Acknowledgements
Thank you to everyone who has encouraged me during the writing journey, especially to all the enthusiastic readers and Facebook followers.
To Mom, for giving me life.
To Eric, for your patience.
To Kayla, for being Santa's favorite elf.
Lastly, to the little man who holds the key to my heart, my baby boy Joseph. Mommy couldn’t go on without your love. Thank you for being my biggest fan.
The New Girl
Tracie Puckett
Published by Tracie Puckett at Smashwords
Copyright 2011 Tracie Puckett
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
Thank you for downloading this free ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this book, please return to Smashwords.com to discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.
Chapter One
Monday, September 05
“You can call me Steph,” I said in reaction to the obvious perplexity in his expression. He glanced at me and then stared at the transcript for another second.
“Steph?” he asked, still looking at the paper in his hands.
Here’s the thing: Most people assume I ask to be called Steph because my name is Stephanie. Unfortunately, that's not the case. It's actually Cdef… pronounced the same, spelled differently. Cdef is short for Abcdef; that, by the way, is pronounced Ahb-steph. And only a first name like that could be followed with a last name like Ghijk; phonetically, Gih-jik. So, yes. Abcdef Ghijk; the first eleven letters of the alphabet, which is not ironic at all if you knew my mother.
“Nice to have you aboard, Miss Ghi...”
“Ghijk.”
“Ghijk?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Come on in. I'm Mr. Rivera. I'll be your first period English teacher for the year,” he said, turning to walk to the large desk in the front of the classroom. “Let's find a place for you to sit, shall we?” He pulled a black binder from the top drawer and flipped through the interior sheets. “Okay,” he looked at the spread of empty desks in front of him. “Looks like the second chair in row three now belongs to you, Miss Ghijk.” I nodded in thanks and turned to the assigned spot as he marked the changes in the seating chart.
I have no preconceived notions about the probable short-lived time at Webster Grove High. It was the fifth high school I'd attended in the last four years, eleventh total if you count elementary education. Again, not weird behavior if you knew my mom.
I slid into the chair and stared at the desk. Initials were carved into the upper right corner and outlined with a heart; BW+NB. Romanticized puppy love; something I have yet to experience. I pulled a notebook, binder, and a spread of pencils from my bag; like a boy scout, always prepared. I glanced at the clock; 7:02 and another twenty minutes until the start of class. Curse my punctuality.
Mr. Rivera moved to the chalk board, turned his back, and began writing in small strokes. His twenty-something age added to the irresistibility of his tan skin and short, wispy, black hair. He was of Hispanic descent, though his voice carried no audible accent. He dropped the piece of chalk into the tray below and moved back to his desk. Biting his lower lip, he flipped through an open textbook. He was easily the most attractive man I'd ever seen at the front of a classroom.
“Is something wrong Miss Ghijk?” Mr. Rivera's voice interrupted my stare.
“Umm...makeup assignments?”
“No worries,” he grinned. “You're only coming into the course a week late. By the looks of your transcript I don't foresee a problem with you catching on to the material.”
I humbly accepted his compliment. I'd worked hard over the past thirteen years to maintain a perfect GPA. Hopping schools mid-year since kindergarten made it difficult to stay on top of my studies; still, I strive to be an award-winning designer someday and that means getting into a top-notch college. And in order to do that I never stop working. In the years when I should be socializing and molding my relationship skills, I'm focused on academics.
“Where did you come from, Steph?” Mr. Rivera asked, walking across the room and leaning to sit on the edge of the desk in front of me.
“A small town in Kentucky. Before that, Tennessee. Once, a tiny village in West Virginia, right after we moved out of North Carolina—“
“You're serious?” He crossed his arm in front of his chest.
“You can't make this stuff up—“
“That's quite a bit of moving.”
“Webster Grove brings house number eighteen and school number eleven,” I said.
“...Why?”
“You'd have to know my mother.”
He nodded as if he understood, although I know he was only humoring me-- probably thinking mom was a psychotic serial killer on the run. Truth be told, Caroline Ghijk is a lot of things... but a serial killer isn't one of them. She found out she was pregnant at age fifteen and gave birth to me after her sixteenth birthday. Her boyfriend at the time, my father, was nearing his 40's. She dropped out of high school to live with him shortly after I was born. After two years of the worst physical and emotional abuse possible, mom packed our bags and moved us to an abandoned house across town. He found us there, so we bolted again; thus, starting a cycle.
There’s been no sign of my biological father in over a decade, though mom is certain he's always searching for us. When people ask about our situation she engages in elaborate stories of a short-lived affair and her love child with a big Hollywood celebrity. She thrives off the reaction she gets to the fabricated tales of the paparazzi chases and her need for seclusion. All in all, my mother is a big, fat liar.
“A-b-c-d-e-f—“
“Good for you, Mr. Rivera,” I teased. “You know your ABC’s.”
“I was referring to—“
“I know,” I smiled. “Mom somehow thought it would be the least suspecting name if someone wanted to find me.”
“How is it pronounced?”
“Ahb-steph.”
“Hence, Steph.”
“Correct,” I smirked. “Nearly everyone calls me Stephanie, so it’s fine if you do too.”
“You're okay with that?”
“It's definitely easier that way,” I said. “Taking the time to explain it a million times a year starts to become a little redundant. And without an explanation, one look at the name Abcdef and you could automatically assume that I’m foreign or my parents were high when they named me. Neither of which are true.”
“Is being of a different nationality such a bad thing, Miss Ghijk?”
I closed my eyes, silently cursing myself for insulting the most beautiful man I’d ever met.
“I'm so sorry, Mr. Rivera,” I said. “I didn't mean—“
“No sweat,” he smirked and stood tall as he walked back to his desk. “I'm only joking.”
A loud bell rang overhead. A group of students filed into the classroom, talking loudly amongst themselves. A tall, skinny, rusty-haired student slid into the seat next to mine. I felt his eyes glued to the side of my face but chose to ignore his stare.
“New meat,” he said. “What's your name?”
