Extra Credit

by Dunne, Poppy

  But I stop right by the pond of tranquility and feel my shoulders slump. My brain’s already shutting this possibility down, because who am I kidding? Will’s going to be a completely free man with a kid to take care of. And me? I get to head back to the badlands of Montana to perform birthday parties for the rest of my life. Maybe I’ll meet a nice rodeo clown and we can have five clown babies. Maybe TLC will start a reality show about my life. Maybe I’ll learn to be happy with that.

  I could’ve talked with him instead of running out that day. I didn’t, and after the run around the last woman in his life gave him, I get the feeling Will’s not going to be excited to revisit crazy town.

  While the kids are still singing and dancing inside the auditorium, I sit at the edge of the pond and want nothing more than to be quiet for a good long time.

  20

  Chelle

  There are times in your life to have your heart broken, and to wallow in the heartbreak. There are times to sit in your sweatpants in front of your television, watch a Hellraiser movie marathon, and wonder how much chocolate chip ice cream you can eat before the bloody stuff on the screen makes you have to put the tub down. My record, incidentally, is halfway through. I’m very consistent.

  But the time for sweatpants and movie marathons and ice cream and general heartache isn’t opening night of a musical. I’m standing backstage, peeking out from behind the curtain as the auditorium starts to fill up. Man, I knew the parents at Bay of Dreams liked to be supportive. I just didn’t know they’d bring in a legitimate production company to shoot the performance. Gauging the cameras I’m seeing, I’m guessing this’ll be something you could show in IMAX when it’s all over.

  Wealthy people live differently than you and me.

  “Ms. Chelle! How do we look?” the girl playing Oliver asks. She and Artful Dodger turn around for me, both in their most realistic and yet family appropriate costumes. Oliver’s dressed like a prisoner, in a gray smock and pants, and Dodger’s got the most neon pants and flashy Air Jordans of all time.

  Well, just wait until Oliver escapes the sweatshop. That’s when he becomes fashion conscious.

  “Great! Hands in the energy circle.” I put my hands out and wiggle my fingers. Giggling, the kids join me, and we wiggle faster and drum our feet until finally, with a loud cry, we release the energy by throwing our hands in the air. The kid playing Dodger in particular looks like she’s nervous. She bounces up and down on the balls of her feet as she watches the audience file in. The look in her eyes is priceless. It’s exactly the kind of look that gets people addicted to the theater their whole lives. Even if they don’t become professionals, they come to love it. Then they pass on the love.

  I get a sudden pang, wishing I could stay and work with these kids again. Most of them are very talented, and even the ones who don’t have a lot of natural ability are hard workers. Everyone’s improved since we started. If only I could stay, see them reach the next level…

  But I did my best today, hanging around outside Willow’s office. I pretended to accidentally trip and fall inside her office. It was sort of a Fifty Shades of Grey type situation, only instead of becoming her submissive, I wanted her to give me tenure. Though if being Willow’s submissive gets me tenure, hey, she’s hot and I’m unafraid to experiment.

  I literally almost gave her that exact pitch before I thought better of it. Good thinking, because I’m about sure security would’ve escorted me off campus.

  “Look!” a familiar voice cries out behind me. I turn and find Amelia spinning around for my approval, dressed like the world’s most adorable orphan. She’s the only one who wanted to look like she was truly from Victorian London, and since the kids are allowed to pick their own costumes, I wasn’t going to argue. She’s got on brown pants with suspenders, a patchwork jacket, and fingerless gloves. Smudge some dirt on her face, muss up her hair, and what you’ve got is the cutest starving urchin of all time.

  “You look great.” I beam, though my face goes slack when she pulls something out of her pocket: a bright red rubber clown nose. “Oh. That’s…”

  “Is it okay if I’m a clown orphan? Please? My dad told me that all the best people are clowns.”

  If that’s not enough to stop my heart, I’m not sure what is. Though I get a pretty good idea when the curtain swirls to the side and Suzonne ducks into the hall with us.

