by Kieran Scott
She was still talking as we made our way down the aisle, but I didn’t hear a word. All I could think about was Cameron. Cameron had smiled at me. He’d spoken to me. He’d defended me. And biggest miracle of all? Not one geek had interrupted us the whole, entire time. And now, Tama Gold, a member of his blessed inner circle, was going to “talk me up.” In five minutes, my whole entire world had changed.
There was no denying it. The theater really was a magical place.
ACT ONE, SCENE THREE
In which:
WE MEET THE FAMILY, AND WAIT
“KATIE JEAN, WILL YOU PLEASE AT LEAST CHEW?” MY MOTHER snapped, exasperated. She dropped her fork with a clang and ran her hands over her short, dark hair.
I glanced at my little brother, Christopher. We were both thinking the same thing: Uh oh. Mom’s tense. Chris doesn’t talk much, but we can speak volumes with our eyes. I lowered my fork, chewed and swallowed. I took a gulp of my soda.
“Sorry. I just have a lot of homework to do,” I told her.
I was lying. She knew I was lying. Even Christopher knew I was lying, and he was eight. I mean, I did have a lot of homework, but that wasn’t the reason I wanted to finish fast. It was the empty chair across from my mom’s at the square kitchen table. The perfect place setting with its napkin still folded and tucked away, waiting for someone to put it to use. Someone who was not there. Someone I wanted to see less and less with each click of the wooden kitchen clock.
But it was Monday. Monday was usually a safe day. Where was he?
“Well, it’s still going to be there when you’re finished. How about you don’t choke yourself in the process?” my mother said, forcing a smile. She glanced at the clock and pressed her lips together before lifting her eyes. They were sad eyes. I felt angry just looking at them. “So how was your first day at the musical?”
I cleared my throat. “It was great. We did the table read. Robbie Delano was really funny as Danny, and Ashley was perfect, of course. Tama thinks, like, half her lines are too dorky, but it’s all good.”
“What about Freddy? He’s in it again this year, right?” my mom asked.
My mom had loved Fred Frontz ever since he showed up on our doorstep with a homemade valentine for me in the second grade—a ritual that had been repeated every year since. He always acted like they were just friendly cards, but I knew they weren’t, and every year when the doorbell rang on V-Day, I went to get it, terrified—petrified that this would be the year he finally got up the guts to ask me out. But my mom didn’t get that. She just thought that Fred was “the sweetest boy.”
“He was good,” I said. “He’s all tense about getting his lines right, of course.”
“That sounds like Freddy,” she said with a knowing chuckle.
We all heard a car turn onto our street and my mother’s eyes darted to the kitchen window. It took about two seconds for all of us to recognize that the car was not his. I could feel my mother and brother de-clench.
“That’s why I was late. He was all over me after rehearsal to run lines with him, so I went over there,” I told her. “Otherwise he never would have let it go.” My foot bounced up and down under the table. I should have put Fred off until after dinner. Then I’d be able to get out of here.
“That’s nice. You’re a good friend to him, KJ,” my mother told me.
“Yeah, well,” I said. Boy made it impossible not to be. He was like a big puppy dog, just begging for affection. I was incapable of saying no to him. Which was another reason to be terrified of the day he finally got up the guts to ask me out.
I took a bite of my chicken and tried to concentrate on chewing. Another car turned onto our block and sped by. The clock tick, tick, ticked. Christopher thudded his foot against one of the table legs, mimicking the beat. My mother picked up her napkin, crumpled it, and dropped it on top of her almost-full plate.
“Well, it looks like Dad’s going to be late again,” she said with a sigh.
Chris and I glanced at each other and jumped up from the table to clear it. My mother had just given us our get-out-of-jail-free card. If we could just get the table cleared (except for his plate) and get our butts up to our rooms before he came home, then we might not have to deal with him. It was already seven forty-five, and if my father walks through the door any time after seven thirty, there’s no telling what kind of shape he’s going to be in. It’s always better to be out of sight and armed with an excuse to avoid him.
I scraped my plate over the garbage can, then my brother’s, then my mom’s. Chris swiped the table for crumbs, then scurried up the stairs. I loaded up the dishwasher and closed it, then quickly followed. When I glanced over my shoulder, my mom was leaning against the kitchen counter, staring out the window at the pitch-black front yard in a pose of grim resignation.
Mom doesn’t have a second-floor room to go to. No matter what, she always has to deal with him. My heart went out to her, but that didn’t stop me from taking the stairs two at a time, and shutting my door behind me.
ACT ONE, SCENE FOUR
In which:
WE MEET MY DAD
“I CAN’T BELIEVE I MISSED IT. HE ACTUALLY LAUGHED AT something you said!” Stephanie gushed on the phone that night. “Cameron Richardson thinks you’re funny!”
