Phantom

by Laura DeLuca

  “What are you moping about now?” Carmen asked.

  Rebecca stirred around her chocolate pudding with her plastic spoon and sighed again, a little louder this time. “I’m moping because I’ve single handedly managed to alienate the only two guys who have ever given a crap about me in one fell swoop.”

  Debbie put a consoling hand on her shoulder. “You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. None of this is your fault.”

  Carmen snorted.

  “I really can’t stand it.” Rebecca continued. “I just wish they would give me a chance to explain things. But neither one of them will even talk to me. I guess they must really hate me.”

  “What do you expect, Becca?” Carmen huffed. Rebecca was taken aback by the harshness in her tone. She had expected some sympathy from her friends. “You dangled yourself in front of them like a glorified fishing hook, and once you had them caught in your snare, you left them flopping around on the shore until they withered. Then you tossed them back in the water like so much garbage. Of course they hate you! To be honest, I’m a little disgusted myself.”

  Rebecca and Debbie were both equally amazed by Carmen’s outburst, though it was a lot harder for Rebecca to hear. She felt her lower lip start to tremble, and had to fight back the childish urge to burst into tears like a little girl.

  She didn’t like it, but she had to admit that Carmen’s metaphor was surprisingly accurate. Rebecca had dangled herself in front of both Tom and Justyn, using her voice as bait. She had enjoyed having the attentions of not just one, but two handsome guys. Before she had become an overnight diva, she had never had the attention of anyone. Once she had a small taste of what popularity had to offer, she couldn’t get enough. She had secretly enjoyed watching the boys compete for her attention. And who didn’t like the thought of two guys fighting over them? Feelings had been trampled because of her vanity. It was no wonder they couldn’t stand the sight of her. She couldn’t stand the sight of herself.

  “That was a little harsh, Carmen,” Debbie chastised. “Don’t you think Becca’s been through enough without you coming down on her, too?”

  “Oh, sorry,” Carmen said sarcastically. Her voice went up almost a whole octave. “I keep forgetting this is all about poor Becca. Who cares that Jay is dead. Who cares that Tom is devastated about losing his best friend and his girlfriend. Who cares that Justyn is most likely guilty of murder in the first degree. Let’s forget about all that. Let’s all just sit around and feel sorry for poor Becca because she’s been through so much.”

  Carmen’s face was beat red with fury, her dark brown eyes flashing dangerously. Rebecca flinched with every word that she spat in her direction. Each one was like a physical blow. It wasn’t the first time Rebecca had seen her friend that furious. Carmen had a bad temper. It often got the better of her, and had ended in more than one suspension over the years. It was the first time that Rebecca had seen that temper turned on her.

  “Carmen.” Rebecca pleaded. “What did I do to make you so angry?”

  “Nothing, Becca. Nothing—except you took away the only guy I ever really wanted.”

  Rebecca blanched. She had never expected to hear that. She had never thought that Carmen really liked Tom. Sure, they had both spent many a slumber party imagining him escorting them to the prom. Rebecca hadn’t realized Carmen cared about him more deeply than the typical popular guy infatuation. As usual, she was too wrapped up in herself to see what was going on around her.

  “If you were interested in Tom, you should have told me!” Rebecca exclaimed. “I would never have stood in your way!”

  “It’s not even like that,” Carmen shouted. The cafeteria was pretty noisy, but a few people still turned around to stare at them. “I was happy for you at first. I wasn’t jealous because I really believed a sweet girl like you would make Tom happier than a pushy big mouth like me. I thought you’d make a great couple. And what more could I want for my best friend than for her to have the perfect guy? But then that vampire freak comes along . . . .”

  “He’s not a freak.” Rebecca interrupted. “You don’t know anything about Justyn.”

  Who was Carmen to judge her? She flitted from one guy to another every week, and never worried about their feelings. And why did she constantly have to put Justyn down? Even if it was too late for it to make a difference, Rebecca thought she needed to make things up to him by defending him as much as possible, the way she should have all along.

  “That’s good, Becca.” Carmen was about ready to explode. Maybe Rebecca should have just kept her mouth shut and let her vent. She could see the veins throbbing in her forehead. It wasn’t a good sign. “Keep defending the serial killer. At this rate, you’ll probably be the only two left to walk down the aisle at graduation.”

  “Don’t you think you’re being a little melodramatic?” Debbie asked her. “Come on, guys. We’re friends. Sure, the past few weeks have been rough, but we can get through this if we stick together.”

  Poor Debbie. Always trying to keep the peace in a war zone. Always getting caught in the crossfire.

  “You know what, Deb, if you want to stick with this two-faced backstabber, then that’s fine,” Carmen declared with a flip of her black hair. “But as for me, I’ve had it with her. This friendship is over.”

