Exit Stage Left (8 page)

The top half circle of my perfect creation flies off the pottery wheel like a smooshed baseball and hurtles toward Rain. She shrieks and dives to the floor. It finally thumps to a stop on Rain’s wheel, knocking her tall, thin, vase-looking thing to the floor—where it lands on Rain herself.

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” I kneel down in front of her.

She sits up and blinks, lumps of clay clinging to her hair.

“Casey, what did you
do
?” Harrison joins me on the floor, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t know, exactly.” I look at the calligraphy pen in my hand. And drop it like it’s a gun at a crime scene. I reach out and pull some of the clay from Rain’s hair. “I’m so, so sorry,” I say again.

Tears leak from her eyes.

“I think she’s hurt. Dammit, Casey, why don’t you ever listen to me?” Harrison says.

I kind of stare at him. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Harrison this mad. Except for that time tickets to the touring production of
Newsies
sold out before we could buy them.

“Where does it hurt?” he’s asking Rain. “Did the clay hit you in the head? How many fingers am I holding up?”

The tears turn into a full-on wail, and the rest of the room goes silent (minus Bob Marley).

“Rain! What happened?” Alexa flies over to us and wraps an arm around Rain’s shoulders.

“It was an accident—” I start to explain.

“My elbow,” Rain Sprite says in a gulping breath between her sobs. Alexa stretches her arm out to check the injury. Rain uses her free hand to pull a lump of clay from her pin-straight hair and drop it to the floor, before dissolving into tears again.

“Nothing’s broken, but you’re going to have a nice bruise, sweetie,” Alexa says gently.

“I’m really sorry.” I don’t know what else to say. I wish it hadn’t happened, but it’s not like I did it on purpose.

By now the entire room is gathered around us, and even the slightly dead guy is awake and staring. Rain’s still crying. I’ve never wished to be out of the spotlight so badly. This is a disaster. The stage direction for my life would call this scene and demand I exit stage left.

“Harry, I’ll fire your piece for you next week,” Alexa says in a quiet voice. “Right now, I think it’s best if you both go.”

Did we just get fired from the Bohemian Brigade?

“I’m sorry,” I repeat for the millionth time. I move to stand up,
but Rain suddenly pulls away from Alexa and gives me a glare, as if I broke her elbow and every other bone in her body. She reaches forward with her uninjured arm and pulls the beads from around my neck.

All right, then. Fired and stripped of my badge. Good one, Casey.

Harrison tugs at my elbow. When we’ve cleared the room and are a good way down the hall, he says in a seriously grouchy voice, “Well, that didn’t exactly go well. And why don’t you ever listen to me?”

I sigh. “Sorry. I guess art isn’t my thing.” I’m not really that disappointed. It was fun to work with the clay, but I didn’t have any great creative pottery vision. Those heavy beads were giving me neck strain, and I’m not sure that I’m a reggae kind of girl. All it really did was make me stop thinking about Trevor for a while.

“Yeah, I’m not sure I’d want to do pottery all the time either. I think I’ll have clay stuck under my nails for a month,” Harrison says. “And it’s all over my shirt.”

I stop on the steps in front of school and drop my bag. The warm air lifts hair that’s escaped from my braid as I fish through the outside pocket until I find The List. “We’ve got four more things on The List. I suppose we couldn’t expect the first thing we tried to be the perfect fit. Number Two is horseback riding. You want to try that next week?”

“Sure. What are you up to tonight?”

“I’m going to Amanda’s to watch a movie with her and . . . Trevor.” I sort of mumble Trevor’s name, hoping it’ll slide right by Harrison. “You?”

“First, I’m going to take a shower and de-clay myself. Then I’m supposed to hang out with Chris and some guys from band.” He doesn’t say anything about Trevor, thankfully.

“If they find out you’re looking for a new possible college major, they’ll want you to join, you know. Band is like a cult,” I tease.

