Cinderella Sidelined

by Syms, Carly

  ***

  I miss all of lunch and most of my fifth period Government class, but I refuse to leave the bathroom in The Barn until I'm reasonably convinced it doesn't look like I've spent the last hour and half sobbing.

  Which, of course, I have.

  But no one else needs to know that.

  I sniffle twice as I walk back to the main school building and try to push all thoughts of Michigan Tech and volleyball and Hornets and my future aside. I get back to my locker just as the bell rings for the end of fifth period. I switch out my books and am ready to head to class, get through the day and go straight home so I can crawl under the covers and never come out, when Blaine appears in front of me.

  "Hey babe." He absently leans down and brushes a kiss somewhere between my forehead and my hair.

  "Hi." I do my best to paint a cheerful smile on my face, but it's hard to mask this kind of pain. "What's up?"

  "Can't a guy just stop by and see his girl before class?" he asks with a smile and a ruffle of my hair.

  "Sure, I guess."

  "Besides, it's almost the weekend," Blaine goes on. "And we haven't figured out what's going on yet."

  I shrug. "Haven't given it a lot of thought."

  "Okay, well, how about we have a party at your place?"

  I burst out laughing. "What?"

  He nods eagerly, like the more he moves his head, the easier I'll be to convince. "Yeah, it's a great idea. You live so central to everyone, we can all come over and chill in the pool and have a few beers and stuff."

  "I don't think I'm up for a party."

  "Emma, come on," he whines. "We never do anything fun."

  "I just broke my wrist and now I find out I lost my scholarship to my dream school all because Marybeth can't keep her legs under her," I hiss. "I'm so sorry that I don't want to run around drinking all weekend."

  Blaine's skin pales. "You lost UMT?"

  "Yup. Coach Morris just told me."

  "Sorry, Em," he says flatly. "Maybe some weekend drinking will do you good."

  "You know what? If you want to drink all day, then go ahead and do it. I'm not up for it and it'd be nice to spend some downtime with you while I figure out what the heck is going on in my life. But if you'd rather kill a bottle of tequila with Richie, go right ahead. I'll see you later."

  I reach out to shut my locker but of course it's with the cast. I let out a low, frustrated growl and throw as much of my weight as I can into slamming it closed with my left hand before I stomp off down the hall and away from Blaine.

  ***

  2:58.

  Tick, tick, tick.

  2:59.

  Tock, tock, tock.

  My eyes haven't left the black and white clock that's hanging above the door in Mr. Prescott's classroom since I first sat down at my desk forty-four minutes ago.

  And it feels like the second hand is ticking backwards twice as fast as it usually goes forward.

  Bbbrrrrring!

  Finally, the bell rings, and I'm up and out of my seat and out the door before the clock has a chance to tick another five seconds. A quick stop by my locker and then I'll be on the next bus back to my house.

  Thank goodness.

  It's going to be a welcome relief after a day like today.

  I'm on my way to the front of the school to grab the bus when a hand reaches out and lands on my shoulder.

  "Ah! What the heck!" I spin around, ready to shout at whoever it is that decided today is a good day to mess with me.

  "Jumpy much?"

  Russ is standing about two feet away, eyebrows raised, and a huge smile on his face.

  Of course.

  I should've known. Who else would pop up at a time like this, when I least want to see them?

  "Your timing is impeccable."

  "In a hurry? Got a hot date?"

  "Yeah, with my pajamas."

  He looks at me without saying anything.

  "Uh, okay then, is that it?" I ask when it starts to feel uncomfortable -- and in the mood I'm in, that doesn't take long.

  "I can't believe you haven't said anything."

  I clench my jaw. "Huh?"

  "So friendly today," Russ says, and it's all I can do not to reach out and whack the smirk off his face. "I'm guessing you haven't checked the list?"

  "The what?"

  "Hello, Earth to Emma. Didn't Mary tell you she was posting the cast list today?"

