Falling for Romeo (12 page)

Startled by the rejection, Fletcher said, “Oh.” John sat in the desk where he’d piled his discarded costumes and pulled on his pants. “I don’t have a car,” he said quietly.

“I can give you a ride,” Lacey piped.

Drake moved closer as well. “I’m going right by your house, dude.”

“I can give you a lift.” Andrew pulled a sweatshirt over his head. “I have the suburban.” John looked up into the faces of half of the cast surrounding him. Pressure inside began to build. Sweat sprung at his armpits, behind his neck. He looked over at Jennifer. She was finished dressing and now gathered her backpack and purse.

It was naive of him to think she’d forget about the unscripted kiss and give him a ride, but he was too tired to take a ride with someone wanting something from him, even a conversation. Jennifer would give him the silent treatment. That much he deserved.

“I already have a ride,” he said, waiting for her reaction. Her fast exit from the drama room had him k

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bolting up, snatching his stuff, and following her.

He let her keep a good ten foot lead in the hall as they headed to the parking lot. He closed the distance between them as soon as their feet hit pavement. Sure, he could get a ride with somebody if she full-on left him, but he really was sorry for using the moment onstage like he had.

“Jenn.” He didn’t expect her to stop. She’d make any communication difficult. She had her back to him as they half-jogged to her yellow VW. “I’m sorry about what I did,” he blurted.

She stopped and faced him, nearly causing him to bump right into her. They stood in the quiet of night, the distant sound of an occasional car humming down the street mixing with the singing of crickets. “Say it again—to my face.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

“You’re not sorry.” She walked the last stretch to her car and stuck her keys in the lock then opened the door.

“I know you, and I know when you’re sorry. And that was not sorry.”

“I am too.” He pushed her door shut and held it closed with his hand. “You don’t know anything.”

“I know that you can’t say you’re sorry and look me in the eye.”

“I just did.”

“You said ‘I’m sorry about that’ and you were looking at…at everything but me.”

“Was not. So?”

“So it wasn’t a true apology.”

His eyes flicked over her face, his teeth set. “So, what, you’re not going to give me a ride because of it?”

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Jennifer tilted her head. She liked that he squirmed just a little, he deserved it. But she couldn’t hold onto the anger long. So what if he hadn’t looked her right in the eye, he looked so… something melancholy hovered in his expression, as if he wasn’t sure he could trust her and was sad because of it.

“I have to go,” she said, pulling on the door he still held pinned. His other hand slapped the roof of the car, jolting her. “Calm down, John.” Thrusting both hands through his hair he turned away, facing the school. The muscles in his shoulders and back tensed. “Okay, fine,” she said. “Come on.” She got in the car and started the ignition. “But you owe me.” He looked at her with disbelief, as if she’d betrayed him with the statement and it took her back for a moment. “Just kidding,” she offered.

A lamp burned in his father’s office window. His father was working at home. The house was quiet, yet John didn’t even consider going to bed without first doing what he had to do.

He knocked at the open door of his dad’s office.

His father looked up from his work. He set down his pen and ran his hands down his face. Then he leaned back in the leather swivel chair and looked at John. After a thoughtful pause he waved him in.

John’s stomach churned. He walked to the desk, hands wringing. Golden lamplight cast a soft glow through the dark room and across his father’s tired face.

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“Late night?” John asked even though the answer was obvious.

“Yeah. How was rehearsal?”

John shrugged. “Late. Long.”

“You ready? Isn’t opening night coming up?” John nodded.

His father leaned forward on his elbows, waiting.

John thought of Jennifer, of her accusation that he couldn’t apologize and wished she could see him now.

“Sorry about today.”

“Okay. What happened?”

“Mr. Daniels asked me to help him with something. I lost track of the time.”

His father nodded and rested his chin on his hands.

He let out a sigh. “You lost the privilege of using the car because we both know this isn’t the first time you’ve stretched yourself too thin. You’ve got too much on your plate when you start forgetting things.” John nodded.

