Acting Out

by Katrina Abbott

  “So,” I said, hoping his leaving meant she was done with me.

  “Have a seat, Ms. Spencer.”

  I guess not.

  I sat back down.

  Manipulate the Results

  “So,” the dean said. “A pilot?”

  “I could be a pilot,” I said.

  “No need to be defensive, Ms. Spencer. I was just asking. And of course you can be anything you want to be if you put your mind to it.”

  I looked at her and could tell that she really meant it. She wasn’t just blowing smoke up my butt but really believed I could do anything I wanted to. “Thank you,” I said, my throat getting tight around my words.

  She nodded. “So, what happened at the show...”

  “I swear it was not on purpose,” I said again. “I know some people probably think I did, but I would never have done that. I never would have flashed...” I reached for another Kleenex as the tears returned again.

  “I know that,” She said as she exhaled and pinched the bridge of her nose. “But between your wardrobe malfunction and that boy’s lewd dancing, I have a lot to answer for. I’ve already had several angry parents contact me.”

  “Dean Haywood, I’m so sorry,” I said. “I can’t speak for Miles, but I never...”

  She held up her hand to stop me. “I know. You’re not in trouble. I just want you to understand that I had no choice but to call your parents. Everything that happens on this campus is my responsibility, so I need to be able to reassure other parents that I’m not running an adolescent burlesque show here.

  “What happened during your segment was unfortunate, but I have a lot to answer for with that boy.”

  “He did have the Speedo on,” I said, trying to be reassuring.

  She gave me a withering look. “I’m not sure if that made it any better.”

  “He has nice abs,” fell out of my mouth.

  She lifted an eyebrow.

  “Okay, not helping,” I said. “I’ll stop talking.”

  A corner of her mouth lifted up. “Anyway, I’ve had a chat with Dean Peterson about his boys, but make sure your outfits are more...secure in future.”

  I nodded. “Believe me, that will never happen again.”

  “I believe you,” she said. “Okay, you may go. I have a lot of messages to return.”

  I stood up. “Thank you.”

  I got to the doorway when the dean said my name. I turned back toward her.

  “Have you spoken to the Abramovich boy?”

  I cringed and then shook my head. “Not yet.” I knew I was going to have to deal with him sooner or later, but I wasn’t looking forward to making even more apologies. The only thing worse than the humiliation over what had happened was the guilt over ruining his show.

  “You might want to touch base with him. He was very concerned after you left the auditorium.”

  “I will,” I said and left her office.

  Concerned? Right. More like pissed as hell.

  ~ ♥ ~

  I thought about going to retrieve my phone from the wardrobe room on the way back to my dorm room, but then remembered the dress I needed to return anyway, so figured I’d grab that first. And, if I was being honest, I still wasn’t ready to deal with the phone and text messages from Abe.

  Realizing I needed a bit more than Ritz sandwiches, I made my way down to the dining hall. It was in between meals so there weren’t too many people around—just a few girls studying, most from different years that I didn’t even know. None of my friends were at our normal table but as I turned and went over to the snack bar, a hush came over the crowd. Then I began to hear the whispers behind me.

  I knew I wasn’t imagining it when I started to hear words like ‘slut’ and ‘show off’ and things that were worse. So much worse. I suddenly felt like I was naked now and all these girls were running up to me and plunging their daggers into my back.

  Do not cry, I told myself. Do not cry. Mean girls are so not worth your tears. But despite knowing this rationally, my eyes burned and my throat tightened.

  I grabbed a bag of chips and an apple from the snack counter before I took a breath, pasted a smile on my face and turned toward the whispers. I held my chin up as I looked around the room and used my best acting voice when I said. “I’m sorry, did someone have something to say to my face?”

  Funny how the whispers died off.

  “That’s what I thought,” I said and then turned to leave, thankful that I was the only one who could hear my heart pounding in my chest.

