Saving Me

by Sadie Allen

  “I got it covered, princess. Can you walk without the crutches? I doubt it would look good to Mrs. Cook—me carrying you back to class with your face flushed and your lips swollen.”

  My hand flew up to my lips, and my eyes widened in panic. “My lips are swollen?”

  “Not bad.”

  He took my arm on my hurt side as we slowly walked back to the stage area, him taking a majority of the weight off my bum leg. Mrs. Cook watched us from the corner of her eyes while instructing Elodie, who stood in the middle of the stage, “Elodie, you’re really going to have to project. No room to be shy now. I want Raven, Lana, and Janet on stage doing the accompaniment.” She then turned her body our way and snapped, “You’re late.”

  “We were checking what props we had in the closet,” Sterling stated coolly. Meanwhile, I had mentally crossed my fingers and hoped she didn’t figure out he was lying. I really didn’t need the school calling my parents. They were of the mind: if you got in trouble at school, you got in trouble worse at home.

  “How did you get in there?”

  “It was open,” he lied again, evidently not wanting her to know he had a key.

  “Did you find anything?”

  “No, looks like Mrs. Cullen cleared it before she left.”

  Mrs. Cook’s face darkened, and her mouth was slashed.

  The news on the street was that Mrs. Cullen had been suspended last year after having the theater kids perform a play that wasn’t the one she had registered at the district competition, or an actual published play. It was one she had written, which disqualified them. She had somehow been able to keep her job this year, but before the school year had even started, she ran off to New York to be a playwright, leaving Mrs. Cook, the speech teacher, to pick up all the pieces. Therefore, Mrs. Cook had missed all the deadlines for competitions, claiming she didn’t know about them. Honestly, everyone thought she had done it on purpose, not wanting to do One Act Play. But she had to do something since they hadn’t done a performance this year. And since Mrs. Cook was obsessed with the movie Grease, it wasn’t a surprise when she picked the musical. Her classroom was literally decorated with Grease memorabilia … everywhere.

  While Mrs. Cook stewed, I scanned the room for my crutches and saw them propped up next to where Blake was sitting, along with my backpack. I tried to move away from Sterling to go get them, but he held my arm firmly. I tilted my head back to look up at him, but he was still speaking to Mrs. Cook.

  “We’re going to have to get donations and make the rest of the sets ourselves.”

  Her hands went to her hips while she stared at something on the floor. She was furious, I could tell. Her bun was even quivering on top of her head.

  “Well, that just means we’re in for some long days and probably some weekend practices,” she stated to the floor.

  No one said anything. The room had gone ominously quiet with the prospect of the work that lay ahead of us. In addition to learning lines, music, and choreography, we were going to have to make props and sets in our free time. Everyone else might be dreading this, but I was anticipating it. I had found a new purpose. A purpose that would require me to spend a lot more time with Sterling.

  “Okay,” she barked with a clap of her hands that cracked throughout the room. “Let’s get back to this last song. Then we’ll try to block out the first scene. If you aren’t singing, you need to be reading your script in the audience.”

  Finally, Sterling led me to where Blake was with my things and pulled out a chair for me that was across the table from them.

  “I need my backpack.”

  He nodded, but before he could move to get it, it was sliding across the table.

  “What do you have in there, sister? Rocks?” Blake asked incredulously.

  “My life.”

  He mouthed the word “okay” then bent his head back down to his script.

  I heard the chair next to me scrape against the floor and peeked out of the corner of my eye at Sterling as he sat next to mine.

  “Where’s your script?” I whispered.

  When he tapped the side of his head, I furrowed my brows. What did that mean?

  Blake snorted and muttered, “Lucky bastard.”

  I looked between the two, not understanding what I was missing. Before I could ask, though, the music started and Elodie’s voice cut through the air soulfully but hesitantly as she began “Freddy My Love.” She swayed her body side to side, but other than that, she was … awkward.

