Awakening Foster Kelly

by Cara Rosalie Olsen

  “And how does your way fix anything? How does rescuing Foster every time she’s in trouble help her?”

  “Um—I think it’s fairly obvious how it helps,” she snapped.

  “You confuse helping with enabling. Don’t you get it? Your caring about her is damaging.”

  Emily’s face turned a shade of red I hadn’t known was possible. “I’m causing her damage?” she asked from between gritted teeth. “Me?”

  Beside Emily, Jake put his face in both his hands and groaned. “Dude,” he said to no one in particular. “Really, guys? Again?”

  Maddie looked like she’d wanted nothing more than to take Jake and vanish into thin air.

  “Stay out of it, Jake.” Emily kept her narrowed eyes rooted on Dominic’s. “What about you? Do you have any idea what your little episode did to her?” She made a sound with her tongue and tossed her head back slightly. “Oh, that’s right, you weren’t here for that part.”

  Dominic bristled, but wasn’t taking the bait. “I’ve already apologized to Foster.”

  “And that makes it all okay, right? The damage you caused just disappeared with your magical apology?”

  “That’s my point. I lost control that day,” he said ruefully. “The way I behaved was selfish, stupid, and reckless—which is precisely why I’m trying to prevent you from doing something similar.”

  “Thanks, but if I’m in the mood for some camp-counselor wisdom, I’ll just watch a show on PBS. I don’t need you monitoring my decisions.”

  “I’m not trying to. I’m just telling you I get it. I get how frustrated you are. I care about Foster, too. But threatening Vanya—beating her up—embarrassing her—none of that’s going to change anything. Not the things that matter. Look—no one wants to see that girl put in her place more than me, but it’s not as simple as that.”

  “I’ve been her friend for the last year and a half,” Emily said, her voice shaking with suffused fury. “You’ve known her for like a minute, and already you think you know what’s best for her? You’ve got all the answers, do you?”

  “I didn’t say I had all the answers.”

  “No, just that I’m damaging her, right?”

  “You’re taking my words out of context. I said the way you’re caring about her is damaging.”

  “Same thing.”

  Dominic sighed, shook his head lightly. “It’s not, but I can’t help it if that’s the way you choose to see it.”

  Emily rocked back, braced her hands on the back of the bench. “Well, since my plan apparently isn’t the right one, what’s yours? Let that wench torture Foster? Do nothing?”

  Dominic lowered his eyes, all the fight seeming to go out of him. “I don’t have a plan,” he said softly. “And if even I did, it isn’t up to you or me to figure it out.”

  “Exactly.”

  Every head turned toward the voice that spoke. Emily swung hers with a derisive flourish.

  “What do you mean ‘exactly’?” she asked her brother.

  Jake was bent over a half-eaten sausage and pepperoni pizza, staring at Dominic with what looked to actually be a stern expression, a rare sight to ever find on Jake’s amiable face.

  “I know you didn’t ask me,” he began, “but I think you’re kinda being jerks about this.”

  Dominic’s expression didn’t change, but remained open. Emily, however, preened. “Well, I’m not going to disagree with that,” she said haughtily.

  Jake glanced over his shoulder, a slice of pizza drooping in his hand. One bushy white eyebrow lifted sardonically. “Um—I said ‘jerks,’ so that includes you,” he clarified without menace, then chiding, “especially you, Em. You, of all people should know better. You remember how much it sucked for me when Thompson Shepard used to pants me in P.E. class, and stick those notes on my back. The guy basically ruined third grade for me, and unless I wanted the whole school to call me a narc, there was nothing I could do.”

  Emily’s slight brows drew together, the eyes beneath blazing with vexing memories. “I hated Thompson Shepard. He had the IQ of a toenail,” she muttered.

  “Yeah,” Jake agreed without enthusiasm, “but that didn’t stop him from making my life hell,” he said pointedly. “Have either one of you asked Foster how she feels? Or just tried to be understanding? Stop trying to fix it.”

  “We’re trying to help, Jake,” Emily countered.