  I was almost at the door when someone coughed, but I was sure I heard whore in there. I was going to turn around, but as the laughing started, I figured it was probably in my best interests to get out while I could. I pretended I didn’t hear it and kept on walking.

  I would have run back to my dorm room, but there were more girls in the hallway heading toward the dining room and I refused to be a coward no matter what, so I kept my pace to a brisk walk and managed to nod at them as I passed, even though I couldn’t quite meet their eyes.

  I took the elevator instead of the stairs, not wanting to meet any more girls on the way up. Once I reached my floor, I exited, hoping my friends weren’t in the hallway. Also, I sort of hoped they were. Because I kind of needed them, but didn’t know what to say to them. I know that seems stupid, I mean, they’re my friends and of course I’d be there for them if it had happened to any one of them, but being on the receiving end felt so strange and needy.

  But none of their doors were open and no one was out there in the hall. Even the lounge was empty, so I was able to make it all the way to my dorm room without seeing a single soul.

  It felt like a bittersweet victory.

  ~ ♥ ~

  I’ve never been a faker. Until that afternoon when my friends came calling and I just couldn’t face them. I was still embarrassed and quite frankly, was feeling awfully sorry for myself, so I told Naomi that I had a big PMS migraine and needed the room to be dark and silent. That was my subtle hint for her to get out, which she thankfully took as her cue to head back to the library, promising me she’d let the others know about my condition on the way.

  She ducked back in at dinnertime to check on me (as much as I moan about her, she isn’t a bad person and though we’re not exactly friends, we do care about each other on a basic level) and see if I wanted anything. I’d polished off the box of Ritz sandwiches, a bag of Skittles and two Snickers bars while she’d been out, so I was able to tell her quite honestly that I wasn’t hungry. I felt kind of rotten for lying (and from all the junk in my stomach) but I could almost justify my extreme humiliation as some sort of illness, right? Well, that’s what I told myself, anyway.

  I stayed the rest of the night in bed, but then at five a.m. the next morning, I couldn’t possibly sleep any more and was kind of sick of myself, so I got out of bed, stuffed my feet into my boots, grabbed my gym bag and snuck out of my room, being extra careful not to wake Naomi after she’d been really considerate the whole day before.

  I was starving and knew there would already be some food out in the dining hall for any early risers, but I needed to blow off some steam first, so instead of taking a left at the bottom of the stairs, I took a right and made my way out of the building and rushed down the path to the aquatics center. I figured there was nothing like a brisk walk in the dead of winter and then a hundred lengths to burn off a big dose of self-pity (not to mention all the junk food I’d consumed the night before).

  After I nearly drowned midway through length thirty-four, I called it quits and took a long, hot shower in the change room. Taking my time, I blew my hair dry and got dressed again before heading back to the main building and down the hall to the dining room. Remembering the girls from the day before, I prayed it was empty but then immediately admonished myself because I did not want to be the girl who feared being ridiculed. I’d never worried about what anyone thought before, why should it matter now?

  But as I walked into the dining r
oom, a body ran into mine, hitting me hard enough to make me drop my bag, and for a half a second, I thought it was on purpose.

  On reflex, I almost knocked the girl down with a fist to her face but thankfully, I looked up just in time. “Brooklyn?”

  “Ugh! Chelly, I’m so sorry!” she said in a huff. “I wasn’t watching where I was going. I’m totally late for getting to the stables for equestrian practice but I needed to put something in my stomach before...” she looked down and I followed her gaze to see what looked like the sad remnants of a white chocolate macadamia nut cookie on the floor. “Crap.”

  “Grab another,” I said, knowing there had to be more, especially this early in the morning.

  She shook her head as she bent down to pick up the cookie bits. “I don’t have time.”

  “You’re not going to eat that are you?”

  She glanced up at me like I was cracked. “No, I’m cleaning it up.”

  I shook my head and shooed her away from the mess “Go. I’ll deal with this. And I’ll bring you another out to the stables.”