“Nah. Chris still remembers my sax piece. He christened it ‘An Elephant Dying.’” Harrison moves down the steps as I tuck The List back into my bag.

“Hey, um, I need a ride home,” I call after him.

He stops at the bottom of the stairs and turns back to me. “What’ll you give me?”

I rifle through my purse. “How about two dollars and some ChapStick?”

“You poor starving-artist types,” he says with a shake of his head.

I ball up the two bucks and throw it at him.

I spend an obscene amount of time in front of my closet that night. Again. Only this time I’m trying to perfect an outfit that reflects my new life as a horse person. The most important decision: brown boots or black boots. Brown is more down-to-earth, very I-muck-stalls-and-get-poop-on-myself-for-the-love-of-my-horse. While black just looks more polished. I go with black.

I pull the chosen boots over my leggings and check my reflection in the mirror. Not bad. I look posh. As if I’ve just come off the Olympic equestrian tour and am now deigning to spend time with the locals.

My phone chimes. I dig through the pile of clothes on my desk to
find it.

C—no movie 2nite. T sick.
Amanda.

Seriously? After I spent all that time going back and forth over my boots? Okay, maybe I should stop thinking about myself for three seconds. I can have a little empathy for the guy even if I’m not making out with him between classes.
What’s he got?
I type back to Amanda as I bury the jealousy that bubbles up from the simple thought of the two of them texting about plans.

Don’t know but says he was sick all day. OK to do girls’ night next weekend? I’m gonna wk on lines 2nite.

Sure. See ya.

Now what am I going to do? Harrison and Chris already have plans. Kelly’s out of town at her dad’s for the weekend. Maybe I’ll just—

Wait. Amanda said Trevor was sick all day. But he was perfectly fine when we did our improv skit in acting class earlier. And he was more than fine in Choral Ensemble. He even sang a few notes when the teacher asked for someone to sight-read, and spent the rest of the time joking around with Johnny Grimaldi. Also, there’s no way Amanda would up and cancel on me just to run lines by herself.

Something’s not right here, and I’m about 99 percent sure it involves Amanda lying to me.

I race down the stairs, yell to Mom that I’m going to Amanda’s, and fly out the front door. I stride down the street as fast as I can in my boots. Four blocks later, I’m at Amanda’s. The curtains are shut, and only Amanda’s car is in the driveway. I feel like a stalker, so I walk on.

Now would be an excellent time to have a car to drive. And a license with which to drive it. I hate it when my friends are right. Especially when one of those friends is currently up to no good.

Ten minutes later, I’m back. A red car turns the corner, and I jump behind a giant rose of Sharon bush near the sidewalk. The car slows and turns into Amanda’s driveway. I’d recognize that Honda anywhere, mostly because I’ve spent hours in it with Trevor.

“I’ll be home by eleven. I swear, Mom. Get off my back, all right?” Trevor’s smooth, slightly annoyed voice wafts from his phone through the branches where I’m hiding. Trevor’s parents act parental in phases, half the time not caring if he stays out all night, and the other half trying to make up for the not-caring times.

Trevor shoves the phone into his pocket, and a few seconds later, the front door opens.

“Hey!” Amanda says. “Come on in. Casey can’t make it, so—”

The door shuts.

Casey can’t
what
?

I dig my nails into my palms. What kind of friend is Amanda anyhow? She swore up and down that she didn’t like Trevor, but it sure doesn’t look that way now. My suspicions were right on target. I tap the toe of my (very cute) black boot on the dirt and cross my arms. Instant guilt settles in my stomach. I pretty much
told
her she could have him. I don’t have any claim on him, that’s for sure.

But it’s still so wrong on so many levels. A friend just doesn’t do something like this, especially after insisting there’s nothing there.

I
have
to know what they’re doing. But I shouldn’t—because it’s weird. Except I should, because it’s clear that Amanda sure as hell won’t tell me. I need to find out for my own sanity (and potential revenge plot).

