by Kirby Hall
“Don’t worry about it, Alexa. The important thing is that you’re fine and here, and you’re going to rock your performance next week.”
“Thanks, and I know you’re right. I just need to let it go,” she glanced over toward West a final time, “but some things are easier said than done.”
Chapter 4
The math test hadn’t taken as long as she thought it would and her mind was torn on whether or not that was a good thing. It could either mean she knew the material better than she thought she did, or it could mean she’d failed miserably. She yanked the metal door open and tried to push the thought of failure out of her mind. Now was not the time for doubt.
The piano rang out, echoing throughout the cinderblock dressing rooms. She tossed her bag on the two inches of space still visible between everyone else’s bags and took off for the stage.
“Caleb, get it together. I said stage right,” shouted Mrs. Brale from somewhere out in the audience. Caleb was some poor sophomore who never seemed to get stage right and stage left straight. It was good to know nothing much had changed since the last time she’d been there. “Again, people. This time let’s get it right so we can move on.”
The music started up again and then Alexa felt a shoulder bump hers.
“Hey,” Josh whispered. “How’d it go?”
“Okay, I guess. How are things here?”
“Mrs. Brale’s on the warpath.” He kept his voice low and spoke out of the corner of his mouth. “If I were you, I’d let her know you’re here. It might save Megan from being raked over the coals again.”
Alexa raised her eyebrow in question, but it was Josh’s turn on stage. He sprang out from the curtains and broke into his one-liner. He delivered it so well he was sure to have the audience laughing, when there was in fact an audience with a heart in the seats and not Mrs. Brale. She was tough, but she was good which she reminded everyone on a daily basis. If a student happened to forget, she would take the opportunity to point out her many trophies and framed degree from the Yale School of Drama which were displayed around the practice room as a reminder.
Alexa slid down the stairs and entered the auditorium on the side. Mrs. Brale didn’t see her at first, she was too busy scribbling down notes, but then her movement must have caught her attention.
“Alexa, thank the lord. Maybe you can inspire the rest of them to do better. Everyone,” Mrs. Brale called. The piano music stopped and heads popped out from behind the curtains on both sides of the stage. “Alexa is back with us. At this time, I would like us to take it from the top.” Mrs. Brale turned her attention to Alexa. “How are you, dear?”
“I’m ready to work.”
“That’s what I like to hear. There are a few minor changes you’ll need to learn, but we’ll show you when we get to those parts. Okay, off you go.”
Alexa took her place on the stage and allowed a calm to descend over her. She wasn’t Alexa anymore. When the lights came up and the music started, she was someone else. She was her character, which for the next week, unless they won, would be Dorothy. If they won, she could don her role longer, but for right now it was all about regionals.
After Mrs. Brale was satisfied with the night’s work, she dismissed them, and just in the nick of time as everyone was starting to get dizzy from a lack of dinner and too much time under the hot stage lights.
“Hey, Alexa, wait up.”
Megan ran to catch up with her. “Hey, you looked good out there. I couldn’t tell you’d recently plowed your car into a tree.”
“Thanks.” Megan’s words made her sound like a moron who couldn’t drive, but at least she had a license. “I heard you did really well with the part while I was gone.” As they walked together down to the parking lot, Alexa tried not to dwell on how strange it was to be talking with Megan. They rarely spoke. The invisible wall between freshmen and everyone else was there, regardless of popularity. Some things in high school were more like unspoken laws than conscious decisions.
“So, are you feeling pretty good about, you know, the changes in the beginning of Act One? If not, I could go over them with you again. Offer my notes?”
“That’s really sweet of you. Thanks.” At least they both wanted what was best for the show. “I don’t want to upset Mrs. Brale.”
Megan’s long hair swung in time with her steps. “I know, right? She’s intense.”
Alexa smiled and nodded. “She’s always like this when we’re close to competition or show time. Brace yourself. It’ll get worse before it gets better.”
“That ought to be fun. For the next three years.”
“Oh, you’ll be fine.” Alexa said. “You’re a natural.”
They stopped by Alexa’s car and Megan pulled her brown script out of her bag. “I marked the pages with the changes at the end. Feel free to take it home tonight and give it back tomorrow.”
Alexa accepted the offered script, thanked her, and slid into the unfamiliar new car her dad had insisted on buying. The new car smell was nice, but she was still getting used to the sensible, her dad’s word, Volvo. She often caught herself looking for her Explorer before remembering it was totaled. Her shoulders slumped. She’d loved that car.
On her drive home, the moon was bright enough so as she approached the deserted part of the road she could see the scarred trees where she’d crashed. Uneasiness crept into her stomach at the sight and when her hands threatened to tremble, she gripped the wheel harder and tore her gaze away.