  She looked at me for a split second before it must have sunk in that I meant it. “That would be awesome. I’ll be in the barn for about the next twenty minutes getting ready.”

  “Go on,” I said, shooing her again. “I’m right behind you.”

  “You are the best, Chelly, thank you so much,” she called out as she ran down the hall toward the doors I’d just come through.

  I bent down to clean up the rest of the cookie, sweeping the crumbles into my hand and dumping them into the garbage bin in the hallway. I went and washed my hands and then returned to the nearly empty dining room, making myself and Brooklyn each a coffee and then loading up the outside pocket of my gym bag with cookies, apples and a couple of bananas. I made my way out to the stables with my goodies and found Brooklyn brushing a horse that was tied up in the aisle of the barn. I stayed well back of the horse and said softly, “Coffee service,” to get her attention.

  She turned around and I’m pretty sure she fell in love with me a little in that second.

  “Oh my God, thank you so much,” she said as she saw the tray of coffees in my hand. “I will marry you if you tell me you have food, too.”

  “I’m not the marrying kind,” I said with a wink. “But if I ever change my mind, you’re on.” I put the tray of drinks down on a table away from the horse cleaning things and dug the food out of my bag.

  “My hands are all horsey, can you shove one of those cookies in my face?” she pleaded.

  I laughed and held out a cookie for her and wasn’t surprised when she took a horse-sized bite. I opened up the lid on her coffee for her, but she obviously didn’t mind horsey on the outside of her cup as she took it from me and downed a big gulp to wash down the cookie.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Can you stick around for a few minutes?”

  I shrugged. “Not much else going on this early on a Sunday.”

  She returned to the horse and continued brushing him. “This is Charlie, by the way.”

  “I’m not a fan of horses,” I said from a safe distance away.

  “He’s not going to hurt you,” she said. “And even if he wanted to, he’s in the cross-ties.”

  I looked at the leashes connecting his face thing to the sides of the barn. They hardly looked secure enough to hold a horse if he was hell-bent on attacking me.

  “Chelly?”

  “Huh?”

  “Would you get over here with my cookie,” she said, adding, “Please?”

  I sighed but took over her cookie and held it up so she could take another bite. “Mmm,” she hummed. “’anks.”

  “Sure. So. Has your hot coach returned yet?”

  “Shhhh!” she said, looking around the barn to see if we’d been overheard. Like I would have blurted that out if we hadn’t been alone. Silly Brooklyn.

  “What?” I said. “There’s no one here.”

  “They will be here any minute,” she said. “And he’s not my hot coach. I mean my coach. I mean, he’s my coach, but he’s not mine. And no, he’s not back yet. I don’t think. I mean, I don’t...crap. Shut up.”

  I just stared at her wide-eyed. Because: oh boy, was this amusing. “So okay, that’s quite the sunburn you have there all of a sudden.”

  “Shut up,” she said again but her eye-roll told me she wasn’t really mad.

  “He has to come back sooner or later,” I said. “He’s a student at Westwood, he can’t just blow off the semester.”

  She shrugged but then nodded, her hand in the loop of the brush going around and around in circles along the horse’s shoulder, leaving whirly lines in his coat (fur?).

  “He will come back, Brooklyn,” I said. “I’ve seen how he looks at you. He’s got it baaaaad; I don’t believe he can just walk away. Not that guy.”

  “I miss him,” she said quietly. “But when he’s here, it’s better and yet worse at the same time.”

  “Maybe that’s why he’s staying away,” I suggested, really having no idea. “But mark my words, he’ll be back for you.”

  She nodded, but didn’t look at me, so I figured I’d hit a nerve and best to let it go. I took a bite of my own cookie and washed it down with some coffee, which felt good, warming me up from the inside.

  After several moments, Brooklyn was the one to break the silence. “So,” she said as she continued brushing what seemed like the endless coat of horse. “How are you doing after...” she didn’t finish her sentence. Not like she needed to.

