In the end, though, after raging and mulling everything over since I’d come home, I was forced to acknowledge that for all of my sarcasm and joking and acting like Jason was a real pain in my behind, the awful truth was that I didn’t want to believe that all I was to Jason was just a tutor and someone to preach his religion to. I didn’t want to believe that beyond the obvious and necessary tutoring, everything else was only because Jason wanted to convert me to his religion. I wouldn’t believe it. I couldn’t!
And then I wondered what Jason would do if I told him I wasn’t interested in his religion, and that I would never be baptized in a million years, and for him to please stop telling me everything about it. Would he drop me as a tutor? I shook my head at that thought. Probably not. He wanted that final A too much. But would he treat me the same? Or would he turn cold and drop me flat on my behind to go hunt down another victim to preach to? Or would he still be friends with me? Would he even want to be?
I sat up straight in bed at that thought. Friends? Were Jason and I even friends? To be truthful, I didn’t know what we really were. I was his tutor—he was a more than willing student. He’d worked hard and done his best. Truly. And he’d improved. Not just in his paper scores, but in other ways, too. He didn’t talk like a jock so much anymore and was getting used to using words with more than one or two syllables. He’d even discovered there were other descriptive words besides cool and awesome. It was definitely gratifying to see that stuff I was teaching him was rubbing off on him as much as what he was trying to teach me was sticking to my brain. And the way he teased me and grinned at me and just looked at me—I was sure it added up to more than just flirting.
But none of that changed the fact that Angela’s words had stung. Hurt, even. And I hated that they did, because I shouldn’t care what a jock thought of me. Not even if the jock was Jason.
But I did care. The tears that were now on my pillowcase bore silent witness to that fact.
~
November 15
Dear Kitty,
Tomorrow’s the semifinals. I had a fever a few days ago that had Mom driving me in a panic to the hospital, but I’ve really rested up, so I’m fine now. Kelly and I threw the football around today for a while before my elbow started to ache, and then after running to catch Kelly’s passes to me, my knees started to hurt. I didn’t want Kelly to know, so I said I was hungry, and why didn’t we go get something to eat? I forced myself to choke down every bite of food. I wasn’t feeling too good, so it took all of my energy to eat like a horse. I was sick to my stomach and wiped out by the time Kelly left, so I crashed for the rest of the day. Don’t worry, though, Kitty. Your big brother will do you proud at the game tomorrow . . .
November 22
Dear Kitty,
This past week has gone by in a total blur. I’m still in shock—I can’t tell you how amazing it feels to have a major dream come true. We won, Kitty! We won! Not just semifinals last week, but as of tonight, our school’s the state high school football champions—I still can’t believe it! I mean, I know I’ve worked hard—really hard—and so has the rest of the team, so I know we deserve this, but to finally reach this goal—it’s an amazing feeling. It’s incredible to make it to a place you’ve been dreaming about your whole life. So now I’ve accomplished another goal—and in front of the school, Jennifer, you, Mom, and Dad—and tons of university talent scouts too! They’re saying I’m the one to watch next year! I tell you, Kitty, if it all ended tonight, I’ve had so much I could die happy.
