Understudy (19 page)

"It is. But still..." Drake's voice trailed off, but he immediately rebounded. "Come on! It's also our last day before the holidays!"

Sara and I exchanged glances, both wondering how we ended up between two guys talking about a party. Two guys we were supposed to be hating.

Eric looked puzzled, like the idea of throwing a party was entirely foreign to him.

Drake wasn't about to give up though. "Oh come on people!" he exclaimed. "Live a little!"

I almost laughed out loud. I turned to Eric as I recalled the way he used those exact words to get me to play Frisbee. "Yes. Live a little," I said. I didn't know what came over me, but the idea of taunting him made me powerful. "Be spontaneous."

Eric's eyes widened as he stared at me. I could tell by the way his jaw tightened that he got my challenge. Without breaking eye contact, he bellowed, "LISTEN UP EVERYBODY!"

The busy hall was immediately silent. It was probably the first time anybody heard him speak that loud.

Everybody's eyes were suddenly on us, and I felt myself shrinking away.

"Party at my place right after the Senior's Play Fest," he said. Then glancing at Sara he added, "Everyone is invited."

The hush was broken by a buzz of whispering. Finally, it was Drake who broke the ice. "You heard the man! It will be the best party ever!"

This time, everyone cheered.

Sara shook her head as she looped an arm around mine, pulling me away, but not before Eric leaned down and whispered in my ear, "How's that for spontaneous?"

Chapter Twenty−Three

I woke up feeling excited and scared at the same time. It was the Senior's Annual Play Fest and no matter how many times I told myself that there was nothing to be nervous about, my heart wouldn't stop racing every time the play crossed my mind.

"You're not even going to be on stage!" Sara had said the other day as she helped me finalize all the props we needed.

"I won't but my creations will be," I said, ticking off checkboxes on my clipboard.

"You make it sound like you've created us or something. Speaking of which, everybody's talking about the party after the show."

"What about it?"

"Nothing. It just popped in my head." Sara traced her fingers on the redbrick backdrop for one of our outdoor scenes. Her back was to me so I couldn't see her face. "Are you going?"

"Are you?"

"I asked you first," she said.

I had been asking myself the same question. After all, I was partly responsible; I loaded the gun and Eric pulled the trigger. "It depends," I said, keeping my voice even.

Sara didn't answer right away. It was as if she was evaluating my answer. "Well, it just sucks that it has to be in Adam's house."

The pen froze in my hand. Hearing Adam's name still made my heart race these days, but not for the same reason it had a few months ago. It was like being caught red handed for a crime you're trying hard to keep a secret. It made me uncomfortable.

Sara finally turned around to face me. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I just can't mention you-know-who's-name."

Eric.

"I understand. You hate him," I said, forcing my hand to function again.

"Don't we?"

"I..." I wanted to say that no, we don't. Not anymore. But it felt wrong. I wanted to tell her that being with Eric actually made me feel better. That his spontaneity felt like a breath of fresh air. Instead, I said,  "I don't know."

Sara studied my face for a moment, and I tried to avoid looking at her as much as possible. "Do you want to tell me something?"

I wanted to tell her everything. But I was the reason why she hated Eric. I made her to, at least that's how I saw it, given the things I told her. I couldn't just tell her to change her mind about him. Sara and Adam were good friends. And if I thought that hanging around Eric felt like cheating on Adam, how would she handle it? "I don't think so."

"You don't think so or you don't want to?"

Sara kept her eyes on the floor, and I was somehow grateful for it. I couldn't face her.

"I can't," I said. "I want to, but I can't."

She sighed. "But I bet you can tell Eric everything, huh?"

Her words jolted me like a volt of electricity had shot through my veins.

"How the hell did he end up in this conversation?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's because I'm jealous that you have time to play Frisbee with him and with Amanda's snotty younger brother, but you're always busy when it comes to me." The words came out like gun fire, continuous and deadly. It took me time to take it all in.

"How did−"

"I saw you," she said, cutting me off.

