I scan the audience for faces I recognize. Scott walks in and makes his way toward Zach, taking the seat I vacated. Standing together behind the back row are Mr. Thompson and my school counselor, Ms. Raven. Mr. Thompson winks and throws me a thumbs-up.
I grip the microphone in both hands. My body shakes and I’ve forgotten the words to the song. I stand there as silence echoes throughout the room. A titter of giggles reaches me from somewhere offstage and I swallow hard. I can’t move.
“I’m sorry. I—” What started as barely more than a whisper drifts to nothing as my throat dries up and refuses to release another sound. I stand there, alone, wishing I could be anywhere else.
“Take your time,” Mrs. Miner encourages.
Another moment passes, and Zach stands and walks toward the aisle. My heart plummets as he exits his row, then lifts in surprise as he turns and approaches the stage. Now, directly in front of me, though still some distance away, he motions me toward him. My feet won’t move. It’s as though someone has superglued them to the stage.
Understanding my dilemma, he hops onto the stage, walks toward me, and offers me a water bottle. Then, taking the microphone from my hands, he turns and addresses Mrs. Miner.
“Give me one second?” he asks.
Mrs. Miner nods and Zach flips the microphone to the off position. He takes my hand and leads me just beyond the curtain until we’re standing back stage and out of sight. Stepping close until we’re only inches apart, he touches his forehead to mine. “Look at me, Abs.”
I gaze into his dark eyes and once again breathe in the woodsy scent of his cologne. Like before, a gentle calmness washes over me.
“I’m going to sit right in the front row. Forget everyone else in this room but me. Just look straight ahead and sing to me. Can you do that?”
I nod, but only to please him. I don’t know that I can at all. Once again I ask myself why I agreed to this.
“Say it—‘I can do this.’”
“Okay,” I whisper.
“Not good enough. I want to hear the words—all of them. Say, ‘I can do this.’”
“I can do this,” I whisper again.
“Not loud enough.”
Nervous, I look around to see if anyone sees us.
“Uh-uh.” Zach catches my chin with his knuckles. “Ignore everything else but you and me. Now say it.”
I close my eyes and take two deep breaths. Then, opening them, I borrow Zach’s confidence and say firmly, “I can do this.”
A slow smile spreads across his face and he leans forward and kisses my forehead. “Yes—you can! Now kill it!”
Weaving his fingers through mine once again, Zach leads me back onstage where he returns the microphone to my hands. He offers me a wink of encouragement, then turns and jumps off the stage, taking a seat in the front row as promised.
I take a sip of water then set the bottle at my feet. I flip the microphone back on and clear my throat. “I’m sorry. I’ve never sung in front of anyone before, so I’m a little nervous. I’m ready now.”
In the quiet auditorium, I lock eyes with Zach and he nods. With a final breath, I close my eyes until the song plays inside my own head. When I’m ready, I open my throat and sing the first few notes. Before I’ve even hit the chorus, I forget the audience exists. Nothing remains beyond the music and me. My confidence soars and I release the last note of the song.
The room is silent and, with my eyes still closed, it’s as though I’m alone. Slowly I open my eyes and take in the stunned expressions of my classmates. A half second later, the auditorium erupts as students and teachers take to their feet in a standing ovation. They’re cheering for me, I realize, and I’m not sure how to react to their acceptance.
As the applause continues, I hand the microphone back to Mrs. Miner. My legs shake as I approach Zach. He closes the distance between us and pulls me into his arms, spinning me around in circles before placing me back on my feet. With the palms of his hands on each side of my face he leans down and kisses me in front of the entire auditorium. The cheering escalates, and catcalls are yelled from a few of the rowdier boys. Even the teachers are in the moment—all except Mr. Zagan, who stands by himself with his arms crossed in front of him, his expression sour.
Zach follows my gaze and lets out a howl of laughter. “What’d I say about being old and jealous?”
I gasp. “Shush! He’ll hear you!”
Zach shrugs. “Did I say something that wasn’t true?”
I shake my head, but can’t hold back a smile. “Can we go now?”
“You don’t want to stay to watch the others?”
“Would it be rude if I didn’t? I’m too wound up, and I need to get out of here.”
