The New Girl (9 page)
“Are you going to be bitter for the rest of
the year?”
“You could’ve tried harder to help me,” I
said, finally meeting his gaze. “You know I had nothing to do with
that fight, and you just stood there and scolded me—”
“You said yourself that you didn't want
preferential treatment, Steph—”
“On the
assignment
,” I spat. “But what
happened at the dance… that wasn’t fair.”
“Sometimes life's not—”
“I don't need your words of wisdom, Alex,” I
said, biting back my frustration. “I know better than anyone how
unfair life is. I've been jerked around the country for the past
fifteen years; I've had very few friends, a loose screw for a
mother, and now I’m dealing with all these feelings....” I stopped
and took a deep breath. “Forget it. Life sucks. I know. Spare me
the lecture.”
He stared at the floor. “Steph, I'm sorry if
I've made things difficult for you. I never meant—”
“What happened with the production?” I asked,
hoping to change the direction of the conversation. “Did you find a
replacement for Juliet?”
“The cast really came together and worked
hard these past few days. Bridget's return to the stage tonight
will be welcomed with open arms.”
“Bridget’s still in the show?
How
? She
hasn't rehearsed since last week. It's opening night—”
“We found a way around the rules, Steph. I
arranged private cast rehearsals outside of school.”
I nodded. “That was nice—”
“Some people, like you, literally put blood,
sweat, and tears into this production. I wasn't as willing to throw
it in the garbage as quickly as Miss Holt was.”
I wanted to be mad, but he made it almost
impossible. What he’d done for Bridget… for all of us… it was
admirable.
“Curtain at six, then?”
“Yes ma'am,” he said, smiling. “Are we going
to be okay? No more fighting?”
“Yes.”
“Friends?” he asked, leaning to meet my
gaze.
“Friends.”
Friday, October 28 | 5:55 PM
“
No, no, no
!” I yelled at Nate.
“
Wrong costume
! How are you screwing this up on opening
night? Hasn't someone been here to monitor the correct protocol?
God
! No offense, but I seriously hate actors! You're not
entitled to my praise just because you're on stage!”
“Deep breath, Steph,” Bridget hugged me from
behind.
“Oh,
you
,” I said with wide eyes,
recognizing the demonic tone of my voice. I turned and pointed a
finger in her face. “
You're
the reason we're in this mess to
begin with. No one has a freakin' clue what's going on with
costumes because
I've
been sitting on my butt every night
for the last week because
you
couldn't keep your temper at
bay!”
“Steph,” Nate said, stepping in. “Listen,
hon. We love you, but we're not above killing you. Take it down a
notch.”
“Can someone get Steph a drink of water?”
Bridget yelled.
“Keep it down, guys,” I said, trying to lower
my blood pressure. “Voices carry to the audience. Let's be
professional here....”
“
You're one to talk
,” Nate
mumbled.
“Actors to the stage, curtain in five,” the
stage manager called into the dressing room.
The cast started to shuffle. With a good luck
hug to both Nate and Bridget, I took a breath and let my hair down.
The room was finally empty. I sat down and lowered my head in my
hands.
“Calm down, Steph,” I told myself. “Only
three performances and this will all be behind you.”
Most of the night was a blur. I vaguely
remember several bottles of water and distinctly recall the
hundreds of trips to the bathroom. Staying hydrated was my plan for
motivation. No one could get too lazy when they had to keep running
to the toilet. The actors rushed in and out of the dressing room
all night, changing costumes, adjusting hair, and touching up
make-up. Silent moments would come and go; I was thankful for
whatever peace I got.
Finally, the show was done. Curtain call was
over. The actors had taken their bows, the audience had clapped
their hands raw, and the crowd was beginning to disperse into the
night. An hour later, clothing was strewn about the room, resting
on chairs, piled on the floor, and one even balled up in the
corner. I set my crew to work to start collecting and hanging the
costumes, taking note of any pieces that might’ve been torn,
ripped, or damaged. Thankfully, no errors were found, which meant I
was spared the trouble of arriving early for tomorrow's show to
make repairs.
The crew finished their duties and said
goodnight, leaving me alone to lock up the dressing room. I pulled
the keys from the hook and moved toward the door just as it opened.
Mr. Rivera stood smiling for a moment before biting his lip.
“Nervous?” I asked.
“Why?”
I touched my own lip. “I’ve noticed you only
do that when—”
“Steph,” he said, stepping in the room and
closing the door behind him. “Can we talk?”
“Um… sure, what’s up?”
“I've been meaning to ask you something.”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t laugh,” he said. “But I’m really
curious to know… if you believe in fate?”
“I… uh… well, I don’t know… I think…
maybe
….”
“I do,” he said, nodding. I took a deep
breath, unsure of where this conversation was heading. “During the
summer, Mrs. Basting fell off a ladder and broke her legs, leaving
me to run the production. Then, of all places for you to turn up,
you land yourself in my class where you meet Bridget. It’s no
secret that she’s the reason you turned up at the auditions. And
then you, kiddo, and your incredible talent, end up designing the
best costumes Webster Grove High has ever seen. And school aside, I
got the honor of spending an evening with you, learning about your
biggest dream and why you’ve been inspired to design. And all of
this, when you add it up… it’s fate, I’m certain. We were meant to
meet—”
“Oh boy,” I said, rubbing my sweaty palms on
my jeans. “Mr. Rivera, I’m not sure—”
“Can you spare a few extra minutes before you
leave tonight?”
I caught a small glimpse of hope in his eye,
so I nodded. “Sure.”
“Good,” he said, backing away and opening the
door. He stuck his head into the hallway and mumbled something to
someone I couldn't see. He opened the door and a beautiful Hispanic
woman moved into the room. Her eyes were as dark as Mr. Rivera's
and natural silver highlighted her hair. A thin smile stretched
across her lips and she nodded.
“Gran,” my teacher said, excitement dancing
in his eyes. “This is her. This… is Steph.”
Oh, God. He was introducing me to his family!
And maybe I was crazy…
but she looked an awful lot like
—
“Steph,” Mr. Rivera continued, gently placing
his hand on the small of my back and urging me closer to the woman.
“I'd like you to meet my grandmother… celebrity designer, Adriana
Rivera-Holbrook.”
Dear Reader,
If you enjoyed
reading
The New Girl
and have a moment to spare, I would greatly appreciate a
review on the site where you purchased the book.
Thank you!
Tracie
https://www.facebook.com/traciepuckettnovels
www.twitter.com/traciedpuckett
Books available for download:
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