“Steph,” I said, turning my head to look at him. His hair was messy and covered his brown eyes. His semi-large nose was dusted with freckles and his smile shined bright, white teeth. All in all, he wasn't nearly as cute as he thought he was. “And you are?”
“I’m gonna remain a mystery,” he said, flipping his hair and slumping low into the chair.
“Oh, you poor, poor girl,” a voice behind me said. I turned to see a short, petite red-head in the desk behind me. “Steph, right?”
“Yes.”
“I'm Bridget. The mystery man with the Bieber cut is Nate.”
“The ladies call me Nathaniel—“
“The ladies call you revolting,” she spat at him.
Bridget's personality screamed energy and excitement, the polar opposite of my introverted ways. Standing, my height would tower her small stature. Her tight red curls bounced freely as she talked, reminding me that my brunette hair seldom left the tight bun on the back of my head. However, our eyes matched; a serene shade of ocean blue, minus the exception that mine, unlike hers, were hidden behind large circular glasses. The two of us were nothing alike, though I found myself admiring everything about her.
“Quiet down,” Mr. Rivera said as a second bell rang. The rest of the desks had filled with students, most of which who hadn't noticed my presence. With two words, the room silenced, with eyes staring straight forward at the teacher. “As some of you have already noticed, we have a new student in our midst.”
The class turned to stare and whispers filled the small space. A blonde two rows over raised her eye brows and waved her fingers with a perky smile.
“What's your name, sweet cheeks?” A boy asked from the back of the room. I felt myself sink a little lower in the desk, embarrassed by the sudden and unwanted attention.
After a moment of silence on my behalf, Mr. Rivera raised his hand to quiet the students.
“Steph,” he said. “Welcome to class. If you have any questions feel free to ask. I'm sure your fellow students would be more than willing to help you out. Furthermore, I'm glad Miss Wright has already taken the liberty to warn you about Mr. Bryan.”
“Ah, come on, Mr. R,” Nate said, clutching his chest. “You know you love me, dude. Don't hate.”
Without reaction, Mr. Rivera turned to the board and jumped immediately into the lesson.
English with Mr. Rivera moved quickly. The following class was American Government with Mr. Walter; an old, stuffy, dedicated-to-his-job kind of man. Like first period, I sat next to Nate in this course as well. A block of Spanish with Mrs. Miller followed second period and ended with the start of the lunch bell.
I walked aimlessly through the hallway trying to remember how to get to the cafeteria.
“Stephanie! Stephanie! Steph, wait up!” I turned to see Bridget fighting her way across the groups of students. She stopped next to me and leaned over to catch her breath. “Didn't you hear me yelling for you?”
"Me?"
“You are Stephanie, right?”
I nodded. “Close enough.”
“Good,” she said, standing straight. “You can sit with me.” She linked our arms together as if we were school children and pulled me into the cafeteria. “Where are you from? Did you come from out of state? Are you an only child? What are your parents like? Are they mean, laid back, somewhere in between? Do you have any pets? What did you think of Mr. Rivera? Isn't he hot?”
“Um...”
“Oh,” she slapped herself on the head. “Silly me. You probably want to get your food before we start swapping stories.” We walked through the long, congested line in silence. Bridget settled for nothing more than an apple and a bottle of water. I followed suit, not being much of a big eater myself. “We sit over here,” she said, walking to a large round table in the far corner of the room and taking a seat. “Well?”
“Huh?”
“Where did you come from?”
“I was born in Georgia--”
“Georgia!”
“We left my hometown years ago, though. I most recently moved from Kentucky.”
“I have family in Kentucky,” she said. “If you ever get down to Bowling Green you should look 'em up.”
“Yeah,” I nodded, knowing the chances of that happening were slim to none.
Nate, in all his big-nose, self-interest glory, sat down across from us. “Hey there sexy ladies.”
I looked between the two of them expecting to see another verbal spat. Bridget rolled her eyes and took a chunk out of the apple. “Don forgesh yous gotta audition for the playsh this evening,” Bridget told Nate.
“I'm not doing that--”
“You most certainly are,” she said, swallowing the mouthful of fruit.
“Forget it, Bridg--”
“Nathaniel Bryan,” she said sternly. “You lost the bet so you pay the fine.”
“What bet?” I asked.
“Nate bet me that by the beginning of this school year Miss Holt and Mr. Rivera would be engaged.”
“Miss Holt?” I asked.
“She's the smokin' hot math teacher,” Nate said.
“Okay...”
“And they're not,” Bridget continued. “Nate lost the bet, and I got to choose the terms of his loss.”
“So he's auditioning for...?”
“Romeo and Juliet.”
“Just because you're into all that drama crap doesn't mean I'm gonna like it,” Nate said.
“For one, Nathaniel, it's not crap. And two, I don't care if you like it. I need a Romeo. You bet. You lost. I won. Deal with it.”
“You're Juliet?” I asked.
“Not yet,” Nate said. “But she's practically a shoo-in. There's nobody better for the part.” Bridget smiled and flipped her hair behind her shoulder. “No one except for R--”
“Don't say it,” Bridget warned him.
“Rachel Canter.”
“Who's Rachel—“
“I'm Rachel,” I heard a voice behind me. I turned to see the pretty, perky blonde from Mr. Rivera's class. Her hair was golden and pin straight, falling down her neck and resting on her shoulders. A tiny beauty mark above her lip would make her easily identifiable in a line-up. She stood at the side of the table, looking at us with disgust. “And you're Steph?” I nodded. “Abcdef Ghijk. Am I saying that right?”
“How do you know--”
“Not important,” she said slyly as she stood a little taller. “Welcome to Webster Grove.”
She was gone as quickly as she'd appeared. Bridget and Nate turned to me with their mouths slightly ajar.
“What language was that?” Nate asked.
“Forget it,” I said, not wanting to have yet another discussion about why my mother thought it would be appropriate to inflict a lifetime of suffering with a name like mine. “What's her deal?”
“Inflated ego,” Bridget said. “Homecoming queen candidate, student body president, and most likely the valedictorian. I can’t believe she’s going out for the show; as if she doesn’t already have everything.”