  Raven, Lana, and Janet didn’t help. They sang the “ah, ah, ahs,” but did so in a way that was more mocking than complementary. Elodie knew it and got progressively worse. She fumbled some of the lines, even though the lyrics were in her hand, and looked more like a pendulum on a clock swinging back and forth than someone singing about a boy they loved.

  When the song ended, she put a hand over her face, and my heart constricted. I was supposed to be going over my own lines, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the uncomfortable show that had played out in front of me.

  “Elodie, did you forget everything I told you to do five minutes ago?”

  “N-no, ma’am.”

  “If you can’t get over this shyness, I’m going to have to recast the role,” Mrs. Cook stated in resignation.

  Raven’s hand shot up, and Mrs. Cook called on her.

  “If Elodie doesn’t feel up to being Marty, I’m sure Lana could switch with her,” she said in a saccharine tone that made me want to gag.

  I heard a noise come from behind me, and then Blake whispered in a horrified voice, “Dude, she can’t sing,” to which Sterling just grunted.

  I had to do something because Elodie couldn’t, wouldn’t lose her part.

  “Mrs. Cook!” I called out, thinking of something on the fly. When she twisted her torso to look at me, I went on, “I can help her. Give us the weekend, and we’ll have it all worked out.”

  She studied me a moment, her gaze shrewd, and then she seemed to come to a decision. “Okay, I’ll give you the weekend. But if she can’t perform this song by Monday, I’m giving it to someone else.” She turned back to the stage and added, “But not Lana.”

  Blake’s muffled laughter drew my eyes to him.

  He bent over, his face in his script book, and his shoulders shaking.

  “You’re helping me this weekend,” I hissed at him.

  His head shot up, and he looked at me like I was crazy. “Of course I am. You may be the girl with a plan, but you have no clue what you’re doing.”

  I couldn’t argue that. I didn’t know how I was going to help Elodie. I just knew I couldn’t let her part get taken by one of Raven’s friends. They reminded me too much of Laura and her squad, who pounced when they saw someone with a weakness and tore them to shreds. In high school, weaknesses were blinking neon signs, and if you didn’t hide them, it would be social damnation.

  Maybe between Blake and I, we could figure something out to help Elodie gain some confidence.

  “All right, thespians! Let’s block out the opening scene.”

  I heard someone whisper, “What did she calls us?” but I drowned out the rest of the room.

  Since I wasn’t in the opening scene, I kept to my seat and stared down at my script book. My mind wasn’t on the words, though. I was thinking of ways for Elodie to get her groove back.

  When theater was over, Sterling walked me to my car. We had managed to block out one scene and had begun another before the bell had rung, signaling the end of the day.

  I wasn’t any closer to figuring out a way to help Elodie. It was something I was going to have to think on tonight, or maybe I should google it. Hopefully, Blake would have some idea of what we should do.

  When we stopped by the driver’s door, bodies close, Sterling reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

  “So, you still coming over tonight?”

  I suddenly felt shy. I didn’t know why. I’d had a boyfriend all my teenage life, but this w
as different.

  “Tonight? I thought I’d follow you …”

  “Can’t have girls over without my pops being home. He gets off work at six, so how bout six fifteen?”

  “Oh, okay.”

  He smiled, and instead of the usual butterflies, it felt like a flock of pigeons were flapping in my tummy. That was the effect his smile had on me.

  “I’ll text you the address. Gotta pick up Jack.”

  Before I could ask who Jack was, he bent and kissed my cheek. My breath caught at the feel of his lips on me again, and my heart might have skipped several beats. By the time I had come back to myself, I was watching his back as he jogged over to his car.

  I brought my hand to my cheek to hold the feeling of his kiss to my skin. I always thought it was stupid when girls said they wouldn’t wash their skin after a celebrity or their crush touched them, but now I saw the logic of it. I never wanted to lose the feeling of his lips touching me.

  “It won’t last.” A snide voice interrupted my thoughts.

  I looked toward the voice and saw Raven at the other side of my car, glaring at me with so much bitterness that all the fluttery feelings in my stomach soured.