I slink out from behind the rose of Sharon and sneak up to the side of the house. I climb over the boxwoods and crouch beneath the family room window. I slowly rise to peek inside, like some creeper from one of those true crime shows. Trevor’s sitting on the couch,
remote in hand. Amanda walks in—right in front of my nose—from the kitchen. I duck down just in time. Counting ten seconds, I look in the window again. Now they’re both sitting on the couch, a bowl of popcorn between them, scripts on the table.

How freaking cozy.

I slide down against the siding and crouch against the ground. What I don’t get is why Amanda’s doing this. Whatever happened to that unspoken rule about not flirting with (or inviting over for one-on-one movie time) the one guy your best friend has a long and messy history with?

Except she doesn’t deserve all the blame. Trevor’s just as guilty, if not more so. Where exactly does he get off, cornering me in the parking lot and doing that hand-on-the-back thing while trying to get with Amanda?

I ignore the stabbing pain in my heart and check the window again. They’re laughing about something. What I wouldn’t give for Mrs. Reynolds to drive up right this second. Laughing would be
all
that would happen then, if she didn’t freak out about Amanda having a guy over when no one else is home.

Amanda flicks her hair over her shoulder and Trevor stares at her. I sit back down on the mulch.

The worst part is that this never should’ve happened. If I’d gotten the role of Maria, like I should have, Amanda wouldn’t even be on his radar. He would be staring at me during rehearsals, not Amanda. The only reason he’s even noticed her is because she’s starring opposite him in the play. And she’s nice and smart and funny and pretty. But
I’m the one he
knows
.

The sun starts to sink below the trees, and the late September wind picks up. I shiver, but I can’t leave before Trevor. I have to know what happens, even if it kills my soul. I check the window again.

And fall backward into the bushes.

They’re kissing! Full on, arms around each other, making out. I scramble to get out of the boxwoods, but the heel of my boot is stuck in some branches. I yank on it. The neighbor’s dog starts barking. Then Toby barks inside Amanda’s house. A porch light flicks on next door.

“Who’s out there?” an elderly lady’s voice shrieks from next door.

I grab handfuls of bush and haul myself out on my hands and knees.

“If you’re a burglar, you’d better move your behind! I’m calling the police.”

I jump up, and a plastic watering can flies over my head. It hits the side of Amanda’s house. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Amanda and Trevor walking toward the window.

And I run.

“You’d better run, you delinquent! And don’t come back!” A dog bone misses me by a few feet.

I run until I get home, lungs bursting and gasping for air.

And only one question is clear in my mind: Am I not over him?

I spend Monday darting in and out of my classes so Amanda can’t
catch up with me, but I’m out of luck when it comes time for rehearsal. During one of the few scenes she isn’t in, Amanda settles into the seat next to me. How does she have the nerve?

“Hey, Case, what’s up? I feel like I haven’t talked to you in forever.”

I grunt.

“Is something wrong?”

Yes. Your lips were all over Trevor.
My
Trevor. Well, not technically mine, but I have more claim than anyone.

“No,” I say. I can’t exactly tell her that I watched everything through her family room window.

“Hmm. I need to talk to you after rehearsal, though. Just for a few minutes.”

“Okay.” I shrug, like it’s no big deal, when really, the jealousy coursing through me could float a boat clear over to Europe.

“It’s . . . I really have to tell you something.”

I raise my eyebrows. Is she going to confess her rendezvous with Trevor? God, I hope so. Although I have no idea what I’m going to say.

“Amanda! Onstage. Now!” Ms. Sharp waves her hands. Amanda jumps up.

As I stretch out, thinking I might be able to snag a nap if Ms. Sharp keeps her voice down, someone tugs my neat (and very equestrian) French braid.

“‘Hey, Casey.” Oliver’s low voice rolls over my shoulder.

I shift around in my seat. “Hey.”

“Your friend looks like she’s hiding something.”

“How do you know?”

“I have my ways.” He waggles his eyebrows.

“Should I call you James Bond?”