I nodded. I knew the type. I'd met more than a handful of the Rachel-Canter-type over the past few years.
“Don't sweat it,” I told her. “I'm sure you'll do great at the audition. Let me know how it goes.”
“You're not coming?”
“Huh?”
“To the auditions!” She was exasperated. “You're not coming?”
“I'm sure she's coming,” Nate assured her. He looked at me with wide eyes. “You are coming, Steph?”
“Yeah, sure,” I nodded, not wanting to let her down. It didn’t take long to make a friend; I didn’t want to lose her as quickly. “I'll come. To watch, right?”
“Oh, thank God!” she said. “You're an angel! I love you. I love, love, love you!”
“You're not going to make her audition?” Nate asked.
“Of course not!” she said. “Steph has stage fright written all over her. She's more of a backstage kinda gal, right?”
“Well, no,” I said. “I'm just here for moral support. I don't want to be on either side of the stage--”
“Oh, you have to sign up,” she said. “It's the best way to get to know new people. I'm sure you could assist the stage manager or something. Plus, there's a set to build, props to use, make-up, costumes--”
“Costumes?” I asked.
“Uh-huh,” she said, taking a drink of water.
“I guess that doesn’t sound so bad--”
“Great!” she said. “Meet us outside the school at five. Dress nice. Rumor has it Mr. Rivera will be there.”
We shared a childlike giggle as Nate rolled his eyes from across the table. “What’s the big deal with him, anyway?”
Chapter Two
Monday, September 05
“Nervous?” I asked Nate and Bridget as we walked into the auditorium at five o'clock.
“No,” Bridget said.
“Speak for yourself,” Nate rubbed his stomach. “I think I'm gonna barf.”
The theatre was typical of any high school; aisles among aisles of large, plush folding seats faced a stage that expanded from one wall to the next. The front three rows of auditorium were filled with students; some excitedly socialized while others remained silent, seemingly on the verge of throwing up at any given moment.
“This is quite a turn out,” I observed.
“The love for the art is growing!” Bridget bounced on her heels.
“Gag me,” Nate snapped, walking away and taking a seat at the far end of the room.
“So, you and Nate...?”
“What?” Bridget asked.
“First impression--”
“We've been best friends since preschool,” she said. “It's a love-hate relationship.”
“Ah.”
Mr. Rivera climbed to the stage and the students fell silent.
“The man commands a room, huh?” Bridget whispered.
“I'd say.”
“Good evening ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “As most of you already know, Mrs. Basting was injured in a roofing accident last week and is unable to direct the fall production of Romeo and Juliet. For those of you who are used to her stunning productions, I regret to inform you that Miss Holt and I will be taking the reins.”
Some of the girls in the audience whistled and giggled. One thing about Webster Grove High School was becoming increasingly apparent: the students loved and respected Mr. Rivera.
A group of boys clapped and cheered for Miss Holt as she joined the gorgeous English teacher center stage. My little experience in Miss Holt's class earlier today told me everything I needed to know about her; she was the adult version of Rachel Canter. Her straight blonde hair was free of imperfections, complimenting her bright green eyes. And just like Rachel, she walked around a room like the whole world owed her a favor.
“Shh,” the tall, thin math teacher sounded as she lifted a finger to her pink painted lips. “Quiet down. Mr. Rivera and I are going to be taking a seat in the middle of the auditorium in a few moments. Anyone interested in signing up for a backstage crew will have fifteen minutes to sign up, hand over their theatrical resume, and leave through the back doors. You will not be permitted to stay for the auditions unless you intend to act in the show.”
Bridget rolled her eyes.
“Sorry,” I whispered.
“I have two requests,” Mr. Rivera began. “First, be patient with us. We're clearly not as skilled and professional as Mrs. Basting, but we will certainly try. And secondly, please do not let the outcome of the audition process make or break you. With that being said, I wish you all the best of luck. Our final decisions will be posted first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Anyone interested in signing up for backstage work should now line up at the small desk in the center aisle,” Miss Holt added.
The two teachers moved off the stage to the indicated desk for sign-ups. Together they sat side by side and began talking to a group of students who were already waiting.
I turned to Bridget. “Should I-”
“Go, go,” she pushed. “You have a resume right?”
“Uh--”
“Steph!”
“I've never done anything like this,” I said. “But I brought a portfolio.” I lifted the large collection out of my shoulder bag and handed it to her. “Will this work?”
She opened the first page and stared at the design. “You did this?”
“Yes.”
“Honey,” she said. “Go!”
“Okay,” I smiled. “Um...good luck--”
“Break a leg,” she corrected me melodramatically.
With a helpful shove from Bridget I moved toward the line at the desk. I clutched the portfolio to my chest and waited patiently as the group slowly moved forward.
“Miss Ghijk,” Mr. Rivera said as I reached the table. “It's good to see you getting involved on your first day.”
“Bridget--”
“I figured as much,” he grinned as I signed my name under the costume crew. He eyed the paper in front of him and looked back to me. “Do you have any experience in costuming?”
“Um –“
“You were instructed to supply a resume,” Miss Holt interrupted.
“I've never worked in theatre before,” I said. “But I’ve been designing and constructing clothing for about nine years.” Mr. Rivera's eyes widened and he extended his hand forward to take the design collection I'd brought.
He opened the portfolio to the first page and bit his bottom lip. “Miss Ghijk, this is incredible.”
Miss Holt scoffed and rolled her eyes. “I thought you were going to ask your grandmother to help design the costumes,” she said to her co-director, as if I couldn't hear the objection in her voice.
“There's no point in asking for outside assistance when we obviously have a qualified student candidate to lead the costume crew,” he said, still sifting through the designs. He closed the binder and offered the portfolio to Miss Holt, who declined viewing the work. He ignored her blunt rudeness and passed the collection to me. “Thank you for coming out and sharing this, Steph. We'll be posting the cast and crew list first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you,” I said sincerely as I turned and walked 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 opened the doors to the outside world.