“Is there anything that can give?” John lifted his shoulders. “Student council goes till the end of the year. The play runs two weeks. Track starts in four. Chamber choir goes for the rest of the year and I have peer tutoring that needs me until finals. I start that job at the retirement center in a month.”

“You can’t cut the play. There would be no Romeo and Juliet without Romeo. But something else has to go.

You can do better than this.”

“But the play will be over and—”

“Trim the fat, whatever is absolutely unnecessary.” He picked up his pen and lowered his head, a signal that he was finished counseling.

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John went to his bedroom with his heart heavier knowing what his father expected. And he was right. But his schedule wasn’t unlike many of his friends and they all seemed to handle theirs without things leaking at the seams.

He sat on his bed with a groan. He was bound to student council; there was no way out of that. He was part of the blood that kept the school running.

His track coach, Mr. Ivers, had made it perfectly clear that he was expected to perform to perfection so they could get another state championship under their belts. Dropping track was out of the question.

He’d never give up the play; it was the one thing he was really enjoying, even with the added strain of learning seven-hundred and thirty-four lines.

Chamber choir had a tour coming up, which meant he’d be gone singing with the group for days at a time.

He rubbed his face. A dozen students depended on his help during peer tutoring hour. Even though that was voluntary, it was another thing he couldn’t drop.

He thought of Runt, of how far he’d come since they’d worked on algebra together. No one knew that John had been trying to help the painfully shy kid come out of his skin a little as they reviewed algebra. It had taken months to get the guy to even say hi to a girl.

He needed money, so bagging a job op wasn’t an option.

For a while he lay under the heaviness of a suffocating decision. A couple of years ago nobody cared or noticed if he dropped an elective or gave up a volunteer job. Those days were gone, and the memory of anonymity caused his stomach to crimp.

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The past few years were a blur. The constant attention from students he’d never seen before and teachers who suddenly knew his name overwhelming.

At first the notoriety was flattering, but he realized very quickly that being watched meant acting responsibly.

He rolled onto his side and looked out the window.

Jennifer’s bedroom light was on, but the shutters were drawn.

He longed for a crude tin can and some string.

She was mad at him and would scream in his ear through that makeshift can before she would ever give him any advice.
What did she know, anyway?
No one really understood what it was like to be under a magnifying glass unless they were a captured insect.

John pushed himself up off the bed, even though he was weary to the bone. One last thing to do so he could sleep with a clear conscience. Unlocking his window, he opened it wide and looked across at the soft glow coming from Jennifer’s bedroom. Then he scanned his floor, but it was freshly vacuumed and there were no scraps, nothing he could use.

A colorful ceramic tray from Mexico sat on the table next to his bed. It held leftover change whenever he had any. He grabbed a penny, aimed and threw. The penny hit the glass with a clink then fell silently to the grass below. When nothing happened, he grabbed another and threw again. This time the blinds flew up and Jennifer peeked out, looking at first startled, then annoyed when she saw him. But she opened her window.

“What?”

John pressed his hands into the window casing. She wore something pink and grey: a nightshirt that buttoned

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up the front. But the top button was undone. Her hair was in a pony tail, spilling over the top of her head as she leaned out the window. Her face was ivory-pink, like she’d just taken a bath.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

He liked that he surprised her. She didn’t even blink.

When she nodded, the curl at the end of her pony tail bounced and teased.

“ ’Night,” he said.

“ ’Night, John.”

When she said his name, something warm slid through him, settling his tight nerves. His dad told him it was good business to use the name of everyone you talk to. John just though it was cool, so he’d started doing that a few years ago. But nothing was cooler than having Jennifer call him by name. Right now, that was the best thing.

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Eleven

“People,” Chip began. The cast of Romeo and Juliet was scattered through the drama room, listening as they readied for their first performance, a matinee Pleasant View hosted for neighboring elementary schools.