He takes my hand and leads me out of the auditorium with Josh and Scott following behind. When we reach the main lobby, Josh grabs ahold of me and squeezes me in a tight hug.
“That was excellent, Ariel!” he says. “And you didn’t even pee your pants!”
I let out a groan and gently punch his shoulder before being pulled into Scott’s muscular arms.
“I didn’t know you could sing like that!” Scott says.
I try, but I can’t wipe the smile from my face. Adrenaline pumps through me like I’ve just run a marathon. My hands shake, but not from fear this time—I’m too pumped to feel fear.
Zach retrieves me from Scott’s embrace and kisses my cheek. “I’m really proud of you, Abs.”
Happiness surges through me, and I wonder if my friends can feel my joy. “What now?”
He glances at the clock on the wall. “We have about thirty minutes until next period, so there’s no point leaving. Wanna get a drink out of the vending machine?”
I nod and the four of us walk to the machines, where Zach empties his pockets of change and punches a button for apple juice. He hands it to me, then fills the machine with more quarters.
“Has Trish auditioned yet?” Josh asks no one in particular.
Scott takes a Gatorade from Zach. “Today after school. She’s nervous.”
“She should be after that!” Josh says.
“Can we please not talk about Trish?” I plead. “I just—she already hates me enough, and I’d rather not get caught talking about her. Plus, I’m in a really good mood right now.”
Josh pantomimes zipping his lips and mumbles something I’m sure is supposed to be, “Not another word.”
Grabbing our drinks, we take seats at a high-top table. Scott and Josh talk about the chemistry exam scheduled for Monday while Zach and I sit with our hands clasped together, his thumb caressing the back of my own. Words aren’t necessary—we’ve said everything that needs saying. I killed the audition, and now we wait for Monday to discover the results.
When the bell rings, Zach walks me to my next class as he has every day this past week. I swear I’ll never get sick of it.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
HOMECOMING IS TOMORROW AND I’M MORE NERVOUS THAN I’VE EVER BEEN. I CAN’T STOP WORRYING that everything might go wrong, from Tera’s dresses not fitting to Trish pulling some mean prank to ruin the entire evening. I don’t expect perfection, but I just want things to go right.
“Your boy is waiting for you,” Nick teases as he pulls into the student parking lot.
I glance out the window and my heart does a drumroll. Zach is leaned against a parking lamp, his dimple evident from thirty feet away. I slide open the rear door and step out of the van. “Thanks, Nick. Bye, Mom. Be good, Am.”
The door slides closed only seconds before Zach reaches my side. He waves at Nick and takes my hand. “I have something for you.”
I arch an eyebrow. “You do? What?”
He reaches into his backpack and pulls out a plastic store bag and hands it to me.
“What is it?”
“Just open it.” He smiles and bounces on his feet.
I open the bag and pull out a dark green football jersey. The front features the words “Rochester South” in gold lette
rs across the chest with the number nine filling in the remainder of real estate. I turn it around, and the back is the same, except instead of reading “Rochester South,” the letters spell “Andrews.”
“What is this?”
“It’s Homecoming tradition for players to give their extra jerseys to their girlfriends on game day,” he explains. “I was hoping you’d wear mine.”
A smile tugs at my lips but I don’t respond immediately.
“Please?” he says.
I nod. “Okay.”
I pull my sweatshirt over my head, revealing the University of Nebraska T-shirt I’m wearing underneath, then cover it again with Zach’s jersey. It hangs to my thighs like a nightshirt, but it’s cozy—like I’m wrapped in Zach’s arms. I breathe in the aroma of his cologne.
Zach examines me. “It looks better on you than me.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re weird.”
“Maybe, but I saw you sniff my shirt.”
“Did not!”
“Uh-huh.” He grins. “I know what I saw.”
I groan under my breath as Zach grabs my hand and walks with me to the cafeteria for breakfast. We eat quickly then head toward my political science class, walking slowly to extend our last few minutes together. I’m hoping for a private moment to say goodbye, but Tera and Wendy are waiting for us and, judging by the way Tera bounces from one foot to the other, she has something on her mind.
“Have you seen Trish?” she asks before we’ve even reached her side.