I stepped into the hot summer evening 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 pulled a set of keys out of the shoulder bag as I approached the large two-story brick house on the corner. I let myself into the front door and tossed my belongings to the side.
“Mom?” I said as I looked around the first floor, dodging boxes left and right. “Hello?”
“Here!”
I followed her voice through the kitchen and into the dining room at the back of the house.
“What’s going on?”
The room had taken an incredible transformation since I'd last seen it. There was now a large, wooden table, complete with eight chairs, in the center of the rug below.
“Baby,” she said. “Whaddya think?”
“Why?”
“What do you mean?”
“Furniture.... why?”
“This table represents a promise I'd like to make,” she said, taking a deep breath and standing tall. “I think it's time we settle down and turn a house into a home, don't you?”
“Well, yeah, but--”
“But nothing, Baby,” she said, taking a picture out of a nearby box and hanging it on the wall. “We're not going anywhere from this point forward.”
Watching mom decorate was a foreign concept to grasp. She was always on the edge and ready to move at the drop of a hat. We hadn't even so much as unpacked the boxes in the last three houses we'd lived in.
Mom had her blonde wavy hair swept into a ponytail and her hands resting on her blue jean covered hips. With the face of a Barbie doll and the attitude of a teenager, I always found it hard to believe that this 33-year-old, indecisive, sometimes flighty woman was my mother.
“Mom,” I said, pulling another picture frame out of the box. “Where did all of this stuff come from?”
“What stuff?”
“The table, the chairs, the decorations... everything that wasn't here when I left for school.”
“Oh,” she shrugged. “I went shopping with a friend.”
“…Who?”
“It was an internet buddy,” she said nonchalantly.
“Mom!”
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. This 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 very 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 that she'd hung while I was in school. “I mean, he did influence the decision, but he wasn't the sole purpose.” I took a deep breath and backed into the kitchen. “Where are you going?”
“Crazy...” I pulled a bottle of water from the refrigerator and returned to the dining room. “I'm guessing he's been here already? He knows where we live?”
“You don't seriously think I carried all this on my own, do you?”
“Oh my God, mom,” I said, feeling the beginning of a terrible migraine coming on. “So what happens when you find out he's an ex-convict? 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.”
“I've heard that before.”
“Really, sweetheart,” she embraced me in a hug. “Calvin is a keeper. And he’s so cute. He has dark hair, chocolate eyes, and a smile to die for! Plus, he's a chef at a local restaurant; he has a college degree and everything.”
“Woo-freakin’-hoo.”
“Oh! His brother is a cop! They uh,” she paused and straightened the wrinkles in her shirt. “They looked up your father just last week.”
“Yeah?”
“He's in a Georgia prison awaiting trial on homicide charges, so we won't have to worry about him for a very long time, Baby. Isn’t that wonderful?”
Truth be told, I've never worried. Not once. I have little reason to think Richard Levin ever searched beyond our original hometown to find us. I ruled mom's behavior off a long time ago as nothing more than incredible paranoia.
“Okay,” I said, pulling a seat from under the table and sitting down. “Sit.” She sat in the chair in front of mine. “Tell me about Calvin. What makes him different than Leroy?”
Leroy was mom’s latest fling; after three months of dating, she found out he was married with two children and another on the way. Sure, Caroline Ghijk loves her men… but she wants them all to herself. 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 started. “I put some money toward one of those legitimate online match websites. We were matched the next day and within a few hours of talking we knew we wanted to meet one another.”
“How old is he?”
“Thirty-four.”
“Age appropriate.”
“There's a first time for everything, huh Baby??
We shared a smile.
“Promise me one thing, mom.”
“What's that?”
“You'll be careful.”
“I promise.”
Chapter Three
Tuesday September 06
I stood at Mr. Rivera's closed classroom door and read the list. Bridget would be thrilled to know that she'd been cast as Juliet. Nate, on the other hand, will be peeved to learn that his time on stage wasn't limited to one audition at the loss of a bet; he'd be playing Romeo.
I scanned down the rest of the cast list and didn't recognize any of the remaining names. Rachel Canter, however, was named understudy for Juliet. I wouldn't mind seeing her face when she learns she's only second best to Bridget. The next page listed the crews. Under the costumes section I read: Abcdef Ghijk- Designing and Costume Construction Manager.
For the first time in my education history, I was officially participating in a school function. It was an honor to know that my knack for clothing design was recognized and appreciated.
I opened the door and walked into the classroom. Mr. Rivera was seated at his desk, reading silently to himself. He looked up and smiled. “Could you please close that behind you?”
“Sure,” I nodded, closing the door quietly as I walked in.
Bridget was bouncing up and down as I approached my assigned seat.
“I'm Juliet! Me! I'm Juliet Capulet! Can you believe it?”
“Congratulations,” I smiled, looking at Nate who was slouched in his chair with his forehead and nose pressed to the desk. “Is he going to be okay?”
“I'm gonna kill myself,” he mumbled.
“Oh, you are not,” Bridget said. “It's a good thing, Nate.” She turned back to me and frowned. “Sorry you didn't make the cut. Maybe you'll fit into the spring production. Rumor has it we're doing The Music Man.”
“I'm working on costumes.”
“Really?” she asked. “I didn't see your name.”
“It's there,” I told her with a wink. “So... why is Mr. Rivera keeping the door shut?”
“He thinks people are too dramatic with their reactions to the casting decisions.”
“What happened,” Nate explained, lifting his head. “Is that he made the stupid mistake of leaving it open when Bridget read the list. There was jumping, screaming... a little cursing. At one point she started to hyperventilate. I thought she was gonna pass out right there on the floor.”
“And you?” I asked him.
“I actually did pass out.”
The bell rang and students began to pour into the room, shuffling loudly to their seats. Rachel never appeared. I guess we would have to wait to see her reaction to making understudy.
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 to all three of you,” Mr. Rivera said.
“Thanks,” Bridget and I said in unison, both blushing.
“Bite me,” Nate mumbled.