  With that, Carmen picked up her tray and tossed her uneaten lunch into the nearest trashcan. Rebecca watched her storm through the cafeteria doors with a heavy heart. Her senior year wasn’t going at all the way she had planned. First, she lost her would-be boyfriend. Now her best friend was walking out on her, too. Had she really turned into a miserable, prissy diva, just like Carlotta? Had her stardom, however trivial, gone to her head? She must be doing something horribly wrong when everyone she cared about was turning their backs on her. Well, almost everyone.

  “Don’t worry about, Carmen.” Debbie consoled. “You know what a hot head she can be. She’ll calm down. She didn’t really mean the things she said.”

  Rebecca gave her a half-hearted smile for the effort. “We both know Carmen doesn’t say things she doesn’t mean.”

  “You haven’t done anything wrong, Becca.”

  “That’s not true, Deb. I’ve done everything wrong.” She sighed. “But I’m going to find some way to make it all right again.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  It was opening night.

  The six weeks of rehearsals had seemed to go on forever while she waited for this night to arrive. Now that it was here, Rebecca wished that practices could have gone on indefinitely. She had gotten used to the auditorium being scattered with thirty or forty people at a time. She had thought a few more—a few hundred more—wouldn’t really make that much difference.

  She had been wrong.

  Rebecca had made the mistake of peeking out from behind the curtain just as the orchestra was warming up. She had hoped to spot her parents in the crowd. She thought seeing their proud faces would calm her frazzled nerves. Instead of seeing her mother’s round, smiling face or her father’s enthusiastic thumbs up, she saw throngs of strangers filling row after row of seats. It suddenly seemed like the auditorium stretched out into infinity. The frowning faces that stared up at the stage seemed harsh and judgmental. How was she supposed to face that crowd? How was she going to make it through the night without having a heart attack?

  Back in the girl’s dressing room, Rebecca stared at her reflection in the mirror as she willed her pounding heart to slow to a regular pattern. She hardly recognized the face that stared back at her. Maybe it was because it wasn’t really her face she was seeing at all. It was Christine’s.

  Her long, billowy gown was as beautiful as it was elegant. She was hardly worthy of something so spectacular. The iridescent skirt was sky blue with an over-skirt in a deeper shade of azure and a drawstring waist. It flailed out dramatically around her ankles. The matching bodice was complete with bell sleeves, a plunging neckline and a lace trim. It fit her curves snugly and was very flattering to her s
kin tone. The over-sized bustle under the skirt made it a little difficult to maneuver in tight corners but she was getting used to turning sideways when she had to walk through doors. A lace choker and a faux amethyst brooch completed the Victorian attire. Rebecca had never felt quite so feminine.

  The costume was only the beginning of the trials of getting ready. She had sat through more than an hour of primping at her dressing table while three other girls worked on perfecting her hair and face. They yanked and poked, painted and brushed until they felt they had completed their masterpiece. They curled her long brown hair into perfect ringlets, and pulled it back on the sides with old-fashioned pearl combs. Her make-up was layered on so thickly, she was sure she would have to chisel it off when the show was over. Even with the excess of powder and blush, Rebecca still looked a little peaked. When she thought again about the crowd that was waiting for her on the other side of the curtain, she swore she saw herself begin to turn a little green.

  “You look so beautiful, Becca!”

  Rebecca did her best to force a grateful smile. “Thanks, Deb. So do you.”

  The simple black gown of Madame Giry was the dress of a Victorian widow. Even though it was much more matronly than Rebecca’s dress, with a higher collar and a lot less puffiness, Debbie still looked exceptionally pretty. The straight skirt and button down blouse had a way of complementing Debbie’s tall, stocky frame, especially with the long blonde wig that was pulled back into a braid.

  “You should grow your hair long,” Rebecca told her. “It suits you.”

  Debbie blushed a little. “Really?”

  “Yeah definitely . . . it . . . .” She paused in mid-sentence. Rebecca moaned as her stomach did an acrobatic somersault worthy of the Olympics. She closed her eyes, and tried to will the waves of nausea away. The last thing she needed was to ruin her costume. “Ohhh, God . . . .”

  “Becca, are you okay?” Debbie exclaimed. “You look like you’re going to pass out.”

  “Just . . . just a little performance anxiety,” Rebecca managed to stutter through a shaky breath. “Really, Deb, I have no idea how I’m going to make it through the show tonight. I seriously think I’m going to throw up the second I step out onto the stage.”

  “Come on, Becca, it’s not as bad as all that.”

  Rebecca and Debbie both looked up in surprise at the new voice. It was a voice dripping with obvious sarcasm. Wendy had joined them, looking as perfect as any Barbie doll, even in the exaggeratedly elaborate pink gown of Carlotta. The cynical smile she wore could have been part of the costume, it fit so thoroughly with the nasty character she portrayed.

  “Leave her alone, Wendy,” Debbie barked.

  She might as well have been a ghost. Wendy completely ignored her. “Just think of it, Becca. The curtain rises. The lights flicker on.” She gestured with her arms for emphasis. “You’re the star, Becca. A million faces will be looking up at the stage. A million eyes, and they will all be watching you.”

