St Mary's Academy Series Box Set 1

by Seven Steps

  A bright light flashed in front of me, followed by the sound of a horn. My heart lurched, then shot into my throat as a car skidded to a stop inches from my quivering body. I grabbed my chest and pulled in a breath.

  It took me a moment to realize what had happened. Like an idiot, I’d stopped in the middle of the street and almost got hit by a car.

  How could this night get any worse?

  “Jeez, are you all right?”

  My blood ran cold.

  Josiah had stepped out of the car that nearly ran me over.

  Joy, fear, and anger all roared for dominance within me.

  He’d come back just to tell me he hated me on one of the most important nights of my life. Who did that? Who did he think he was? Now I was embarrassed in front of the entire school and it was all his fault. He’d distracted me before I went on stage. He’d stolen my focus. Everything that happened to me tonight was all because of him.

  I stared at him and watched as the recognition washed over his face.

  “Sophia? Are you okay?” he asked, stepping close. He reached out his hand, but I slapped it away.

  “Like you’d care,” I growled.

  “Just because you’re a liar doesn’t mean I want to hit you with my car.”

  “You could have fooled me.”

  “You stopped in the middle of the street.”

  “You… you… you were going too fast.”

  “I was not.”

  “Well, it sure felt like it.”

  “How about next time, watch where you’re going.”

  I glared at him, and he glared back.

  “You should have stayed in Texas!” I cried.

  “And you should have told the truth,” he returned.

  My hands curled into claws. “I hate you.”

  “Not as much as I hate you.”

  I opened my mouth then shut it again. I was suddenly so tired. So weak. So in pain. I turned away from him and stomped toward Central Park.

  “Where are you going?” he called after me.

  “None of your business.”

  Car horns blared, the drivers trapped behind Josiah’s now parked car growing restless.

  “Fine. Go into serial killer territory. See if I care.”

  I kept walking, wiping away my tears.

  Normally, I would not be caught dead in Central Park at night. But there was no way I was staying here with Josiah. Not after everything he’d said to me tonight.

  I didn’t stop walking until I heard his engine roar its way down the street.

  Good riddance.

  After a year of building him up in my mind to nearly mythological levels, he’d brought me right back down to earth. He was no different than every other guy I’d ever met. At least now I knew it for sure. I decided then and there that I wouldn’t waste another moment thinking about him. As a matter of fact, as of right now, I would never think about Josiah Walker again.

  I continued my march down to 75 Central Park West. When I arrived at the building, I sat in the lobby and called myself a cab.

  Tonight was the worst night of my life. And it was all Josiah’s fault.

  3

  I was destroyed.

  My head hurt, my throat hurt, and, worst of all, my heart hurt. So, it wasn’t a lie when I told my mom that I was too sick to go to school.

  I threw a full-fledged pity party full of ice cream, peanut butter, and reality TV until the sun went down. Then, around five o’clock, Bella sent me a text to come over for an impromptu jam session. Just in time too. I was miserable, but I was also getting cabin fever. Bad.

  I knew my mom wouldn’t let me leave the house to sing and play music with Bella and Cole. She didn’t approve of non-religious songs. But, if I told her I was studying, she just might give in.

  With my story now straight, I pulled my hair into a loose ponytail and threw on the barest of concealer.

  It was so much easier when Mom wasn’t home or when she was asleep. I didn’t mind sneaking out but lying to Mom still made me feel like an awful daughter.

  I tried not to think about it as I zipped up my green hoody, pulled on my leggings and boots, and exited my room.

  I found Mom sitting on the couch, legs stretched out in front of her, reading her Bible. Pamela Johnson was thirty-two, and the youngest of all my friends’ parents. Her hair was still jet-black and pressed straight. She was slim, affectionate, funny, and the best cook I’d ever known. She was also a strict disciplinarian and didn’t tolerate any disrespect.

  I cleared my throat.

  “Hey, Mom?”

  She looked up from her book, her gaze sharp.

  “Hey, baby,” she said. She closed her Bible and swung toward me. “Feeling better?”

  I nodded, nervously pulling at my hoodie strings.

  “Yeah. Much better.”

  She smiled, but I noticed that her eyes looked tired and far away.

  “Bella took notes for me in school. Can I go study at her house for a while?”

  “Does her father know you’re coming?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And who’s gonna be there?”

  “Bella and maybe Cole.”

  She thought about it a moment as I mentally prepared the points to my argument.

  One. My grades needed work and Bella and Cole were the smartest people in school.

  Two. If I missed these notes, I wouldn’t be able to pass my quiz.

  Three. It wasn’t my fault I’d gotten sick.

  “Text me when you get there and be back by ten.”

  I froze, staring at my mom as if she’d just sprouted a second head.

  She was just going to let me go? No argument or fight? No reading off any rules and regulations? Who was this woman and what had she done to my mother?

  Mom settled back on the couch.

  “You always did struggle in school, just like me. It’s too bad you couldn’t be more like your father. He was the valedictorian of our senior class. As smart as a whip.” She chuckled, then shook her head. “Too bad.”