  “He’s mine. Always has been, always will be. You’ll see. He’s just—”

  “Look, Sarah! Raven can do something with her mouth besides going down on a guy. You know, I heard she uses her teeth. I can see why … She has fangs.” Laura had leaned close to Sarah and whispered the last part loud enough for us all to hear. They were standing at the hood of my car in their identical throw-down poses of arms crossed, hips cocked, wearing lethal smirks.

  “Yeah, I doubt they’re retractable. I also heard she gave Jimmy Brown herpes last year. I think it’s true since it looks like she’s getting one of those things on her lip.” Sarah didn’t whisper; she said it loud enough for people in the row over to hear.

  Raven’s hand flew to her lip, her eyes wide with horror, probably since the parking lot was still pretty full and we were drawing quite a bit of attention.

  “Nasty,” Laura said with a shudder.

  I felt like I was having a flashback. Laura was sinking her own fangs into someone while I stood there and watched. The right thing to do would be to stop them. The kind of person I wanted to be would do that, but with the way Raven and her friends had treated Elodie earlier, she needed a dose of her own medicine.

  Raven’s claws were a kitten’s compared to the ones Laura and Sarah owned. Theirs were the size of a tiger’s, and just as lethal.

  Raven looked around at the audience we had amassed, shot me a hate-filled look, and then scuttled off without a look in Laura and Sarah’s direction.

  I looked to where my former friends stood, but they were gone, as well, strolling off toward Laura’s red Mercedes. I didn’t know what that was, but I guessed it was an olive branch of sorts, or maybe a detente of hostilities. I didn’t know why else they would intervene. Maybe for old time’s sake? Or maybe Raven had crossed them in some way? The only feeling I could summon was a twinge of gratitude. Overall, it reminded me too much of the person I had been around them, and I didn’t like it. Not at all.

  I blew out a breath. There was nothing else to do but get in my car and go home. I had things to do and a boy to see.

  Sterling said to come over at six fifteen, so there was time to kill. I clip-clopped my way into the living room to see Mom at the dining room table on her laptop. The floorplan was an open concept, which left the kitchen, living room, and dining room one big open space with lots of windows. It was decorated in white and cream, making it look more sterile than homey, but the effect made the room seem gigantic rather than just large.

  Mom was dressed in a pink tracksuit. Her hair wasn’t curled like it normally was, but down and straight, hanging past her shoulders. It struck me that she looked more like Regina George’s mom from Mean Girls today than Marilyn Monroe. I giggled as I pictured my mom saying she’s a cool mom and bringing me a drink that looked like a cocktail.

  She looked up from her laptop and asked, “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing,” I replied as I shook my head. I didn’t think she would find it funny.

  “How was school?”

  I had my head in the fridge, getting a water, but pulled back and peeked at her from behind the door. “Fine,” I said cautiously. I wasn’t used to her taking an interest in anything other than what my dad told her to take an interest in.

  “Theater go okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  I closed the fridge door and was heading toward the hall when she asked, “Just yeah?”

  I semi-turned back to her to see her eyes focused on me. “It was good, Mom.”

  “What did you do?”

  I shrugged. “We worked on some of the music and blocked out a scene.”

  “How is your leg? You need ice?” She carried genuine interest and concern in her tone.

  “Leg is good. It’s just sore, but the KT tape has helped, I think.”

  “Good.” She nodded.

  I pointed down the hall. “I’m just gonna go to my room now.”

  “Text me if you need me to bring you anything.”

  O … kay. I wasn’t sure we had ever done this routine before. Still, her interest made something inside me thaw a little. I was beginning to like this new mom.

  I knew I was supposed to be asking questions about where my dad was, but after my ire had burned out, and she was being this kind of mom, I was hesitant to even mention him. So, I didn’t. I wanted to preserve this a little longer.