A light caught her attention on the left and she fought the urge to look. No, no, no. Forget what you think you saw and go home. She pressed her foot on the gas a little harder and then cursed under her breath. She needed to know if she was imagining things. If there was no one there, she could chalk up her nerves to having an overactive imagination after a near death experience. If there was someone out there . . . well . . . she had no idea what she’d do, but at least she’d know.
“Be brave, Alexa,” she whispered to herself as she pulled off onto the shoulder and stopped. She was sure it was her imagination. She would just look and make sure there was no light; therefore, proving to herself no one was out there. She inhaled deeply and strained to see through the trees again and was about to give up, when light shone through. It was deeper in the cemetery this time.
Okay, so maybe it wasn’t her imagination. She swallowed and debated with herself. It was a little crazy to go traipsing around in the cemetery at night. What would her dad say? He was expecting her soon. The light flickered again and she shut off the engine. She needed to know who it was. Her heart sputtered as a sliver of fear crept up her spine. This was not Mystic Falls, so the chances of running into a Salvatore brother were not good. If anything, her story would end up some sort of episode of CSI. She could picture it: Ripped from the headlines, teen goes missing in a cemetery never to be seen again. But on the other hand, what if it had been West the other night? What if he was out there again now? And if so, what was he doing?
She hurried across the road and thanked the Lord she was wearing her Sketcher flats and not some sort of crazy heels which would’ve sunk into the soft ground. Bekah was going to have a field day when she told her about this. Assuming of course, she wasn’t murdered and left to rot. She tried to lighten the eeriness descending over her by humming one of the songs from the play as she wound around the headstones in her path.
She had no idea where she was going. She stopped and looked around. The bright moon made it easy to see the writing on the stones. She was in a section of newer graves. These weren’t ancestors; these were people she’d known or at least people her parents had probably known. A shiver ran over her skin. She wasn’t sure if she found that comforting or disconcerting.
As she studied the writing on a large stone topped with an angel, a hand landed on her shoulder. A scream erupted from her and she ju
mped away from the hand. When she spun around, West stood in front of her with a scowl on his face, his backpack slung over his shoulder, and a flashlight aimed at her face.
“What are you doing out here?” he asked.
She winced against the light as her heart fought to return to normal. He was at least six inches taller than she was and in the darkness, his eyes took on a fierceness she wouldn’t have expected from someone so quiet. “I don’t know exactly. I saw your light.”
“And you always go snooping after random lights you see in the cemetery at night?” He pushed past her and headed in the direction of the road.
She took a deep breath and tried to remember why she was there in the first place. “Wait,” she struggled to match his pace. “Wait up.”
He stopped when he reached the opening in the fence and looked back at her. She stopped too, keeping her distance, and cleared her throat. “I know this is strange, it’s just that,” she closed her eyes while she tried to find the right words. “I wanted to thank you,” she blurted out.
“Thank me?” He raised an eyebrow.
Whatever he’d expected her to say, she could tell this wasn’t it.
“Yes, for the other night. The car.”
He continued to stare at her as heat rose in her pale cheeks. She’d never been more thankful for the darkness. “Look, I know it was you.”
He shrugged. “No problem.” He turned and began walking again.
Wow. He was a real prince. She watched him for a second and then headed toward her car. When she reached the door and hit the unlock button, she heard a sarcastic laugh from the opposite side of the street.
Her head whipped around. “What’s so funny?”
“You rich people are all the same.” He shook his head and began walking again.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He stopped and his head fell forward. “You wrap your car around a tree, several trees in fact and you already got a new car?”
“There was a deer.” She cursed under her breath. Lame. “Your light distracted me, if you must know.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I saw you being creepy and then out of nowhere there was a deer and I was trying not to hit it.”
He turned to face her full on. “So now it’s my fault?”
“You distracted me is all I’m saying.”
“Maybe you should pay attention to the damn road.”
She rolled her eyes. It was like trying to talk to a two-year old. A vulgar, slightly scary two-year old. “I wanted to say thank you and I did, so let’s just stop talking, okay?”
“Fine by me. I didn’t ask for your thanks.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t make that mistake again.” She yanked her door open, got in the car, and slammed it shut. What was his deal?
Later in her room, she flipped open the copy of Megan’s script and transferred the notes over to hers and if she was pressing down a little harder than was necessary, so what? At least this was something she could do. She could memorize lines and stage directions and make sense of them, which was more than she could say about West. He was still a puzzle. A pain in the ass puzzle who had no idea what he was talking about. And who was he calling rich anyway? Her dad maybe, but not her. She hadn’t asked for a new car. She wasn’t the one who chose where they lived. Being wealthy wasn’t a crime, but the way West had thrown it in her face sure made it sound like one. Jerk.
She reread the line about where to cross the stage on page twenty-five as she had three times already. It was time to put West and his opinions out of her mind. She’d solved her mystery and thanked him so now they could go back to ignoring each other’s existence.