“Sure. I’ve got the Aston parked out front.” He pretends to tighten a necktie.

I nearly choke trying not to laugh. Oliver’s hair looks good, as usual, but there is absolutely nothing James Bond-ish about him. Unless Bond wears a Sex Pistols T-shirt and shabby jeans when he isn’t on the job.

“So, what’s the big secret?” Oliver asks.

“What?”

“Amanda.”

“Right. It’s a long story.”

“I see.” Oliver’s looking right at Amanda and Trevor, onstage. I feel like, somehow, he’s already guessed everything that’s going on.

Which means that it’s time to change the subject. “So, what was up with the whole not-talking thing? Because you’re sure talking a lot now.”

He shrugs. “I guess I only talk when I have something to say.”

Huh. I always have something to say. Sometimes I say too much.

“Or someone worth talking to.” Oliver smiles.

I’m about to ask him what he means by that when Harrison shows up.

“Hey, did you guys know the Alcove of Sin has salt-and-vinegar chips now? I think they’re made of soy or something, but still.” Harrison slips into the seat next to Oliver. He waves a bag of chips at me,
like this is the most fascinating news of the century.

“Ugh, no. How can you eat those?” I ask.

“These are high-class chips, Casey. Even if they are the weird healthy kind. Unlike that sour-cream-and-onion stuff you like.”

“How can a chip be high-class? It’s still a chip. It’s not a steak.”

“Salt and vinegar are kind of hard to find, especially in a school vending machine,” Oliver chimes in. “That’s what makes them classier than plain old sour cream and onion or barbecue.”

If only Trevor could see I’m a salt-and-vinegar chip. Even thinking that makes me mad at myself, all over again.

Ms. Sharp claps her hands. “That’s it for today, ladies and gentlemen. Tonight we all need to go home and work on
projecting
. There’s no point in speaking onstage if the audience can’t hear you. Tomorrow, I expect everyone to project!”

“Thanks . . .” Hannah says halfheartedly, her copy of the script hanging limply at her side. Before this show is over, she’s going to wish she’d just joined the stage crew instead.

“PRO-JECT!” Trevor’s voice booms from somewhere behind me as people filter into the school lobby. He doesn’t need any work on projecting. What he
does
need to work on is restraining himself when it comes to flirting—and more—with friends of mine. But then again, it’s not like he’s ever restrained himself from flirting, period. He walks right past me, joking with the Grimaldi twins, who must’ve been hanging around—somewhere—this whole time.

“Hi, Casey,” Johnny Grimaldi practically whispers as he walks by.

“Hey,” I manage to say as I look past him at Trevor’s back.
Seriously? He’s going to stroll right by me without even acknowledging my existence?

Then he turns and winks at me. Winks! And yet somehow doesn’t look like some kind of middle-aged creeper doing it. I reward him with a glare.

“Casey.” Amanda touches my shoulder. “Come on.” She grabs my hand and pulls me down an empty hallway. Her adorable new ankle boots make a loud clacking sound on the tiled floor. Then she stops and turns around. I stand in front of her, waiting to hear what I know I’m going to hear, but don’t actually want to hear all the same.

“So . . .” Amanda tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

I just cross my arms and wait. I’m not about to make this easy for her.

But she doesn’t say anything.

I can’t stand it. “This is about Friday night, isn’t it?” I say through gritted teeth.

I can almost hear the wheels in Amanda’s head turning. Her eyes widen and she takes a deep breath. Then she clamps her lips shut and quickly closes her eyes. “It’s . . . how do you know?”

Like I’m going to tell her I was peeking in her window. Instead, I go for the obvious. “Trevor wasn’t sick on Friday. He was perfectly fine in Choral Ensemble.”

“But how—”

I hold up a hand. “It doesn’t matter. I know he came over Friday night and you lied to me about it.”

Amanda bites her lip. “Oh my God, I’m sorry, Casey. It just . . .
it got completely out of hand. I didn’t mean for anything to happen, I swear.”