  “Yeah, well, you’re only making things worse,” he declared reproachfully, then nodded in my direction. “Look how freaked out she is that you guys are fighting. That’s like all she cares about. Rather than staying in the bathroom all period or venting about how crappy it is to have someone causing all these problems for her, she chose to come out here and hang with us. If it were me, man, I’d still be in hiding in the bathroom.” Maddie smiled, and putting a loyal arm around Jake’s waist, she stretched up to kiss his bare shoulder. “Dominic, bro, you were right about one thing. Cowardice is subjective. Well, actually, I don’t really know what that word means, but I think I get it. It takes guts to show your face after being embarrassed like that.”

  Jake gazed in my direction, smiling lopsidedly. “Fost, you’re totally brave, dude. Don’t think you’re not, k?”

  I simpered, a hot flush creeping into my cheeks.

  “Oh!” Jake blurted. “And did you two forget she hasn’t been here for the last week?” he said in exasperated tones, giving his sister a surly look. “Fost doesn’t know you guys fight more than we do, Em.”

  I couldn’t help myself at that point. “What?” I asked, panic breaking into my voice. “You two have been arguing?”

  Jake had just taken a bite of pizza. His dark blue eyes went wide and he groaned, speaking around a full mouth. “It doesn’t stop!” He pushed the food to one cheek with his tongue and added, “It’s never-ending! Fighting all the time! Sick of it!”

  At that point, the corner of Emily’s mouth twitched. She shot a pithy glance at Dominic who had the same sort of wry, abashed smirk on his face.

  They regarded one another for a second, then Dominic turned to me, smiling affectionately. “It’s true,” he confessed. “I didn’t want to mention it, if it wasn’t necessary. With being sick and then having to makeup all that work, you’ve had a tough couple of weeks. And, really . . .” He shrugged, sighing. “I don’t know. I thought maybe once you were back, Emily and I might cease-fire.”

  Emily gave a loud burst of laughter. “Did you really think that?” she asked cynically. “I could have told you that wasn’t going to happen.”

  Dominic chuckled, nodding. “Yeah, I suppose it was wishful thinking to think you and I might get along for forty-five minutes.”

  “Forty-five seconds would be impressive,” Jake droned with a half-hearted eye roll.

  I looked from Dominic to Emily, wary and confused. “But . . . but you two don’t dislike one another? This fighting is . . . normal?” Again, confounded, I wondered how much exactly I’d missed on my absence. “You’re friends?”

  “Woah.” Emily held up both hands. “Let’s not get carried away, okay. I said I would tolerate him for you. Don’t push it.”

  Though she spoke with all the unyielding animosity I was accustomed to, Emily’s expression belied both her words and tone. Through narrowed eyes, she smiled at Dominic. “He’s my good deed for the year.”

  Dominic erupted in laughter, his eyes teary when he spoke a second later. “I kid you not, Em,” he said, shaking his head dazedly, “that’s exactly what my sister Dru would have said.”

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Walking toward the middle of the classroom, I felt the penetrating stares of Vanya and her friends, heard the mocking laughter as I took my seat and began taking out my Music folder. Dominic heard it too, and stood facing the group of three girls.

  The look he gave them was full of pity. “Grow up,” he said without heat, before sliding into his desk.

  I didn’t look behind me, but I thought I heard the laughter stop. Dominic
dipped into his backpack, dug around for a moment, then peered up at me with a smile that could melt snow. “Dost thou fair lady have a pencil I might apprehend?”

  “Of course.” I smiled hugely and bent down to retrieve one of the many pencils sticking out from the designated slots. “Will this one be okay?” I asked, holding out a standard number two pencil toward him.

  “Absolutely,” he said, holding my eyes steady. His hand came over mine, fingers brushing at the creases between my thumb and index finger. “Thank you,” he murmured. “I promise to take very good care of it.”

  “My friends, how are we today?” I jumped in my seat as Mr. Balfy’s voice sounded at the front of the room. Dominic removed his hand, and with one last smile, turned to regard our teacher with a look of blunt amusement.

  Mr. Balfy’s eclectic wardrobe was part of his charm and allure, I thought. And today’s outfit was no exception; he arrived in dark purple jeans, a black button down shirt with two gray pockets on the breast, and a well-worn pair of flip-flops. Haphazardly looped under his collar, the knot drooping and coming undone, was a red and white tie—on it, white double and quarter notes danced merrily. Windblown and disheveled, blond hairs strayed in clumps from the low bun at his neck.