I was at lost for words. "Sara, I−"

"Oh damn it Kat! Save your excuses. I'm tired of hearing them."

***

I hadn't spoken to Sara since. That was two days ago, and whether we liked it or not, we'd have to talk later as we got ready for the show. We’d always made up right away whenever we got into fights before. This was no different. At least that's what I told myself.

Mom was alone in the kitchen when I came in. She immediately smiled when she saw me and handed me a plate of full of bacon, scrambled eggs and two waffles swimming in maple syrup.

"Breakfast of champions!" she said, leaning down to kiss my forehead.

"I don't think this is it Mom, but thanks anyway. Where's Dad?"

"Out early. He said he had to finish some paperwork so he can come home early and pick me up to watch the show."

"Oh, you don't have to," I said, as I grabbed a stool and put my plate down. "You won't even see me on stage."

Mom placed her hands on her hips, her brows furrowing. "Who said anything about watching you, honey? We're going to watch Sara kill it!"

I rolled my eyes and shoveled a mouthful of waffle, savoring the buttery maple sweetness melting on my tongue. "Too bad she doesn't get to enjoy this breakfast. But seriously. It's not a big deal, it's just a stupid play. I bet you've seen a lot of
A Christmas Carol
adaptations in your time. This is no different."

"Wow, talk about support." Mom poured steaming coffee in two cups and handed one to me. "But you're a part of it, honey. I mean you've been working hard on the props and everything. We want to see them."

"I can show you the pictures."

Mom waved her hand to dismiss me. "I want to see it live. Besides, you seem to be enjoying yourself with it."

"I do?"

Mom leaned over the counter and brushed some stray strands of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear. "Yes. We barely see you, yet you seem happy. It's like you've been in therapy you know. Minus the shrink."

Flashes of me playing Frisbee with Eric and the kids suddenly flashed in my mind. I shoved more food in my mouth to stop myself from talking, yet my appetite had already disappeared.

Mom grabbed a piece of bacon from her own plate and started nibbling on it. "Is Adam's brother going to be in the play?" she asked, making me choke on my food.

I took quick gulp of coffee, remembering too late that it was steaming hot. I grabbed the edge of my seat to stop myself from crying out loud as the hot liquid slid down my throat, spreading warmth through my body as it settled in my stomach. I let out a deep breath.

Mom just stared at me the whole time, chewing slowly. "Guess I'll take that as a yes," she said. "Is he good?"

Eric only had a few lines, nothing really major, yet everybody was looking forward to seeing him onstage. "He's okay."

"You worked on his props?"

"No. He actually provided his own leg brace."

"Leg brace?"

"He's playing Tiny Tim," I said, trying to sound like it wasn't a big deal, which it really wasn't, except that everybody in school, and Adam, thought it was, so in a way, maybe it was.

"What do you think of him?"

I was about to tell her that I hadn't actually seen him on stage, but the way she looked at me made me realize that there was something else in that question. It was the first time we’d talked about him ever since the day she saw him, that time she thought she saw Adam's ghost.

I wondered if she knew all along that I had been spending time with Eric. Because if she did, then Dad definitely knew about it as well. Maybe that was one of the reasons why they wanted to see the show tonight. To watch me. Guess I would be performing tonight after all.

"I think he's okay."

***

Everybody was talking about the play. You'd think people actually cared about seeing the performance, but they were really more interested in the party Eric was throwing afterwards. Just two days after the announcement, the Wharton residence had become a legend. Rumors circulated that the house was haunted by Adam's ghost, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes at how stupid it sounded. Adam found it funny as well.

I got to school earlier than usual, but the hall was already packed when I came in.

Although class would be suspended early to allow us to prepare for the show, we still had three classes to attend.

Eric was standing in front of my locker, wearing a red v−neck shirt that made everyone's head turn as they passed by. It was the only time he wore something aside from black and white. He’d also shaved his facial hair.

He stepped aside as I approached, watching me in silence as I took my time to grab my stuff. The faint smell of his aftershave distracted me, and I found myself clenching my jaw as I kept my eyes off him.

