by Kieran Scott
“Now, I’m not saying this to be mean or anything, Glenn. You just need to know how you make me feel. I should have told you a long time ago, but I . . . I just couldn’t,” I told him. “And I know you don’t want to talk to me anymore, but if you ever decide that you do, I hope you’ll treat me with a little respect and not, you know, constantly be staring at me like you’re imagining what I look like naked.”
I self-consciously gathered my sweater over my chest and held it there, forcing myself to look down at Glenn. I wanted to give him a chance to say something, after all. To apologize, ideally. Instead he just turned around slowly and lifted a pair of huge headphones over his ears. Then he cranked up the volume on some awful guitar music, pointedly shutting me out.
I took a deep breath. Well, fine. So maybe he hadn’t reacted the way I’d hoped, but at least I’d finally told him the truth. And Glenn was just the beginning.
ACT FOUR, SCENE NINE
In which:
THE CHART IS REVEALED
I PRACTICALLY TRIPPED OVER ANDY IN THE TINY BANK OF STAIRS between the auditorium seats and the stage. He was sitting there alone, staring down at his ubiquitous notebook, but he scrambled up the second I arrived.
“Oh, hey, KJ. Sorry. I was just . . . sorry. I’ll go.” He pocketed his book, shoved his glasses up and grabbed his backpack. I hated that I had made him so nervous.
“Andy! Wait.”
He stopped midstep and almost tripped over, but grabbed the handrail at the last second. “You need me to do something?”
“No. It’s just . . . listen, I’m sorry about what I said at Fred’s party that night,” I told him. “You didn’t deserve to be yelled at like that, and I’m sorry.”
Andy looked at the steps and shifted his weight. “Actually, I’m sorry,” he said.
I blinked. “Huh?”
“I feel pretty stupid,” he said, hazarding a glance at me. “About that whole survey thing?”
Well. This wasn’t going the way I thought it would. Did anything, ever? “Okay. . . .”
“I mean, of course you figured out what I was doing. You’re a pretty smart person.” He started kicking the wall beneath the lockers.
I chewed my lip. “So you really were trying to see how much we have in common?”
His head bobbed up and down. “Yeah, but no matter how much I crunch the numbers, scientifically speaking, we’re just not compatible. I wish we were, but we’re just not.” He pulled out his notebook again and flipped it open. “I give us only a thirty-two percent probability of success if we were to start going out.”
I had to bite back a laugh. “Thirty-two percent. That’s not good.”
“Nope. Not at all. Not good at all.” He turned around and leaned back against the wall, shaking his head as he ran a hand down the page. “I was going to tell you that night that, you know, I was going to stop annoying you, but then you went all ballistic, so . . . ”
I blushed. “You didn’t have to.”
“Yeah,” he said with a sheepish smile. “Anyway . . . I have to listen to the chart, you know. The chart doesn’t lie.”
“The chart? What chart?” Now that I’d been set free of it, I was suddenly very interested in this whole process.
“The compatibility chart,” Andy said, turning the notebook toward me. Sketched out on the graph paper page was a chart full of color-coded zigzagging lines. My name was written in a tiny, square print across the horizontal axis, Andy’s across the vertical. I had no idea what it meant, but it looked pretty impressive.
“Wow. You really put a lot of time into this,” I said.
“I had to. Matters of the heart are very important. You don’t want to make any mistakes,” Andy said quite seriously. “And in math, there are no mistakes. There’s a right answer and a wrong answer. Putting the two together just made sense.”
I grinned. “You sound just like Stephanie.”
“Do I?” he asked.
Stephanie was going to kill me for what I was about to do, but I was so sure it was going to work out, I had to do it.
“You know what, Andy? I want to answer more survey questions, if you don’t mind,” I said.
“But I already told you, the numbers don’t lie—”
“I know. I know. I’m not going to answer them for me. I’m going to answer them as if I were Stephanie,” I said.
His brow creased. “Stephanie Shumer?”
“Yep. You want to talk compatibility?” I said, looping my arm over his bony shoulder. “Let me tell you about my best friend. . . .”
ACT FOUR, SCENE TEN
In which:
WE SHARE
I SAT OUTSIDE THE T-BIRDS’ DRESSING ROOM WITH A TWIX BAR from the vending machine in my hand. The guys kept walking in and out, eyeing me curiously. But I didn’t move until Fred loped out, his blond hair slicked back with two tons of gel, his belly barely restrained by his T-Bird T-shirt.
“Fred. I got you something.”
He paused and looked at me like he’d never seen me before. I couldn’t believe how hard my heart was pounding.
“I love Twix,” he said finally, glancing from the candy to my face. “Is that really for me?”
“Yeah,” I said with a smile.
