Acting Out

by Katrina Abbott

  “Oh,” she said. “Sure. What do you want?”

  I figured telling her to see if the kitchen would whip up a cheeseburger and fries might make her a bit suspicious, so I made a silent apology to my stomach and said, “Maybe some soup and crackers? I think I could probably handle that.”

  “There was chicken noodle at lunch. That okay?”

  I nodded. “Perfect. Thanks for being such a good roommate.”

  She smiled and left just as my stomach let out a mighty roar. “Two birds,” I said, turning back to my computer and opening up my e-mail. I ignored the incoming messages from my mother, “Open to see my new eyes!” Please. I also disregarded the Rosewood announcements because: yawn.

  There was nothing relevant from my friends, so I opened up a new message and typed in Mr. Stratton’s e-mail address. That’s as far as I got before I realized I had no idea what to even say. I’d totally humiliated myself and now he was absent from class. I knew it was because of me. It had to be; there was no way that him not teaching today was a coincidence.

  As I watched the cursor at the end of his address blinking at me impatiently, a new message came in from Kaylee asking me if I was going to be attending rehearsal that night.

  Perfect. I ignored that for the time being and typed in the message to Mr. Stratton deciding to play dumb about his absence.

  Subject: rehearsal

  Hi Mr. Stratton, you probably noticed I wasn’t in class today—some sort of bug going around, I guess. Anyway, I won’t be at rehearsal tonight and thought I should let you know since you’re the adviser. I hope to be better in time for the rehearsal on Thursday, but I’ll be sure you let you know. I’ll also send Kaylee a message so she knows, too.

  Thanks!

  Seychelles (Chelly)

  “That is, by far, the lamest e-mail I have ever written in my entire life,” I said to my screen. But it’s not like I could put anything about the kiss or even an apology, since that might cause red flags if the dean read faculty e-mail or had some sort of e-mail red flag scanning software or something. But if I emailed him, he had to respond, right? Then I’d know where he was at by what he said. Because I really, really needed to know.

  I hovered the cursor over the send button and then cursed my indecision and just sent it. “There,” I said to the screen. “No takebacks now.”

  A new message came in and I glanced to the list of unread messages, figuring it was maybe another announcement, but it wasn’t. It was an out of office message from Mr. Stratton.

  I opened it, thinking maybe he’d had to leave campus for a family emergency or something and my heart lurched. “I hope everything’s okay,” I said. But I was relieved that I had probably been overthinking his absence and of course it had nothing to do with me.

  Until I read the message.

  Please note: until further notice, Mr. Stratton will not be reachable at this address. Please direct any inquiries to Mrs. Andrews in the main Rosewood office or to Dean Haywood directly.

  “What?”

  Oh God, I thought. I’ve made him quit. It was so much worse than I’d ever imagined.

  And it was about to get much, much worse than that.

  ~ ♥ ~

  I closed down my e-mail and jumped up from my seat and out the door, striding down the hall to Kaylee and Celia’s room at the end of the hall. I burst through the door, only barely registering Kaylee almost falling out of her chair as I did.

  “Chelly!” she barked as she bent to grab the cell phone that had fallen out of her hand. “You scared the crap out of me.”

  “Where’s Mr. Stratton?” I asked.

  She looked around the room as though I’d asked why he wasn’t here and then clued in and cocked her head. “I heard he was sick. Why?”

  I ignored her question and shook my head. “I don’t think so. I just sent him an e-mail and got a weird out of office message.”

  She frowned. “What do you mean, weird?”

  “Like all official and not at all personal—like he didn’t even write it. Inquiries are supposed to go to Mrs. Andrews or the dean.”

  “Huh,” Kaylee said. “That is weird.”

  “Have you checked your e-mail? Have they said who is supposed to be the new adviser for the play now?”

  She shrugged as she glanced at her computer. “No, I haven’t looked. I’ve been texting with Declan.”

  I looked at her computer pointedly. “Can you check?”

  She screwed up her face. “Why? What does it matter?”

  He’d told me to tell no one, but did that matter now that he was gone? Although if he wasn’t actually gone and was coming back and his being absent had nothing to do with me, telling Kaylee what had happened was a really bad idea. She and Mr. Stratton worked closely together on the production and if I told her I’d kissed him, would that make things awkward so for her that she might say something? Not that I didn’t trust Kaylee, but that I’d kissed a teacher was pretty huge.

  Although, if he’d quit because of me, how could I keep that from my friends? I so needed someone to talk to about this, but... for some ridiculously insane reason, Abe’s face jumped into my head and I almost laughed out loud. Like I could ever tell him I kissed a teacher. He already thought I was impulsive and trashy. If he knew that, well...he just couldn’t ever know.

  “Chelly? What’s going on?” Kaylee asked, concern all over her face.

  I sank down onto Celia’s bed. “Nothing. I’m just concerned about the production, that’s all.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Why? He doesn’t actually do anything other than keep people from hooking up at rehearsal,” she said and if I wasn’t in a panic, I would have thought it adorable how much she was blushing about the whole hooking up thing. “He’s not involved in the actual production.”

