Fame, Glory, and Other Things on My to Do List

by Janette Rallison

  Jordan tapped his fingers against his plastic armrest. “Did you believe her?”

  I didn’t answer.

  Jeff threw up his hands in disgust. “Oh, man, this is incredible. Our own cast member stabbed us in the back.”

  “That’s politically incorrect language,” Andre told him. “I think you should say she pushed us, and we tripped and fell on our own knives, which is what now happens in the fight scene between Riff, Bernardo, and Tony.”

  “No way,” Jordan said.

  Andre went back to his script. “Yeah, and we’re not rumbling anymore. Now we’re meeting to discuss our differences.”

  Jordan let out a sigh. “Do I still get shot in the end, or does someone just talk me to death?”

  Jeff turned another page of his script. “I vote we call a truce between Sharks and Jets and kill off Anita in the first scene.”

  “She means well,” I said.

  Mary pursed her lips together. “Yeah. We’ll explain that to the audience when they ask why they paid money to see a play about gang violence that contains neither gangs nor violence.” She picked up the script and waved it in the air. “Mrs. Shale has ruined the play, and we’re all going to look stupid doing it. We’ll be humiliated in front of the school, the community, and reporters. I’m going to talk to my father about this.”

  Andre ran his hand along his armrest. “Mary, wasn’t it your father who decided we couldn’t display Christmas trees in school buildings?”

  “Winter trees,” I said. “They banned the word Christmas from school.”

  Lauren snapped her fingers together as though remembering. “And which side of the Should-Huckleberry-Finn-be-taken-out-of-the-library-for-using-offensive-words argument did your father take?”

  Mary folded her script and grunted. “Well, it’s not like anyone misses that book anyway.”

  Tye threw up his hands. “We’re doomed.”

  “Maybe my dad will get through to the principal,” Jordan said. “Maybe he’ll be reasonable about it.”

  The rest of the cast exchanged looks. None of us had much faith in Mr. Poure’s reasonableness, but then again, Jordan’s dad was Christopher Hunter. It was entirely possible he could move mountains and still have time left over in the day to walk on water.

  We mumbled over a few more indignities, but in the end there was nothing to do but go home. Tomorrow would tell whether we were doing West Side Story or some odd farcical play where people said “Daddy-o” and “Riga tiga tum” but got along perfectly fine.

  While I gathered up my books Jordan walked over to me. “Can you stay for a minute? I want to talk to you.”

  “Sure,” I said.

  The others sauntered out of the room, alone or in pairs. When we were the last ones in the auditorium, Jordan said, “So, about Friday, I’ve been thinking about it, and I need your help. Well, someone’s help anyway. I’ll understand if you don’t want to get involved in this.”

  “Involved in what?”

  He looked over at the door and lowered his voice. “You know, getting my parents together.”

  “Oh that. I don’t mind helping you.” The hurt crept into my voice. “Well, that is if you trust me not to mess it up.”

  He ignored my accusation. “This is the plan. My parents are driving up to the cabin on Friday. I sabotaged a faucet earlier and mentioned to my dad that it didn’t work. He still considers himself a plumbing expert from his college days, so he took the bait and volunteered to fix it. He’ll drive up with Mom because she has stuff to go through before she can rent it. I won’t go along, because I’ll be out on a date. They’ll have to take my car because I’m going to let the air out of one of my mom’s tires before I leave, and I’ve already asked my dad if I can use his rental car—it’s a Jaguar—to impress my date. That would be you, by the way.”

  “I’m the date?” I asked. “Where are we going?”

  “We’ll secretly follow them up to the cabin. You’ll take your Honda; I’ll drive my father’s Jaguar.”

  “And that’s supposed to impress me?”

  He ignored me. “When my parents park the car and are busy inside, we’ll switch my Honda with yours. License plates and everything. When my parents come out, their car won’t start because they’ll be trying to use my key on your car. They’ll be forced to spend hours together.”

  I waited for him to say something else. He didn’t. “How will that get your parents back together?”