I’d already told her the story ten times, but neither one of us had gotten bored of it yet. We’d spent the last five years of our lives talking about how this moment might happen when it finally happened, and now that it had happened, we were dissecting it hard core.
“He even said ‘good one!’ So he laughed and complimented me,” I told her, spinning around and around in my desk chair. “This was the best day ever.”
“Do you realize what this means?” Stephanie blurted.
That we’re going to fall in love and live happily ever after? “What?”
“It means he doesn’t actually have superpowers,” Stephanie joked. “I’m kind of disappointed, to be honest. It would have been cool to know someone who had actually evolved into a superbeing that could see through genetic matter. I so would have liked to study him.”
“You and the rest of the female population of Washington High,” I said with a laugh.
An IM popped up on my screen. The time stamp said nine fifty-five. I stopped spinning. Was it that late already? And still no sign of dear old Dad. I waited for the stomach knot of dread to pass, then read the message. It was from Andy.
Terrero365: do we need to do a props list or did you do it already? Because I can do it if you need me to or we could do it together. If you have time at lunch or before rehearsal or . . . what do you think?
I typed back.
KJrocks: lunch works 4 me.
Terrero365: kewl. I’ll bring the soy chips I was telling you about!!!
Oh. Yay.
G_Marlowe: the virtual me is holding the virtual you’s hand.
I cringed and closed the new IM window. The best way to deal with Glenn’s IMs was to ignore them.
Ready4Freddy: hey kj!!!!! wanna ride 2 school 2gether? have a q 4 u.
I rolled my eyes. As soon as my away message left, they were all over my IM. I couldn’t even get away from these guys when I was in the privacy of my own home. Now Fred wanted a ride in the morning. What if Cameron saw us get out of the car together and thought we were, like, dating? Still, what was I going to say to Fred? He knew I had a car. He knew I had to drive past his house to get to school. I was trapped.
With a sigh, I typed back.
KJrocks: sure. c u then.
G_Marlowe: r u holding my hand?
I groaned and closed the window again.
“Do you think he’ll talk to you again tomorrow?” Steph said in my ear.
“I don’t know. I hope so,” I said.
TamaRama: How over the top was Ashley today? You should get her to tone it down.
I blinked. Seriously? I had thought Ashley was just fine. Very tough-girl with a heart of gold.
KJrocks:
u think?
TamaRama: Totally! But of course, it’s your call. Don’t let me dictate.
“You should wear your hair up. You look much more sophisticated with your hair up. Cameron likes sophisticated girls,” Steph said.
“Totally.” He had, after all, dated a senior last year when we were only sophomores.
G_Marlowe: HELLO? I KNOW YOU’RE ONLINE!
KJrocks: screw you, glenn. i don’t have to answer you if i don’t want to!!!
Of course, I deleted that the second I was finished typing it.
“What are you going to wear?” Steph asked.
“Omigod. I have no idea.” I was about to log off and go through my wardrobe with her piece by piece when I heard the very specific roar of my dad’s car engine turning onto our street. A rock formed in the space between my heart and my stomach, pressing against both.
“Steph, I gotta go. My dad’s home,” I said.
“Oh. Okay. Is everything all right?” she asked.
Stephanie was the only person on the planet who knew the whole truth and nothing but the truth about my dad. The only person I had ever trusted enough to share all the gory details with. Of course, she was over here all the time, too, so she’d witnessed enough mortifying behavior to fill ten journals, but she’d never uttered a word about it to anyone. That was a real best friend.
“Who knows? I’ll see you tomorrow.”
We hung up. Hand quaking, I reached for the mouse and closed all the IM windows, then logged off my e-mail. I needed complete silence. No distractions.
The front door opened, then slammed. My heart jumped. His footsteps on the kitchen linoleum were both heavy and dragging. Yep. He was wasted. Not that I was surprised. It was after ten, for God’s sake.
My hands curled into fists. How the hell did he drive in that condition? I knew it was just from the bus station to our house, which was only a few miles, but you’d think that sooner or later he’d pass out at the wheel or something. Playing the odds, I mean. God, I wished he would. I really wished he would. Maybe if he were in traction in the hospital, he might actually wake up and realize he was a total addict.
Yeah, right. The man would stop drinking when he was dead.
“KJ! Christopher!” he shouted. I swallowed hard and looked at my door. Just leave me alone and pass out on the couch, why don’t you?
“KJ! Christopher!” Louder this time. I shoved myself up from my chair and went out into the hallway. Chris was already standing there, his legs planted a foot apart. Scared.
“Did you leave your bike in the driveway again?” I hissed at him.
He shook his head, staring at the top of the steps.
“Chris!” I whispered.
“No!” he whispered. “I swear!”
I sighed. Took his hand. “Come on, then.”
“Hey, Dad,” I said warily.
