedaling all over the county.”
On the Loose (A Katie Parker Production) Page 15