  I shrugged, trying to keep casual about it. “I don’t know, I just find it very inspiring to look at him while I’m acting,” I said, giving her a wink. Although now that I’d kissed him, talking about ogling him felt really sleazy and wrong.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Kaylee asked.

  “Maybe not,” I said. “Maybe I’m delirious.”

  She stood up from her chair and came over, placing a palm on my forehead. “When I was sick back at the masquerade dance, remember how I was? I was totally delirious. Maybe you should go back to bed. You don’t feel warm but...”

  I nodded and got up off her bed. “Can’t hurt. Okay, thanks,” I said. “Let me know if you hear anything.”

  “Of course,” Kaylee said as I left her room.

  Wear Protective Clothing

  There was nothing I wanted to do less than go to physics class the next day. But I had to see if Mr. Stratton was back. And if he was, I needed to see for myself that whatever had taken him off campus hadn’t been me.

  So I told my friends I was feeling better and trudged my way down to the dining hall for a decent breakfast (the only good part about all of this was returning to regular meals, finally). I heard a few whispers, but the hoopla surrounding the talent show was starting to calm down. Mostly.

  But then I heard some girl call me a slut (very loudly) behind my back and I turned and smiled at her like I just didn’t care. When she blushed and slid her eyes away from mine as I stared at her defiantly, I figured it was the beginning of the end of that drama.

  Funny how thinking you made a teacher quit because you kissed him has a way of putting things into perspective. Because even if the stuff about the wardrobe malfunction wasn’t dying down, I was really starting not to care quite as much.

  Although, my new scandal was only partly the reason for that; Abe was a big part of it, too.

  We all finished breakfast and our little group broke up as we scattered to go to our respective first periods. I found myself walking down the hall with Emmie and tried to be casual, but I was so distracted that I didn’t even really clue in that she was talking to me until she stopped in the hallway. It was a good ten feet before I noticed and turn
ed around.

  “Huh?” I said. “What’s wrong?”

  She started walking again and caught up. “I asked you what you’re wearing to the dance on Friday.”

  “Right,” I said. “I’m probably not going.”

  “Chelly,” she said, sounding very motherly. Well, like someone else’s mother, certainly not mine. “You have to go to the dance. I thought you wanted to find a boyfriend.”

  “Yeah, well, that was before last Friday happened.”

  In my peripheral vision, I saw her nod beside me. “I get it,” she said. “I do. Does it help if I told you that you actually looked great?”

  I glanced over at her. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Nope.”

  A snort escaped me as I thought about if it did help. It shouldn’t, but maybe it did. “You saw the pictures, I presume?” I asked, suddenly scared of her answer.

  “Yeah,” she said.

  “And?”

  She looked over at me, a wicked grin on her face. “You looked surprised.”

  I’m sure that’s what people were looking at,” I said. “My expression.”

  “Well,” she said. “I did. I’m not exactly all that interested in your breasts, to be honest. No offense.”

  “None taken.”

  “You looked good. I mean, it was obvious that you were horrified; you’re a good actor, but you’re not that good.”

  I rolled my eyes as she nudged me with her shoulder.

  “But honestly, you have nothing to be worried about. Your arms were over your head, ensuring maximum perkiness.”

  I supposed that was true.

  “Anyway, it’s all over now. And the sooner you get back to your regular life, the sooner people will stop talking about it. You’ve never let other people dictate your actions. Why start now?”

  Emmie was probably the strongest person I knew and I really looked up to her for the way she lived her life exactly the way she wanted to, even if that meant giving all her money to charity and dating the hottest scary dude I’d ever seen. I loved her for being so balls to the wall all the time and I was always trying to live up to that. “You’re right,” I said as we approached our classroom. “I have nothing to be afraid of.”

  At least until I got into the classroom and the substitute teacher told me the dean wanted me to report to her office right away.

  Crap.

  ~ ♥ ~

  The dean waved her hand toward the chair in front of her desk and I dropped into it.

  “Good morning, Dean Haywood,” I said, folding my hands in my lap, trying to look innocent of whatever it was that made her call me down.

  “And to you, Ms. Spencer,” the dean said. “You’re feeling better, I trust?” She looked into my eyes and I wondered if it was possible for her to see into my soul, because I suddenly felt very exposed, like she knew every single one of my secrets. From my insecurities to the fact that I’d kissed Mr. Stratton right up to how I’d faked sick the day before because I just couldn’t face him after what I’d done.

  “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

  She nodded and then took a breath, like she was nervous, which cranked things up a notch and set my heart to racing. Well, to racing faster. “You probably noticed Mr. Stratton wasn’t in class today.”

  Every swear word I knew in both English and French ran through my head. She knew, damn it all. But in my seventeen years, I’d learned not to admit to things until absolutely necessary. Or better yet, not at all. “I did, yes.”

  “Anything you’d like to say to me?”

  More swear words looped in my brain. “No, ma’am.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Her eyes were like lasers on mine and I had to force myself to hold her gaze and not fidget. I channeled my mother when she told people she was still thirty-seven, even when I was standing right next to her. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She continued to stare at me several moments longer but then smoothed her hands over her blotter and reached for a big mug full of what looked like orange juice. “Fine. But I want you to feel like you can talk to me about anything,” she said, her voice surprisingly soft. “I won’t tolerate any untoward behavior in my school. Do you understand?”

