Twleve Steps

by Veronica Bartles

  Mr. Mayer looks up from the stack of papers he’s grading and clears his throat. “If you have a question about Pearl Harbor, Miss Nichols, I’d be happy to answer it for you. But please allow Miss Andersen to concentrate on her own work.”

  Emily blushes. “Sorry, Mr. Mayer,” she mumbles.

  She waits until he’s turned his attention back to his grade book before she whispers again. “Is there something going on with you two?”

  “Me and Mr. Mayer? No way.” I ignore her exasperated scowl and turn my full attention to my textbook, and the worksheet Mr. Mayer wants us to complete. Worksheets like this usually take me all of two seconds to finish, but I can’t concentrate on the sinking of the Arizona. I’m suddenly aware of Dave’s far-too-intense gaze, and it takes everything I have not to stare right back at him.

  I know I’m not fooling Emily for a second, but she doesn’t dare say anything else now that Mr. Mayer is paying attention. She’ll pounce as soon as class is over. Which means I have only ten minutes to figure out which version of the story to tell. Because of course I’m going to tell her about my crappy day yesterday. Only, it will have to be a slightly modified version, because no one, not even Emily, needs to hear about what happened between me and Jarod.

  I can’t help hearing FDR’s voice echoing in my head. Last night was truly “a date which will live in infamy.”

  I glance across the room at Dave and wonder what I’ll have to do to make sure he tells the same version of the story.

  As soon as the bell rings, Emily grabs my arm and pulls me to the south stairs, which only lead to the home economics and shop classrooms. It’s our favorite spot for private conversations because the stairs are almost always empty.

  Summer joins us as we pass her first period class.

  “Okay, spill,” Emily says, as soon as we’re alone in the stairwell. “I want the whole story, but make it quick. I can’t be late to math again, or Mr. Rosenquist says he’ll call my parents.”

  I laugh. “Then go to class. We can talk at lunch. I promise.”

  “No way,” Summer insists. “You have to fill us in. Yesterday, you barely even knew Dave was alive, and now you’re blushing when you catch him looking at you? What happened last night?”

  I bite my lip. I totally need more time to come up with a good version of the story. “Really, guys, it’s not as huge as you think it is. Dave gave me a ride home, and we talked. We may have flirted a little, tiny bit. He’s nice. But he’s with Heather and you know I would never trespass on someone else’s territory.” Well, at least, not usually.

  “Oh. My. Gorilla. You didn’t hear?” Emily’s voice lowers to a whisper as she slips into “juicy gossip” mode, and I have to lean in to hear what she’s saying. “Heather dumped Dave. Hard. He was supposed to pick her up from work on Saturday night, but he was, like, three and a half hours late or something crazy like that.” She pauses for effect and then grins wickedly. “I heard he was off driving around town with some other girl all night long.”

  I inhale sharply and choke on my own breath. “Really?” I finally manage to squeak out. “That’s insane.”

  Emily grins and leans forward, obviously pleased with my reaction. “Seriously. Who would’ve thought Dorky Dave could be such a ladies’ man?”

  I cough and grab a mint out of my purse, taking my time to unwrap it before I answer. “I don’t know. He’s not as dorky as he used to be. I think he’s kind of nice.” I pop the mint into my mouth and bite into it, grateful that Emily didn’t guess the real reason for my little choking fit.

  “He sounds like a jerk,” Summer says. “Andi, I’d be careful. You really don’t want to get with a guy that cheats. Trust me. You don’t want to get involved with someone, hoping to reform them. People don’t change. The only one you have control over is yourself.”

  I roll my eyes. Sometimes, I think Summer takes her support group stuff way too seriously. “I already told you it was nothing. He gave me a ride home. That’s it. It’s not like I’m planning to run off and have his babies or something.” I force my voice to remain neutral. “And maybe he had a perfectly good reason for being one hour late to pick Heather up on Saturday. Maybe we forgot to look at the clock and totally lost track of time.” I can feel my cheeks getting hot as soon as I realize my slip-up, but luckily, the warning bell rings and Emily doesn’t even catch my mistake.