He took the candy bar and held it with both hands like it was the golden ticket itself. I realized right then that I had never given Fred anything before in my life. He’d given me valentine cards and birthday cards and cupcakes and cookies and all kinds of trinkets and notes, but I’d never given him a thing. He’d even been there on the worst night of my life, even though I had publicly torn him to shreds just days before. Looking at him right then, I felt like crying.
“Fred, I’m really sorry,” I said.
He blushed and looked at the ground. “I told you already, KJ. We’re okay.”
“No. We’re not. You need to know something, Fred. I figured it out just now, and I have to tell you now before I lose my nerve,” I said.
He stared at me, his blue eyes wide.
“You’re one of my best friends, Fred,” I said past a lump in my throat. “And I don’t want that to ever change, okay?”
His entire face lighted up. Like I’d just given him his own puppy on Christmas morning. “Me neither,” he said. “You’re one of my best friends, too, KJ.”
“Good,” I said. “Then it’s settled.”
“It’s settled,” he said with a nod, tearing into the candy bar. He slipped out one of the Twix and held it out to me. “Share?”
I laughed and we clicked candy bars. “Share.”
ACT FOUR, SCENE ELEVEN
In which:
THERE’S A WALKOUT
“ ‘OH, DON’T TELL ME THAT’S WHY YOU’RE WEARING THAT THING,’” Robbie-as-Danny said. “ ‘Gettin’ ready to show your skivvies to a buncha jocks?’ ”
Tama rolled her eyes. “Horny jocks.”
I hung my head backstage. What was she doing? She couldn’t correct Robbie right in the middle of a scene. This was a dress rehearsal.
“This is why on-set romances should be verboten,” Ashley whispered. “They’re a total disaster.”
Tama had been phoning it in all rehearsal. Especially when she was on stage with Robbie. She barely even looked at him, stepped on all his lines, and now this.
“What?” Robbie said.
“You’re supposed to say horny jocks,” Tama said. “God, get it right.”
“Tama! This is a dress rehearsal. You’re not to be correcting anyone,” Mr. Katz grumbled. “You wouldn’t do that the night of the show, would you?”
“She probably would,” Ashley whispered under her breath.
“Well, if he’d get it right, I wouldn’t have to,” Tama said, exasperated.
“Sorry, Mr. Katz,” Robbie said. Like it was his fault. Please. The line worked just fine without the horny.
“It’s all right, Robbie. Let’s just continue from your line,” Mr. Katz said, rolling his hand.
Robbie looked at
Tama. She twirled her baton—this was the Sandy-as-cheerleader part of the show—and gazed out at the audience. I saw Robbie steel himself for another try.
“‘Oh, don’t tell me that’s why you’re wearing that thing. Gettin’ ready to show your skivvies to a—’ ”
“ ‘Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Danny,’ ” Tama interrupted.
Mr. Katz groaned and sank lower in his seat in the audience. Tama had just cut off Robbie’s funniest line. My blood boiled.
“Unbelievable,” Ashley said.
Ashley was right. One bad date was killing our entire production. Robbie gamely tried to continue, but then Tama stepped on his next line. Then his next. Then she tossed her baton up and, I swear this was on purpose, it came right down on his head.
“Ow!” he shouted, doubling over.
The drama dudes, lounging in the wings, cracked up laughing. Mr. Katz popped a Tums and closed his eyes. Well, fine. If he wasn’t going to do anything, I would.
“All right! That’s it! Cut!” I shouted, walking out onto the stage.
“KJ. You heard Mr. Katz. This is a dress rehearsal,” Tama said, blinking innocently.
“I don’t care,” I said. “If this is how you play the role, the show’s gonna suck anyway, so what difference would it make if the stage manager made an appearance?”
There were a few chuckles around the room, but Mr. Katz just shook his head, his eyes still closed.
“Me? What did I do?” Tama asked.
“Oh, come on! You’re stepping on all of his lines. You won’t even look at him. We can’t put on Grease with a Sandy and Danny that have zero chemistry!” I cried.
“Hey, I’m trying!” Tama spat. “It’s not my fault if he can’t act!”
“Hey!” Robbie protested.
Tama ignored him. “You’re just taking his side because you’re mad at me. How very professional of you, KJ.”
“Well, at least she’s doing her job!”
Tama and I both turned around to find Ashley striding across the stage toward us.
“Oh, here we go. Please, oh queen of the theater, tell me what I’m doing wrong!” Tama said sarcastically.
“Well, you’re taking out your personal life on our production, for one,” Ashley said. “Get over yourself already. Did you know that during the filming of An Officer and a Gentleman, Richard Gere and Debra Winger absolutely detested each other? But you can’t tell that on film, can you? No! Because they were actors!”
“I don’t know who those people are,” Tama said blankly.
“She’s right, Tama. I mean, it’s a totally old reference, but whatever,” Cory said, coming in from the opposite wing with her sister.
“Yeah. So what if you don’t like the guy?” Carrie added. “That’s why it’s called acting.”
