The doors close.
And I’m left alone.
Utterly, miserably, pathetically alone.
Chapter 22
I sit in a chair next to James. The sea foam walls of Millie’s hospital room do nothing to soothe my fried nerves. Maxine continues to file her nails, and if Millie doesn’t wake up soon, Maxine’s bound to break out the fingernail polish.
I twist the string of my hoodie round and round my finger. Is now a good time to tell James his daughter is a total freak? Would it be appropriate to use this moment to ask why nobody told me Psycho Daughter was adopted? Why does this family keep everything from me?
Maybe they even adopted Maxine.
My foster grandmother yawns loudly then catches my eye. “Huevos Rancheros make me gassy.”
I see a small movement of feet under Millie’s sheet. Then an arm shifts. And finally, two eyes struggle to gain focus of the room.
James shoots out of his seat and settles on the bed next to his wife. “Hey, hon.” He smoothes her blonde hair away from her pale face. “How are you feeling?”
Millie’s eyes travel across the room then settle on James. Her head bobs in a nod. “Not . . . bad.” Her voice is low and weak.
My foster mom gives a sluggish smile toward me. “How’s school today?”
Maxine coughs twice.
“Well, I kind of didn’t go.”
Millie frowns. Nice to know in her drugged-out stupor she can still put her mom face on.
Her manicure complete, Maxine walks to the other side of the bed. “About time you woke up. I wanted to turn the TV on, but James wouldn’t let me. He said the citizens of Salem could get along without me for one day.” She snorts in disbelief.
“Why’s Katie not in school?”
“Oh, don’t you worry about that.” Maxine picks up Millie’s hand on the bed. “James, tell Millie who’s here.”
James pours Millie a cup of water and holds the straw to her mouth. “Amy’s here. Or was here. Er, I guess is here.”
Millie tries to sit up.
“No, no, lay back down.” James puts a hand on her shoulder. “You have plenty of time to see her.” His mouth curves. “She looks good. A little thin, but good.”
Amy looks like she hasn’t eaten in a year. Her hair is sprouting split ends and crying out for a trim. And she shakes like a car antenna. Yeah, she looks real good.
Millie pushes the water away. “Where is she?” Her words slur. “Where is she, James?”
“She’ll be back soon. She went to the house. To rest.”
Or to steal my laptop. I do not trust that girl.
Millie lays her head back, a smile on her lips. “My baby’s home.”
“Thanks again for picking me up.”
I press my back into Frances’s passenger seat and close my eyes. So tired. Worn to the bone.
“You didn’t miss anything at school today. Well, except a quiz in history. Oh, and Nash kissing me.”
Nap over. “What?”
“Yeah, at lunch. He put his greasy corndog down, wiped off his milk mustache, and said, ‘I can’t properly digest. My brain is filled with no other thought than I love you, Frances.’ And then he grabbed my face and—”
“You know your left ear twitches when you’re lying, right?”
Frances scowls and turns onto my street. “It could happen.”
“Yeah, when Justin Bieber is in the White House.”
She puts the car in park. “I’m coming in with you. I want to see the Scott’s daughter.”
Doesn’t everyone?
Earlier in the afternoon I had called Frances to give her the update on Millie. And to beg her to pick me up from the hospital. I needed a break. A Trevor break. She kindly offered to take me to play rehearsals. I mean, they can’t have a decent rehearsal without Drizella, Ugly Step-sister Number One.
Walking up the sidewalk, I catch a blur out of the corner of my eye. “Rocky!” The giant dog leaps on me, his elephant-sized paws settling on my shoulder. “No, Rocky! Get down. Ew, mud!” I heave the dog off, pushing with all my strength. He lays low to the ground and licks my shoes, like he can’t get enough of me. At least someone appreciates me today.
“What are you doing out here, boy?” I look around for Amy and grab Rocky by the collar. “Come on. In you go.”
Standing on the front porch, I start to put the key in the lock, but the front door stands open. “Hello?” I call out. Frances stays with the dog in the entryway, and I grab a towel for his muddy paws. If only fixing his dog breath were that easy.