We moved into the hallway amongst the other groups of students rushing to their next classes. Nate and I walked side by side as Bridget turned off into the French classroom. As we moved past Miss Holt's room, she stepped out of the door stopping us dead in our tracks.
“Nathaniel,” she said, smiling. “Congratulations on landing Romeo Montague.”
“Thanks Miss Holt,” he blushed.
“And Abcdef,” she lowered her head. “I'd hate to remind you again that there are policies against student-teacher fraternization.”
I cleared my throat. “I'm sorry?”
“Don't play stupid with me,” she said, bending slightly at the hips to meet my gaze. “I know what you’re up to.”
A few quiet moments passed. Miss Holt refused to blink and I didn’t know how to respond.
“Right,” Nate said, breaking the awkward silence lingering in the air. “Off to class.” He grabbed my wrist and pulled me down the hall. “You okay?”
“I'm fine,” I lied.
“You musta made some kinda impact on Mr. R,” Nate said as we turned into American Government. “Someone doesn't know how to hide her insecurities.”
Obviously, I thought. But what reason did I give Miss Holt to be insecure?
Friday September 09
Three days had passed and each seemed to drag on longer as they came. Neither Nate nor I mentioned to Bridget our run-in with Miss Holt. We weren't really sure what had happened or why. Still, it was finally Friday. No reason to fret over the uncontrollable.
The final bell rang to end the day and Bridget and I walked out of Physics. Down the hall, out the door, and onto Main Street we strolled. Destination: home, for a study date leading up to the first slumber party of my life.
We walked through the front door to find the house filled with an intoxicating smell of baked goods. Following the aroma to the kitchen, we found mom in a sun dress, pearls, heels, and apron; as if she were a domesticated goddess, baking peanut butter cookies.
“You look like Donna Reed,” I said without so much of a hello.
“Who?” she asked, pulling a fresh batch of cookies from the oven.
I sighed and shook my head. “Mom, this is Bridget. Bridget, I believe this is my mother.”
“Look, Baby,” mom said, wearing a smile. “I baked goodies for your sleepover.”
“Yum,” Bridget said.
“Are they edible?” I asked.
“Of course they are, Baby,” Mom said. “Calvin taught me all the basics.”
I grabbed a cookie from the cooling rack and cautiously took a bite. “Wow. They're actually not too bad.”
“Don't seem so surprised.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I told you Calvin would be good for us, Baby.”
“We're going to head upstairs to study now,” I told her. “Feel free to keep the cookies coming.”
“I'll bring some up once they cool down,” she said. “Oh, and nice to meet you Bridget.”
Bridget and I turned and walked back through the foyer. In a matter of days, mom had managed to turn a cluttered and box-filled house into a fully furnished and decorated home. The environment was so welcoming and comforting that it almost felt like another dimension. In the past, the closest thing we ever had to furniture was a cardboard box bookshelf. Now, with a dining room table, couch, and chairs, I hoped mom could stay true to her word.
Up the stairs and at the end of the hallway was a single, large bedroom; my sanctuary. Of all the places I'd slept in my life, this was by far the best. There was a large glass window, padded window seat included, that overlooked the backyard. The view, however, was slightly obstructed by a giant oak tree growing close to the side of the house.
My room was the only one left that hadn't been unpacked. Boxes were still stacked and piled across the hardwood floor and in the closet. The bed was unmade and covered in mismatched sheets, pillow cases, and comforters. My desk was empty with the exception of desktop computer and a silver touch lamp.
“Not much for housekeeping,” Bridget said without shame.
I smirked. “We don't stay put very long. Why get attached?”
Who am I kidding? I'd already fallen in love with my new sanctuary. If a room could have a personality this bedroom would be named Abcdef.
“You at least need to paint these butt ugly walls,” Bridget said. “How do you sleep in here?”
“It's not easy,” I admitted. This much is true: if we stayed, the lime green would have to go.
“How confident do you feel about Monday's English test?” Bridget asked.
“Very,” I said.
“Then we're not studying tonight,” she said.
“We're not?”
“No,” she shook her head. “We're painting.”
We ventured out into town and returned two hours later with a gallon of a light lavender paint for the walls. Bridget showed me how to tape the wooden trim along the floor and ceiling. After taping we took a break to make a frozen pizza. Baking cookies for a couple of hours left mom exhausted. Honestly, it would have taken nothing short of a miracle to get a homemade dinner out of her on any normal evening. Why expect any different now?
The sun started to set and Bridget and I made our way back to my sanctuary. After filling a paint tray and holding a roller in hand, I stared blankly at the wall.
“Bridget...I have no idea what I'm doing.”
“It's just like painting a set,” she said. “One stroke at a time.”
She smiled and dipped her roller into the puddle of liquid lavender. With a few strikes against the wall the lime green slowly disappeared. I followed her lead and helped cover the first wall. Then the second. Then the third. And finally, the fourth. By five AM the room had survived a full second coat.
To avoid the fumes, we gathered blankets from the linen closet in the hallway and made a large bed on the floor of the guest bedroom down the hall. Snuggled tightly under the blankets, I rolled to my side and nudged Bridget.
“Hmm?”
“Thank you,” I said.
“For what?”
“Your friendship.”
“I’m awesome, I know.”
We shared a sleep-deprived laugh.
“The room turned out great,” I said, closing my heavy eyes.
“Yup.”
“Good night, Bridge.”
“Night,” she said, rolling to her side.
I closed my eyes and for the first time in my life, counted my blessings. Mom has never been much of a mother, only a clueless teenager with a driver’s license. But still, she put a roof (or two) over my head each year. Bridget and Nate were the closest thing I’d ever had to siblings and the best friends a girl could ask for. My designs were getting better with time, and Mr. Rivera himself had recognized the potential. Oh, and speaking of… I’d developed my first real crush. It was hard not to be hypnotized by the sincerity in his eyes--
“Steph”' Bridget interrupted my thoughts.
“Yeah?”
“Have you ever been in love?”
“Nope.”
“I think I am...”
“With Mr. Rivera?” I teased.
“No.”
“Who?”
Silence.
“Bridge?”