Whoa. Wait a minute. Was I really seeing this? Were the Drama Twins and Ashley Brown really standing up to Tama? How many times could hell freeze over in one calendar year?
“It’s not that old of a reference,” Ashley moped. “I mean, not if you know great cinema.”
“I would have gone with Chad Michael Murray and Sophia Bush,” Cory replied. “Much more appropriate since they, you know, were married and broke up and still had to work together,” Carrie agreed.
Ashley’s eyes lighted up. “Ooh. I didn’t think of that!”
“Hello? Mr. Katz! Can you please tell them to get off the stage so that we can get back to rehearsal?” Tama cried.
He opened his eyes briefly, but I spoke before he could.
“Not until you admit what you’re doing and fix it,” I said. “You’re one of the leads. Start acting like one!”
“Nice,” Robbie said under his breath.
I bit back a smile.
“I don’t believe this!” Tama shouted. “I am one of the leads! I am! And I’ve been working my butt off this entire time trying to make this show better than all the crap ass shows they’ve put on at this school for the past five years.”
“Hey!” Ashley protested.
“But do any of you care? No-o-o! Do any of you appreciate me? No-o-o. So you know what? That’s it! I’ve had enough!” Tama shouted. “I don’t need you people! I don’t need any of this crap! I quit!”
“What?” I gasped.
“Yeah. You heard me. Have fun putting on Grease without a Sandy!”
Tama turned around and stormed off the stage, right past the drama dudes, who were now so convulsed with laughter they were literally rolling around on the floor. Suddenly, my knees felt weak. So weak, in fact, that I found myself sitting on the stage with the spotlight blaring down on me.
“She did not just do that,” I said.
“Oh yeah, she did,” Cory said, sounding almost amused.
“And they call us the Drama Twins,” Carrie added.
“What?” Mr. Katz was on his feet. Suddenly alert. “What just happened? Did our lead actress actually just quit?”
“Uh, I think she kinda did,” Robbie said.
“Well, that is just not acceptable. We can’t have that. Opening night is the day after tomorrow. We can’t go on without a Sandy,” Mr. Katz blabbered. He turned from side to side, looking around at the extras and bit players as if one of them would do him the favor of shape-shifting into Tama Gold.
“Mr. Katz!” Ashley said, stepping upstage and raising her hand. “I’ll play Sandy!”
“Ashley, you can’t play Sandy,” I said, looking up at her. She was one big blur, thanks to all the stage lights over her head. “You’re Rizzo.”
“So? I can do both. I’m a professional.”
I hung my head in my hands and groaned. We were so screwed.
END ACT FOUR
ACT FIVE, SCENE ONE
In which:
DEAR OLD DAD RETURNS
CHRISTOPHER AND I SAT ON OPPOSITE ENDS OF THE COUCH, WITH the TV volume down low, listening for my mother’s car. I twisted the fringe on the wool throw around and around my fingertip until it was glowing red. I was so sick of people letting me down. I was nice to everyone. I always tried to do what was right. But everyone just kept letting me down. My dad, my mom, Tama. Couldn’t anybody just do what they were supposed to do? Couldn’t anyone just be responsible? Couldn’t anyone keep a promise?
I mean, it wasn’t that hard really. My whole life was being responsible, caring about other people, being there when I was supposed to be there. And maybe some people think that’s dorky or something, but it felt good to be those things. Why did no one else seem to get that?
Headlights flashed on the front window. Christopher and I looked at each other and jumped up. We hovered by the door for what felt like forever. I was filled to the brim with bubbly hope and sour dread. Like a fresh cup of coffee lightened with week-old milk. Christopher pushed the curtain aside and glanced out. He grabbed the doorknob with both hands and opened it. I heard my father’s shuffling footsteps pause.
“Hey, kiddo.”
“Hi, Dad! You look good!” Christopher said, which made my mom and dad chuckle.
My heart pounded with nerves. Was he going to want to “talk”? To sit us down, as he sometimes did, and tell us all about how things were going to change? I didn’t think I could deal with that right now. That was so not what I needed. For once I was hoping for the ruse. For the play. The Miller Family Presents: A Normal Family! A Limited Engagement. One Night Only!
Christopher stepped back to let them in, and my mother went straight to the bedroom with my dad’s bag. Dad was moving slowly, but he made it over the step. Christopher closed the door behind him.
“Hi, sweetie,” my dad said, reaching out to touch my cheek with his hand.
I held my breath and forced myself not to flinch away. I was still angry at him, which made it hard, but I didn’t want to start anything.
“We got your favorite,” he said, producing a bag from behind his back.
“KFC!” Christopher cheered. “Yes!”
“I’ll get the plates,” I said.
<
br /> I went to the cabinet and said a silent prayer that we could just get through dinner. If we could just get through this meal without a scene, then I could go to my room and close the door. Shut everything out. I just needed to get through dinner. Just get through this night.
I’d deal with tomorrow, tomorrow.