Peering into the den on my way to the laundry room, I see Amy, sprawled out on the couch watching a talk show.
“I brought the dog in.” I stand there until she acknowledges me.
“Uh-huh.”
“You left him outside.”
She picks up the remote, the volume inching up a notch. “He wanted to go out.”
“Yeah, but you can’t just let him loose. He eats Old Man Potter’s ferns, and the neighbor kids OD on dog tongue.”
Amy ignores me.
Frances and I wipe Rocky down, his paws still brown, but not bad enough to stain anything.
We head to my bedroom.
Where I find clothes strung everywhere and a stained, worn suitcase on my bed.
Frances wrinkles her nose. “Is Amy sleeping in your room?”
“Actually, it’s my room” My non-sister pushes past the door and steps in. “This used to be my room.” She walks around. “Not much left of mine. I can tell they really missed me.”
Girl is ticking me off. “You’re twenty-five. I don’t think the Scotts are bad parents because they packed up your Barbies and ’N Sync posters.” And where am I supposed to sleep? I cannot believe this.
Amy pulls a cigarette out of nowhere and lights up.
“Are you kidding me? Put that out! This is my room!” I rip the cigarette out of her mouth and run into the bathroom. I take a few deep breaths and watch it swirl down the toilet.
“Calm down. You’re just like them.”
Amy plops herself onto my twin bed, and I jerk the People from under her foot. “They are your parents. And I like them. And aside from the gray hair, if I could be anything like them, I would jump for joy.”
She fluffs my pillow and sticks it behind her head. “Since this is my room, I’ll be sleeping here. Where are you gonna sleep?” And then she laughs. Like she’s just remembered the funniest joke. The high pitched sound razors my nerves.
“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” I ask. And please don’t breathe your crazy germs on my bed.
She winds it down to a giggle. “Oh, I’m really good. But Dad said for you to stay with your friend here for a few days so he and Mom could spend time with me—their daughter.”
I open my mouth then clamp it shut. My brain shuffles through every foul word and vile name I know (and there are many). A particularly creative insult comes to mind, and I load it for blast off. “You—”
“Is that what he told you?” Frances butts in, but I tuck the curse away for future use. “James said Katie was to go home with me?”
Amy settles into the bed, wiggling her nasty boots all over my hot pink comforter. “Yup.” She closes her bloodshot eyes and flops a hand over her face. “Nighty-night, kiddies. Turn the light out on your way out.”
I march to the closet and stuff some clothes in a bag. “The other bed belongs to Maxine.” I heave the duffle over my shoulder and smile. “And she’s had a lot of huevos rancheros today. Sweet dreams.”
Frances and I stomp downstairs and pile into the station wagon.
“She’s not anything like I thought she would be,” Frances says, pulling out of the driveway.
“No. She’s worse.” I must be wearing a Kick Me sign today. Because the hits just keep coming.
I punch in James’s cell phone number. No answer. His voice mail greets me with cheer and blessings. Yeah, well you know what you can do with your Christian goodness, James
?
Beep!
“Hey, it’s Katie. Frances is taking me to rehearsal, then I’m spending the night at her house. But I guess you already know that.” Click. Pastor Jerk-face.
“I’m really sorry.” Frances turns in the direction of the Valiant theater. Going her normal five miles under the speed limit.
“Thanks.” I look out the window. Random spots of In Between still lies in pieces from the tornado. “But it’s no big deal. It’s not like I care.”
“Yeah, we’ll have fun tonight. Maybe we can talk mom into ordering pizza.” Frances huffs. “Who am I kidding? Heaven forbid my family honor the Italian culture. I just hope it’s not squid stew night.”
The car squeaks to a stop in front of the theater. Frances grabs her backpack and opens the door.
“You’re staying? We’ll be rehearsing for a few hours.”
“I’ll just hang out here. That way I can see you practice and work on my next strategy to get Nash to beg me to go out with him.”
Er, right.