The performance enabled the actors to iron out any wrinkles before an uncritical, mostly inattentive audience.

The cast and crew didn’t mind since they got out of classes for the day.

“This is what I call our wet run—wet behind the ears if you will. By tonight, we’ll be dry as a baby’s butt.”

“Like you’d know,” Andrew chided. “You don’t have any kids.”

Chip smiled, nodded. “But I am an uncle. Now.” His smile dropped into a serious line across his face. “If there is any, and I repeat
anything
that comes up during performance, and I guarantee there will be, the show goes on. I told you the story of when I was in Robin Hood and twisted my ankle. No one knew it until after the show.

Then I screamed. Then I swore. Then I was rushed to the ER.” Chip looked into every face soberly. He settled on John and Jennifer. “You two especially—improvise. That’s what this performance is for, to see if we have any bugs to work out. Got it?”

Chip waved everyone together for a familial hug.

They linked arms in a large circle and bowed their heads.

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He gave a short, inspirational speech.

“Everybody hits makeup and hair,” Chip ordered after, pointing to the lit glass vanity where pots of makeup were scattered. Brushes for both hair and face shot up like mink blossoms from miniature vases. The boys groaned. The girls willingly sought the palettes and hair instruments, eager to transform themselves.

“Jenn.” Chip went to her. “You’re the best with this stuff. I want everyone to pass your inspection before going onstage. Everybody hear that?” Most of the boys grinned and smiled at her.

Everybody crowded around the small, mirrored vanity and, with a little nudging, reached for this and that.

“Do I have enough red stuff on my cheeks?” Freshly powdered, Drake stepped back for all to see.

“You look demented, dude.”

“Like Bozo, man.”

“Perv.”

“Here.” Jennifer went to him with a soft sponge and blotted his cheeks. Drake stood perfectly still, eyes locked on her every move.

“Hey,” Andrew whined. “I got too much blush on too, Jenn.” He stuck his face next to hers, his eyes closed and his lips pursed.

“Everybody needs some blush on their cheeks,” Jennifer explained, laughing at the joke. “Or you’ll look dead on stage. The lights wash you out.”

“And eyeliner.” Lacey taunted, waving a liner wand with relish. The boys groaned. She went to John.

He stepped back. “No way.”

“Even you need it, John.” Lacey brought the wand to his eyes but he held up both hands in protest.

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“No, he doesn’t.” Trish looked over from the makeup table “He’s got dark eyelashes already.”

“Let’s ask Jenn,” Lacey said. “Jenn, does John have to wear eyeliner or not?”

Jennifer looked over from her blotting job on Drake’s cheeks. There was no denying John had thick, black lashes—they could be seen from across the football field, let alone the room.

“He wears it,” Jennifer said firmly, taking a moment to enjoy the way John’s eyes widened.

“I protest,” John said. The room erupted in laughter.

Lacey set her fingers on his chest and playfully pushed him into a nearby chair.

Jennifer’s stomach knotted with jealousy.

“It’s easy, dude.” Fletcher had his own tube and, nose pressed to the mirror, painted on a coat of the black stuff. “Even I can—ouch!” He blinked and the wand smeared into his eye. “This stuff stings!” Laughing, Jennifer dampened a paper towel and rushed over, wiping just underneath his eye. “Boys are such babies. Stand still or it’ll get all over everything,” she told him.

“Hey,” Fletcher piped. “Can you kiss it and make it all better?”

Lifting to her toes, Jennifer placed a kiss just under his eye.

“I stabbed myself with the lip liner.” Drake held up a burgundy pencil, pointing to his lower lip. “Right here.”

“Yeah, right.” Jennifer went back to looking at Fletcher’s eye. “Only one more coat, okay? And be careful.”

“This thing’s just as dangerous as a rapier.” Fletcher

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returned to the mirror to apply more of the black muck.

Jennifer was glad everyone went back to readying themselves. Only John was looking at her under narrowed eyes, a deep crease between his dark brows.