“I'll take your volunteer services, but I'm putting you on with Steph. Find out how she can use your help and get to work.”
The few actors who had volunteered to stay behind aided Mr. Rivera, Miss Holt, and the original construction crew. Bridget joined me, sitting down at a table in the back of the auditorium. I had three large sewing machines set up and only one costumer helping with the progress while the rest sat gossiping.
“What do you need me to do?” Bridget asked.
“At this point there's not much anyone else can do. I've exhausted all my resources. I think I'm on my own.”
“Mind if I stick around and chat? I didn't really want to help with the set anyway.”
“Sure,” I said, still sewing.
“Have you found a dress for homecoming?”
“Nope,” I said. “Who has time to think about a dance when your butt is on the line?”
“How many do you have left?”
“Six.”
“Is that a lot?”
“Let me put it this way,” I started. “If I didn't have an English report due tomorrow and a physics exam on Friday, I'd be fine. But I haven't even started on the paper for Mr. Rivera's class and forget about studying.”
“At least there's the weekend--”
“Yeah, at least,” I sighed. “So, what are your plans for homecoming?”
“Nate and I are going to skip the football game and just go to the dance.”
Bridget and Nate had a standing tradition; for the past eight dances, middle school included, they attended each and every one together.
“Can I ask a question?”
“Maybe,” she smirked.
“When are you going to tell him about—“
“I don't know,” she shrugged. “Possibly never...”
Bridget and I sat gossiping, laughing, and talking for the next hour. Miss Holt walked off the stage and toward us wearing her better than you attitude.
“Time to pack up, ladies,” she said, with her phone to her ear. “No, mom, I already told you I can't,” she talked into the cell. As she walked away I distinctly heard her say “because Alex is taking me to dinner.”
Without a word, I started to sort the unused material and hang the finished costumes on the wheeling rack. I closed my eyes, fighting tears. I was obviously jealous of Miss Holt; not only was she beautiful and intelligent, she was also Mr. Rivera's age. Apparently she and I both knew he’d be stupid not to date her.
“You okay?” Bridget asked me.
“Yup.”
“I wonder who Alex is,” Bridget said. “I guess she's moved past her obsession with Mr. Rivera--”
“Alex is Mr. Rivera,” I snapped.
“No way! Maybe they're finally hooking up. Nate's been on to them since the beginning of last school year--”
“Shut up, Bridge.”
She stared at me with concern, putting her arm around me and pulling me tight. “What's wrong with you today?”
“Headache,” I said, discreetly wiping a tear. “I'm just stressed...sorry I freaked out.”
“Whatevs,” she said nonchalantly.
“Oh,” I said, hoping to change the subject. “I ordered something for you.” I pulled a long cardboard tube from under the table and handed it to her. “Keep this sealed until you get home.”
“What is it?”
“A surprise.”
“Oh my God,” she said. “Is it…. did you really…?” I sent a half-hearted smile and nodded. “I love you, Steph. I love, love, love you!”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I shook my head.
“Right above my bed.”
“Huh?”
“I’m hanging Mr. Rivera right above—“
“Keep it down or I take the poster back,” I warned. “Now, I'm going to roll these costumes down to the drama class. Can you pack up the last machine please?”
“Yes ma'am!”
I rolled the rack down the hall and to the final classroom on the left. Once in the room, I unlocked the costume closet and slid the clothing inside. I closed up shop and moved quickly back to the auditorium to find a distraught Bridget fumbling with the sewing machine.
“It’s not that big of a deal, hon. If you didn't know how to close it you should’ve told me so.” I took over and snapped the lid over the machine and smiled. “See? Easy peasy.”
A tear streamed down her cheek as she backed away from the table. “Nate asked Rachel to the dance.”
“What? When?”
“While you were gone!” She all but yelled. “Mr. Rivera asked everyone if they had any big homecoming plans and Rachel nearly screamed with joy when she told us she was going with Nate.”
“Did you ask him? Maybe she was trying to get under your skin--”
“I couldn't,” she wiped away another tear. “He already left.”
“Bridge,” I said, hugging her. “I wouldn't let this upset you until you really know what's going on--”
“He's had a crush on her since sixth grade.”
“Oh, Bridge… Do you want to come over this evening? We can make some popcorn and watch a movie--”
“I thought you had to write your paper for English--”
“Crap... I do. Um…you know what? Don't worry about that. I'll get up early tomorrow morning. No biggie.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
Thursday October 13
The alarm sounded loudly at four AM. I opened my eyes and stared at the clock, hating myself for procrastinating. I rolled out of bed and into the bathroom, taking a quick shower to help wake up. Back in my room I settled in front of the computer and got to work. The thoughts were running wild, inconsistent and barely logical. After pounding out the five-page requirement, I looked at the clock and realized I was five minutes late for Mr. Rivera's 7:20 class. I printed the essay, threw it in my bag, slipped into a pair of shoes, and bolted to school as quickly as possible. By the time I reached the classroom, Mr. Rivera was already fifteen minutes into his lecture. Not wanting to interrupt, I slid down the opposite wall and waited in the hallway until 8:05. The bell rang and the door swung open. The students filed out and went their separate ways down each corridor. Nate walked out with Rachel and ignored my hello. Bridget soon followed, not noticing me.
