I didn’t stop until I was up in my room and hiding in the bottom of my closet.
Where I was going to stay for the rest of my life.
Peer Review
“She’s not in here.”
“Where could she be? We’ve looked everywhere.”
The voices outside my closet woke me up. I recognized Naomi, who must have opened the door, and Brooklyn.
I was prepared to wait them out, but then I heard them move past the closet and into the dorm room. Then the tell-tale squeak of Naomi’s bed when someone sat on it. I could wait them out, but my bladder couldn’t. I took a deep breath and pushed the traitorous dress to the back of my closet behind me (once I’d realized doing the ugly cry in Spanx and fishnets was not only pathetic but very uncomfortable, I’d changed into sweats that were hanging conveniently above me) before I turned the handle and knee-walked out of the closet.
The girls both jumped up to approach me, but I held up my palms and sat back on my heels. “Don’t,” I said, unable to look at them. The last thing I wanted was anyone’s pity.
Naomi sat back down, but Brooklyn stayed standing. “Chelly?” she asked gently. “Are you okay?”
I laughed humorlessly at that and finally looked up at my friend. “No. I just flashed the entire school. Both schools. I’m not okay.” The tears came again, rolling down my cheeks even though I’d been sure I had no more tears left.
Despite my protests, Brooklyn came over and pulled me up, wrapping her arms around me as soon I was standing. Something in me snapped at that and I clung to her like I was two and had just fallen off my bike and scraped my knee. I sobbed on her shoulder for so long that I started to hiccup. Which made me laugh. Which helped the humiliation recede just enough that I could let her go.
“I have to pee,” I announced, continuing on with that whole toddler theme and ducked into the bathroom. I used the facilities and washed my hands before I risked a look at my face in the mirror.
I wasn’t surprised at the streaky mess my face had become. I grabbed a Kleenex and was about to clean myself up when there was a knock at the door.
“Chelly?” Brooklyn said softly.
They weren’t going to leave me alone. I both loved and hated that about my friends. With a sigh, I opened the door and emerged from the bathroom.
“Come on,” Brooklyn said, sliding her hand down my arm and taking my hand to lead me over to my bed where we both sat.
“I look like a drag queen who’s just done the walk of shame at five a.m.” I said.
Brooklyn smiled at that but didn’t argue. “What happened?” she asked.
I looked at her. “You mean, you didn’t see my dress fall down?”
She cringed at that. “Okay, wrong question.”
I snorted. “I can’t think of the right question in these circumstances.”
“You didn’t do it on purpose, did you?” Naomi asked.
My head whipped around so quickly, I felt a muscle pull in my shoulder. “What?”
She held up her palms toward me. “Of course I don’t think you did, just...”
As the tears started up again, I wiped my sleeve over my face, keeping my eyes trained on her. “Just what?”
She shrugged, looking sorry that she’d even opened her mouth. “Just that you put stuff out there all the time.”
“Naomi...” Brooklyn said, but I stopped her with a hand on her arm.
I turned to Naomi. “I put a bit of cleavage out there. I flirt with guys. I don’t strip naked in front of two entire schools! Not to mention that I ran out of there like a lunatic. That should have tipped you off.”
“Okay, okay,” she said, shrinking down into herself. “I’m sorry. I know you wouldn’t. That was stupid of me to even ask.”
But the problem was, if my roommate saw what had happened and thought, even for a second, that I’d done it on purpose, other people would, too.
And a lot of other people had seen it happen.
Oh God.
~ ♥ ~
Despite that whole wanting to hide in my closet forever plan, the world—and more specifically, the dean—had other ideas. Not that my friends would have let me hole up anyway. Emmie, Celia and Kaylee had shown up after they were done with the talent show, but I had sent them all away, telling them I just needed to go to bed and decompress.