  He thrust his hands into his jeans pockets and spoke quickly, almost as though trying to convince himself. “They vacationed in that cabin. It’s got to have good memories for them. Besides, one of the boxes Mom is going to sort through are the pictures my grandparents took of their wedding day. Grandma gave them to me before she died, and I planted them up there when I unscrewed the faucet. You have no idea how much time I’ve already put into this. I bought CDs of music they listened to when they were first married, put them by the stereo so they look like they’re part of my grandparents’ stuff, then took the stereo into an electronics shop and had them disconnect the radio function so my parents can only play CDs. I peppered the entire cabin with high school memorabilia they didn’t know my grandparents kept, because my grandparents didn’t keep it. I tracked down people who went to the same high school they did and bought some from them.”

  “You did all of that for your parents?” I had never put that much thought, time, or emotion into anything I’d done for my mom and dad. And now I sort of felt bad for all of those store-bought cards I’d given them on their birthdays. It seemed a shame that Jordan, who cared so much, was likely to get so little from his investment.

  “Mom doesn’t realize Dad has changed,” Jordan went on. “Dad doesn’t realize Mom would take him back if he just showed her that he’s changed. All they need is time together.”

  “So what happens when the tow truck takes the car to the shop and they find out their key doesn’t actually work the ignition?”

  “They won’t call a tow truck. They’ll think it’s the battery—just like when your car wouldn’t start—and call me on my cell phone. I’ll take a really long time to come up with jumper cables. And when I come up, I’ll bring your key with me. That way the car will start, and they’ll never figure out what we’ve done.”

  A dozen problems with this plan came to mind, still I smiled at Jordan. “I’ll do it. But you have to realize we’re going to get caught and we’re going to get in trouble. They’re your parents, so I guess you can decide whether it’s worth whatever punishment they dish out. You know them best.”

  “Your confidence is touching,” he said.

  “Enjoy driving the Jaguar while you can, because your dad will probably never let you touch it again.”

  The door to the room swung open, and Jordan’s father walked back in. Even from a distance I could tell he was clenching his jaw—which explained where Jordan learned how to handle stress.

  “How did it go?” Jordan asked.

  “Your principal is an idiot,” his father said.

  Jordan let out a sigh. “We have to make all those changes?”

  “Not all of them. He’ll allow you to be a gang and to kill people, but not to yell racial slurs.”

  I put my hands on my hips. “There is something just wrong about that.”

  “Don’t point that out to him,” Jordan said. “You’ll make things worse.”

  After I’d spoken, Mr. Hunter turned his head toward me as though seeing me for the first time. The tension dropped from his face, and he smiled. “You know, I don’t think we’ve ever been formally introduced, but you’re Jessica, right?” He held his hand out to me, and I awkwardly shook it.

  “Right. And you’re Jordan’s dad.” Of course he was Jordan’s dad. He’d been directing us for two days. I’m not sure which flustered me more, that he was famous or that I liked his son.

  Mr. Hunter gave a small laugh, probably because he finds people who make no sense amusing, and nodded at me. “So
I hear you two are going out this Friday. Have you decided on a movie?”

  “Not yet,” Jordan said quickly. “We’re still talking about it.”

  “We’d like to see a love story,” I added, already asking for mercy. “Or at least something where no one gets incarcerated at the end.”

  Jordan rolled his eyes at me.

  “Love stories can make for great movies,” his dad said. “I always enjoyed acting in them.”

  “That must be where Jordan gets it from then.” I’m not sure why I felt the need to defend Jordan’s acting skills, but I did. I wanted to say, Maybe Jordan isn’t famous, but every word he utters on that stage is just as important because he’s saying them all for you. It was a shame his dad would never know that. “Jordan does really well portraying the romantic side of Tony,” I went on. “I know he’s been nervous these last couple of days with you here watching him, but he’s really good. Even when it was just the two of us practicing, I could tell he had a lot of talent with the love scenes.”