Although the game was exciting, it was grueling. The other team—South High Panthers—was incredibly good. They were just as determined to win as we were. We’d set up for a play, and the Panthers’ defensive line would set up in just the perfect formation to ruin our play, so I’d have to signal everyone to cancel out the play and run a backup plan. Adrenaline was running all over the field, and with the score tied and not much time remaining in the last quarter, I took a major chance by substituting an old play for the fancy new play we were supposed to run. The old play—something you hardly ever see anymore—was the ol’ Statue of Liberty play. We set up in a single wing formation, and once the ball was snapped, we had the defensive line faked into thinking we were going to move down one side of the field, but as I lifted my arm as if to throw the ball, one of the flanker guys on my right who was out by himself made a huge sweep, running behind me just as I had my arm up in perfect position to throw, looking a little like the Statue of Liberty. The Panthers were hounding Alex, who looked like he was in the perfect position to catch my pass—and then my flanker snuck up behind me and grabbed the football out of my hand. Before the Panthers realized what had happened, he’d already made his way through a lot of their defensive line, and seconds later, we made a touchdown! So without having to go into overtime, we won the game! Good thing, too, because Coach didn’t want me to use an old play like that, but at the time, it felt right. Coach usually trusts my instincts, but he hates resorting to old stunts like that play. But it worked, so now we’re big heroes! And having you there was incredible. My inspiration at all times! I’m so glad Mom and Dad brought you. I guess the reason I’m boring you with all of this football talk now is partly because I’m just way too excited to have won state, and partly so that you can experience a little of that day yourself now and know that you were there, and a part of it all. And that you played a major role in getting me here. Thank you for that, Kitty . . .
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
I couldn’t stop staring at the back of Jason’s head during Honors English the next day. Angela’s obnoxious remarks the day before still rankled. A lot. Jason must’ve felt my stare, because he turned around to look my way quite a few times during class. The first time he smiled, but after seeing my scowl, his smile faded, and each time he looked at me after that, he frowned questioningly instead.
After class, I dodged fast around Jason and his crutches with the rest of the herd of students as I hurried out the door. Final costume fittings for our Shakespeare festival were taking place after lunch, so after inhaling a sandwich, I hustled out of the cafeteria for the drama room. I’d made it to the end of the hall when Jason’s voice stopped me.
“Kathy—hold up a second, will you?”
I waited until he’d limped over to me before speaking. “What do you want?”
“Nothing. Are you okay?” Jason’s eyes were probing me—a habit of his I really hated.
“Me? I’m fine. Why?”
Jason shook his head, his eyes glued to my face. “You don’t seem fine to me.”
“Well, I am. Don’t worry about me, okay?”
“Okay, fine.” Jason gave me a baffled look before he turned to limp back down the hall. I pivoted to continue towards the drama room, but again, his voice had us both turning back around. “Hey, well—in case I don’t see you again today, good luck on Monday.”
Monday? I stared stupidly at Jason before saying the word myself.
“The Shakespeare festival. Remember? I can’t believe you could’ve forgotten!”
His chuckling was irritating. My heart beating erratically as it always did around him was irritating. “I didn’t forget. In fact, I’m heading for my last costume fitting right now.”
Jason raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Well—good luck. I know you’ll do great.”
“Thanks,” I said grudgingly back.
“So, I guess I’ll see you Monday?” He was still probing me with his eyes, so I took a deep breath and faced him squarely with my arms folded.
“Sure. During Honors English, of course. As far as after school goes, though, if you want to hang out with Angela at your house, fine, but don’t expect me to come by for tutoring if she’s going to be there.” I turned sharp on my heel and walked fast and purposefully down the hall, a satisfied smirk on my face at the sight of Jason’s mouth hanging open behind me.
~
December 10
Dear Kitty,
This morning I found some
bruises on my legs. I tried to tell Mom they were just from playing state and all the games leading up to it, because I had been bashed around on the field pretty good. Besides, I feel fine, and I am in remission, so why is everyone starting to tiptoe around me again? Worst of all, Mom is making me go see Dr. Grenville this week . . .
December 13
Dear Kitty,
It’s the thirteenth. It figures. I went to Dr. Grenville’s for more tests, thanks to these stupid bruises not going away and the fact that my elbows and knees won’t stop aching.
I’m out of remission.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
I couldn’t sleep all Sunday night, just knowing Monday was the Big Day—the day I’d either make a fool of myself before the whole school and go from being invisible to being the school geek, famous for all the wrong reasons—or, possibly, maybe I wouldn’t.
