The New Girl (3 page)

“Thanks,” I said, turning to walk away. I
caught Bridget's eye and smiled as I reached the back door of the
auditorium. She waved and signaled a thumbs up. Much to her
chagrin, I mouthed
good luck
and left the building.

I stepped into the hot summer sun and moved
across the empty parking lot. Our latest rental was only one block
from school, which was an added convenience for walking to and
from— especially since I didn't have a driver's license.

I rounded the curb on Main Street and made
the short walk down the block. I pulled a set of keys from my
pocket as I approached the large two-story brick house on the
corner. I let myself in the front door and tossed my bag to the
side.

“Mom,” I called, looking around the first
floor and dodging boxes left and right. She hadn’t been home when I
stopped by after school to get my portfolio for the auditions. But
her car was in the driveway now, so she had to be around somewhere.
“
Hello
?”

“Here!”

I followed her voice through the kitchen and
into the dining room at the back of the house. I stopped dead in my
tracks at the sight in front of me. The room had taken an
incredible transformation in the last hour. No longer empty, there
was now a large table—complete with eight chairs— centered on a
beautifully patterned rug.

“What’s going on?” I asked, running my
fingers along the table cloth.

“Baby,” she said, her eyes lighting up.
“Whaddya think?”

“I’m… confused.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s furniture.”

“Yes—”

“Why?”

“Because, silly,” she said, turning to adjust
the curtains. “Why not?”

“Well,” I said. “For starters, we’ve never
had furniture. And when we leave—and we
will
leave—you won’t
be able to take it with you.” When she stared at me seemingly
confused, I simply shrugged. “Aren’t you the one always telling me
not to own more than I can carry?”

“But….” She was trying to come up with an
argument, but she didn’t have a leg to stand on. And she knew it.
“Okay, listen. This table is more than just a piece of furniture,
Baby.”

“Okay….”

“It represents something bigger, a promise
I'd like to make,” she said, taking a deep breath and standing
taller. “I think… it's time we settle down…turn a house into a
home, don't you?”

“Well, yeah,” I said, taken aback. “But—”

“But
nothing
, Baby,” she said, taking
a picture from a nearby box and hanging it on the wall. “We're not
leaving. End of story.”

I stood back and watched her decorate, but it
seemed far too foreign. Here she was…a woman who was always on edge
and ready to move at the drop of a hat…decorating; putting down
roots. She was up to something, but I couldn’t tell what. She was
trying too hard. She had to know I’d be suspicious. After all, we
hadn't even unpacked the boxes in our last three homes. Why the
sudden change of heart?

I kept watching her, completely aware that
there was an angle. I just had to figure out what it was.

She had her wavy blonde hair swept into a
ponytail and her hands propped on her hips. With the face of a
Barbie doll and the attitude of a teenager, I always found it
difficult to believe that this 33-year-old, indecisive, often
flighty woman was my mother.

“Mom,” I said, pulling another frame from the
box. “What’s going on here?”

“I told you—”

“But where did you get all this stuff?”

“What stuff?”

“The table, the chairs, the decorations...
everything that wasn't here when I left for the auditions—”

“Oh.” She shrugged. “A friend.”

“A friend?”

We’d only been in town for two days, which
obviously meant that this “friend” was most likely—

“An internet buddy,” she said. “He just
wanted to help—”

“
Mom
!”

I wanted to be surprised, but I couldn’t
muster the simplest shock. Of course! That was her angle. She
wanted me to hop on board and be excited for her newfound love. Of
course, I couldn’t. Because this wasn't the first time she'd made
the decision to move to a new city—or even state—because of an
internet buddy
. It was just another one of her many
adolescent qualities. She couldn't understand the danger of the
unknown; I've known her to spend hours at a time chatting online,
texting with old friends, and gabbing on the phone with God only
knows who.

“Calm down, Baby,” she said. “It's not like
he's a stranger. I've been talking to him for
months
. He's a
nice guy.”

I rubbed my head. “Is that why we ended up
here this time?
Because of a man
?”