  It wasn’t until Mr. Hunter raised an eyebrow that I realized what I’d just said. “Not that we were making out or anything,” I added.

  Jordan winced.

  His father raised his eyebrow even further.

  I looked at my feet, sort of hoping a big hole would open up and swallow me.

  “I see.” Mr. Hunter ran a hand over his jaw in a distracted way, his eyebrow now stuck halfway up his forehead. “Well, it’s nice to hear he’s been . . . uh . . . practicing his part.” He then turned to Jordan. “So, are you about ready to head home, or”—a glance at me—“do you still have things to do around here?”

  “I’m ready to go home,” Jordan said. This meant, I want to flee from Jessica as quickly as possible. I didn’t blame him. I wanted to flee from me too.

  “We’ll talk more about Friday later,” Jordan said.

  “Right,” I said. “Great.” I picked up my backpack and hurried out of the auditorium as fast as I could.

  Practice on Thursday was terrible. No one would speak to Kate except for me, so I was caught in the middle of the glare-fest. Since a lot of the script had changed, no one knew their lines or cues. To make matters worse, Mrs. Shale kept finding things to change or unchange. Mr. Hunter didn’t come at all. Jordan said he had a telecon at his hotel about a celebrity fund-raiser, but I figured he just wanted to distance himself from our ill-fated production.

  After rehearsal Jordan spent fifteen minutes talking to me about our Friday plans. I was so happy to talk to him—which made me realize how pathetic I was. I mean, if a guy telling you the details of some stupid stunt that’s going to get you grounded until graduation can make you happy, there is something wrong with you. This is probably why a lot of people resist falling in love, and why those who don’t are doomed to write depressing country music.

  Right about then I should have started practicing the guitar.

  On Friday, Jordan and I skipped out of school sixth period. I didn’t even have to forge a note to get out of drama class. Jordan asked Mrs. Shale if I could help him run his new lines, and she let me go without question.

  I was half afraid Jordan’s mom would catch him before we even started our trip up to the cabin, but when we rendezvoused at the library parking lot, he told me everything had gone as planned.

  He had let the air out of one of his mom’s car tires, then did the same to the spare, just in case anyone had thoughts about changing the tire. My parents would have most likely ditched the trip to the cabin and spent the afternoon getting their tire fixed, but Jordan was sure his parents would take care of the cabin first and leave the tire problem until they returned home.

  After disabling his mom’s car, Jordan put his mom’s phone, which he’d surreptitiously stolen earlier, under his Honda’s front seat. It was turned on and in the middle of a phone call to my phone, which he now held in his hand. With the mute button pressed on our end, we’d be able to hear any conversation his parents had on the way up; but more importantly, we’d know when they’d left the car and gone into the cabin. This would work perfectly if his parents left when they had told Jordan they were going to leave—at two o’clock—and thus didn’t run down the phone’s battery before we could sufficiently spy on them.

  We were using my phone for this bit of intrigue so Mr. Hunter wouldn’t have a problem calling Jordan on his phone when they realized they were stuck at the cabin. Besides, I had the same provider as Jordan’s mom, so neither of us would be charged for the call. Jordan assured me his mom wouldn’t even notice the extra time on the bill. He talked to his friends in California so much he always racked up a lot of minutes.

  I’d already cleaned out my car and loosened my license plate to make it easier to switch. Once that was accomplished, all we would have to do was move Jordan’s Pima charm to my rearview mirror, and his parents would never know the difference between the cars—well, assuming they didn’t catch us while we switched them, that was.

  “Do you have everything you need?” I asked Jordan at the library parking lot.

  He nodded toward the Jaguar. “I’ve got my phone and yours, a screwdriver, and a flashlight in case they don’t leave on time and we have to do this after dark.”

  “Then we’re ready to go.”

  Jordan took a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to me. “Directions to Ruidoso in case we get separated. But try not to get separated from me. You don’t want to get lost up in the mountains on those dirt roads.”