A line forms between Zach’s eyebrows. “No. Why?”
“She is pissed!” Wendy supplies.
“About what?” I ask.
“Her audition yesterday,” Tera says. “It didn’t go well for her.”
“What happened?” Zach asks.
Tera shrugs. “It doesn’t sound like anything happened—she did her normal thing, but didn’t get the love she expected.”
“Okay—what did she expect?” I ask.
“Well, ya know how people keep congratulating you on your audition?” Wendy asks.
“Yeah?”
“Well, word’s gotten out you got a standing ovation and sang an encore.”
“That didn’t happen!”
“That’s not what we heard,” Tera replies.
“Well—I mean—I guess I got a standing ovation, but I didn’t sing an encore! Where do people get these stories?”
Zach interrupts. “Go on, I want to hear this.”
“Okay, so anyway,” Tera continues. “I guess Trish was expecting the same response—or better, even. But she got nada.”
“What does that mean? The audience didn’t even applaud?” I ask.
“No—they clapped politely, I guess, but they didn’t give her the same reaction they gave you,” Wendy explains.
“Oh no.” Part of me feels sorry for Trish—I know better than anyone what it’s like to be humiliated—but the other part of me can’t forget how mean she’s been.
“Oh yes!” Tera grins. “And now she’s on a rampage. The only one who can get near her is Zoë. Everyone else is on her shit list.”
“Lovely.”
Zach pulls me close to his side. “Hey! Don’t let it get to you. You practiced your ass off and deserved that ovation. It’s not your fault she didn’t perform as well.”
“The bell is about to ring, ladies, and I have no patience for tardies today.” Mr. Zagan’s monotone voice startles us and we spring apart. “And Mr. Andrews, don’t you have a class to attend?”
“Office aide this hour,” Zach replies.
“Then get to the office,” the teacher says.
Zach says goodbye and leaves me to walk in with Tera and Wendy. Josh isn’t here yet and I don’t envy him having to deal with Zagan if he’s late.
The bell rings and Zagan closes the door in the faces of two late students, neither of them Josh. I hate this teacher.
“WHERE’S JOSH?” I ask, setting my lunch tray on the table.
“Haven’t seen him at all—he’s probably got the flu that’s going around,” Wendy says.
Tera shivers. “I hope not. I don’t need the flu before tomorrow night!”
“Right?” Wendy says. “We only have Homecoming as seniors once!”
Zach smiles down at me. “If you get the flu, Abs, we’ll just have our own Homecoming celebration.”
“Aw,” Tera coos.
Wendy points her index finger at her open mouth, pantomiming that she might puke.
Tera laughs. “You’re just jealous, Wen.”
“Meh.” She shrugs then holds her thumb and index finger about a quarter inch apart. “Maybe a teensy bit.”
Zach places an arm around me and pulls me closer. Wendy rolls her eyes, but he doesn’t remove his arm and spends the remainder of lunch eating one-handed.
AFTER LUNCH, I drop my books at my favorite high-top table near Door Six and head to the bathroom before starting my homework. I open the door and immediately wish I could push a rewind button and choose a different restroom. There must be at least four restrooms on this floor, but I choose “Door Number One” and find myself face to face with Trish, her sidekick, Zoë, with her like an obedient pet.
Trish’s face lights up in a malicious smile. She steps back for me to enter, but stands between me and the stalls. Her eyes rove over me, beginning at my head and moving down my body, ending at my feet. “So I guess it’s true. I’d never have thought it, but look at you. It must be true.”
I step to my left, but she steps to her right and blocks my path. I sigh. “What do you want?”
Trish smirks. “You’re jealous of me, aren’t you? If I let you, you’d take everything of mine. But guess what? I’m not gonna let that happen.”
I move to shove past her but she steps forward, making it impossible to do anything but retreat—and I refuse to back down, so I hold my ground. Her eyes narrow. “First my boyfriend, and now my hand-me-downs? There’s no end to the sloppy seconds you’ll take, is there?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Hand. Me. Downs.” Her words are slow, insulting. “The jersey you’re wearing? It’s mine. Zach gave it to me last year. But you wouldn’t know since you’re not one of us, are you?”