  My stomach twists. The play! I've completely forgotten about it in all the yuckiness of this afternoon. "Oh, yeah," I say. "No, I haven't looked. Why would I?"

  He looks at me with a funny expression on his face. "Why would you? Why wouldn't you?"

  "Russ, I sang "Take Me Out To The Ballgame" as my audition song. That's why."

  He laughs. "Are you kidding?"

  "Wish I was."

  "I did "The Star Spangled Banner" the first time I ever tried out for something," he tells me with a faraway smile on his face, like he's suddenly been taken back in time to a place I'll never know. "The music was queued to play something from "The Lion King" and the next thing I knew, the National Anthem came flying out of my mouth."

  I can't help but smile. "Did you get the part?"

  He grins at me. "You bet. It's all about how you sing, not what you sing."

  "I guess. But I'll look at the list tomorrow or something. I'm not really in the mood."

  "Come on, the auditorium's right down the hall. I'll even go with you."

  "That wasn't the bet. All I had to do was tryout. Which, by the way, I did," I say, reaching out to poke him in the shoulder.

  "I know, and I'm impressed."

  "Great, so let's leave it at that, okay?"

  "Emma. Just check the list. It'll take five seconds."

  I glare at him and run my tongue across the front of my teeth. I really, really don't want to talk to anyone right now, let alone Russ, and even though I've only known him for, what, two days now, I already know he's not going to let this go.

  "Fine. Five seconds."

  He grins triumphantly, turns on his heel and walks down the hall.

  I follow with considerably less spring in my step.

  Russ marches right up to the outside of the auditorium, and sure enough, there's a bright pink piece of paper tacked to the bulletin board near one of the doors.

  I stare at the paper, my eyes barely scanning it, only planning to spend maybe two seconds double checking that my name isn't on the list so I can --

  Oh.

  "What?" I blurt out.

  "You see it?" Russ looks at me excitedly. "There you are."

  I rub my eyes and squint at the sheet of paper. "It's not April Fool's Day, right?"

  Russ laughs. "Come on, give yourself a little credit, Emma. You're in the play."

  "I'm in the...play," I whisper under my breath.

  "You're looking at that piece of paper like it drowned your cat."

  I shake my head, trying to clear the craziness that's invaded it over the last few hours. "What the hell is going on?"

  "Hey." Russ reaches out and rests a hand on my shoulder. "You okay?"

  I look at him for the first time since we walked up to the auditorium. "I have no idea."

  "Follow me."

  He reaches out and slides my backpack off my shoulders and slings it over one of his, then guides me down the hall. I move with him like I'm in a daze, and I think that's probably a good way to describe it, since I feel like I'm watching my life happen to someone else right now.

  Russ leads me through the parking lot to his old brown beater.

  "Are you driving me home?" I ask as he opens the passenger door for me and I get inside.

  He shakes his head as he closes the door and walks around to the other side. "Nope," he says once he slides behind the wheel.

  "Are you kidnapping me?"

  He side-eyes me and laughs. "By george, I think she's got it."

  "Fine," I say. "But could you just make sure I have my own bed w
herever you're taking me? I really need to sleep. Oh, and in six weeks, this cast has to come off. And I get hostile when I don't get my daily diet coke."

  "You're awfully demanding for someone who's just been taken hostage."

  "You're the moron who thought I'd make a good prisoner."

  "Touche."

  I lean back against the seat and look out the window, surprised that I feel the faint, familiar beginnings of a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. I'm in no mood to laugh, but in about ten seconds flat, Russ has already shaken some of the crankiness out of me.

  Impressive.

  We sit in silence as he drives us out of the school's parking lot and gets on the freeway toward Old Town Scottsdale. It's a popular spot in one of Arizona's nicest areas, and one that Blaine, Stella and I hang out at often.

  It's not a place I'd picture a theater guy like Russ enjoying, but he drives us right down Fifth Avenue and easily guides his car into a parallel parking spot.

  "I'm so bad at that," I say as I reach over and unbuckle my seatbelt.

  "What?"