“Bridge,” I gently grabbed her wrist. “Can you hang back for a second?”
“No. I have a French test to fail...”
“You’ll do fine. Good luck. I'll catch up with you at lunch.”
“Sure,” she said gloomily as she walked away.
I stepped into Mr. Rivera's room and lightly tapped the open door. He looked up from his desk and raised his eyebrows.
“Miss Ghijk,” he said. “Did somebody toilet paper your house last night?”
“No sir,” I said. “I'm sorry I didn't make it to class on time—”
“It happens to the best of us.”
“I was wondering if I could still turn in the assignment.” I asked, hands trembling.
“Yes, minus ten points on the final grade.” I handed him the paper and turned to walk out. “Steph,” he stood up. “I'm sorry, kiddo. I can't show favoritism. I’m required to apply rules consistently to all students.”
“Mr. Rivera,” I looked back at him. “I don't expect preferential treatment. I waited until this morning to do it, so… I get what I get.”
''Is that why you were late?”
“Yes sir.”
“Is everything okay...at home?”
“Yup,” I pursed my lips with slight annoyance.
“Then?”
“Listen, I've been up since four o'clock. I'm tired, cranky, and quite frankly, not in the mood to have this conversation. Now, if yo
u don't mind, I've gotta go to class. I can't afford two write-ups in one day.”
I turned on my heels and quickly walked to the door. “One last thing, Miss Ghijk,” Mr. Rivera said.
“Hmm?”
He scribbled something onto a piece of paper and passed it to me—a note, allowing my tardiness to American Government.
“This will buy you some time,” he said, grinning. “Run home and put on matching shoes, kiddo. High school is a terrible place to make the wrong fashion choices.”
Crap.
Chapter Seven
Wednesday October 19
The dining room was dimly lit as Mom, Calvin, Bridget, and I sat around the table eating Calvin's famous apple pie.
“They sucked,” Bridget said with her mouth full. “Every dress in the store was ugly, tacky, slutty, or overpriced.”
“Now what?” Calvin chimed in, pretending to be interested.
“Who knows? Homecoming is only two days away...”
“What kind of dress do you want?” I asked. I’d finished the final costumes for Romeo and Juliet on Sunday and while I enjoyed a short break, I’d love the chance to design something for Bridge. “I could probably come up with something if you’re interested.”
“Really?” Bridget asked. “You're not tapped out?”
“Yes,” I admitted. “But…come on, B, it’s you.”
“Awesome!” she said. “Because I remember one design in your portfolio I'd love to try!”
“Let's go take a look. G’night mom.”
“Good night, Baby.”
“Good night, Caroline. Thanks for letting me stay over.”
We walked up the stairs and into the furthest bedroom, closing the door behind us. My room… the best place in all the world. I mean, purple walls and a poster of Alexander Rivera are unbeatable.
Yes. Okay. I actually had one made for myself. After the Skype call with Bridget there was no way I was getting out of it. Not that staring at his beautiful face day in and day out was any kind of problem.
“Does Calvin remind you of anyone?” Bridget asked.
“Like...?” Ha! As if I didn't know the next two words out her mouth were going to be--
“Mr. Rivera.”
“I guess,” I shrugged. “I've never really noticed.”
“What?” she asked. “They could be brothers, Steph.”
I hated not telling her the truth. But Bridget loves to talk and I've always been weary of her ability to keep things on the DL. Still, I needed no reminder of how much Calvin heavily resembled his younger, sexier brother Alex. In fact, I had trouble staying in the same room with Calvin... the resemblance was almost unbearable.
“Calvin is a chef, right?” Bridget asked as she flopped down on the bed and flipped through the pages of my portfolio.
“Yup.”
“Too bad. I remember Mr. Rivera talking about his brother once... I'm pretty sure it was a younger brother who was a cop, not an older brother who was a chef.”
“You have quite the memory, Bridge,” I said, astounded that she knew as much about our English teacher as she did.
“Father of my future children,” she reminded me. “Here it is! This is the dress!'
“Ah, yes. Color specifications?”
“Black, just like the picture.”
“Then I'm about to make you one very happy girl,” I said. “I designed that last year for junior prom at Carollton High-- no, Wessley-- wait, yes, Carollton High School. I never got to wear it so...” I walked to my closet and plucked the gown from the back. “It's all yours.”
“It's already done?”
“And brand new.”
She snatched it from my hands and held it to her body, examining herself in the full-length mirror.
“Nathaniel Bryan will rue the day he asked Rachel Canter to homecoming over his best friend,” she said. “I'm going to look gorgeous in this dress.” I knew Bridget well enough to know she wasn't intentionally being vain. “God! I love you, Steph! I love, love, love you.”
“Yeah,” I smirked. “You've mentioned that once or twice.”