“You didn’t mean to purposely uninvite me so you could be alone with him? Because that’s sure how it looked.”

“No, I mean, yes. I did.” She covers her face with her hands, as if hiding from what she’s done will make it all go away.

“You’re supposed to be my best friend. Why would you
do
that to me?” My throat tightens. Not only did she take my part and pretty much end my future as an actor, but now she’s taking Trevor too.

“I
knew
you still had feelings for him, but you said you didn’t, and I convinced myself that you were telling the truth about that and, God, this is such a mess.”

I thought I was telling the truth. But it was probably more like what Amanda said—if I said it enough, and thought it enough, it would become true. Except it’s not. I still want him, and I don’t know if it’s because we’re meant to be together or because I’m not over him yet or what. Maybe it’s because he’s familiar and part of my old, normal life—the one that existed before my dreams went toppling over. I don’t know.

“Do you like him?” I ask Amanda in a voice I hope is dripping with ice. “It would be nice if you were honest this time.”

Amanda takes a deep breath. And then she talks so fast, the words run together. “Yes, okay? I do. Or I did, but not anymore. It’s just that he was being so
nice
to me, and I think he was flirting. And this probably makes me the worst friend in the history of the world, but he’s just so
that
boy. That’s awful, I know. And I never liked how he
was when he was with you, but he was actually paying attention to
me
. That’s so screwed up.”

“So you like the attention,” I say flatly.

Amanda closes her eyes for a second. “It’s not that. It’s just . . . you’re just . . . you’re Casey.” She waves an arm at me like I’m supposed to know what she’s talking about. “It’s hard to compete with that.”

“With what, exactly?”

“You! Everything about your personality. You always know what to say, how to make the right joke. People flock to you. You command the spotlight. And I know you don’t do it on purpose—it just happens.” She smooths her jeans, which is so obnoxious and so very Amanda, because who ever heard of jeans wrinkling?

I’m pretty much stunned into silence, which is rare. Yeah, I talk a lot more than Amanda, but I never thought that meant I got more attention or anything. And . . . she’s pulled the whole topic of conversation away from what happened between her and Trevor. “So, what, getting Trevor is part of your grand scheme to take everything away from me?”

She shakes her head. “What? No, that’s not what I meant. Just that
finally
I get to be the star . . .” She trails off, like she knows she’s about to say something she wishes she didn’t.

“Right. So that entitles you to get with him. Nice. That’s really considerate of you, knowing exactly how messed up I am over him.” I cross my arms and wait for her to say something that will make any sense out of all this.

“No. I don’t know what I thought would happen, but it wasn’t intentional, I swear. It’s just . . . something came over me—like Evil Amanda or something—on Friday and I lied. I just wanted to spend time alone with him to see if he really was interested in me. So he came over, and we watched the movie. And . . . you know. And someone tried to break into the house, which was weird and a little scary.” She pauses to catch her breath.

“I don’t understand how you can do all of that and still call yourself my
friend
.” I spit the word at her, hoping it stings. I feel almost as if she’s trying to take my life, a piece at a time. Which is stupid, considering her own life is pretty damn good.

Amanda laces her hands together. “I’m so, so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, you have to believe me. I should’ve brushed him off. I should’ve done everything I could to keep distance from him.” She takes another deep breath. “What happened doesn’t mean anything, I promise. And nothing else is going to happen.”

I casually raise my eyebrows in what I hope is a disdainful look. “Good. Because we’re getting back together.” I don’t know
where
that came from. The second the words are out of my mouth, I’m not sure about them. But I want my old life back, or as much of it as I can get anyway, and that means Trevor.

Amanda’s hands stop smoothing her shirt. “Are you sure?”

“What do you mean? Of course I’m sure. We’ve been off and on for two years. This is what we
do
.” It’s our normal. And being with Trevor would be so . . . normal.

“I don’t know, Case . . . you were so positive that things were over.
That you needed to move on.”