I swing open the doors of the theater and gain some comfort. Like knowing you have a friend saving you a seat at lunch, the Valiant is familiar and welcoming to me. Makes me happy. Its Art Deco style still fascinates me, even though my own sweat went behind almost every brushstroke.
We sail through the lobby and the black lacquer doors that lead into the theater.
“Katie? Frances?”
I manage a half-smile for Sam Dayberry. “Hey.”
“I thought I was gonna pick up you and Maxine and take you to the hospital after rehearsal.” He takes his cap off and wipes his head with a handkerchief.
“Change of plans.”
His eyes narrow. “Who changed ’em?”
“That would be Maxine.”
“Don’t tell me . . .”
I nod. “Ginger Rogers. Yup, rode all the way to the hospital.”
He mumbles something about insanity. “Heard the news about Millie. I’m praying for her. Life will be good again. Hang in there.” He pats me on the shoulder.
“Right.”
“You okay?”
“Amy’s here.” That strung-out cow.
Sam’s face splits into a grin. “That’s wonderful. Praise the Lord.”
“You do that.” I leave him and Frances standing there.
I’m so ticked I can hardly appreciate the totally hot aura surrounding Trevor Jackson. He’s head to head in conversation with Chelsea, yet another person whose fan club I will never be joining.
I approach the couple just as Chelsea lays her hand on Trevor’s arm and laughs.
“Oh, Trev!” She flips her golden princess locks. “That’s so hilarious!”
Trevor says something back, his voice deep and low. I can’t hear him, but Chelsea’s eyes light up. His hand moves closer to hers. Closer . . .
“Hey, Katie.” And Jeremy blocks my view. I stretch my neck, peering around him.
I step to the left of Jeremy. In time to see Chelsea and Trevor, standing miles apart. Surely he didn’t put his hand on hers. Would he?
“Hi.” My fake smile hangs crooked on my face.
Trevor catches my eye and winks. At me.
I lift a single eyebrow then give Jeremy my attention. Well, most of it. Okay, a small percentage of it.
“I was wondering if you wanted to discuss our wardrobe.” He reaches into his coat pocket. “And here. I found these backstage at school.” My fellow stepsister shoves a giant plastic nose on my face. “Perfect!”
Chelsea explodes into giggles. Again.
I wrench the pointy schnoz from my own nose. “I am not wearing this thing.”
“I think it looks great.” Trevor steps between me and Jeremy. “For the character, that is. Your acting skills are top-notch, so shouldn’t your costume be just as professional?” He flashes me his white teeth.
My acting skills are top-notch? Sighhhh. “Um . . . yeah.” I take the nose back. For Trevor I would wear anything. A suit of armor. The butt-end of a donkey costume. Anything.
Mrs. Hall claps her hands at center stage. “All right students, are we all here? Let’s get to work. I have a six o’clock appointment with a divorce attorney. He’s the best in the county, so I don’t want to keep him waiting. Mr. Hall won’t know what hit him. Did I tell you about the letters I found in his top drawer yesterday? Well, I was going through some—”
“Mrs. Hall?” Trevor rolls his beautiful brown eyes.
Our teacher blinks. “Yes, dear?”
“Can we start now?”
She clears her throat. “I believe that’s what I was saying. Now, if I may continue. Let’s start from the top. We’ll do a very informal run-through of the script. No staging or blocking today. But we will be onstage. Just move where the script takes you.”
She claps her hands and Leslie Traylor, Cinderella’s stepmother, and Chelsea take the stage for the first scene.
Jeremy and I sit in the front row. I’m totally ready to tear Chelsea’s performance apart. Should’ve been my role. Instead I get a glue-on nose.
Jeremy pulls some pictures out of his backpack. “So, I was thinking we could wear long, brown wigs. Maybe have them braided. I’ve been doing a little research on the time period, and—”
“Didn’t see you at school today.” Trevor takes the seat on my other side.
My heart kicks it into overdrive. Somewhere in my head I’m aware of Jeremy still speaking. But all I know is Trevor.
He noticed I wasn’t there! Not only does Trevor know I exist, but he was looking for me. I just want to tattoo his words on the inside of my eyelids, so I can see them every time I blink. Or sleep in class.