They were reluctant to leave, but I just couldn’t deal. And I had to figure out what to do about Abe. I’d completely ruined his part of the show and had then run off. I had a feeling once I found my cell, which I was fairly sure I’d left with my clothes down in the wardrobe room, there would be angry messages and texts from him. I couldn’t deal with that yet, either.
But the world didn’t stop turning just because Seychelles Spencer suffered the most humiliating thing imaginable.
So I wasn’t surprised when I awoke the next morning to a voicemail message on our dorm room phone with a summons to meet the dean in her office at ten a.m.
Cute the ominous music.
Still, while it wasn’t the very last thing on my things I wanted to do list (flashing over eight-hundred people held that spot) it sure wasn’t something to look forward to. But what could I do? And anyway, as Brooklyn had reassured me, the dean couldn’t exactly blame me for my wardrobe malfunction. Gravity and bad tape were to blame for that one.
Miles was the one she should really be mad at. I mean come on, a Speedo? Though looking back on it now, his whole dance routine had been pretty funny. If everything after hadn’t happened.
Thankful that Naomi had left the room early to go meet her study group in the library, I stayed in the dorm room—skipping breakfast and easing my growling stomach with a handful of Ritz sandwiches—until it was time to face the music. I made my way down to the dean’s office, feeling like I was walking down death row in my school uniform (because it couldn’t hurt to look extra-respectful). It was almost like the bright and cheery hallway filled with student-created artwork was mocking me as I walked to my doom. I took a deep breath and went into the main office, which was predictably quiet and empty, due to it being a Saturday.
Still, I could hear the dean in her office through her open door. She was talking in her stern voice, though I couldn’t tell what she was saying. My heart sped up a bit as I wondered who she was talking to; maybe Mrs. Andrews, her secretary, or even one of the teachers. Oh please, don’t let it be Mr. Stratton, I thought. I couldn’t imagine why he’d be involved except that he was the teacher adviser to the school play. Though that didn’t have anything to do with the talent show. Whatever, I thought, knowing I’d find out soon enough.
I was a few minutes early, but it was close enough to ten that if I left and came back, I’d be late. I took another breath and approached the inner office and knocked on the door frame.
“Ma’am?” was barely out of my mouth before I saw who she’d been talking to. My eyes widened in shock and horror as he stood up out of his seat and turned toward me, the stern look of disappointment on his face. The one I knew all too well.
The Commander.
Defending Your Process
“Dad,” I choked out, frozen in the doorway. What is he doing here? He’d never come to the school before. He was way too busy to be bothered and never took an interest in my education except at the end of the year when he told me my marks would never get me into pre-law. Other than that fun annual lecture, my mother was the one who dealt with school stuff. Not that they had to do much other than drop me off and pick me up. And even that was done via their staff half the time.
But now I knew I was in some serious trouble. Parents didn’t get called to come in very often, especially since most of the parents of kids here were VIPs and didn’t have the time to deal with their kids’ minor discipline issues (busy, absentee parents being the reason why most of us were here in the first place). I’d expected a lecture about propriety and modesty and Rosewood standards blah, blah, blah. But that he was here was huge. And really not good.
The dean spoke, pulling my attention away from my father. Her voice was calm, steely, but my heart was already in my throat. “Come in, Seychelles. Take a seat.”
I nodded and came into the room, sitting in the chair as my father lowered himself into the seat beside me. He still hadn’t said a word, which would have been really unnerving if it wasn’t pretty much his lawyerly MO; keep silent until the other person cracks. Don’t get me wrong—I was totally unnerved, but it would have been worse if I hadn’t recognized his regular tactic. I forced deep breaths into my lungs, refusing to give anything up before I had to.
And anyway, I told myself, I hadn’t done anything wrong. I only wish my pounding heart would believe it. But maybe this wasn’t about what had happened at the talent show at all. Maybe this was about me acing that physics test.
Ha ha ha. Right.
The dean leaned forward in her chair, resting her elbows on her big wooden desk as she looked at me intently. “I called your parents last night after your little performance at the talent show. I thought they would like to know about what happened.”