He stood at the bottom of the stairs, his white shirt wrinkled with the sleeves rolled up. His blue eyes swam in their sockets and his face was red all over. His usually normal-sized nose looked swollen, and one lock of his brown hair hung over his forehead.
“Are you two gonna come down and say hello to me?” he said. “I’ve been at work all day trying to keep a roof over your heads, you know.”
Christopher and I looked at each other. Like we hadn’t heard this one before. We tromped down the stairs side by side. I reached up and hugged my dad. He. Totally. Reeked. What did he do? Roll around on the floor of the bar and let people pour drinks all over him?
“Hi, Dad,” I said, holding my breath now.
“Hi, Dad,” Christopher echoed.
“Hey, buddy,” he said to Chris. He ran his big hand over Christopher’s hair until it stuck straight up. Then he kissed the top of my head and squeezed me so tightly I almost coughed. God, it was gross being near him when he was like this.
I pulled away, looking at the floor. “I kind of have a lot of homework to do.”
“Okay, hon,” he said. “Let me know if you need any help.”
Yeah. Sure. Because you’ll still be awake in fifteen minutes. Not snoring on the couch with your head tipped back against the wall.
“Okay,” I said.
I was back in my room so fast I could have been a member of the Justice League. I waited until Christopher had returned to his room as well, then closed the door and turned around, my fingernails cutting into my palms. Okay. It was over. The worst part of the day was over. And it hadn’t even been that bad. No yelling and screaming over stupid stuff. No inexplicable, incoherent rages. But my heart was pounding like I’d just run cross-country in gym class, and I felt like I could scream.
There was a clean canvas on the easel by the wall. Perfect. Headphones. Angry metal CD. Thick brush. Red paint. Five seconds later, I was cranked in and starting to slash.
ACT ONE, SCENE FIVE
In which:
A PLAN IS HATCHED
“YOU DON’T WANT TO EAT THAT,” ANDY SAID AT LUNCH THE next day.
I paused with my french fry halfway to my mouth, a white-hot flash of anger searing through me. “I have a father at home, Andy. Thanks,” I snapped.
“KJ!” Stephanie scolded me.
I paused as I chewed. Andy was wide-eyed—stunned. My heart turned. Thank you, Dad. Now you’re turning me into a bitch.
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I’m just in a bad mood.”
“It’s okay. I know you must be tense about rehearsal today,” Andy said, recovering quickly.
“Yeah. The first singing rehearsal.” Sure. That was why I was tense.
“Should we do a song order? I think we should do a song order.” Andy pulled out his tightly ruled notebook and rapidly tapped his mechanical pencil against it. “Unless you don’t think we need one, in which case we could just wing it, but if you want to wing it, it may run over and—”
“No, no. A song order is good,” I said, cutting him off before his ramble reached world-record length. Andy was notoriously indecisive when it came to anything other than organic food and recycling. “We should probably get through all the group numbers first, so people can go home, then wrap up with Sandy, Danny, Rizzo and Kenickie.”
“Good call. Right.” Andy pushed up the sleeves on his baggy gray sweater, then reached for his script and flipped through it. “Now, all the group numbers . . .”
He paused and started to make notes. Stephanie watched his hand as he formed his perfect, square letters, curling one of her hundreds of curls around her finger.
“You really take your job seriously, huh?” she said.
“Of course,” Andy said. “What’s the point of doing anything unless you’re going to take it seriously?”
Just then Tommy and Dustin ran in, passing the inflatable CPR doll from health class back and forth between them, like they were playing a game of keep-away. Everyone in the cafeteria turned to watch and laugh until they got to their usual table near the windows, in the sun. Cameron trailed after them, shaking his head at their antics, and I sat up straight, heart pounding. Would he talk to me again? Should I say hello first, or would that look too pathetic? He was getting closer. Closer . . . His eyes flicked in our direction as he approached. This was it! Public cafeteria acknowledgment!
“Here’s what I would do, but obviously you can change anything you want if you think, you know, it would be better some other way,” Andy said, tearing a page from his notebook and holding it out to me.
Cameron blinked and kept walking. Moment over. Geekus interruptus.
“I’m sure it’s fine, Andy. Thanks,” I replied, slouching again.
“So, KJ, I have a few questions for you, if you, you know, don’t mind.” Andy produced a new, smaller notebook from his backpack.
“Questions? What do you mean?” I asked.
“What are your five favorite songs?” Andy asked, pen at the ready. I glanced at Stephanie. She gave me a look like what the?
“Uh . . . that’s kind of hard to say.”
“That�
�s okay. You can think about it.” Andy made a check mark in his notebook. “What about movies? What movies make you cry?”
“Um . . . I don’t know. The Notebook? A Walk to Remember?”
I looked at Stephanie the whole time I was answering. Which was easy to do, since Andy never looked up from his notebook. Both Steph and I were very intrigued. Stephanie leaned forward to try to get a glimpse as Andy scribbled in his book.