"I'll be expecting you tonight," he said when I closed my locker.

"Who said I'd show up?" I didn't mean to sound rude, but my conversation with Sara was still fresh in my mind. I suddenly had this feeling that I shouldn't be talking to him.

"I have an inkling," he said, tapping his temple with his index finger.

"We'll see about that."

"Yeah," he said, then looking over my shoulder, he added, "You too, Sara. See you tonight."

I whirled around just in time to see Sara roll her eyes as Eric walked away.

She was wearing light make up, which was a surprise. Sara wasn't a fan of cosmetics, and she would usually only apply makeup when attending formal gatherings. She'd immediately wipe it off as soon as she got home. Yet here she was, all glamed up hours before the performance. For the first time in years, I felt like I didn't know her at all.

"I didn't realize you were there," I said.

"Of course you didn't," she said, the acid evident in her voice.

"I'm sorry about the other day, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

Sara slammed her locker shut. "Is that what you think I'm pissed about? You hurting my feelings?"

She shook her head and closed her eyes. When she reopened them, they were as cold as ice. "God, I wish it's as simple as that." She began walking away but I grabbed her by the elbow.

"Please don't walk away. Let's talk about this," I said, hearing the desperation in my voice.

"Then talk." She lifted her chin as if to challenge me, and I found myself shrinking from her gaze. I couldn't talk to her like this. Not in here. Not when she was so angry.

Sara smiled, though it looked more like a sneer. "Yeah. I didn't think so."

She yanked herself free and I watched her walk away.

Chapter Twenty−Four

My hands were shaking. I grabbed my clipboard as tightly as I could to steady them, but it didn’t help.

The Scarlet group had just finished their performance and based on the audience’s undying applause, they were great.

Our group was assembled backstage doing last minute preparations. For the first time since the play was announced, everybody seemed genuinely concerned about it.

Sara was busy reading lines with Blythe while everybody else was pacing around nervously.

Mr. Blake was pacing as well, though from excitement more than nerves. "Okay, five minutes and it's our turn. I need everybody for a pep talk."

"I didn't realize this was a competition," Frank said as he pushed a cart filled with stage props.

"It's not," Mr. Blake said with a smirk. "At least that's what the other group thinks."

"Adultery and death. How do you expect us to compete with that?" Drake asked, looking dapper as Fred in his suit.

"With joy and Christmas spirit!" Mr. Blake said. "Come on, you guys! Gather around."

Everyone dropped whatever they were doing and gathered around Mr. Blake. He looked around the room to check on everyone, then stopped. His face turned white.

"Where's our Tiny Tim?"

Nobody answered. The air around the room suddenly felt heavy, and aside from the dying applause from the audience, everything went silent.

"We have Keith as his understudy," someone said, and I didn't have to see who it was to know it was Sara.

"He's here," I said, though I hadn't seen him since he talked to me in front of my locker earlier.

"Would you mind bringing him here now?" Mr. Blake asked, loosening his tie.

I had no idea where Eric was or if he even decided to show up. But I had this gut feeling that he would. I didn't know where that faith came from but it was what I held on to as I searched for him backstage.

I found him seated on the steps of the fire exit. He was wearing his costume: an old white button up shirt with dark brown pants, complete with the suspenders, and a pair of old leather shoes. He also had his leg brace on.

He startled when I closed the door behind me, and I felt like I disturbed him right in the middle of his meditation, or whatever he was doing.

"Stage fright?" I asked as I sat down beside him.

"Maybe."

"You're going to be okay."

"I know that. I'm going to rock the stage tonight," he said confidently, though I sensed the uncertainty in his voice.

I followed his gaze and realized that he was staring at his leg brace. It was much better than the first one he showed me. The metalwork looked like it belonged to an earlier century, and as an artist myself, I couldn't help but marvel at the intricate details. "Nice leg brace you got there. You have the leather strap with the rivets and everything." I reached out to touch it, but Eric shoved my hand away.