Of course they would. I swallowed but it did nothing to help my dry throat. “Am I getting expelled?” I croaked.
“We’re here to talk about what happened,” the dean said, obviously not answering my question. But I had to think if she was going to expel me, there wouldn’t be any reason to talk about things.
Somewhat relieved, I nodded but didn’t say anything.
My father cracked first. It felt like a win. For half a second. “Well? What do you have to say for yourself, young lady?”
Oh, that he was pulling out the young lady was not good. Ugh. The whole thing was beyond humiliating, but now I had to explain to my father? Hadn’t the dean covered it already (no pun intended)?
“Where’s Mom?” I asked. It was an obvious stalling technique, but there had to be a reason why he was here.
His eyes flicked to the dean and then back to me. “She’s having minor surgery,” he said, reminding me about my phone call with my mother and how she’d wanted to come by the school after her ‘minor surgery.’ How ironic.
“Nothing serious,” he added to reassure me, as though her eye job was some sort of medical necessity I should be concerned about. Whatever.
“Anyway, she’s recuperating and I hardly wanted to bother her with your shenanigans, so I’m here, despite my impossible schedule. Now, stop wasting time and explain yourself.”
Fear and then anger bubbled up in my gut, but I knew lashing out was a bad idea. So I took a few deep breaths, even though he was glaring at me, and somehow managed to keep myself from completely freaking out.
I knew he was waiting for an apology, but if anyone deserved one (besides me and Abe who were the real victims here, thank you gravity and faulty tape) it was the dean. So I turned to her first. “I am sorry about what happened, Dean Haywood. But you have to understand that it was not something I planned at all. The dress was too big and I had on tape to hold it up and it...”
“Tape?” my father interrupted, looking from me to the dean and then back. “What do you mean, tape?”
“To hold the dress up. Because I didn’t have a strap...” ugh. I stalled out because I couldn’t tell him I didn’t have the right bra. “To hold it up. It’s a pretty common thing.” I looked to the dean for her help. She raised an eyebrow like I was pushing my luck, but she did jump in.
“It is the kind of trick they use in pageants,” she said.
Dad sighed, a sign that he didn’t care about pageants or dresses or tape. He waved his hand as if to wipe away the whole subject. “Seychelles,” he said in that tone. The one that made tears spring to my eyes immediately. “I know you look up to your mother...”
Huh? I stared at him, waiting for him to continue because I had no idea what he thought my mother had to do with a wardrobe malfunction.
“But when she did her nude modeling, that was strictly for art and fashion design, not attention. It was her job and she was good at it and was very well-paid. Attempting to emulate her career here at school when you’re just a teenager is not appropriate.”
What the WHAT? I glanced over at the dean, because I couldn’t be the only one here who thought my dad was off his rocker. She was blinking at him, but it was hard to tell what she was thinking.
Whatever it was, I had to set them both straight. “Dad, I didn’t do it to be like Mom. It wasn’t like that at all. The dress...”
“So this was a prank?” He shook his head like he was disciplining a puppy who’d just left a puddle on the floor. “Now, Seychelles. You know I love you, but you’ve always been the kind of girl who looks for ways to get attention. I’m not surprised you’d do this sort of thing. But exposing yourself to an auditorium full of...”
“Dad!” I yelled because explaining wasn’t getting through to him. He wasn’t even listening! “I didn’t do it on purpose. It. Was. An. Accident.”
I looked over to the dean who seemed to be more open to listening. “I swear it. I had the tape on, but the heat from the lights or my makeup or something...and then Emmie had tried to fix the dress and the thread gave way and it all...and I...” I dissolved into tears then. My throat closed up and all I could get out after that was a series of squeaks and sniffles. My father let me cry for about twenty seconds, which was nineteen more than I would have expected.
“Seychelles. That’s quite enough.”