  I exhaled at the inevitability that things would turn to me and what had happened. “I’m okay, I guess.”

  “It’s not as bad as you think.”

  I stared at her for a long moment until she glanced at me. “What?”

  “How can it possibly not be as bad as I think?”

  She put the rubber brush down on the table and looked at me. “Okay, yeah, it’s probably as bad as you think. Sorry.” She then picked up a bristle brush and started in on the horse again, this time going in straight lines instead of in circles. It looked like a huge pain in the butt; just one more reason to choose swimming over equestrian.

  “Have you talked to Jared?”

  It took me half a second to realize she was talking about Abe. She had to be the only person I knew to call him by his first name. “Not yet.”

  “You should probably call him,” she said.

  “I know I owe him an apology.”

  She stopped brushing and looked at me. “What?”

  “For ruining his show.”

  She frowned at me. “I’m sure he’s not worried about that. He’s worried about you.”

  I snorted. “I doubt that. He probably thinks I did it on purpose just like everyone else.”

  “No one else thinks that,” Brooklyn said, reaching for her coffee and taking a long drink. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her about the girls in the dining room who seemed to think otherwise. “But even if they did, he wouldn’t. He’s a nice guy.”

  So I keep hearing, I didn’t say out loud. But what Brooklyn didn’t know was what Abe thought of me and how he looked down on how I dressed and thought I was trashy. He’d never come right out and say it, but I could tell by the way he looked at me. Without warning, tears sprung to my eyes again and I needed to get away from Brooklyn before I totally lost it. Again.

  “Anyway,” I said, waving her off. “You’re right. I should call him. Actually, I bet he’s been trying to get a hold of me; I think I left my phone backstage, which is where I’m headed next. So I’ll get out of your way and go do that.”

  She gave me a funny look, but nodded. “Okay, I’ll see you later.”

  I got only a few steps away when she called my name. I looked over my shoulder at her. “Yeah?”

  She grinned at me. “Before you go: another cookie?”

  I laughed and returned to her and put another cookie in her mouth. “Later, girlfriend,” I said before I turned and left.

  ~ ♥ ~


  The backstage door was ajar and I was about to go in, but hesitated when I realized who could be inside: A. Kaylee, B. the Janitor or C. Mr. Stratton.

  I could handle A or B, but C? Not so much. Not yet.

  I started to think that maybe being expelled wouldn’t have been so bad after all. Because not only was I going to have to apologize to Abe, but I was going to have to return to classes and the Romeo and Juliet rehearsals and face all those people I’d flashed. I exhaled and was about to leave when I heard, “Hello? Someone out there?”

  Of course it was C.

  I took a deep breath and made my way up to the stage where he was standing in front of a rolling clothing rack. “Hi Mr. Stratton,” I said, still unable to look him in the eye, so I focused on the costumes.

  “Oh, hello, Ms. Spencer,” he said, his voice wooden and also keeping his eyes on the costumes. Great, so we were both feeling awkward. Somehow I’d thought he’d be all grown up and stoic about everything and pat me on the head and say it was all going to be all right. But if he was feeling weird about it, that didn’t bode well for me at all.

  “Oh come on,” I said. “You’ve seen me naked, I think you can call me by my first name.”

  Have I mentioned that my almost non-existent filter seems to completely disappear when I’m nervous?

  My brain caught up with my mouth but was of course powerless to take back what I’d blurted out.

  Although it did make him finally look at me, so I guess that was a win.

  Oh God...

  “Uh,” he said, though it came out more like a gurgle.

  I blew out a breath and wiped my palms on my jeans, keeping my eyes down. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Which was a huge lie, but was all I could think to say that wasn’t going to make things A HUNDRED TIMES WORSE.

  “Ms. Spencer...” he said, his voice soft and full of pity, which almost undid me.

  I shook my head. “I should go.” But I didn’t move, my feet seemingly frozen to the stage. I wished really, really hard for spontaneous teleportation to be a thing.