  I hadn’t considered the roads before. “You’re taking a Jaguar over dirt roads? Your father is going to kill you.”

  “Only the last bit is dirt,” Jordan said, “and it’s for a good cause.”

  “Right. Sure. I hope your parents aren’t the kind that yell at people they hardly know.”

  Jordan checked his watch. “Let’s leave now. We can pull off the road and find some place to wait it out in the mountains. That way we won’t have to worry about any unforeseen delays making us miss my parents all together.”

  I got in my Honda and followed Jordan down the street. As we drove, I tailed him as closely as I dared. If I lost him at a red light, I’d most likely end up wandering around the wrong mountain. I’ve never been good with directions.

  I’m not the type that talks to myself, but during that car ride I did. Mostly I said, “Whatever you do, don’t rear-end the Jaguar.”

  You see, this venture could go wrong in so many ways.

  We drove through town and out onto the highway, past the twisted bushes of the desert and slowly up to where the air grew chilly and the forest appeared. We passed two-story pine trees that shrouded the road up the mountainside like an enormous green bower. Finally, Jordan went down a dirt road and pulled off to the side. I parked behind him and walked over to his car, shivering more from the suspense than the cold. Once I slid into the passenger seat, I noticed the phone lay on the dashboard. His parent’s voices came through on the speakerphone.

  “How close are we to the cabin?” I asked, and then before he had time to answer, “Are your parents almost here?”

  “The cabin is about a mile down the main road, and they left twenty minutes after we did. Knowing the way my dad drives, they should be here soon.”

  I relaxed against the seat. Soft leather caressed my back. I probably didn’t have furniture at home as nice as the passenger seat in this car. I let my fingers run over the armrest. “So how are your parents getting along?”

  He grunted. “They’re mostly just talking about me.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  He tilted his head at me as though it should be obvious. “It isn’t romantic to talk about me.”

  Not according to most of the girls at Three Forks, but I didn’t contradict him.

  Jordan waved a hand at the phone. “See, there they go again.”

  Through the phone we heard his dad say, “What did you use to bribe Jordan into losing his earring?”

  “I didn’t bri
be him with anything,” his mom answered. “Believe it or not, he did it to impress a girl at school. It’s the same reason his clothes no longer look like hand-me-downs from some heavy metal band that didn’t have access to a washing machine. Jessica took him shopping.”

  Jordan picked up the phone and switched off the speaker function. “We really shouldn’t listen to their private conversation.”

  “They’re talking about me. I want to hear it.”

  He held the phone away. “I don’t want you to hear it.”

  I smiled graciously and held my hand out for the phone. “Well, that’s too bad because it’s my phone, and if I have to wrestle it out of your hands, one of us might accidentally push the OFF button. Think of that.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t.”

  “You haven’t talked to me for almost two months. I want to hear what your mother has to say about me, besides”—I patted my jacket pocket—“I still have sole ownership of my Civic keys. If you want them, you’ll give me the phone.”

  He glared at me but handed over the phone. “Fine. Have it your way. They’re probably finished talking about you anyway.”

  I pressed the speakerphone button. “Don’t you dare do anything to mess up his relationship with Jessica,” his mom said—indicating that they weren’t finished talking about me.

  “He hasn’t even said anything to me about her,” his dad answered.

  “That’s probably because he doesn’t want you to mess it up.”

  Jordan reached for the phone, but I held it away from him.

  “I didn’t do anything to mess up his relationship with Crystal,” his dad said.

  “Krista,” his mom said. “And he’s never gotten over the embarrassment of that.”

  Jordan made another attempt to grab the phone, and I had to stretch my hand all the way into the backseat to keep it away from him.

  “Jessica is different,” his dad said. “She barely talked to me at drama rehearsal, and when she did, she called me Jordan’s dad.”

  His mom laughed for a full five seconds over that, although I couldn’t see anything funny about it. Jordan nearly crawled over me to get the phone. As he grabbed it I heard his mother say, “Well, just be careful. I can tell he likes Jessica a lot.”