Honors English was among the first group of classes to see our Shakespeare festival. I’d hoped we’d have a chance to go over the whole show at least once before performing it in front of my class—and Jason—but that wasn’t going to happen. At least both of my costumes were amazing, which helped. My Cordelia costume for the King Lear scene was a flowing, light, glowy white gown that whispered along the floor as I moved. Miss Goforth had put me in white with a gold circlet on my unbound and loosely-curled hair, while Goneril and Regan were dressed in heavy dark purple and blue gowns with their hair swept up in fancy do’s topped by gold circlets, to visually illustrate I was the youngest of the three princess sisters, and the good, pure, truthful daughter with nothing to hide.
I wasn’t one to wear very much makeup, but the girl posing as a makeup artist for the drama class insisted on putting some on my face. “So the lights on the stage don’t wash you out completely,” was her excuse. Once she’d finished painting and drawing all over my face, she stepped back with a grin. “Take a look, Kathy. Or should I say, ‘Cordelia’?”
I turned in the dressing room to look at the whole effect in my portion of the wall-length mirror, and while Goneril, Regan, and the rest of the girls gasped, even I had to take a step back. Was that really me? It definitely didn’t look like me. I looked too—pretty. And too royal. King Lear did a double take when he saw me and pursed his lips for a low wolf whistle. I arched an eyebrow back at him in my most ice princess way. “Now, is that appropriate for a royal father? We are doing King Lear, you know, not Oedipus Rex!”
Lear continued to, well, leer at me. “Yeah, well. You look amazing.”
The Earl of Kent looked me up and down before folding his arms to rub his chin slowly with one hand and said, “Hey, aren’t Kent and Cordelia supposed to kiss during this scene?”
I laughed. “I didn’t see anything in the script about kissing.”
Kent shrugged and grinned. “Well, it’s all about interpretation. I’m sure during this scene while Kent stands up for Cordelia, Shakespeare meant to have Cordelia thank him—really thank him. I think it would add to the scene. In fact, I think we ought to practice right now—”
Kent grabbed me around the waist, but before he could completely swoop down on me, Miss Goforth opened the door to the backstage area and clapped her hands. “Enough—everyone quiet down! Students are already seating themselves, so we’ll be starting in a few minutes. Those in the King Lear opening scene, come inside and take your places behind the curtain.”
I hurried inside with the others in my scene to stand behind the curtain and wait for my moment to walk onto our little drama room stage while Miss Goforth gave a speech about our drama class’s effort to introduce everyone to the Shakespeare plays that would be studied in English after Christmas.
The Earl of Gloucester’s Bastard Son Edmund bumped me in the shoulder and winked at me. “You look awesome, Kathy. Really incredible. Good luck out there!”
“Yeah, you, too.” I smiled shakily back and took a few deep breaths. I caught a final look at myself in the mirror backstage before I made my big entrance. One last glance at my transformation, and I knew I wasn’t me anymore. I was Cordelia. When I heard Gloucester say, “The king is coming!” Cordelia, holding her head high as a princess should, walked slowly and calmly on stage with King Lear, Regan and Cornwall, and Goneril and Albany.
I listened intently to the others until I spoke my first line: “What shall Cordelia speak? Love, and be silent.” I said the words as an aside to the audience, amazed that everyone was so quiet and actually paying attention, and in doing so, I caught a pair of wide, dark blue eyes fixing me with an intense, captivated look. It was Jason, who had seated himself firmly in the middle of the front row, looking at me—Cordelia—in a way I’d never imagined possible for him to ever look at me—Kathy. Ever.
But then it was my turn to respond. Again, as an aside to the audience: “Then poor Cordelia! And yet, not so, since I am sure my love’s / More ponderous than my tongue.” This time, I didn’t let myself look at Jason, and as my next lines consisted of speaking back and forth with King Lear, I let Cordelia take over and allowed myself to believe we were all in Britain, that this long ago moment was reality and nothing else mattered.