“…Nate.”
Chapter Four
Tuesday September 27
“Shouldn't you be working on the costumes?” Bridget asked as I unlocked the front door.
“Nope. I finished the final designs on Sunday and I'm running them by Mr. Rivera and Miss Holt tomorrow. Once they give me the green light I'll have my crew start constructing the pieces.”
“Can I see whatcha got so far?”
“Sure,” I said, walking up the stairs with Bridget close behind.
It had been a little over two weeks since Bridget and I covered my bedroom walls with a cool, calm, relaxing lavender. Since, I’d taken the time to add personality. I purchased sheer white curtains to cover the large window, reupholstered the window seat cushions, and hung my favorite framed designs on the walls. I went shopping last night for new, matching, cream-colored bedding and lavender accent pillows. I was proud of how much I had, with help from Bridget, transformed the room. Now attached, I'd be devastated if mom decided to uproot again.
“Oh my God,” she said when I opened the door. “It doesn't even look like the same place! We should have taken before and after pictures!”
“I'd rather not be reminded of the before.”
Mom popped her head in. “Bridget, would you mind if I steal my daughter for a second?”
“Go for it,” Bridget shrugged carelessly.
“The production designs are in the blue binder next to the computer,” I told Bridget. “Help yourself.”
I walked out, closing the door behind me. Mom wrinkled her nose— showing an expression I'd grown to know too well.
“When?”
“Huh?”
“We're moving again, right?”
“We're not going anywhere, Baby. I wanted to talk about plans for the evening.”
“We couldn’t have this conversation in front of Bridget?”
“Well, no,” she said. “I wanted to know what you would think about Calvin coming to dinner tonight?”
“You've only known him for three weeks, mom,” I said. “It seems awful soon to bring-”
“Let me put it to you this way, Baby,” she said sternly.
“Calvin is coming to dinner this evening. You can either stay or make yourself scarce, I don't care. But it would nice if you could suck it up and do this for your momma.”
I sighed and threw my head back. “What time?”
“They'll be here at five-thirty,” she smiled.
“They?”
“Calvin wants to introduce us to his little brother,” she said. “And take your hair out of that stupid bun and quit hiding your pretty face with those tacky glasses.”
“Fine--”
“Best behavior, Baby.”
I rolled my eyes and walked back into the bedroom, slamming the door behind me.
Bridget sat on the window seat and flipped through the designs. “Everything alright?” she asked.
I ignored the question. “What do you think of the costumes?”
“They're amazing,” she said. “Where did you learn to draw like this?”
“Self-taught. Theatre, ballet, sports...the typical childhood hobbies...well, they were never an option. When you're on the move as much as I've been, you need a talent that can travel with you.” I sat next to her and stared outside at the large oak tree. “I wonder how hard it would be to climb out and sneak away unnoticed.”
“Planning an escape?”
“Mom's new boyfriend is coming to dinner this evening.”
“Ugh,” she said. “Wanna come home with me?”
“Nah. I just need to get it over with. If not now, soon. She'll be persistent until I agree to meet him.”
Bridget spared the thought of the dreaded meeting by keeping me company for a while. Still, time was destined to pass and I would inevitably be stuck meeting the infamous Chef Calvin.
“Do you mind if I take the book home?” she asked two hours later. “Nate's coming over tonight to run lines and I wanna show him your designs.”
Nate's name only came up in conversation regarding the production. The morning after Bridget told me about her feelings toward him, she'd never mentioned it again and neither had I. An unspoken agreement had been made that we'd forget she’d admitted her true feelings.
“Sure. Bring it to school tomorrow, though. I want to get them approved as soon as possible.”
“Okay,” she stood up and closed the binder. “I'll head out then.”
“Wait,” I said quickly. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Do you think... I mean, am I…do I look...”
“You're beautiful, Steph— inside and out. Don’t let Caroline tell you any different.”
With a quick hug, Bridget left me sitting alone on the bed. Still wearing the jeans and sweater I'd worn to school, I looked at myself in the mirror. The same ole clothes, hair, and glasses as any other day would have to suffice. I was tired of playing dress up for Caroline's countless beaus. I love her, but I decided long ago that I hate the exploitation. And Bridget was right, I had to stop letting mom use me as her Barbie doll.
The doorbell rang and the sound of mom's heels clapped on the floor downstairs. I heard the door open and voices carry on the level below me.
“Baby,” mom yelled at the bottom of the staircase. I walked out of my bedroom right on cue. “Come on down, sweetheart.”
I moved down the steps slowly, reaching the foyer. Mom wore a gorgeous black dress with her blonde hair swept high in the back.
“Where's Calvin?” I asked.
“He brought his world famous apple pie for dessert. He's taking it to the kitchen.”
“And his little brother?”
“Parking the car.”
“Parking the-- you said little brother, like he was a child!”
“No, Baby. He's here for you, silly goose.”
“For me?”
“A double-date, honey”
Just in the nick of time; the typical Caroline Ghijk behavior that never ceases to amaze me makes an entrance.
“Mom,” I said. “I'm not interested--”
The doorbell rang again, much to her advantage. I was five seconds away from smacking her square in the face.
A man, who I could only assume was Calvin, walked back into the foyer from the kitchen. He leaned his chin on mom's shoulder and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek. I ignored the repulsive affection and opened the door, feeling the brain fog set in.
“Come in, come in,” Mom moved past me and welcomed the man into the house. He was tall, dark, and handsome... and well into his mid-twenties. Complimenting his tan skin, his hair was short and dark, falling in every direction. He wore dark fitted blue jeans and a white button-up shirt with a gray vest. Our eyes met for a second time; he smirked and I lowered my head. This was a disaster waiting to happen. Again, I reminded myself, this is typical behavior of the one and only Caroline Ghijk...
“Baby,” mom said. “This is Calvin. And this,” she nudged the man standing next to her. “Is his younger brother Alex.”
“Alex...” I mumbled slowly. “Right, okay. Yeah. Uh, mom, can I talk to you alone for just a sec?”