  “Knock it off, Wendy,” Debbie said through clenched teeth. “Why do you always have to be such a bitch?”

  Rebecca didn’t say anything at all, but she felt her stomach lurch. Her face drained of what little color it had left and she had to hold onto the dressing table to keep her unsteady legs from going out from under her. Wendy knew exactly what she was doing, and she gleefully continued on with her torture tactics.

  “Everyone one of those people will be waiting, Becca. Waiting for your voice to crack. Waiting for you to forget a line. Waiting for you to fail . . . .”

  She could see it all playing out in her head, exactly the way Wendy described it. Everything would go fine until she made that one terrible mistake. Until she tripped over her long skirt or forgot what she had do to in a scene. At best, the audience would laugh—at her. Or worse, they would boo her off the stage and she would never be able to show her face in school, or anywhere else, ever again.

  Rebecca couldn’t take it anymore. Her stomach did one last painful flip, and she pressed her hand over her mouth and ran from the dressing room. She heard Wendy laughing heartily in the background at her abrupt departure, but it didn’t matter anymore what Wendy was saying or doing. Rebecca’s immediate concern was finding a bathroom. She realized almost instantly that she wasn’t going to have enough time to make it all the way to the end of the hallway to the nearest ladies room. When she saw the trashcan in the corner, she made a mad dash for it, and quickly deposited the contents of her stomach.

  She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, pale and trembling, using the edges of the trashcan to try to keep herself from sliding to the ground. She wished that she could just die and be put out of her misery once and for all. Her stomach continued to heave long after it was completely emptied. She was feeling dizzy and was a little worried that she might pass out right there in the hallway, when suddenly she felt strong arms support her around her waist.

  “It’s all right, Becca.” A gentle voice soothed her. A cool hand brushed across her forehead. “You’re going to be fine.”

  She didn’t need to open her eyes. She would have known that voice anywhere. She recognized the familiar touch of his fingers as they caressed her back. Just having him nearby was enough to make her feel better. Rebecca tried to hold back the sobs of gratitude that would have ruined whatever was left of her makeup as she threw herself in his arms.

  “Oh, Justyn!”

  He didn’t push her away, but she could tell by his stiff posture that he wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic about their reunion as she was. He gave her a quick hug before releasing her. She felt more than a little disappointed when he let her go.

  “Are you sick?” It was a silly question considering he had just caught with her with her head hanging over a trashcan. But at least he cared enough to ask. That had to be a good sign.

  “Just nerves,” she admitted, and blushed when she realized the full extent of her humiliation. He had just watched her puke her guts up. How much worse could things get? “Boy, do I feel like an idiot.”

  He smiled just a little. “Don’t be embarrassed. When I did my first play, I threw up every night for a week.”

  “Really?” Rebecca was surprised by the confession. “You always seem so cool and collected. I can’t imagine you ever being nervous about anything.”

  “Looks can be deceiving.”

  That was true enough. No one knew it better than Justyn. At the moment, he looked no less than irresistible. The black cape, the ruffled blouse, the long formal tailcoat—they all made him look as though he might have stepped through a time warp. Without his normal facial piercings to give him away, there was no way to tell that he belonged to the twenty- first century.

  The white mask that covered the left half of his face only added to his mysterious appeal. Rebecca wondered what he looked like underneath the mask. Only Miss King had seen a dress rehearsal of the make-up job Justyn insisted on doing himself. After he won her approval, he convinced her that it would have more shock value opening night if everyone, including the rest of the cast, were seeing his version of the phantom for the first time.

  Justyn cleared his throat awkwardly. Rebecca hadn’t realized she was gawking at him until that moment. She felt her cheeks start to burn. But still she couldn’t tear her eyes away. He just looked too good. There was no way she couldn’t stare at him.

  “Well, if you’re feeling better, I really should get going. I need to get ready for curtain call.”

  “Justyn, please, wait . . . .” Rebecca took hold of his arm and pulled him back before he could leave. “Can we talk?”

  He wouldn’t look her in the eye. “I don’t think there’s anything left to say.”

  “If you’d let me, I’d like to say I’m sorry,” Rebecca said softly. “I’d like to ask for your forgiveness.”

  He nodded. “Apology accepted. But it doesn’t change anything between us, Becca. You can’t have a relationship without trust.”

  “But I do trust you, Justyn.”
Rebecca swore. “I think I always did. I just didn’t know it.”

  He finally looked up at her, but it wasn’t the look she expected. His eyes were glassy, glazed with terrible sadness. “But I don’t trust you anymore, Becca,” he whispered. “So, like I told you, there’s nothing left to say. Except maybe goodbye.”

  Justyn disappeared behind the boy’s dressing room with a whirl of his cape before she could even process what had happened. It was all over between them. She realized that she had ruined everything, and it was hard to care anymore about how her make-up looked as one tear snuck free and trickled down her cheek. It was hard to care about anything, including the play, when she felt like her heart was breaking into pieces.