“I was at the hospital.” I give him breadcrumbs of my day. “My foster mom has cancer. She had surgery today.”
Trevor puts an arm around the back of my chair. “I’m sorry. How are you holding up?” He leans in to whisper, and I catch myself sniffing him. Mmmm. Spicy, woodsy. Hotsy.
“I’ve had better days. It’s good to be here though. Take my mind off things.” I stare at my hands, wishing I was brave enough—Chelsea enough—to stare into his eyes right now.
His hand moves to my shoulder and squeezes lightly. “I’m really sorry. I guess you’re not gonna be in the partying mood Friday night, are you?”
The party. How could I forget about that? I guess because I knew the Scotts would sooner let me hitchhike cross-country before they would allow me go to a party.
But now? Who cares. I’m out of a home, I’ve got demon-possessed Amy taking my bed, and nobody in the Scott family even knows I exist right now. So they sure won’t notice if I’m gone a few hours Friday night.
“I’d love to go to the party.” I bravely raise my eyes to his. “But things are a little mixed up at my house right now, so I don’t have a ride there. Know anyone who could pick me up?” Anyone tall, dark, and all Prince Charming?
He hesitates. Not good. So not good.
And then he slowly nods. “Yeah, I can pick you up. No problem.” He pauses again. “And you’re sure your foster parents won’t care?
I think of Amy. “No, they don’t care at all.”
Chapter 23
Friday spins my brain. I go to all eight classes for forty-five minutes each. Just enough time for each teacher to give a pop quiz and assign a pathetic amount of homework.
With my bag full of books and my neck in a crick from sleeping over again at Frances’s, I slither into my seat in biology and lay my head down on the cool lab table. Yesterday I skipped drama rehearsal and made Frances take me to the hospital to see Millie. It seemed like I couldn’t get a word in for the Scotts playing catch up with crazy Amy. When your daughter ignores you for years and lives in a different state every week, I guess you have a lot to talk about.
And the Scotts didn’t say a word about kicking me out of my room. I came so close to asking them about it, but what could I say? So, Millie, I know you have cancer and all, but did you know your daughter belongs in the circu
s? Or moving Amy into my room was such a funny joke. Hysterical. Believe me when I say, I laughed so hard, I cried. Why can’t I just ask them about it?
“Katie?”
“Hmmm?” I keep my eyes shut tight, but recognize the voice as Charlie’s.
“You okay?”
Lots of people asking that question. But does anybody really care about the answer?
“Great. Fine. Couldn’t be better.”
And to add to all my grief, the vending machines are no longer carrying mini chocolate donuts due to some board member’s idea to make us all healthy. I needed a sugar and chocolate fix, and all the machine offered me was roasted peanuts and whole wheat crackers. I’m depressed, and I’m mad. Is now really the time to remove all chocolate from the building?
Charlie pulls his stool next to mine. Unlike Trevor, he doesn’t smell like cologne. Just smells like Charlie today. Clean with a touch of fabric softener.
“Chelsea is spending the weekend with her sister in Dallas. I was wondering if you wanted to get together tonight and work on our science fair project. You know, reunite our plants.”
My plant. Amy Scott, daughter of the year, is probably using it as an ash tray right now.
I prop my head up on a fist and face Charlie. “I’m kinda busy tonight.”
“Oh. You and Frances hanging out?”
I study the graffiti on the table. How did my phone number get on here? “No.” Erase, erase, erase. “I’m going to a party.”
Charlie frowns. “The party at Trevor Jackson’s?”
“Yeah.” I sit up. “So?”
“Katie, Trevor is not the type of guy you need to be hanging out with.”
“He’s been very nice to me.”
“Well, of course he has.”
My eyes narrow. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Trevor Jackson runs through girls like Chelsea goes through makeup.”
“Look, Charlie, I’m not going in hopes he’ll propose. I’ve had a really bad week, and I deserve a night off from all the crap.”
Charlie nudges my hand. “Do the Scotts know you’re going?”
On the Loose (A Katie Parker Production) Page 17