  We both glanced at Dad’s picture. He looked so handsome in his black uniform and white cap. I touched my hand to my necklace and bit my lip. If only he could still be here.

  Mom went back to her reading while I grabbed my bookbag and coat. When I got to the door, I yelled over my shoulder.

  “I’ll text you.”

  She took a moment too long to answer.

  “Okay, baby.”

  Unease filled my chest. I wanted to go back. To make sure Mom was okay. To look at her face and in her eyes once more.

  But I’d promised Bella I would come tonight, and I had to get out while the getting was good.

  So, I pulled on the door and walked out, leaving my mom, and my unease, behind me.

  They probably thought something was wrong with me.

  First, I’d broken down on stage last night, then I disappeared and refused to answer any calls until this afternoon. And now here I was, with Cole on the guitar, and Bella singing backup, and I couldn’t sing a single word.

  My voice had gone silent.

  Every time I tried to sing, all I could picture was the crowd laughing. It was like a horrible nightmare was replaying over and over again in my mind, and I had no idea how to wake up.

  This was the worst thing ever. It felt like someone had taken my soul and ground it into dust.

  How could this happen? My music was a part of me. One of the few things I ever could call my own. And now I’d lost that too.

  It was like all the sunshine in my life had suddenly turned dark.

  “Maybe we should take a break,” Bella said. “This is all kinda fast, you know?”

  I cleared my throat, struggling to keep myself together. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s going on with me tonight.”

  “This guy,” Cole said. “He’s like an ex-boyfriend or something?”

  Cole and Bella hadn’t been around for my confession, and I wasn’t sure how much every
one else had told them.

  “Sort of. I mean, it was just one night.”

  “And you haven’t seen him since?”

  I shook my head. “Not until yesterday.”

  He scratched his chin. “It’s just crazy that he should have affected you so much. I mean, it was only one night.”

  Bella shot him a warning look. “Cole.”

  “What?” Cole asked. “It’s a valid question.”

  “You’re making her feel bad. Quit it!” Bella cried.

  Cole sighed, then hung his head. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m just frustrated. We worked so hard for last night, and it didn’t turn out the way I imagined it.”

  He strummed a few notes in his guitar but didn’t say anything else.

  Not that it mattered.

  I heard him loud and clear.

  I had ruined last night for him. For the band.

  If Joe hadn’t shown up, none of this would have happened.

  And now, I couldn’t even sing.

  I wanted to cry again, but I forced myself not to.

  I’d already cried too much as it was.

  “I think I need that break now,” I said, standing up.

  “Take your time,” Bella said. “I’ve got pizza bites in the oven.”

  “No,” I said. “I mean, maybe it’s time I took a real break. From the band.”

  Her eyes went wide. “What?”

  “I can’t even sing. Every time I try, I…” I growled in frustration. “Look, we’ll give it a week and see how things go.”

  “But we have a gig next Friday. The Mandelbaum’s bar mitzva.”

  “And you and Cole will do just fine.”

  “Sophia, you can’t leave the band,” Cole said, setting his guitar aside. “Blue Persia is the three of us, together. We can’t do it without you.”

  I swallowed. “Look, it’s not permanent. It’s just until I figure some stuff out.” I picked up my jacket from the couch and power walked to the door.

  “Where are you going?” Bella asked.

  “Home,” I said. I needed to get out of this apartment before I lost it again.

  “Sophia, talk to us,” Bella begged from behind me. “We’re still friends. Even if this band thing doesn’t work out, we’re still friends first.”

  “I know. I just…” I stepped deeper into the hallway. “I just need some air. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  I walked down the hallway before they could argue.

  Before they could see my shoulders shake.

  Before they could see my tears.

  First, I ruined the Spring Fling.

  Now I couldn’t even sing.

  What was I supposed to do if I couldn’t sing? Singing was my thing. I was going to be a professional singer once I graduated high school. How could I do that when I couldn’t even sing in my friends’ living room?

  I jogged down the stairs and walked to my car.

  This sucked. It wasn’t fair that one day my life could be going fine and the next day everything was crap. Didn’t the universe give warnings? Couldn’t it have sent me an email telling me to prepare for an emotional apocalypse?

  I stood outside the building. The cool air felt good against my face. I needed that.

  Air.

  To breathe.

  Everything was shifting, changing, and it felt like I had already fallen a million times over.

  I sighed.

  When I got home, I was going to revisit my pity party in a serious way. What else was a girl to do when everything was taken away from her?

  4

  Mrs. Jenner, the school guidance counselor, looked at me with such pity I wanted to crawl under a rock. Her graying hair was combed back from her face, and her glasses were perched so close to the end of her nose I feared they’d fall off.

  On the table before me were test scores and homework assignments from each of my eight teachers. I’d never seen so much red in my life.

  “So, if this trend continues, once the marking period ends you will only have an average grade of fifty. That’s fifteen points shy of passing.”

  My head rolled back, and I closed my eyes.