“Of course not,” she said, adjusting the
curtains again to avoid my stare. “I mean, he did
influence
the decision, but he wasn't the sole reason.” I took a deep breath
and backed into the kitchen. “Baby, where are you going?”

“Crazy,” I mumbled. I pulled a bottle of
water from the refrigerator before returning to the dining room. “I
guess he's been here already? Your knight in shining armor, he
knows where we live?”

“You don't seriously think I carried all this
on my own, do you?”

“
Oh my gosh
,” I said, feeling the
beginning of a terrible migraine. “So what happens when you find
out he's an ex-con, Mom? Or you guys break up?
Or you find out
he's married
? Do we pack up and leave again?”

“No, Baby, I told you. We're here for the
long haul, I promise.”

“But I've heard that before. Things change,
Caroline—”

“Really, sweetheart,” she said, embracing me
in a hug. “Calvin’s a keeper. Oh, and so cute. He has the darkest
hair, chocolate eyes, and… ugh, you should see his smile.” Her eyes
glossed over at the simple thought of him. “Plus, he's a chef—owns
his own restaurant, has a college degree and everything.”

“Woo-freaking-hoo,” I said, shaking out of
her hug. “Mom, seriously—”

“And his brother’s a
cop
! They….” She
paused and straightened the wrinkles in her shirt. A pause from
Caroline almost always meant she was lying. So, I took the next
nugget of news with a grain of salt. “They looked up your father
last week.”

“Yeah?”

“He's in a Georgia prison awaiting trial on
homicide charges.”

“
Lovely
!” I said, not disguising my
sarcasm for a moment. “You picked a real winner with that one—”

“All I’m saying,” she said, cutting me off,
“is that we won’t have to worry about him for a very long time,
Baby. Isn’t that wonderful?”

Truthfully, I've never worried. Not once.
I’ve had little reason to believe Richard Levin ever searched
beyond our original hometown to find us. I ruled Mom's impulsive
behavior off a long time ago as nothing more than incredible
paranoia.

“Okay,” I said, pulling a seat from under the
table to sit down. “Sit.” She took the chair next to mine and
leaned forward. “Tell me about Calvin.”

“He has brown eyes—”

“No,” I said. “
Really
. What makes him
different than the rest? What makes him different than Leroy?”

Leroy was her latest fling; after three
months of dating, she found out he was married with two children
(and another on the way!). And sure, Caroline Ghijk loves her men,
but she wants them all to herself. And after a disastrous
confrontation from Leroy’s wife, Mom ended the relationship with
the two-state jump into Kentucky.

“I don’t know—”

“Exactly—”

“I didn't meet this one in a chat room,
Baby,” she said. “I put some money toward one of those legitimate
online match sites. We were paired the next day and talked for
hours! We knew from day one that we wanted to meet.”

I lifted my glasses and pinched the bridge of
my nose. “How old is he?”

“Thirty-four.”

“Age appropriate,” I said, dropping my
hand.

“There's a first time for everything,
huh?”

We shared a smile.

“Just promise me one thing?”

“What's that?” she asked.

“That you'll be careful,” I said. “Because… I
can’t keep doing this.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, she nodded. “I
promise.”

Tuesday, September 06

I stood at Mr. Rivera's closed door and read
the list. Bridget would be thrilled to know that she'd been cast as
Juliet. Nate, on the other hand, might shudder to learn that his
time on stage wasn't limited to one audition at the loss of a bet;
he was playing Romeo.

I scanned down the rest of the cast list and
didn't recognize any of the remaining names. Rachel Canter, though,
was named understudy for Juliet. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a
little
excited to see her face when she learned she was only
second best to Bridget.

The next page listed the crews. Under the
costumes section I read:

Abcdef Ghijk

Costume Design and
Management

A smile crept up.

For the first time, I was officially
participating in a school activity. I had a place, a role of my
own!

I opened the door and let myself in the
classroom. Mr. Rivera sat at his desk and read silently to himself.
He looked up and smiled. “Could you close that behind you?”

“Sure.” I nodded, closing the door quietly as
I walked in.

