“Shh,” the tall, thin math teacher sounded as she lifted a finger to her pink painted lips. “Quiet down. Mr. Rivera and I are going to be taking a seat in the middle of the auditorium in a few moments. Anyone interested in signing up for a backstage crew will have fifteen minutes to sign up, hand over their theatrical resume, and leave through the back doors. You will not be permitted to stay for the auditions unless you intend to act in the show.”
Bridget rolled her eyes.
“Sorry,” I whispered.
“I have two requests,” Mr. Rivera began. “First, be patient with us. We're clearly not as skilled and professional as Mrs. Basting, but we will certainly try. And secondly, please do not let the outcome of the audition process make or break you. With that being said, I wish you all the best of luck. Our final decisions will be posted first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Anyone interested in signing up for backstage work should now line up at the small desk in the center aisle,” Miss Holt added.
The two teachers moved off the stage to the indicated desk for sign-ups. Together they sat side by side and began talking to a group of students who were already waiting.
I turned to Bridget. “Should I-”
“Go, go,” she pushed. “You have a resume right?”
“Uh--”
“Steph!”
“I've never done anything like this,” I said. “But I brought a portfolio.” I lifted the large collection out of my shoulder bag and handed it to her. “Will this work?”
She opened the first page and stared at the design. “You did this?”
“Yes.”
“Honey,” she said. “Go!”
“Okay,” I smiled. “Um...good luck--”
“Break a leg,” she corrected me melodramatically.
With a helpful shove from Bridget I moved toward the line at the desk. I clutched the portfolio to my chest and waited patiently as the group slowly moved forward.
“Miss Ghijk,” Mr. Rivera said as I reached the table. “It's good to see you getting involved on your first day.”
“Bridget--”
“I figured as much,” he grinned as I signed my name under the costume crew. He eyed the paper in front of him and looked back to me. “Do you have any experience in costuming?”
“Um –“
“You were instructed to supply a resume,” Miss Holt interrupted.
“I've never worked in theatre before,” I said. “But I’ve been designing and constructing clothing for about nine years.” Mr. Rivera's eyes widened and he extended his hand forward to take the design collection I'd brought.
He opened the portfolio to the first page and bit his bottom lip. “Miss Ghijk, this is incredible.”
Miss Holt scoffed and rolled her eyes. “I thought you were going to ask your grandmother to help design the costumes,” she said to her co-director, as if I couldn't hear the objection in her voice.
“There's no point in asking for outside assistance when we obviously have a qualified student candidate to lead the costume crew,” he said, still sifting through the designs. He closed the binder and offered the portfolio to Miss Holt, who declined viewing the work. He ignored her blunt rudeness and passed the collection to me. “Thank you for coming out and sharing this, Steph. We'll be posting the cast and crew list first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you,” I said sincerely as I turned and walked away. I caught Bridget's eye and smiled as I reached the back door of the auditorium. She waved and signaled a thumbs up. Much to her chagrin, I mouthed good luck and opened the doors to the outside world.
I stepped into the hot summer evening and moved across the empty parking lot. Our latest rental was only one block from school, which was an added convenience for walking to and from— especially since I didn't have a driver's license. I rounded the curb on Main Street and pulled a set of keys out of the shoulder bag as I approached the large two-story brick house on the corner. I let myself into the front door and tossed my belongings to the side.
“Mom?” I said as I looked around the first floor, dodging boxes left and right. “Hello?”
“Here!”
I followed her voice through the kitchen and into the dining room at the back of the house.
“What’s going on?”
The room had taken an incredible transformation since I'd last seen it. There was now a large, wooden table, complete with eight chairs, in the center of the rug below.
“Baby,” she said. “Whaddya think?”
“Why?”
“What do you mean?”
“Furniture.... why?”
“This table represents a promise I'd like to make,” she said, taking a deep breath and standing tall. “I think it's time we settle down and turn a house into a home, don't you?”
“Well, yeah, but--”
“But nothing, Baby,” she said, taking a picture out of a nearby box and hanging it on the wall. “We're not going anywhere from this point forward.”
Watching mom decorate was a foreign concept to grasp. She was always on the edge and ready to move at the drop of a hat. We hadn't even so much as unpacked the boxes in the last three houses we'd lived in.
Mom had her blonde wavy hair swept into a ponytail and her hands resting on her blue jean covered hips. With the face of a Barbie doll and the attitude of a teenager, I always found it hard to believe that this 33-year-old, indecisive, sometimes flighty woman was my mother.
“Mom,” I said, pulling another picture frame out of the box. “Where did all of this stuff come from?”
“What stuff?”
“The table, the chairs, the decorations... everything that wasn't here when I left for school.”
“Oh,” she shrugged. “I went shopping with a friend.”
“…Who?”
“It was an internet buddy,” she said nonchalantly.
“Mom!”