  "Parallel parking." I fish my wallet and cell phone out of my backpack so I don't have to lug it all over Old Town with me and stuff them into the back pocket of my jeans. "I can't do it."

  He raises an eyebrow at me over the roof of the car. "You have a license, right?"

  I grin. "Had a nice driving instructor, too."

  He shakes his head in mock outrage. "Pretty girls get all the perks."

  My cheeks color almost immediately; I don't need a mirror to know what's happening. My mom always says it's the curse of us poor fair-skinned people, and lord knows, it's been true my whole life. Let's face it: I earned that Tomato Thompson nickname in third grade.

  Good to see it's still alive and well.

  "Heh, heh, heh," I chuckle awkwardly, and I want to slap myself.

  What is wrong with me?

  First guy in months to call me pretty -- I think Blaine's gotten a little complacent since we've been together for so long or something -- and I turn to mush?

  Embarrassing.

  Get it together, Emma.

  Russ ducks his head and tries to hide a smile. "Come on," he says, waving me over to him. "Over here." He looks both ways across the busy street, then holds out his arm to guide me until we're safely on the other sidewalk.

  "What, did you think that was going to protect me from getting smushed by a car?" I ask him.

  He looks at me with a frown. "Huh?"

  "Oh," I say, flustered he doesn't get my joke. I pray my cheeks don't flare up again. "Uh, the way you held out your arm. Like it was going to keep me from getting hit or something."

  Russ glances down at his arm like he's surprised to find it attached to his body. "Oh." He shrugs. "Sorry. Didn't even know I was doing it."

  I refuse to make eye contact with him. "Nevermind," I mutter.

  He laughs and walks two steps ahead of me down the street. We pass the place Blaine and I like to come to the most, and I have to force my body not to walk inside because it's what feels the most natural to me.

  Heck, being down here with someone who isn't Blaine is weird enough.

  "Where are we going?" I ask when we walk two more blocks and it no longer feels like we're in Old Town.

  "You'll see. Not much farther."

  I try not to sigh and keep following him, which, if you really think about it, is probably ridiculous. I mean, I don't even know this guy. I don't do this much walking for Blaine on a good day! And even though I'd been kidding about the whole kidnapping thing, suddenly I'm starting to wonder...

  "Told ya. Here we are."

  Russ stops in front of what looks like an overgrown jungle with a wooden sign poking out between the shrubs.

  "Here? What is this place?"

  He raises his eyebrows. "You haven't been to Rollo's before?"

  "Uh, that'd be a no."

  "Oh, you're missing out. Good thing we're about to change that."

  He pushes his way through a creaky white metal gate and into a lovely -- and surprising -- patio. My jaw drops as I take in the scene around me. Green hedges surround the patio which gives way to a charming dark brown wooden structure that I'm guessing is the actual restaurant itself. Big white lights are strung up and hanging from the trees and pergola near the building. Bursts of colorful plants are mixed with all the green, and a single candle flickers on each table.

  Russ leads me over to one in the corner next to a giant tree, right under some of the hanging lights. A waitress appears almost immediately and hands us two menus and two glasses of water before I even have a chance to sit down.

  "Why did you take me here?" I ask, trying to stop myself from soaking in the romantic vibes the patio is giving off. This doesn't seem like a place I should be with someone who isn't Blaine, and it's a shame, because I want to love it so much.

  He shrugs. "I used to wash dishes in the back and Rollo still gives me a discount."

  And for whatever reason, that's what does the trick. I look at the very matter-of-fact expression on Russ' face when he explains himself and compare that to my fears about how lovey dovey this place is and burst out laughing. He looks up at me in surprise.

  "What's so funny?"

  I shake my head in between bursts of laughter. "Nothing," I manage to choke out, picking up the napkin to dab away the tears that have started to form in my eyes. "Nothing."

  He sets down the menu and smiles at me. "Doesn't look like nothing."

  "Trust me, it's better this way." I reach for my water glass and down half of it in two giant gulps. When I'm done, I feel like I've regained my composure.