  “Crap, I’m late!” She sprints off down the hall, plowing through the still-crowded hallway.

  Summer giggles and grabs my arm. “So you’re the mystery girl Dave blew off Heather for last weekend, huh?”

  I shake my head, and she laughs. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. Come on. You can tell me the rest of the story in Spanish class. I heard Señor Astrakhan isn’t here today, and the sub is playing a movie.”

  We claim the last two empty desks in the back of the classroom and push them together so that no one will overhear our whispered conversation. And I tell Summer the whole story. Minus the Jarod parts.

  “So I don’t know. I think Dave was definitely flirting with me, but he didn’t even tell me that he wasn’t with Heather anymore, so he couldn’t have been too serious, right?” I shake my head. “Not that I care. I’m so not looking for a boyfriend right now. I’m really tired of being the second choice, you know?”

  Summer snorts and then quickly covers her mouth and ducks her head when the sour old substitute glares at us. “When have you ever been second place? The rest of us have to scavenge from your leftovers.”

  “I don’t think you get to complain about my leftovers when you’ve been dating Josh since the Snow Ball, and I never even went out with him.”

  “You know what I mean.” She glares at me in an if-I-didn’t-love-you-I’d­-totally-want-to-barf kind of way. “How many guys have you turned down for the prom so far this year?”

  “Three. But Rob only asked me because he was trying to make Laina jealous. He kept staring at her the entire time we were talking.”

  “That’s just because Laina’s got big boobs. I keep telling you, not all guys are that shallow. Some of them really do notice other things.” She shrugs. “I’d kill to have your hair. And you have that adorable nose, unlike my huge honker, and you’re so stinking skinny, even though you never stop eating.”

  “Yeah, well Laina also has gorgeous hair, and she’s got an amazing body under those baggy clothes she wears, and every boy in school is freaking in love with her.”

  “You’re imagining things, and I still think you’re nuts for turning Rob down, but whatever. You’ve turned down three offers. How many guys have even asked your sister to the prom? None? That’s what I thought.”

  “It’s not like we’re keeping score,” I say. “Besides, who says no one has asked Laina to the prom? She might have turned down fifteen different boys for all we know.”

  Summer sighs. “Okay, then who went to the prom with the captain of the varsity football team when she was only a freshman? You or your sister? And who had to choose between five totally hot guys last year? And which one of you had to get special permission to go to the Northridge prom when she was only in eighth grade, because her boyfriend was a senior? Oh yeah. All you.”

  “Yeah, but that’s not the point.”

  “If it’s not a competition, then why are you so worried about being in second place? You have plenty of guys to choose from. Stop comparing yourself to your sister.”

  My shoulders slump. “When it really matters, Laina’s the one he goes for every single time.” I think of Jarod’s confession last night, and I almost wish I’d let him kiss me. I may never get another chance.

  “Wow,” Summer says. “You really have it bad for this guy, don’t you? I’ve never seen you so worked up about a boy. Like, ever.”

  “What? Who?” I blink rapidly. “Oh. Dave. Right. Yeah, well, he makes me laugh. And he’s kind of cute, don’t you think? So, yeah. Dave.” I hesitate. I don’t want to declare my undying love and devotion to Dave. Mayb
e he’s not as creepy as I thought, but he’s nothing like Jarod.

  Although maybe that’s a good thing.

  Summer grins. “I totally knew it. You’re hooked. I’ve never seen you this distracted by a guy. But don’t worry. If Emily’s right about the way he was looking at you during first period, you have nothing to fear. He’s totally hooked on you too.” She shimmies in her seat. “I sit right next to him in English. I’ll talk to him for you, okay?”

  I think about protesting, but really, it’s easier to let her think I was talking about Dave than trying to explain my mystery crush. So I don’t say anything.

  The bell rings, and Summer sprints for the door. If I know her, I’ll be practically engaged by lunchtime.