I wiped at my eyes with my thumbs and looked up when I saw movement in my peripheral vision. It was the dean, pushing a box of tissues to the edge of her desk toward me. I grabbed a few and pressed them to my face, working to catch my breath.
“Seychelles,” my father said again.
I dabbed at my eyes and then looked at him. Disappointment was all over his face. That almost got me going again, but no. I needed to get myself together.
“Dad,” I said, cursing an involuntary hiccup. “I don’t know how to make you believe me but I promise I didn’t do this on purpose. I totally humiliated myself in front of like a million people and now I’m going to be the laughingstock of the school. Both schools. I would never do that.”
He sighed. “What were you even doing in the ridiculous show, anyway? You need to focus on your schoolwork and not silly plays.”
“Now Sir,” the dean said in her own stern tone that matched my father’s. “We pride ourselves on our extra-curricular activities that help shape well-rounded young ladies. Seychelles is one of the leads in this year’s production of Romeo and Juliet and I must tell you...”
“Enough!” my father roared, making me startle in my seat. I glanced at the dean but she only lifted an eyebrow in response.
“Mr. Spencer,” she said, her voice calm and I had to give her credit; my father had quite a reputation for being a shark in the courtroom, but she seemed unaffected. “I will ask you not to raise your voice in my office. I understand your daughter’s education is important to you, but we can discuss this calmly.”
I thought Dad was going to lose his mind over being schooled, but he just exhaled and turned to me. “How do you expect to get into law school if you’re fooling around with these ‘extra-curricular’ things?” he glanced over at the dean as he said extra-curricular and I was sure we both heard his virtual quote marks.
Well. I guess this was as good a time as any... “Dad, I don’t want to go to law school.”
I managed to hold his gaze, but could still see his face getting very red. “What do you mean?” he asked, keeping his voice low, but the slight waver in it told me just how pissed he was.”
“I don’t want to be a lawyer.”
“So what, you want to be a model like your mother? It’s not as glamorous as it looks. And it’s not a stable, long term career.”
I snorted at that. “Right. Like I could ever be a model. Have you looked at me lately?”
His brow wrinkled and he looked at me, but I could tell he didn’t really see me. “What do you mean?”
I glanced at the dean who was watching us with interest, but remained silent.
“I could never be a model, Dad. I’m not tall enough, thin enough or near beautiful enough.” It hurt to say it out loud, but he had to know this was true. I highly doubted he first hooked up with my mother because she was smart or witty.
“What are you talking about, Chelly?” My father said softly, leaning forward in his chair to take my hand. “You’re plenty beautiful.”
“Right. And you’re not biased at all.”
“Well maybe I am, but I know a beautiful girl when I see one.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.
“So tell me what it is that you think is better than being a lawyer.”
Uh, anything? I took a big breath. “I want to be a pilot.”
He looked at me and frowned. “A pilot.”
“Yes. An airline pilot.”
“An airline pilot,” he said.
“Is there an echo in here?” I asked the dean. She just smiled at me, which was a bit weird.
“Why would you want to be a pilot?” my father said.
“That’s kind of a weird question,” I said. “I want to fly. I want to fly planes.”
He patted my hand. “We’ll see,” he said dismissively before he suddenly stood up. “I need to get back to New York. I presume we’re done here?”
We both looked at the dean who looked a little pinched and I wasn’t so sure she was done with him. “Ah...” she said, which I could have told her was a mistake. The Commander didn’t do hesitation.
“Good then.” He stepped toward me and I stood to accept his wooden hug. “See you at Easter,” he said, kissing my forehead.
“Thank you for coming, Mr. Spencer,” the dean said, obviously realizing she’d have a better chance roping a flock of starlings than keeping my father for a minute longer than he was prepared to stay.
He didn’t say anything else, but gave her a curt nod before he turned and left.
I wasn’t sure which one of us was more relieved when the echo of his footsteps were no longer audible.
Acting Out Page 11