Without giving her time to respond I ducked out of the foyer and into the living room.
“Baby,” she scolded quietly as she followed closely. “How rude!”
“Mom!” I attempted a yell in a whispering voice. “What is going on in that tiny brain of yours? Do you have any idea how old he is? Or how old I am? Seventeen, mom! A minor! And... God! I can't date him, are you kidding me? He's-”
“Calm down, Baby,” she interrupted. “You'll be eighteen in just a few months and you're already a year older now than I was when you were born. You're mature and intelligent enough for--”
“I'm not disputing my good qualities,” I interrupted. “I'm questioning your quality of judgment. This is highly irresponsible--”
“It's one night, Baby. Help mommy out, k?”
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. “Mom, listen to me for a minute--”
“He's cute, huh?” She turned on her heels and disappeared back into the foyer.
“Yeah,” I said to myself. “Absolutely gorgeous.”
I walked out of the living room, past the front door, and into the kitchen. Calvin leaned over the stove tasting whatever dish mom had managed to concoct this afternoon. She stood with her hands pressed to her sides and fingers crossed.
“It's delicious.” He kissed her cheek before turning to meet my stare. “Baby?”
“Steph.”
“Steph,” he noted. “It's nice to finally meet you.”
Calvin was handsome— much like his brother— though built larger and possessed a much stronger jawline.
“Alex has moved on to the dining room, Baby. You should go ahead and join him and we'll be in soon with the food, sweetheart.”
I took a deep breath and pushed through the door separating the two rooms. My date, Alex, sat facing me with his back to the windows. He shook his head and bit his lower lip, making my heart race and toes curl. Screw handsome. Screw good-looking. Alexander Rivera was, hands down, the sexiest man I'd ever met in my life.
“Miss Ghijk,” he said, wearing a grin. “This may very well be the strangest thing I've ever let my brother talk me into--”
“I have a proposition to make.”
“Yes?”
“If you don't tell them, I won't kill you.”
His eyes widened. “You drive a hard bargain,” he grinned. “Why the secrecy?”
“Call me selfish, but I'm starting to like the life I have in Webster Grove. Mom, however, doesn't need much persuasion to pack up and leave on a whim.”
“What's that have to do with me?”
“Caroline Ghijk lives in her own world, Mr. Rivera,” I said. “She can't handle humiliation or rejection and she views any negativity as ammunition to uproot and start over. Imagine how she'd feel if she found she set her teenage daughter up on a blind date with her English teacher-”
“Then we don't tell them,” he agreed. “It's one night.”
“Really?” He nodded. “Thanks. So, I call you...?”
“Alex.”
“Right.”
“Are you going to sit?”
“Um...”
“You should probably take a seat.”
“Uh-”
“Steph.” He lowered his head and glared at me.
I took his order, sitting next to him and staring at the empty plate in front of me. I tapped my foot on the floor and threw a quick glance in his direction. As he often does, he bit his lower lip.
“So, your brother,” I finally said. “He's a good guy?”
“The best.”
Silence filled the air as we sat staring at the table in front of us. I don't know how long it lasted, but it felt like hours. Realistically, my bet is on sixty seconds.
“Mr. Rivera,” I said quietly, breaking the silence lingering in the room. “How are you able to be here this evening?”
“I'm only a teacher during the days, Steph,” he grinned.
“No, I mean...where does Miss Holt think you are?”
“I suppose she thinks I'm home grading papers.”
“But aren't you two-”
“Contrary to most assumptions, Steph, I'm not seeing Karen.”
“Everyone says--”
“I know what people say,” he said.
“Dinner!” Mom yelled as she and Calvin busted into the room carrying dinner-filled dishes. After the food was passed around and portioned evenly across the four plates, the familiar routine began. “Baby, do you have any questions for Calvin?” I shrugged. “Anything at all?”
“Uh, let's see...are you a serial killer?”
“No,” Calvin said, widening his stare.
“Rapist?”
“Of course not!”
“Married?”
“No.”
“Homosex--”
“That's enough, Baby,” Mom stopped me. “I meant serious questions.”
“In my defense, none of those questions were intended jokingly--”
“It's okay, Caroline,' Calvin told her.
“No, it's not,” she said. “I want you two to get acquainted--”
“Where are you from?” I asked, humoring mom. Plus, Bridget would be thrilled to know that I'd finally nailed down Mr. Rivera's ethnicity; she grovels in the knowledge that lessens his mysteriousness.
“Right here in Webster Grove,” Calvin said, taking a bite of the salad he'd helped mom prepare.
“On a larger scale, though. What about your parents? Hispanic descent?”
Mr. Rivera smirked and lowered his head. “Our grandparents are Cuban.”
And with that, thirty minutes slowly passed. The handsome teacher and I barely spoke a word to one another or to mom and Calvin. The love birds never looked away from the other; they were seemingly head over heels and completely unaware of the world around them.
“Who's ready for pie?” Calvin asked the group a while later, after the main course was eaten.
“Me!” Mom bounced in her seat and clapped her hands, doing an uncanny impression of Rachel Canter.
Calvin collected the dirty dishes and disappeared into the kitchen. Moments later he returned while balancing four small plates with a single slice of apple pie on each. He passed them around and regained his place next to his date. “Eat up, hon.”
“Cal makes a phenomenal dessert,” Mr. Rivera said with his mouth full. Unsurprisingly, he's beautiful even when he's sloppy, I noted.
“I agree,” mom said. “He's a genius in the kitchen... and the bedr--”
“Don't say it, Caroline,” I warned her. ”Don't you dare say it.”
The room fell silent again as the Rivera brothers stared between Ghijk women. The quiet lingered for another five minutes. I savored every bite, knowing that the quicker I ate the sooner Mr. Rivera would have to leave. Truth be told, I enjoyed having his company— both as eye candy and for the fact that he helped balance the scales of normality in a typically insane household.
I lifted the fork and took the final bite, knowing it couldn't last forever. Without a moment's notice, a searing pain ripped through my mouth.
“Holy crap!”
Mr. Rivera's hand landed softly on my back. “Steph?”