  “The, ah, parents are seated outside.” I’m trying to figure out how not to be awkward about this, and as usual I’m coming up horribly short. Besides, I’m amazed at Suzonne’s apparent overnight transformation. When I saw her at Will’s, she had been frenzied looking. Granted, I hadn’t gotten too good a look at her as she stormed past him, shouting about dishes and hoodies. But the tightness I noticed on her features before has completely gone. Her whole face looks relaxed, and the same goes for her posture. For the first time, she really looks the part of a hippie down-home earth mother. She solidifies the idea that she’s a pod person when she wraps Amelia up in a warm hug, and kisses her dirty cheek.

  “You’re going to do so great! Break a leg, sweetie.”

  “Thanks!” Amelia beams like this is all normal, and for a split second I have the terrifying idea we’ve slipped into a wormhole and we’re now in an alternate land, where Will and Suzonne are still happily together and I’m probably a harried alcoholic.

  I mean, I know I’m harried, but I haven’t hit the sauce quite yet.

  “Listen, I wanted to catch you,” Suzonne says to me in a low voice, grabbing my arm.

  Oh shit. She knows about me and Will. The jig, she is up. I’m about to have my ass handed to me on a balsa wood platter.

  She takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry about how I behaved earlier.”

  “I didn’t sleep with your ex,” I say at the exact same time. Suzonne blinks.

  “What?”

  “What? I said go on with what you were saying. Explain. I didn’t see you explain.”

  She takes a minute, probably to let everything rewire itself in her brain, and continues, “I think when we first met I was a total bitch to you. Like, telling you that you were fat, worrying about your skin. Trying to force my homemade recipes onto you.” She sighs, waving her hand through the air before returning it to its death grip on my arm. “That’s so me when I’m hormonal, you know?”

  I don’t think this is going to end with her pulling out fistfuls of my hair while we battle it out in front of the kids and the audience, so I’m willing to go along. “You weren’t… That is, you were under a lot of pressure.”

  I know it’d be wise to act like she wasn’t a raging bag of feminine abuse, but I don’t believe in lying to people. When you grow up literally painting a smile onto your face every day, it makes you want total honesty as an adult. Unless you’re trying to lie to keep your job, in which case, go for it.

  I’m starting to lose my train of thought. I’ve been doing that a lot lately.

  “That’s all done now. I’m done tormenting you, my ex, my kid. Goddess, it feels so good to come out and say that, you know? My guru told me it’d work wonders to bridge pathways between myself and the people I wronged. At least, I think that’s what he said. I don’t speak Cantonese.”

  I finally look down at her hand, and notice a great lump of something on her ring finger.

  “Nice ring,” I say, hoping I’m right about what it is. Suzonne beams.

  “Isn’t it amazing? My fiancé made it.” She holds her hand up to her face, in the classic check out my bling type of move. Only instead of a diamond on a platinum band, this ring’s made out of rope, and has what looks like a bottle cap attached to it. So. High end luxury goods, right there. At least Suzonne mentioned the fiancé, so I can appear shocked and pry.

  “Oh! Congratulations. When’s the wedding?” When are you getting officially divorced from your smoking hot ex-husband so that I may pine for him from afar? Maybe I should’ve led with that.

  “Next week. We’re driving out to Joshua Tr
ee so the desert can give its blessing.” She says it all so conversationally. “Just as soon as I complete some official paperwork. I’m so bad at paperwork. I think that’s true of all spiritual people.”

  So long as she doesn’t spiritually take Will for all he’s worth in legal fees, that’s all right by me.

  Then, something happens that startles the hell out of me—Suzonne gives me a big hug, pulling me in against her tone and unfairly svelte body. Man. Hugging her is like hugging a sexy coat rack with curves. I meant that a lot nicer than it sounded, I swear.

  “A little bird told me that you and my ex worked together on this production. She says her dad was so present, all because of you.”

  And this is the part where I end up with a knife in the back, and a terrible murder mystery begins. The Tale of the Substitute Theater Teacher’s Mangled Corpse: An Amelia Munroe Mystery.

  Thankfully, this doesn’t turn into anything so commercial. Suzonne pulls away, and winks at me.