Chapter 5
He shook his head as he pulled the house door closed behind him. Alexa was a piece of work. He dropped his bag on the kitchen table and pulled the fridge open. He’d half expected she’d be a pain in the ass, but to actually hunt him down to say thanks? The truth was she’d been pretty messed up. He’d hoped she hadn’t realized who pulled her out of the car, but he’d had a feeling when he caught her looking at him. She never looked at him. She wasn’t one of the one’s who’d tried to flirt with him upon his arrival like half the class. Not that he was anything special, but he’d been new and it was a small school. Alexa always seemed too focused or distracted by whatever she had going on.
Up until now, he’d done a good job of keeping his head down and minding his own business, but now little miss thing would probably talk to her friends about finding him in the cemetery and he’d have to endure the stares that always accompanied gossip. He knew how strange his actions would seem to people. He wasn’t naïve to the way things worked. The gossip monster always needed to be fed.
He popped the top on his coke and took a drink. What had she called him? Creepy? He scoffed. That’s what he got for doing the right thing. Two years spent keeping to himself and in one night he’d managed to catch the attention of some priss.
He went into his room and sat down in front of the computer. He typed her name into the search engine and took another drink while he waited to see what matches popped up. Her picture was the second one and her life motto line read: I want to see my name in lights.
He shook his head again. So, Little Miss Rich Girl wanted to be famous. Typical. People who grew up like her always wanted to get rich without working for it. He hovered over the picture icon and then began clicking through them. Josh was in quite a few. There were some of her with a little boy, others of her in various costumes and a lot with the girl he’d seen Josh talking to. He scanned the tags; Bekah was the girl’s name. He hated himself for falling into the trap of his own curiosity, but he couldn’t stop.
He clicked again and some sort of selfie popped up. She was younger in this one and wearing a T-shirt, laughing so hard her eyes were almost shut. He sat back and studied her picture. She was different here. More relaxed, more approachable. He wondered what had happened to the girl in the picture to make her change.
“West, I’m heading out,” his mom said from outside his door.
He fumbled with the mouse and closed the screen as his door opened. He’d been so absorbed he hadn’t heard her approach.
“I left some dinner in there for you. Get your homework done, okay?”
“Yeah, I will.”
His mom surveyed his room with one hand on the doorknob. “I’m sorry I can’t give you more, West. You deserve more.”
“Mom,” he started, but she shook her head.
“I’m off.” She smiled at him, the sadness gone from her eyes as quickly as it had appeared. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
West’s fingers curled into fists on his knees and he remained in his chair until he heard the door shut. His guitar caught his eye again, but this time instead of ignoring it he crossed the room and picked it up. Rage built within him until he thought it would consume him, much like the fire he dreamed about at night. The one that destroyed his family in every possible way.
He curled his fingers around the guitar’s neck and squeezed until his knuckles turned white. He thought about smashing it into the walls, watching it splinter into useless shards of wood. Would he feel it? Would his father feel his rage wherever he was?
The anger subsided like waves pulling sand from the shore, leaving him tired and empty. West threw the guitar onto his bed and took off.
~ ~ ~
Dogs barked from behind fences, signaling his presence to their owners. His lungs burned, but he didn’t stop. In the distance, the security lights around the school track blazed. Cutting through the trees, he arrived at the stadium and hopped the low fence.
He paused at the starting line and pushed off the soft surface with a vengeance. His arms and legs pumped steadily at first and then harder as he rounded the first turn. The stadium seats were no more th
an a gray blur as the wind cut across his ears and pulled at his hair. His breath rushed in and out in bursts as he put on his last surge of speed and flew around the final turn and then back across the finish line.
He bent over at the waist and then straightened with his arms resting on his head. Gasping for breath, he walked slowly as his heart rate dropped and his muscles ached with the satisfaction of action. Clapping echoed off the bleachers. He whipped around to see who else was there.
“You a student here?” called a man in a black and white track suit.
West nodded.
“Why aren’t you on my track team?”
“I don’t know,” West took in more air, “I’m not really a team kind of guy.”
“You need to be.” The man stepped up to the fence and rested his arms on the metal bar running the length of the top. “How fast can you run a mile?”
West shrugged and waited for the man to tell him he shouldn’t be there.
“Would you mind coming out and letting me time you one afternoon?”
West glanced over his shoulder, his breathing still ragged, but closer to normal than before. “I don’t know.”
“I’m Coach Avery. I coach the track team here as I’m sure you guessed. Think about it, and if you decide it’s something you might want to try, come find me.”
West watched as the man disappeared behind the bleachers and then he turned and headed for home. Running had worked. His mind was more relaxed and his aggression in check. The anger from earlier quashed by healthy adrenaline instead of rage.
The track team. He’d gone that route once before, but not at this school. Last time had been at his old school before everything had happened. He’d meant what he said; he wasn’t a team kind of guy, not anymore. He liked running and he could do it on his own. Without a coach bossing him around and teammates to impress. He was good on his own.