  I closed the door to my room, suddenly consumed with nervous energy. I paced the room, which I probably shouldn’t do without my crutches, and tried to think of ways I could help Elodie so I wouldn’t obsess over going to Sterling’s house.

  When I walked past the full-sized mirror attached to the closet door, I froze. I had to change clothes and do something with myself!

  I tore my sweatshirt over my head, and when my arms were raised, I took a whiff of my pits. They didn’t smell, but I should probably shower just in case. Then I got the rest of my clothes off and hobbled into the bathroom. While in the shower, I scrubbed my armpits and other various parts, then shaved everything.

  I was in a towel in the closet, violently yanking hangers from side to side when I heard my phone buzz. I abandoned my search for the right outfit to see if the text alert was from Sterling.

  Unknown Number: 415 Smith St.

  Unknown Number: You’ll see my car in front.

  Unknown Number: Like pepperoni?

  The first thing I did was save Sterling’s number. Then I answered his last text.

  Ally: Like, on pizza?

  Sterling: Yeah.

  Ally: Then yes.

  Sterling: Cool.

  I guessed we were eating pizza.

  I let out a quiet squeal, threw my phone on the bed, and then limped back to my closet.

  I dressed in a pair of jeans that had faux rips and tears down the front, giving them a worn-in appearance, and a big, slouchy, baby pink sweater that wouldn’t sit on both shoulders at the same time. It constantly slipped, exposing a bra strap and the skin at my shoulder. I usually wore a tank underneath it, since undergarment exposure, even if it was a bra strap, was prohibited at school.

  I did the whole dry and curl thing with my hair, so it flowed in shiny waves over my back and shoulders. Then I applied the usual makeup, but added a light pink matte gloss that looked somewhat natural and smelled like strawberries. The color made my oversized lips look not so big.

  I gazed at my reflection, confirming that I looked like my dad made over—brown hair, brown eyes, light olive skin tone, and his athletic build. I both loved and hated it.

  My dad had good genes, but every time I saw my reflection, I was reminded of him. This was why I often wished I had my mother’s traditionally beautiful features, not to mention her curves. The only thing I had gotten from her were my lips, which seemed too large for my face. Maybe one d
ay I would grow into them. Mom always said I would, but I doubted it. I was seventeen, almost an adult, so if I was going to, I probably would have by now.

  Still, I felt pretty, which was unusual. I normally dressed and styled myself by rote, not caring or putting much thought into it. Clothes were clothes, and hair was hair. I knew I was expected to look my part, but it was nothing I felt particularly proud of when presented with the finished product. Now I felt a spark of interest.

  My clothes, while trendy, were things my mother or my friends had chosen. They weren’t mine. It was past time to change that. Hopefully, Elodie and Blake could help me with that tomorrow.

  I went to my desk and opened the middle drawer, pushing things around until I came across what I was looking for and pulled it out. This past summer, Laura, Sarah, Ariel, and I had gone to the mall a few towns over. While they were at Starbucks, I had decided to run into Claire’s to kill time. While there, a set of stretchy black chokers had caught my attention. I had picked them up, examined them, and then bought them on a whim. I had then come out of the store, bag in hand, and met up with the crew.

  When asked what I could have possibly bought in Claire’s because, evidently, it was a store that sold cheap junk for tweens—Laura’s words—I showed them what I thought was cute. I had been so wrong.

  Laura had thought I had bought them as a gag, and faced with her disapproval, I had played along. I toed the line again after that, letting everyone pick out everything for me, losing myself in the process.

  I opened the package, took out the black band, and undid the clasp. I pulled all my hair to one side and put it around my neck before I swung my hair back around, gave it a tousle, and arranged it back in place. Then, feeling brave, I picked up my phone and pulled up Snapchat. Two snaps in one day? He wouldn’t expect that.

  I smiled evilly at myself in the mirror then proceeded to send Sterling his second snap from me.

  “Where are you going?” my mom asked when I emerged from my room sans crutches. I thought I would test my leg out this evening. The therapist had said I would be able to ditch them after this week.