  “Maybe he needs more of that in his life. I’m sure it does him good.” With that, she breezes out again, back into parent land. I’m left standing there and wondering if she knows we’ve banged. I’m going to say yes, just because I’d like to feel she’s giving her blessing. Not that there’s a blessing to give here. It’s not like Will’s ever going to see me again. After tonight, I need to close up shop, lock the doors, throw Archie into the car, and head on back to wherever the hell the trailer is. Besides, Will will be free. Like I said. Free to date everyone. Sleep with most of them. Marry one of them. Perhaps two, if he can get away with it.

  “Ms. Chelle.” There’s a tug on my sleeve, as Fagin looks up at me. We changed the character to a twisted social worker, and she’s got on her best Warby Parker eyeglasses and middle aged frump wig. She frowns. “They say the show’s got to start soon.”

  Right. If you go out, go out with a bang. I assemble all the little muppets backstage, all of them jittery with nerves and giggling, trying to pat their wigs and prosthetic teeth into place. I don’t know why some of them have vampire fangs. Maybe I should’ve been more involved in the costume process.

  “Let’s go out there tonight and give them the best show they’ve ever seen.” I put my hand into the circle, and everyone follows suit. Making sure to get a good look into everyone’s eyes, I add, “But whatever happens, make sure it’s the most fun show we’ve ever had. Clear eyes, full hearts, can’t lose.”

  I don’t care that I stole that from Friday Night Lights, that whole franchise is an American treasure and it works. The kids cheer, throwing their hands into the air. I slip backstage, give the okay to the stage manager. Then, as they ready everyone for places and dim the lights, I head out through the curtain and into the auditorium.

  You wouldn’t believe the array of people here tonight. There’s Beyoncé and Jay-Z, presumably for the niece or cousin or whomever they’re related to. Spielberg’s here—I think he’s a grandparent or something. And of course, the principal, Ms. Littleton, and Willow are here. They’re both wearing their best strings of wooden beads and have actual gardenias in their hair. Well, at least this Oliver will be socially conscious enough for them.

  Everyone’s rich and powerful, and I’m just going to slide over to the back of the room and watch my magnum opus like the simple, small creature that I am. Except that someone’s eye catches mine as I’m making my way down the side.

  It’s Will. He’s wearing a dark blue suit, and he’s got a probably very expensive camcorder in his hand. I realize how much I love the fact that he’s not going in on this whole filming extravaganza, where he hires an Academy Award nominated cinematographer to handle it. Do it yourself is my favorite kind of person.

  Scratch that. I think Will Munroe is my favorite kind of person. But I can’t think that way anymore. Still, as I’m trying to casually walk past him I find myself wanting to launch myself on top of him. Very subtle, that’s me.

  With a motion of his hand, he tries to wave me over. Ho boy. Should not do that. But I don’t want to be rude, and if this is the last time we see each other, I want it to be a fond parting. Imagine me waving a white handkerchief at him as I climb into my car and drive off, with only a million scarves, a mutt dog, and a couple of cheap lamps in the back. I want him to look at me and think wow, that is a woman I had sex with. It sure is.

  Point being, I calmly walk over to him and crouch down. God, he smells like pine and fresh soap, his dark hair is perfectly tousled, his jaw looks more iron than ever. Would it be overplaying my hand to simply thrust my head into his lap, cling on, and never let go?

  His perfect mouth opens, and he says, “Looks like a good crowd.”

  It’s not quite you look ravishing and I want to make love to you up against a wall when this is all over, but I’ll take what I can get.

  “It’s a good crowd now.” Crap, his eyebrows lift. He thinks I’m giving him a compliment, and he doesn’t realize that I want to compliment him but I didn’t yet, because how weird would that be? So I helpfully add, “It could be a better crowd. You know. In case the crowd is getting ideas.”

  His eyes seem to darken, and that’s not a reference to the fact that the lights are dimming. Show’s about to start. He gives one quick nod, then looks ahead stoically. I notice a bouquet of purple and yellow daisies on the seat next to him. Suzonne’s not sitting with him; I can already catch a glimpse of her on the other side of the theater, clutching the arm of someone who looks super buff and super young. And also, when they glance in each other’s eyes, super in love.