“What do you want, Trish? Why can’t you accept that I’m here and I’m staying? I’m sorry things didn’t work out with you and Zach, but that’s not my problem. So leave me the hell alone.”
“I’ll consider leaving you alone when you stop taking what’s mine.”
“What are you talking about? Zach isn’t property. I think you’re seriously ill—you should see someone about these psychotic episodes of yours.”
I change my mind about using the restroom and turn on my heel, yanking the door open with every ounce of my strength. I’m almost out the door when Trish’s parting words pierce straight through my heart. “Oh, I almost forgot! Let me know if you figure out how to get the nail polish off the inside hem of that shirt. I tried just about everything, and never could get it out. I can’t believe I was so clumsy! But, oh well—Zach didn’t mind. It was my jersey, after all.”
I let the door float closed behind me and walk away.
I will not look…
I can’t help it—I have to know for sure. Flipping the bottom of the shirt over near the hem, I spot it immediately: a smeared blotch of bright red nail polish, about the size of a nickel. The truth slaps me in the face and my fingers tingle as hot blood rushes to my head.
I want to rip the shirt from my body and tear it into pieces, but I resist. I reign in my temper and bite hard on my bottom lip, hoping to keep the tears at bay.
Act normal, Abby. Do not let her know she’s hurt you! Sit down and work on homework like you always do—don’t let her win this round!
I pull Zach’s jersey to my nose and breathe in his scent, hoping it will calm me, but I’m too upset. I dig through my backpack for my copy of Mockingbird, but come up empty. I grit my teeth to keep from screaming my frustration
.
I decide to work on chemistry homework instead but, ten minutes later, I give up. The only thing I can focus on is that stupid red nail polish. I slam my textbook shut and collect my belongings. If I can escape into the pages of Mockingbird, then maybe I’ll calm down.
I walk the halls toward my locker and grimace at the irony that surrounds me. You expect when classes are in session, the halls will be empty, but that’s never the case. And it’s not the case now when I don’t want anyone seeing me distraught. I’m especially mindful of this as I wipe another stray tear from my cheek and hope nobody notices.
I find my locker and spin the combination on the lock, but my hands are shaking and I land on a wrong number. It takes me two more tries before the lock pops open. Finally! I yank open the narrow door and a cascade of red falls like a waterfall out of my locker and onto the floor around me.
“SHIT!” My voice echoes off the walls and once again I’m thrown back in time to another lifetime and another instance of things falling on me from inside my locker.
FIVE MONTHS EARLIER
I’m late for class, but I always am these days. If there’s one good thing that’s come out of Mom’s resignation, it’s that the teachers are nicer to me. The truth is they pity me. They see Mom’s humiliation has led to my own destruction and, while they don’t step in to stop the bullying, they give me extra leeway they don’t give other students. These people were once Mom’s friends. Some were regular guests at our house for Book Club or Bunco Night. Now, I don’t know if they’re still her friends or not—I only care that they give me the space I need to navigate my new reality.
I can’t stand walking down the busy halls between classes anymore. Doing so exposes me to the bullying and jeers, so I hide during passing time then do my passing once the halls are silent. It’s easier to ignore a few people calling me whore or slut than it is to ignore large pockets of them all at the same time. Waiting means entering class late, but by silent agreement my teachers don’t count me tardy and my classmates don’t dare say anything in front of our teachers.
I arrive at my locker and spin the combination until the lock releases, then open the door. I’m confused at first as foil wrappers of red, white, blue, green and gold are vomited from my locker. With them comes small squares of paper the size of Post-It Notes. They float weightlessly through the air before landing on the floor around me. It takes me a moment to understand what I’m seeing and, in that same moment, the fire alarm sounds. Classroom doors are thrown open as students and teachers rush out. But I can’t move. I pick off a gold square packet from my shoulder and read the logo: MAGNUM by Trojan. Condoms. In every color imaginable. They’re on my shoulders and at my feet, surrounding me on the floor. Hundreds of them, maybe thousands. I step away and my shoe crushes them under my feet, along with the small slips of paper. I don’t have to pick them up to see what they are—the image has been burned in my brain for weeks. I catch one in midair and rip the xeroxed photo of Mom and Coach Hawkins into pieces.
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