Friday October 21
Bridget and I slowly prepped ourselves for the infamous homecoming dance. All day she reminded me that practice makes perfect. Her motto was: Don't worry about how many times you have to do your make-up; keep doing it over until you get it right. Same goes for the hair.
“Oh my God,” Bridget said as she backed away from the mirror. “Have you ever seen something so beautiful in all your life?”
“Love yourself much?” I teased.
“I can't thank you enough, Steph.”
Bridget was working overtime to rebuild her confidence. Her self-esteem had taken a pretty hard hit when Nate decided he was taking Rachel to homecoming. The sad part of the whole thing was that he never even told her he'd changed his plans. He just stopped talking to her. Worse, he stopped talking to me. I still haven't figured out why I'm being banished from his inner circle. This wasn't my fight, but somehow I got stuck in the middle.
“I'm gonna get dressed now,” I said. I pulled a garment bag out of the closet and carried it down the hall and into the bathroom. I unzipped the plastic and stared at the gown; a strapless, sky blue, elegantly long and flowing material, ready to be worn for the first time. I slipped into the self-designed piece and zipped up the side.
I looked at myself in the mirror. Brown curls fell down my shoulders and my blue eyes shining, unguarded by the usual glasses. I hardly recognized the person staring back at me. Abcdef Ghijk is a nerdy, bun-wearing, glasses-sporting brainiac. As I gazed at myself I realized I wasn't seeing Steph at all. The reflection showed Baby Levin; the name I was given at birth with the appearance and demeanor my mother had worked so hard to manufacture over the years.
I walked out of the bathroom and down the hall to the sanctuary. Bridget's mouth dropped as I entered the room, twirling once to show off the gorgeous dress.
“Wow,” she said. “You ready?”
“Yes ma’am.”
Together we strolled through the hallway and down the steps, watching Mom and Calvin fumble with their cameras.
“Hold still, Baby,” Mom said. “Wait a minute. Stop moving. I want a picture of you on the stairs--”
“Hurry up! We're already running late--”
“Just stand still--”
“Smile!” Calvin chimed in, snapping a shot of us standing on the fourth step.
“One more and we're outta here, Miss G,” Bridget said. “I wanna be the first to ask Mr Riv--”
“Bye guys,” I interrupted Bridget, grabbing her hand and pulling her out the door.
Moments later we were standing in line outside the gymnasium. Ten minutes passed before the group moved forward. In the matter of time we'd stood waiting we received nearly twenty compliments on our dresses, boosting my confidence up a notch. Maybe I actually had a shot of getting into the summer program with Adriana Holbrook. Who knows? Only time would tell...
A chaperone at the door took our tickets as we filed into the decorated gym. A professional photographer was set up in the corner, willing to take a bundle of money in exchange for one tacky memento. Bridget and I weaved through the tables lined up on the outside of the dance floor until we found a spot suiting our needs… close enough to the dancing without being too far from the bathroom doors.
“Oh my God,” Bridget said as she locked her eyes on a table at the opposite side of the room. “Nate and Rachel are already here. Ew. What is she wearing? Steph, look at her. Isn't her dress awful?”
“Terrible,” I said, silently disagreeing.
“I'm gonna go say hi.”
“Whoa, Bridge,” I held her back. “Are you sure that's a good idea?”
“Of course! I have to b
e the bigger person, Steph. I can't let Rachel Canter have the upper hand.” She pulled herself free of my grasp and started to walk away. “If I'm not back in five minutes, send a chaperone.”
“Bridge!” She disappeared into a crowd that had already gathered on the dance floor. The music and the dancing started without warning. The lights were low and the room was loud. I'd been at homecoming for two minutes and was already hatching an escape plan.
“Flying solo tonight?” Mr. Rivera asked as he stood near the table. He wore black slacks and a button up shirt with a tie that perfectly matched my blue dress.
“Taking the new girl to a dance is always a gamble—“
“Did you know that teachers are allowed to participate?” he interrupted me, gently biting his lower lip.
“In what?”
“The dancing.”
“Oh, yeah?” I asked.
He nodded. “The thing is... we're not exactly allowed to ask for a dance. But it would be incredibly rude to turn down a student who proposed the idea.”
“Are you asking me to ask you to dance, Alex?”
“Me?” He smiled. “No. I'd be fired if I did something like that.” We shared a lingering stare before he quickly shook his head. “Wait, you just called me-”
“Oh, well, that's a shame you weren't asking,” I said, standing up. “Because I would have loved to have taken a spin with you...” I sent him a quick wink and disappeared into the crowd, still feeling his eyes watch me as I moved further and further across the floor. Walking away from him was one of the hardest things I'd ever done. But I'd just flirted with him. Like…major flirting. If anyone had noticed, especially another teacher, he'd lose his job. I couldn't take that kind of risk.
I found Nate sitting alone at a table in the back corner, water bottle in hand. I sat down next to him and glared with disapproval.
“What?”
“Oh, nothing,” I said. “Just came to find out how a person can go from being your friend one day to hating your guts the next.”
“I don't hate your guts,” he said, taking a drink of water.
“I wasn't talking about me.”
“Oh, her.”
The Webster Grove Series Page 5