  It could be worse. Dave may not be super-hot, like Jarod or even Nick Carver, but he’s cute enough, and he did make me laugh. Maybe he’ll help me forget Jarod.

  I’m completely failing in my attempts to forget him on my own.

  “You’re gonna love this,” Dave says as we follow the usher to our seats in the Little Community Theater Auditorium.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I’ve never been a big fan of musicals. I prefer serious theater, like Shakespeare. I don’t get the whole spontaneous, choreographed dance-number thing.”

  “But that’s part of the magic.”

  “Really? What’s magical about singing and dancing and jumping over tables in the cafeteria? Am I supposed to be impressed that no one gets in trouble? Where is the principal? And where are the bad dancers? Do you really believe that every single person in that high school was a classically trained dancer? There isn’t a single kid with two left feet?”

  Dave laughs. “Maybe the bad dancers run and hide when the music starts.”

  “Okay, so how does everyone know all of the words to the song, as soon as the main character makes them up? Are they psychics as well as professional singers and dancers? Where do they hide the full orchestra that kicks in whenever they feel musically inclined? And if they’re so freaking talented, what are they doing wasting their time in some Podunk high school in the middle of nowhere? Why haven’t they banded together to take over Broadway? Musicals are so unrealistic.”

  “Really? You never break into spontaneous song with all of your friends as backup dancers when you eat a particularly delicious tuna salad sandwich? Happens to me all the time.”

  The lights dim and the audience grows quiet before I can think of a witty response, so I settle back into my seat and turn my attention to the stage. Dave leans across the armrest and whispers, “I think you’ll like this one, though. The Phantom of the Opera is in a class of its own.”

  Music fills the theater as the orchestra plays the opening notes, and the curtain rises to reveal a dusty, old-timey theater. In the dim light, a group of performers appears in the middle of the stage. I can’t really figure out what’s going on, though. It almost seems like they’ve started in the middle of the play or something. I lean over to ask Dave if we missed the first act. But then, some guy calls for “a little illumination,” and a chandelier in the middle of the stage blazes to life.

  The orchestra strikes up a haunting melody that chills me straight through, and I lean forward in my seat, totally caught up in the transformation happening onstage. The pale, washed-out lighting gives way to bright spotlights, and I completely forget about Dave and everyone else as I get lost in early twentieth-century Paris. This is so much better than going to the movies. Even Shakespeare might have trouble competing with the haunting melodies.

  I didn’t think I’d ever miss the theater, but I feel like I could step right into the action, to be a part of Christine’s tragic tale.

  I haven’t set foot in the Little Community Theater since the disastrous last night of Much Ado About Nothing, when I tried to tell Jarod that I liked him, but he took off with Laina before I could say anything. In fact, I’ve avoided all of Jarod’s performances since then. I only agreed to this date because Jarod was so busy directing the school play that he didn’t try out for The Phantom of the Opera.

  Three hours later, as the music fades and the curtain drops, Dave squeezes my hand. I look down at our intertwined fingers and wonder how long we’ve been holding hands.

  “This was fun. Thanks.” I casually pull my hand away and reach for my purse.

  We follow the crowd out of the theater, but Dave stops when we reach the lobby. He pulls me to the side of the room and points to a large poster. “They’re holding auditions for Cinderella tomorrow morning. You should do it.”

  “What?” My voice is too loud, and several heads turn in our direction. I wait until they lose interest, and then I try again. “No. Acting’s not really my thing, and I don’t sing.”

  He cocks his head to one side and studies me. “Are you trying to be humble, or have you forgotten your spectacular performance as Mavis the singing bullfrog in our fifth grade play?”

  I laugh. “That was a long time ago. I don’t lounge on lily pads these days. And it’s been a long time since anyone other than my showerhead has heard me sing. Even Mavis the bullfrog was totally upstaged by Cyril the dancing chipmunk.”

  “Well, you have to admit, I was a cute, little rodent,” Dave says. “But I only danced. You have a great voice. Come on. You know you want to.”