Bridget and Nate were the only two students
in the room—both who I’d assumed arrived early to check the cast
list.

Bridget was bouncing in her seat as I sat
down.

“I'm Juliet!
Me
!
I'm
Juliet
Capulet!
Can you believe it
?”

“Congratulations,” I said, now looking at
Nate. He was slouched in his chair with his forehead and nose
pressed to the desk. “Is
he
okay?”

“I'm gonna kill myself—”

“Oh, you are not,” Bridget said. “It's a
good thing
, Nate.” She turned back to me and frowned. “He’s
such a worrywart. Anyway, I looked for your name. Sorry you didn't
make the cut—”

“Oh, I did,” I said, biting my lip. “I'm
working on costumes.”

“Really?” she asked, scratching her head. “I
didn't see your name—”

“It's there,” I said with a wink. “So... why
is Mr. Rivera keeping the door shut?”

“He thinks people are too dramatic with their
reactions to the cast list,” she said, brushing it off.

“What happened,” Nate explained, lifting his
head, “is that he made the mistake of leaving it open when
Hormones
here read the list.” Bridget rolled her eyes, but
Nate sat straighter. “You think I’m kidding? It was the biggest
scene ever created on school property. She jumped, she screamed...
she
cursed
. At one point, she started hyperventilating. We
thought she was gonna pass out right there on the floor.”

“And you?” I asked him, having no doubt that
his description of Bridget’s reaction was spot-on.

“I actually
did
pass out,” he said,
and I didn’t doubt that either.

The bell rang and students poured into the
room.

Mr. Rivera stood from his desk and addressed
the class.

“Good morning,” he said. “Let's get started,
shall we?”

After a lengthy reading assignment and
instructions on upcoming research papers, the bell sounded for the
change of class. Bridget, Nate, and I stood up and gathered our
books.

“Miss Wright, Mr. Bryan, Miss Ghijk—
congratulations,” Mr. Rivera said.

“Thanks,” Bridget and I said in unison, both
blushing like children.

I’m certain I heard Nate mumble
bite
me
as we left the room.

We moved into the hallway and through the
growing group of students rushing to their next class. I walked
side-by-side with Nate as Bridget turned off into French. As we
moved past Miss Holt's room, she stepped out and stopped us dead in
our tracks.

“Nathaniel,” she said, smiling.
“Congratulations, our very own Romeo Montague.”

“Thanks,” he said, almost as if talking to
her left a sour taste in his mouth.

“And
Steph
,” she said, lowering her
head. I could tell from her expression alone that she had no
intention of congratulating me. And I was right. “I'd hate to
remind you again that there are strict policies against
student-teacher fraternization.”

I cleared my throat. “I'm sorry?”

“He is your teacher,” she said, bending
slightly at the waist. “As am I. And I will see to it that you are
watched very closely, young lady.”

A few quiet moments passed. Miss Holt refused
to blink and I didn’t respond. Honestly, I didn’t know
how
to respond. What exactly did she want me to say?

“
Right
,” Nate said, breaking the
awkward silence. “Off to class.” He grabbed my wrist and pulled me
down the hall. My concern must’ve come across pretty easily because
he stopped mid-walk and took my hand. “Hey… you okay?”

“Fine,” I lied, shaking my head. “That was
just… strange—”

“Don’t think too much on it,” he said, now
patting my back. “All I can figure is you musta made some kinda
impact on Mr. R., and someone,” he said, looking back at Miss Holt.
“
Someone doesn’t know how to hide her insecurities
.”

I followed his gaze and looked back at our
young, beautiful math teacher. She was now engaged in conversation
with Mr. Rivera—who’d since left his own room. She playfully nudged
him, giggled, and smiled. He seemed uncomfortable, out of his
element. I watched him sympathetically. But then he glanced up, no
longer looking at her, and met my stare. Both expressionless, our
eyes locked for a few long beats. And just as Nate waved his hand
in front of my face, I thought I caught a faint smirk from Mr.
Rivera… but there was no way to know for sure.