  I wonder how Will’s feeling about all this. But I can’t ask him. In fact, I need to continue to awkwardly make my way to the back and watch this masterpiece. I stand up, and quickly whisper, “I’ll, ah, see you after.”

  He nods once, non-committal. Great. Just great. I make my way back with my cheeks burning and prickly tears forming in the corners of my eyes. Then I cross my arms, smile a little as Emery stations herself beside me, and watch as the play begins.

  We took a lot of liberties with this baby, but even I have to admit that it turned out pretty damn good. Oliver starts off in that humble sweatshop, asking for the kombucha, and then the next thing you know we’re in a modern day Los Angeles. With whales. I…I never quite figured out how the aquarium got into the mix, but it was something they all wanted, so I had to give in.

  Oliver’s big song “Where is Love?” stays intact in our production, and since it’s one of my favorite songs, I’m glad. Bill Sykes, the thuggish monster who ends up murdering poor Nancy in Dickens’s original, is now a terrible contractor who wants to destroy the neighborhood and build duplexes. Nancy isn’t a prostitute now, but rather an environmental activist. And instead of Bill beating her to death, they engage in some fights with samurai swords which Nancy ends up winning. Again, I’m not sure how we crammed all this into Oliver Twist, but we did.

  Also, like I said before, Oliver ends up leaving on the back of a whale for greener pastures, or islands. Though Fagin adopts Dodger, and they agree they can go visit Oliver on Catalina every once in a while. So. That’s a happy ending, I suppose.

  My eyes inadvertently find Amelia whenever she’s in the chorus. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a kid have so much fun with such a little part. She really glows up there, and I get the feeling that if she works hard at auditioning and hones her craft, she could get a lead role. She could get several.

  But I’m not going to be there to work with her on it, because I’m going to be on the road, living far away from her and everyone else here. Including, I reluctantly admit as I look at the back of his gorgeous head, Will. I’ll miss him too much.

  I may not ever be able to get over it.

  So as the cast takes their bows and the audience rises to its feet as one to applaud its progeny, I take an organic tissue from Emery. She knows I cry at opening nights anyway, and this time around there’s an extra reason to cry.

  When the curtains fall and the lights come up, I have to hurry bac
kstage to congratulate all my amazing players. I hurry past Will so I’m not tempted to stay and talk, because that could get messy. You only want happy tears on opening night.

  21

  Chelle

  I love how excited the kids are about their big debut performance. I get tons of hugs and people jumping up and down in excitement. What I don’t expect, when we head out of the curtain afterwards and into the sea of parents, is how much everyone else loved it as well. Seriously, I’ve played shows from Oregon to Maine, Minnesota to south Texas, and I’ve never had so much enthusiasm from so many adults before.

  “You know, I never would’ve thought to have the climax of Oliver Twist be on top of the US Bank Tower,” one of the parents marvels. She’s wrapped up in some kind of pashmina, already chowing down on grapes and expensive wine from the reception tables. She squeezes my shoulder, and the rings studding each of her fingers contain enough expensive stones to fund another ten productions. “You’ve got such a gift with the kids. My Adelina keeps going on about how much she loves acting now. I think I’m going to be mad at you in a few years when she majors in it in college!”

  She laughs, and I laugh, but I get the feeling she’s serious and sort of sidle my way back into the party. Beyoncé gives me a hug, which is pretty much the culmination of my life up to this point. Everything that went before will be premature, and everything after will have the smack of anticlimax. While I gibber and try to shake as many people’s hands as possible without losing my mind, Suzonne comes up to me. She’s draped over D’Andrei, who I now realize is half a head shorter in addition to being way younger. Then again, the dude is jacked, tanned, and bleach blond, so I can understand her not caring about either of those things.

  “Amelia sparkled up there,” Suzonne gushes, squeezing her man tighter. D’Andrei, meanwhile, looks at her like he found the greatest treasure of his life. Or scored the perfect wave. Or whatever it is professional surfers talk about when they talk about love. “You’ve made her so happy. Thank you.”