“Blood,” I said, intending a silent observation. The painful throbbing and bleeding of my gums distracted me from enjoying what could have been a magical moment of comfort from the man sitting next to me. He rubbed his hand across my back and watched with concern. I spit the chewed up pie into my hand and found, mixed into the crusted apple bits, a large diamond ring.
Calvin buried his head in his hands. “Idiot,” he scolded himself.
“I think this belongs to you.” I passed the ring to mom and cleaned my hand on the cloth napkin in front of me.
“Calvin?” she questioned the jewelry with wide eyes.
“Caroline...” He knelt on the floor.
“Oh my God,” his brother said. “Cal, get up.”
“Caroline,” Calvin continued, ignoring the objection to his kneeling. “I know we haven't known each other very long--”
“Three weeks,” Mr. Rivera interjected.
“No one else in the world will ever captivate me the way you do, love me like you have, and complete every inch of my heart and soul as you have done.”
“Again,” I said, reiterating the obvious fact. “Only three weeks--”
“Baby, please,” Mom pleaded. “Hush.”
It wasn't until his thumb began to gently rub my shoulder that I realized Mr. Rivera's hand was still planted firmly on my back. I looked at him, looking at me, sparking an undeniable moment of connection.
Calvin’s voice brought us back to reality. “Caroline Ghijk, will you marry me?”
Not a single second passed before the word yes slipped off her lips. As fast as she'd accepted his proposal, I left the room in a fury.
No way. Not happening. Over. My. Dead. Body.
Chapter Five
Tuesday September 27
“What's up, Steph?” Bridget asked.
I'd rushed upstairs and called her on the webcam as quickly as my fingers could move.
“You won't believe the night I've had,” I said through tears. “He proposed to her!”
“Whoa, Steph...What’d she say?”
“Yes!”
“No she didn't,” Bridget lowered her head. “Are you okay?”
With three light knocks on the door Mr. Rivera stuck his head in. “Mind if I come in?”
I grabbed the side of the computer screen, facing it toward the window. On the other end of the room, he bit his lower lip and leaned against the wall as I stared at the desk in front of me, praying Bridget hadn't seen or heard him.
“Who was that?” she asked.
“Huh?”
“At the door.”
“Oh,” I shook my head. “Just the radio.”
“I swear I just saw Mr. Rivera in your room,” she said. “Are you sure he's not there?”
I nervously laughed as I glared at him over the screen. He was still leaning on far wall, willingly eavesdropping on our conversation. “Bridge, come on, why would he be in my room?”
“Beats me, but I swear I saw his face--”
“Oh, well, yeah.... his face, sure... but not.... him.” Holy crap, where was I going with this? “I… took a picture of him in class the other day and... made a full-sized poster for the wall.”
“I don't remember seeing-”
“I hung it up right after you left. I didn't think you'd understand--”
“Understand? Honey, that man is the father of my future children--”
“Bridge,” I warned as Mr. Rivera held back laughter across the room. “Don't say another word.”
“Why not? Even you admitted that he’s sexier than--”
“Bridge!”
“Okay, okay,” she threw her hands up. “You called dibs.”
“I never called dibs,” I said, less to her and more to Mr. Rivera, who was now standing with raised eyebrows and a grin worthy of a million dollars.
I continued staring at Alexander Rivera. Bridget kept talking, but her words were lost on me. I couldn't make sense of anything except for how incredibly beautiful the man standing in my doorway was. Our eyes met and we shared another moment of mutual attraction--
“Steph?” Bridget said. '”Hel-looo.”
“Huh?” I brought my attention back to her.
“Staring at Mr. Rivera?”
“I told you, Bridge. He isn't here—”
“I meant the poster, Steph. Geesh. Is everything okay?”
“Fine,” I nodded. “I'm just flustered. Listen, I gotta go. Tell Nate I said hello and don't forget the designs tomorrow.”
“Okay,” she said. “Call back if you need anything—”
“I will.” I ended the session and signed out of Skype as an extra precaution. I looked up at Mr. Tall, Dark, and Cuban while I pursed my lips. “What are you doing in here?”
“Your mom asked me to come up and check on you—”
“She just wanted to get rid of you so she could be alone with Calvin,” I said, walking to the window seat and sitting down.
“Mind if I join you for a second?”
“Might as well.” I stared outside at the large oak tree, wishing I had the guts to jump out and shimmy down.
“I would have warned you about the proposal had I known--”
“I know.”
He sat next to me and rested his back on the side wall. “Steph,” he said. “I can't promise you this will blow over, but I can assure you Cal is a wonderful guy.” I nodded. “He'll be good for your mom, kiddo.”
“Wish I could say the same about her for him.”
Mr. Rivera didn't dispute my statement. In fact, we both sat in silence for a few minutes, probably in mutual agreement that I was right; Caroline Ghijk has the potential to ruin Calvin's life.
“What's going on, Steph?” Mr. Rivera's hand found the familiar spot on my back as I sat staring into the dark sky.
“I hold her back from the things she wants,” I admitted for the first time. “She feels like she never gets her way and then I take the blame.”
“What about what you want?”
“That's never been important-”
“It should be the most important, Steph,” he assured me, still gently rubbing his hand on my back. The feel of his touch brought a shiver up my spine, sparking goosebumps on every inch of my body. The rolled sleeves of my sweater exposed enough of my arms to give away the involuntary expression of arousal. I rubbed my hand across the bumps, hoping he wouldn't see the effect he had on me. “What's on your mind, Steph?”
“Things that shouldn't be,” I admitted, feeling guilty about the sensual thoughts I'd been fighting since the day I'd met him.
“Easy fix,” he said, seemingly understanding my internal conflict. He walked across the room and picked up the portfolio I'd shown him at the Romeo and Juliet auditions. “I've been meaning to ask… what inspired clothing design?”
“It's a stupid story--”
“I have time,” he said, sitting on the corner of the bed. He flipped through the pages of the book and smirked. “So?”
Download this book for your ebook reader.
(Pages 1-35 show above.)