  He shakes his head and smiles.

  The waitress appears at this exact -- and very fortunate -- moment to take our order. Russ waits for me to go first, so I ask for a grilled cheese sandwich before he orders a small pizza.

  "So, am I crazy or was it just my name on the cast list before with no part next to it?" I ask Russ once the waitress is gone. "I mean, it's possible I'm just that out of it that I didn't notice."

  Russ shakes his head. "Nope, it's not you. Mary does all of the plays this way. You'll find out your role once we get into the first day of rehearsals."

  "That seems weird."

  "Yeah, it's not how most directors do things, but that's Mary."

  "You've known her awhile?"

  He nods and takes a drink of water. "This'll be my seventh play."

  "One in the fall and one in the spring every year of high school?"

  Russ looks surprised. "I didn't think you'd get that."

  "Not as dumb as I look."

  "I didn't mean it like that," he says, and I smile.

  "I know."

  "Okay," he says, placing both hands on the edge of the tabletop and lightly drumming his fingers against the wood. "So what's up with you? Why do you look like you spent half the day crying your eyes out?"

  My smile vanishes and I suck in some air.

  "Wh-what are you talking about?" I ask, trying to come off as if I'm still composed, even if I've done a complete one-eighty in, oh, about half-a-second flat.

  "Emma, please. I saw your face in the hall when you were getting ready to leave. You didn't look happy. What was that about?"

  "I'm fine."

  "Maybe now," he concedes. "But I'm not so sure about that. And you definitely weren't before."

  "It's not important."

  "I think you're wrong."

  "Why?"

  "Anything that makes you upset enough to get tears out of you isn't something you should brush off like it doesn't matter."

  I let out a sigh and look up at the sky as it slowly starts to darken while day turns to night. "Hard not to cry when your life goes up in flames right in front of you."

  He lifts an eyebrow. "Your whole life? Why do I doubt that?"

  "Don't. It's the truth."

  "So what happened?"

  "It's not -- "

  "Emma." He stares hard at me, like
he knows I'm going to trivialize my conversation with Coach Morris again. And I am. "Out with it."

  I press my lips together. "Let's just say my future isn't going to be what I thought it would."

  Russ lets out a low chuckle. "That's it? Join the club. Do you know how rare it is to end up where you think you will? Can't plan life, Emma."

  "It's not supposed to be like that. When you work your butt off for something for days, months, years, you're supposed to get the reward in the end. You're not supposed to lose it all."

  He stares at me thoughtfully. "Maybe you are if it means you'll get something better in its place."

  "Nah. There's nothing better than this."

  "What?"

  "Volleyball," I say, finally allowing myself to speak the horrible, unimaginable, unthinkable word out loud.

  "Yeah, I know, you hurt your wrist," Russ says, looking confused. "It'll heal."

  "Not fast enough for UMT."

  "Michigan Tech?" he says, reaching for his water. "What's that about?"

  Another sigh escapes. "You know how you when you're little and somehow you get this big idea of what your life will be like one day? Like how fun and cool college is gonna be and stuff? And then for whatever reason you settle on your dream school and that's it for you forever?"

  He frowns. "No," he says. "Can't say I know too much about that."

  I blink in surprise. "Oh. Um, well...that was me with Michigan Tech," I say, trying to continue without feeling too deflated he can't relate. "From the minute I heard about that school, I wanted to go there. Needed to go there. But then volleyball happened. I started playing and I was good. No other way to say it. Every coach I've ever had knew I'd get a scholarship one day, and I did. But none of them are good enough. I need an offer from Michigan Tech."

  "And you haven't gotten one yet."

  "No, nope, I got one," I say, and he looks at me like he's about to congratulate me, but I shake my head. "I got it a couple days ago before a game. The day I cracked up my wrist, actually." I smile wryly. "Went into that game like nothing could touch me. And look what happened." I flick the hard plaster that makes things as simple as unfolding a napkin a pain in the butt.

  "Yeah, that sucks. How long is it on for?"