  “Did you have a good lunch?” Mr. Balfy asked, his tanned face exuberant. He walked across the room, setting his bike helmet on top of a tall filing cabinet. In response to his questions, he was supplied with an amalgamation of Good, Fine, and one Lame.

  He bit into a shiny green apple, grabbing his stool with one hand. “Well, that sounds mostly good,” he said genially. “Please forgive me for chowing on class time, but I didn’t give myself enough time to grab lunch. I just couldn’t stay away from the ocean today.” His voice was emphatic and musing. “It was calling to me—just begging to inspire. It’s such a rush when that happens; the music was just pouring out of me, you know?” He lifted a foot, resting it on the highest slat of the stool.

  He sighed, looking meaningfully into our faces. “Sometimes I forget that the beauty is everywhere,” he said, his gray eyes luminous and full of wonder. “If we just take the time to stop and appreciate what was created for us, we’ll find that our souls respond with music. Which is why,” he said, taking a breath, “I’ve decided that next Wednesday I want to have class down at the beach. So we’ll meet at Coral Cove instead of here, cool?”

  The class answered with a resounding affirmative.

  “Awesome.” Smiling, he clapped once, then went still as if there was something he was forgetting to mention. “Oh, yes-yes!” He stuck the apple between his teeth and hopped off his stool, grabbing a clipboard from his desk. “Before we get right into it, there’s a special announcement-slash-opportunity I’d like to share with you. Some of you may know her by the nickname I gave her, Pipes, others as Penelope Van Dearden—but likely you will all know her as the sensational vocalist who regularly sings the National Anthem for our Varsity events. Well, Pipes has come down with strep-throat, so . . . Principal Fleming has asked me if one of you might be willing to take her place this evening.” There was a collective gasp as the class absorbed this information. Mr. Balfy smirked, holding up one finger. “While we all send up our prayers and good vibes to Pipes, I am more than confident one of you will make a stellar replacement.” He smiled proudly and strode toward the first row of desks, gently setting the clipboard on Stephanie’s desk.

  “To make things fair,” he rushed on, “I’m passing around a sign-up sheet. If you are interested, go ahead and jot your name down. Because there’s a time crunch, today, immediately following seventh period, I’ll be holding auditions in the theater. After everyone who wants to has had a chance to audition, I’ll let you guys know who’s won the part. Cool?”

  I thought everyone must have been holding their breath. Shouts and exclamations went up in the room like a round of fired cannon balls.

  Dominic, slouched in his hair, turned his head, his thick brow drawn together. “I don’t get it?”

  I leaned toward him, but still had to raise my voice to be heard. “Students aren’t asked to sing the National Anthem,” I told him. “It’s always performed by a former student of Mr. Balfy’s—someone from the College of Music and Fine Arts.”

  Dominic nodded slowly, the information registering. “So it’s a big deal to get to do it?”

  “A very big deal.”

  At the front of the room, trying to glean the class’s attention, Mr. Balfy jumped up and down in the air, waving his arms, a huge smile stretched over his mouth. The class simmered down, enough so that Mr. Balfy could be heard above the constant and low torrent of excited voices.

  “Instrumentalists, I apologize. This is mainly an opportunity for our vocalists, but I know a few of you sing as well and I encourage you to audition. In the future, I will of course keep my ears open for any prospects calling for your talent.” The brouhaha continued, despite Mr. Balfy’s efforts to calm the class.

  “My friends!” He cupped his hands around his mouth. “I need you guys to bring it down a couple decibels. Thank you. While the sign-up sheet is being passed around, I’d like you to go ahead and work with your partners. I know you’re all excited, and I am to, but I’m going to ask that you please keep your voices down and be respectful of those riding on the wave of creativity.” He lifted his arm chest-high, undulating the hand through the air to simulate a wave. “I’ll be calling up a member from each group to my desk. Be prepared to go over with me what you’ve accomplished so far on your Senior Piece. I can’t wait to see where you’re at, everyone.”