  Not pass the eleventh grade? My mom was going to murder me.

  “But I’ve been handing in my homework.”

  “You have, and your grades did improve a little. However, your teachers informed me you haven’t handed in any homework in the last month.”

  She took off her glasses and rubbed her forehead.

  “Sophia, is everything okay at home?”

  Why was it that whenever a student was doing poorly in school, guidance counselors always wanted to know how things were at home? It was annoying.

  “Fine.”

  “Fine?”

  “Yes. Things at home are fine.”

  Well, as fine as they were going to be, anyway.

  She eyed me for a moment, her obvious disbelief making me squirm.

  “I think we should set up a parent teacher conference. That way we can get a plan in place and salvage what we can from these last three months of school.”

  “No!” I gripped the arms of my chair. “Please don’t tell my mom.”

  “Unfortunately, the report cards have already been mailed out. If she doesn’t know now, she will when she checks the mail.” She let out a puff of air from her nose while I tried to keep a full-on panic attack at bay. If Mom knew I was flunking out of school, she would go nuclear.

  I put my hands over my eyes and groaned.

  “Maybe if we got you into some remedial classes. With that and perhaps summer school, maybe you can still join your peers in your senior year.”

  Remedial classes? This was all a mess. Everything was a mess.

  I groaned even louder.

  “Sophia, please. This is no time to give up. It’s time to work even harder. Here.”

  The sound of paper ruffling drew my attention, and I looked up as Mrs. Jenner slid a paper in my direction.

  “I have personally spoken to each of your teachers. If you hand in every homework assignment, do some extra credit projects, and pass every test with flying colors—”

  “Then I’ll pass?”

  She shook her head. “No. You will however get sixty-four- and one-half point. Still a half a point short. That’s the best I could do.” She frowned. “Unfortunately, you’ll have to make up the half a point in summer school.”

  I snatched the paper off her desk and stood up.

  It was only nine o’clock on a Tuesday morning and I was already ready to throw in the towel for the day.

  “Thanks,” I said, picking up my books from the floor and heading for the door.

  “It’s no problem, dear. And remember. If you need anything, I am available anytime.”

  Her voice grew farther away, and I walked through the door, each step growing more and more dejected.

  I had to pass each test with at least a ninety, plus hand in every homework to even get close to getting a sixty-four. And after that, I’d still have to go to summer school.

  My lungs tightened.

  It was official. I was going to be the oldest member of the junior class, forever branded as the girl who got left back.

  I wanted to cry. I wanted to run from the school screaming and never look back.

  But instead I trudged to history class, feeling like the last bits of my screwed-up world had finally exploded.

  When would it end?

  Mr. Stevenson let us out late from my government class, which meant I was about ten seconds from being late to film club, the only class I was actually passing. Trouble was, it wasn’t even a real class. It was an afterschool club.

  Figures that I’d get a good grade when it didn’t even really matter.

  I slid into my seat just as the bell rang and shoved the white paper with the giant red F on it into my bookbag.

  This would have never happened if Jeffrey “Wally” Wolowitz was still doing my homework. Unfortunately, that ship had sailed. I used to be the
resident eye candy at his dungeons and dragons parties. It wasn’t hard work. I just had to walk around in a tight dress and wink at the boys every now and again, and, in return, Wally would do my homework for me. It was a useful arrangement for everyone.

  Then, I missed two of Wally’s parties to hang out with Liam Hills. I was fired via text message shortly after.

  That meant no more free passes on my homework.

  Which meant that my terrible grades got even worse.

  Fantastic.

  What else could happen to me? Was the universe planning on hitting me with a bus?

  Mr. Walters stood in front of the class, his arms relaxed, his ascot tied perfectly at his throat.

  “Okay, before we begin, I have an announcement.”

  My heart fell.

  An announcement? Was it a good or bad announcement? If one more awful thing happened to me, I was going to lose it.

  “Several members of the drama club, including the drama teacher, Mr. Fitz, have left the school. We now have a new drama teacher, Mrs. Simpson. You may remember her from Freshman Biology.”

  I’d never met Mr. Fitz, but I’d seen him around. Why did he leave the school? And who were the other kids who left? Did I know them?

  “That means several things. One, the drama club is no longer going to be doing The Frog Prince, and two, they need to fill in some gaps in the cast. Now, Mrs. Simpson has been authorized to give out extra credit for anyone who’s selected to be part of the new production. So, for all of you slackers out there, this is your chance to not repeat the eleventh grade.”

  My ears perked up. Extra credit. I needed extra credit like an addict needed a hit.

  My hand shot in the air and Mr. Walters pointed to me.

  “Yes, Miss Johnson?”

  “When are the auditions?”

  “I was getting to that. Auditions start today. So, if you would like to go, here’s your chance. But—”

  I didn’t stay to hear the rest.

  I scooped up my bookbag and ran out the door.

  If there was a way to get extra credit and complete the eleventh grade, then I would do it. Even if it meant playing a flower in some dumb play.