This wasn't the first time she'd made the decision to move to a new city, or even state, because of an internet buddy. This was just another one of her many adolescent qualities. She couldn't understand the danger of the unknown; I've known her to spend hours at a time chatting online, texting with old friends, and gabbing on the phone with God only knows who.
“Calm down, Baby,” she said. “It's not like he's a stranger. I've been talking to him for months. He's a very nice guy.”
I rubbed my head. “Is that why we ended up here this time? Because of a man?”
“Of course not,” she said, adjusting the curtains that she'd hung while I was in school. “I mean, he did influence the decision, but he wasn't the sole purpose.” I took a deep breath and backed into the kitchen. “Where are you going?”
“Crazy...” I pulled a bottle of water from the refrigerator and returned to the dining room. “I'm guessing he's been here already? He knows where we live?”
“You don't seriously think I carried all this on my own, do you?”
“Oh my God, mom,” I said, feeling the beginning of a terrible migraine coming on. “So what happens when you find out he's an ex-convict? Or you guys break up? Or you find out he's married? Do we pack up and leave again?”
“No, Baby, I told you. We're here for the long haul, I promise.”
“I've heard that before.”
“Really, sweetheart,” she embraced me in a hug. “Calvin is a keeper. And he’s so cute. He has dark hair, chocolate eyes, and a smile to die for! Plus, he's a chef at a local restaurant; he has a college degree and everything.”
“Woo-freakin’-hoo.”
“Oh! His brother is a cop! They uh,” she paused and straightened the wrinkles in her shirt. “They looked up your father just last week.”
“Yeah?”
“He's in a Georgia prison awaiting trial on ho
micide charges, so we won't have to worry about him for a very long time, Baby. Isn’t that wonderful?”
Truth be told, I've never worried. Not once. I have little reason to think Richard Levin ever searched beyond our original hometown to find us. I ruled mom's behavior off a long time ago as nothing more than incredible paranoia.
“Okay,” I said, pulling a seat from under the table and sitting down. “Sit.” She sat in the chair in front of mine. “Tell me about Calvin. What makes him different than Leroy?”
Leroy was mom’s latest fling; after three months of dating, she found out he was married with two children and another on the way. Sure, Caroline Ghijk loves her men… but she wants them all to herself. After a disastrous confrontation from Leroy’s wife, mom ended the relationship with the two-state jump into Kentucky.
“I don’t know—“
“Exactly—“
“I didn't meet this one in a chat room, Baby,” she started. “I put some money toward one of those legitimate online match websites. We were matched the next day and within a few hours of talking we knew we wanted to meet one another.”
“How old is he?”
“Thirty-four.”
“Age appropriate.”
“There's a first time for everything, huh Baby??
We shared a smile.
“Promise me one thing, mom.”
“What's that?”
“You'll be careful.”
“I promise.”
Chapter Three
Tuesday September 06
I stood at Mr. Rivera's closed classroom door and read the list. Bridget would be thrilled to know that she'd been cast as Juliet. Nate, on the other hand, will be peeved to learn that his time on stage wasn't limited to one audition at the loss of a bet; he'd be playing Romeo.
I scanned down the rest of the cast list and didn't recognize any of the remaining names. Rachel Canter, however, was named understudy for Juliet. I wouldn't mind seeing her face when she learns she's only second best to Bridget. The next page listed the crews. Under the costumes section I read: Abcdef Ghijk- Designing and Costume Construction Manager.
For the first time in my education history, I was officially participating in a school function. It was an honor to know that my knack for clothing design was recognized and appreciated.
I opened the door and walked into the classroom. Mr. Rivera was seated at his desk, reading silently to himself. He looked up and smiled. “Could you please close that behind you?”
“Sure,” I nodded, closing the door quietly as I walked in.
Bridget was bouncing up and down as I approached my assigned seat.
“I'm Juliet! Me! I'm Juliet Capulet! Can you believe it?”
“Congratulations,” I smiled, looking at Nate who was slouched in his chair with his forehead and nose pressed to the desk. “Is he going to be okay?”
“I'm gonna kill myself,” he mumbled.
“Oh, you are not,” Bridget said. “It's a good thing, Nate.” She turned back to me and frowned. “Sorry you didn't make the cut. Maybe you'll fit into the spring production. Rumor has it we're doing The Music Man.”
“I'm working on costumes.”
“Really?” she asked. “I didn't see your name.”
“It's there,” I told her with a wink. “So... why is Mr. Rivera keeping the door shut?”
“He thinks people are too dramatic with their reactions to the casting decisions.”
“What happened,” Nate explained, lifting his head. “Is that he made the stupid mistake of leaving it open when Bridget read the list. There was jumping, screaming... a little cursing. At one point she started to hyperventilate. I thought she was gonna pass out right there on the floor.”
“And you?” I asked him.
“I actually did pass out.”
The bell rang and students began to pour into the room, shuffling loudly to their seats. Rachel never appeared. I guess we would have to wait to see her reaction to making understudy.