  I almost choked, but managed to get three words out. “Of course, ma’am.”

  “Fine. You may return to class.”

  That’s it? No warning, no threat of a call home, no lecture?

  Not one to argue when miracles happen, I gave her a final, “Yes, ma’am,” before I stood up and practically sprinted to the door before she changed her mind.

  “Ms. Spencer?” she said before I had a chance to get the door open.

  So close.

  “Ma’am?”

  She speared me with another glance. “I mean it. You can talk to me about anything. I am a woman first and the Rosewood dean second.”

  What? Was she telling me she understood why I kissed Mr. Stratton? Was she saying she couldn’t blame me? Had she herself found it impossible to resist him?

  Gah. Whatever. Now was not the time to figure it out because as soon as her mimosa wore off and she came to her senses, I was probably screwed, so best to get out of there while she was still obviously drunk.

  “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

  She gave me a curt nod before she dismissed me again.

  ~ ♥ ~

  The next three days passed with no Mr. Stratton; we still had the substitute teacher for physics with no mention of him or a long-term replacement, but it was at least the same sub every day. There hadn’t been any more summonses to the dean’s office and the mean girls had stopped harassing me, so it almost felt like life was returning to normal. Almost.

  But then it was Friday morning, the morning of the dance and while I was brushing my teeth, I got a text from Abe. So, are you coming to the dance tonight?

  Something in my chest fluttered at that, but I still wasn’t a hundred percent sure. Why did he even care?

  Undecided, I typed into my phone with one finger: I don’t even know what I’d wear.

  It wouldn’t matter, you’d still look great.

  Whoa. What was this? I mean sure, Abe was a nice guy and all, but this? This sounded suspiciously like he was going out of his way to flatter me.

  You don’t have to suck up. It won’t make me go. I mean, maybe it would, but I wasn’t going to tell him that.

  No sucking up. Only truth.

  Abe?

  Yeah.

  You don’t have to say nice things like that. I’m over the whole incident. Almost.

  Sigh. Can’t you just take a compliment?;p

  Apparently not. Which was so weird because I’d never had trouble with attention from guys before. In fact, the opposite. What was it about him saying it that made it different?

  So? He sent.

  What?

  Are you coming to the dance?

  Fine, I typed, though I was smiling as I spit out the last of my toothpaste and rinsed.

  Dare is over, so wear whatever you want.

  Dare isn’t over, I sent back. Hasn’t been 30 days.

  There was a long pause, though I could see him typing. After what happened friday its ok... he finally sent.

  For some reason, I wanted to dress according to the dare. Not that I wanted to look like a nun, but, it suddenly felt important to show him that I could. Which was going to be kind of challenging, I thought as I tapped out, see you tonight. I closed our conversation then left the bathroom and looked at my closet. There wasn’t anything in there that would fulfill the dare. Not even close. Well maybe the harlequin suit I’d worn to the masquerade ball would, since it technically covered my whole body, but I wasn’t about to wear that again.

  “Hmmm,” I said out loud.

  “What’s wrong?” Naomi said from the other side of the room where she was organizing her notebooks for the day.

  I turned toward her. “I need something modest to wear to the dance tonight.” I did air quotes at the word mode
st. “I still have that dare.”

  She gave me a weird look and then abandoned her schoolwork and came over to where I was standing in front of my clothes. “You don’t have anything that would qualify, do you?”

  “Not really.”

  She pulled out a gown and held it up against her body. “What about this one?”

  I looked over at my roommate. The one who had never offered to lend me clothes. Ever. Not that I ever would have asked, considering her boring wardrobe, but this might just be the time when her boring wardrobe was going to work for me.

  “Really?” I asked.

  She nodded, not even hesitating for a second.

  I looked from her to the dress. It was going to be perfect. But... “I’ll stretch it out,” I said. “I’m way more stackedthan you.”

  She shrugged. “It’s okay. It’ll look great on you. Why don’t you try it on?”

  I glanced at the clock; not a lot of time before I had to head to class. But I was not going to leave a dress to the last minute ever again so I took it from her and hurried into the bathroom. I took off my school uniform and pulled the dress over my head, thankful that the cut of it was such that I could wear a regular bra.

  No wardrobe malfunctions. Because how horrible would that be? No one is that unlucky. Not even me.

  It wasn’t a fancy dress—plain black with a bit of detail over the empire waist, but it fit okay and wasn’t going to fall down, so I guess the bar was pretty low. But whatever, it would look fine and showed almost no skin, which fulfilled the dare. Even though he’d give me an out, Abe wouldn’t be able to complain about this dress that covered up everything. Even the scoop neck came barely below my collarbones (not that you could even see those) and about a mile away from cleavage.

  It felt weird being so covered up and almost made me feel insecure about going to the dance wearing so much. Is that ridiculous? It kind of felt stupid to be worried about wearing too many clothes but there it is.

  Not having any time to model it for Naomi, I pulled the dress off and got back into my uniform before I told her it was perfect and we rushed out the door.

  Analyze Your Data