  He scanned the room, his eager eyes landing right in front of me. “Stephanie Castro and Brent Dohn, I’ll start with you guys. One of you please bring me whatcha got so far.”

  Mr. Balfy grabbed the underside of his stool, and after moving it off to the side, took a seat behind his very cluttered desk and began shuffling papers.

  Dominic took care of our desks, arranging them at an angle to where we wouldn’t have to crane our necks sideways to see one another. Others did the same, or moved into alcoves along the perimeter of the room. Since the incident with Vanya, Dominic and I had steered clear of the privacy nooks, staying visible at all times.

  The sign-up sheet made its way to the end of the first row, landing at Shayla Spark’s desk. I glanced past Dominic’s shoulder wondering if she would write her name down. Technically, Shayla was enrolled in the class as a harpist, but on occasion she would replace a soprano vocalist if he or she were absent.

  I watched her reach for a pink glitter-pen, and felt the corners of my mouth lift up in response. Truthfully I didn’t know Shayla as more than an acquaintance, but there was no denying she was both soft-hearted and sweet. And if selected, I believed Shayla would do a great job with the National Anthem. Her voice, while soft and not as robust as some of the other vocalists, had an ethereal quality that would flourish if supported by a good microphone and strong sound system.

  “Really, Shayla?” whispered a voice directly to my left. If I didn’t know any better, I might have mistaken the tone for curious or kind. I did know better, however. “You actually think Mr. Balfy will choose a string-plucker over a vocalist?”

  I wondered how Vanya’s partner Mason Chang, a violinist, felt about this remark, but kept my eyes fastened on Shalya. She smiled genuinely, not appearing the least bit slighted by Vanya’s criticism. “I’m not sure, but I won’t know unless I try, right?”

  “Right,” Vanya echoed brightly, with none of the innocence and optimism. “I swear she’s special-needs,” she muttered, too low for Shayla to hear.

  “Gina Peart or Connor Lyons,” Mr. Balfy called from his desk, too engrossed to notice the intimidation tactics going on three feet from his desk. “One of you please come on up.”

  “I go,” Gina said, jumping up from her desk as Connor began to rise. The jeans she wore were at least two sizes too big and dragged along the carpet, and beneath her black tank, a red bra-strap peeped out. There was a
loud rustling noise that came from her direction. I looked up in time to see a stack of papers go soaring into the air, carving left or right or just drop in a flutter.

  Gina stopped where she was, clasped both her cheeks and sang, “Whoop-sie!”

  “You stupid freak,” Vanya hissed, glaring coldly at Gina. One of her notes had landed on top of my foot. I reached down and picked it up, then handed it to Vanya. She snatched it from me, her pointed jaw clamped hard. “Don’t touch my stuff, Beast,” she growled, then in a much louder and different tone of voice, “Mr. Balfy, did you see that? Gina did it on purpose.”

  Gina feigned shock, her wide mouth falling open. She spun and pointed to herself with both hands. “Moi? How could you suggest such a thing, Bestie?”

  Mr. Balfy gave both girls a wearied look. His elbow rested on the desk and he had a closed fist pressed into his cheek. “Come on, friends. There’s no reason why you two can’t get along. But even if you don’t like one another, you do need to be polite and respectful.” After saying this, he bent his head and resumed scribbling notes on a yellow pad.

  “Pick them up,” Vanya demanded through gritted teeth.

  “Of course!” Gina said sonorously, squatting down to gather a few loose papers. After neatly arranging them into a pile, she rose and held them out to Vanya; however, just as Vanya’s fingers went to clamp down, Gina threw the papers into the air again. “What is the matter with me? I am so clumsy today!” She continued down the aisle, a satisfied smirk on her very red lips.

  As the sign-up sheet continued to go around the room, Vanya was relentless, proffering noises and snide remarks to those who put their name down. Of everyone, there were only two people she hadn’t threatened, and I wondered if it had less to do with her genuine support of their ambition, or because she felt neither of them would offer much competition.

  “Okay . . . let’s see,” Mr. Balfy ruminated as he chewed. “How about Foster Kelly or Dominic Kassells.”