The loud, sincere clapping when we finished made me jump. Jason pounded his hands together the loudest, grinning up at me with a look on his face that made me feel pretty, and self-conscious, and just a jumble of a lot of things at once. And then I was backstage changing into my second costume. I took my time, since my nearly-solo scene was to be the last one performed. I’d been shocked when Miss Goforth told me on Friday while I twirled in front of her in my costume.
“Perfect. Just perfect. Especially since you’re going to be the big finale.”
My mouth had dropped open. “I’m going to be what?”
Miss Goforth had answered me calmly. “Your scene will be the last one performed at our Shakespeare festival.”
“Me? I can’t—why—?”
Miss Goforth had waved her hand to shush me. “Yes, you. And yes, you can. And, quite honestly, because your scene is the best. I’d be foolish not to finish with the best scene.”
“But—”
I knew when Miss Goforth made up her mind about something, there was no changing it. “Don’t argue with me. You’re doing your scene last, and that’s final.”
I smiled into the mirror in the dressing room. For this character, I’d plaited my hair into a loose braid with a dark red skull cap on the back of my head. The dress was dark red as well with tight sleeves that fanned out slightly at my wrists, and puffed a bit at my shoulders. The bodice was high and tight fitting with criss-crossing ribbons tying up the front. Tiny stripes of gold thread ran down the dress, sparkling in the light when I moved. It was a gorgeous gown, and again, I felt like I’d been transformed.
Although I was excited, congratulating everyone who entered and exited the stage, I couldn’t stop my heart from hammering. But I knew my lines, and more important than that, I knew this character. I knew I could be her.
And then, the curtain opened on my scene, and I was Juliet. Romeo’s Juliet.
“My dismal scene I must act alone. Come, vial. What if this mixture do not work at all? Shall I be married then tomorrow morning? No, no! This shall forbid it.” As I spoke, I fell under the spell I was weaving and agonized aloud over what could happen. “What if it be poison which the friar subtly hath minist’red to have me dead?” Or worse, “How if, when I am laid into the tomb, I wake before the time that Romeo come to redeem me?” What if I were to “die strangled ere my Romeo comes? Or, if I live, is it not very like,” considering the horrible place I was in—a vault where the dead lie moldering and decaying, “is it not like that I, So early waking—what with loathsome smells,” yes, shouldn’t I be upset—go crazy, even, and “madly play with my forefathers’ joints,” and likely in a rage, “with some great kinsman’s bone as with a club dash out my despr’rate brains?” Oh, the horror of it all! And look—“methinks I see cousin’s ghost seeking out Romeo, that did spit his body upon a rapier’s point. Stay,
Tybalt, stay! Romeo, I come! This do I drink to thee.” And as the potion slid down my throat, I sank upon my bed, my eyes closing to everything around me.
There was dead silence for a few seconds. I could almost believe I truly was drunk with the potion I’d ingested, fading slowly into unconsciousness. But then loud, fast clapping—even some whistling—erupted, and I slowly sat up to look out at the audience. Jason was staring at me as if he’d never seen me before, but he recovered fast and clapped and smiled broadly. A second later he’d grabbed his crutches and was on his feet.
I shakily jumped off the table draped with a large fancy blanket and pillows as my bed and curtsied to the incredibly kind audience of my peers before the curtains drew together. The loud clapping and cheering rang in my ears, and while the rest of the drama class who’d been watching backstage cheered and clapped me on the back and went nuts over how “incredible” I was, I was grinning like mad inside. You’re right, Brett—being on stage is an amazing rush!
We did it all again before lunch—this time with fewer jitters and fewer mistakes—and had a blast. Word spread that our scenes were pretty spectacular, so each time we performed we did better and better, and the drama room became more and more crowded with spectators.
At lunch, we were allowed to go to the cafeteria and grab a quick bite before we had to hustle back into our costumes. I had my Cordelia hair and makeup on when I spotted Mistie and Crystal excitedly waving to me from a table near the back of the lunchroom. I smiled and moved forward with my lunch tray—but was brought up short. By some guy I didn’t even know.
The Secret Journal of Brett Colton Page 18