Mr. Rivera stood from his desk and addressed the class. “Good morning,” he said. “Let's get started, shall we?”
After a lengthy reading assignment and instructions on upcoming research papers, the bell sounded for the change of class. Bridget, Nate, and I stood up and gathered our books.
“Miss Wright, Mr. Bryan, Miss Ghijk— congratulations to all three of you,” Mr. Rivera said.
“Thanks,” Bridget and I said in unison, both blushing.
“Bite me,” Nate mumbled.
We moved into the hallway amongst the other groups of students rushing to their next classes. Nate and I walked side by side as Bridget turned off into the French classroom. As we moved past Miss Holt's room, she stepped out of the door stopping us dead in our tracks.
“Nathaniel,” she said, smiling. “Congratulations on landing Romeo Montague.”
“Thanks Miss Holt,” he blushed.
“And Abcdef,” she lowered her head. “I'd hate to remind you again that there are policies against student-teacher fraternization.”
I cleared my throat. “I'm sorry?”
“Don't play stupid with me,” she said, bending slightly at the hips to meet my gaze. “I know what you’re up to.”
A few quiet moments passed. Miss Holt refused to blink and I didn’t know how to respond.
“Right,” Nate said, breaking the awkward silence lingering in the air. “Off to class.” He grabbed my wrist and pulled me down the hall. “You okay?”
“I'm fine,” I lied.
“You musta made some kinda impact on Mr. R,” Nate said as we turned into American Government. “Someone doesn't know how to hide her insecurities.”
Obviously, I thought. But what reason did I give Miss Holt to be insecure?
Friday September 09
Three days had passed and each seemed to drag on longer as they came. Neither Nate nor I mentioned to Bridget our run-in with Miss Holt. We weren't really sure what had happened or why. Still, it was finally Friday. No reason to fret over the uncontrollable.
The final bell rang to end the day and Bridget and I walked out of Physics. Down the hall, out the door, and onto Main Street we strolled. Destination: home, for a study date leading up to the first slumber party of my life.
We walked through the front door to find the house filled with an intoxicating smell of baked goods. Following the aroma to the kitchen, we found mom in a sun dress, pearls, heels, and apron; as if she were a domesticated goddess, baking peanut butter cookies.
“You look like Donna Reed,” I said without so much of a hello.
“Who?” she asked, pulling a fresh batch of cookies from the oven.
I sighed and shook my head. “Mom, this is Bridget. Bridget, I believe this is my mother.”
“Look, Baby,” mom said, wearing a smile. “I baked goodies for your sleepover.”
“Yum,” Bridget said.
“Are they edible?” I asked.
“Of course they are, Baby,” Mom said. “Calvin taught me all the basics.”
I grabbed a cookie from the cooling rack and cautiously took a bite. “Wow. They're actually not too bad.”
“Don't seem so surprised.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I told you Calvin would be good for us, Baby.”
“We're going to head upstairs to study now,” I told her. “Feel free to keep the cookies coming.”
“I'll bring some up once they cool down,” she said. “Oh, and nice to meet you Bridget.”
Bridget and I turned and walked back through the foyer. In a matter of days, mom had managed to turn a cluttered and box-filled house into a fully furnished and decorated home. The environment was so welcoming and comforting that it almost felt like another dimension. In the past, the closest thing we ever had to furnit
ure was a cardboard box bookshelf. Now, with a dining room table, couch, and chairs, I hoped mom could stay true to her word.
Up the stairs and at the end of the hallway was a single, large bedroom; my sanctuary. Of all the places I'd slept in my life, this was by far the best. There was a large glass window, padded window seat included, that overlooked the backyard. The view, however, was slightly obstructed by a giant oak tree growing close to the side of the house.
My room was the only one left that hadn't been unpacked. Boxes were still stacked and piled across the hardwood floor and in the closet. The bed was unmade and covered in mismatched sheets, pillow cases, and comforters. My desk was empty with the exception of desktop computer and a silver touch lamp.
“Not much for housekeeping,” Bridget said without shame.
I smirked. “We don't stay put very long. Why get attached?”
Who am I kidding? I'd already fallen in love with my new sanctuary. If a room could have a personality this bedroom would be named Abcdef.
“You at least need to paint these butt ugly walls,” Bridget said. “How do you sleep in here?”
“It's not easy,” I admitted. This much is true: if we stayed, the lime green would have to go.
“How confident do you feel about Monday's English test?” Bridget asked.
“Very,” I said.
“Then we're not studying tonight,” she said.
“We're not?”
“No,” she shook her head. “We're painting.”
We ventured out into town and returned two hours later with a gallon of a light lavender paint for the walls. Bridget showed me how to tape the wooden trim along the floor and ceiling. After taping we took a break to make a frozen pizza. Baking cookies for a couple of hours left mom exhausted. Honestly, it would have taken nothing short of a miracle to get a homemade dinner out of her on any normal evening. Why expect any different now?
The Webster Grove Series Page 2