  I can feel my cheeks burning under his gaze, and I’m in danger of totally losing my cool. I lean against the wall in my best I’m-so-bored pose, and stifle a pretend yawn. “Really. It’s not my thing. This was kind of fun tonight, but I’m not about to go prancing around a stage in a frilly costume, pretending to be someone I’m not. I’ve outgrown the need for playing make-believe.”

  “See?” Dave laughs. “You’re a natural. You can flip through a repertoire of fake emotions like it’s nothing, fooling almost everyone around you into believing that you really mean it. That’s acting. Professional quality.”

  I stand up straight and run my fingers through my hair. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  I imagine myself standing center stage, in the middle of a brilliant spotlight, while my friends and family cheer me on from the audience and total strangers adore me from afar. And for a minute, I wonder what it might be like to be the star of the show for once. But I’m not a theater geek. I left that world behind years ago.

  Dave laughs. “Which part are you thinking? Cinderella or the evil stepmother?”

  I roll my eyes and walk away. “I’m not auditioning.”

  “Right.” He scurries to catch up and slings his arm around my shoulders. “So do you want me to pick you up at ten o’clock tomorrow morning? Auditions start at ten-thirty, and you don’t want to be late.”

  I sigh. “Make it eight. You can at least take me out to breakfast, so it won’t be a completely wasted day.”

  “It’s a deal.” Dave grins and whistles the theme from Phantom of the Opera as we walk across the parking lot to his car.

  As soon as he drops me off at home, I grab Mom’s laptop and search for videos of Cinderella. It turns out, the musical is kind of different from the Disney cartoon. There isn’t a single talking mouse or bird with mad sewing skills. I study the different versions of the play, from Julie Andrews to Leslie Ann Warren to Brandy, and even several shaky, out-of-focus videos of community theater productions.

  It couldn’t hurt to be prepared.

  ***

  By the time Dave picks me up on Saturday morning, I’m totally ready, and I read through my scene without a single mistake. I can tell the director is impressed, because she has me read through the scene three more times with different guys trying out for Prince Charming. I breeze through the readings with the first two, but I nearly pass out when Jarod walks onstage.

  I think I manage to save my butt, though. I turn my initial shock into Cinderella’s swoony, melodramatic reaction to meeting Prince Charming, and I manage the rest of the scene without a problem.

  I spend the rest of the weekend dreaming of ball gowns and imagining a b
lossoming romance, both onstage and off, between a certain Prince Charming and a previously-invisible Cinderella. If Jarod has to fall in love with me night after night onstage, he’s bound to start seeing me as something more than Laina’s little sister in real life.

  Dave is a freaking genius!

  ***

  I pound on the bathroom door, but after a full five minutes with no response from Laina, I pick the lock. They’re announcing the Cinderella cast list today after school, and I need to look good. I still have to straighten my hair, and Laina’s developed a habit of leaving without me if I’m not ready for school on time.

  She’s sitting on the edge of the tub, wrapped in a towel and staring blankly at the trash can. She doesn’t even look up when I push my way into the steam-filled bathroom. Her hair hangs limp and soggy down her back, and she shivers when I turn on the fan. I reach around her and turn off the shower.

  “Are you okay?”

  She blinks and looks at me, as if she can’t figure out where I came from. “I thought the door was locked.” She wrings the water out of her hair, leaving a puddle on the floor, and grabs a hairbrush. Flashing a plastic smile at me, she busies herself with applying her makeup and styling her hair.

  She avoids making eye contact with her reflection.

  “What happened?” I ask.

  Laina grabs the hair dryer and turns it on. She shrugs and waves the hair dryer at me. “I can’t hear you.”

  I plug in my straightening iron and lean in to share the mirror. “Are you okay? You look kind of out of it.”

  “I’m fine. But I have to get ready for school.” She drops the hair dryer and runs her fingers through her half-dried hair before sprinting out of the bathroom.

  By the time I finish straightening my frizz and throw on some clothes, Laina has already left for school, and I have to beg a ride from Mom. The warning bell rings as we pull into the parking lot, which means I won’t have time to search for Laina before first period.