Chapter Seven
Wednesday, October 19
The dining room was dimly lit as Mom, Calvin, Bridget, and I sat around the table eating Calvin's famous apple pie. I didn’t need any reminder about the first time I’d tried his dessert, but I couldn’t turn down the offer when he asked. I’d honestly never tasted anything so delicious in my life.
I was still unhappy about Mom’s spur of the moment engagement, but I was taking it in stride. Like Mr. Rivera promised, his brother was a great guy. And even if I still thought they were rushing into this relationship way too fast, there were some perks. If nothing else, having Calvin around meant we might actually start eating something besides frozen, processed junk.
“They sucked,” Bridget said with her mouth full. “Every dress in the store was ugly, tacky, slutty, or overpriced.”
“Now what?” Calvin chimed in, pretending to be interested in her hunt for the perfect dress.
“Who knows? Homecoming is only two days away.”
“What kind of dress do you want?” I asked. I’d finished the final costumes for Romeo and Juliet on Sunday, and while I enjoyed a short break, I would’ve loved the chance to design something for Bridget. “I could probably come up with something if you’re interested.”
“Really?” Bridget asked. “You're not tapped out?”
“I am,” I admitted. “But … come on, B, it’s you.”
“Awesome!” she said. “Because there’s one design in your portfolio I'd love to try!”
“Let's go take a look.”
We walked upstairs to my bedroom, closing the door behind us. And each time I walked in there, I couldn’t help but love it a little bit more. I mean, purple walls and a poster of Alexander Rivera were unbeatable, right?
Yes. Okay. I actually had one made for myself. After the webcam call with Bridget, there was no way I was getting out of it. And the picture wasn’t so bad. To help me carry out the little lie I’d told her that night, Mr. Rivera let me sneak a quick—supposedly unsuspecting—shot of him with my phone before he left on the night of the engagement. And … well, yes. Having the poster on my wall felt childish, but a little comforting nonetheless. And since Mom never bothered coming in, it was one less thing for me to explain.
“Does Calvin remind you of anyone?” Bridget asked, throwing herself back on the bed and flipping through my portfolio.
“Like who?”
Ha! As if I didn't know the next two words out of her mouth were going to be—
“Mr. Rivera.”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I've never really noticed.”
“What?” she asked. “Can’t you see the resemblance— the skin, the hair, the eyes, the face? Heck, even their smiles! They could totally be brothers, Steph.”
I shrugged again. “I guess.”
I hated lying to her, but Bridget loved to talk, and I'd always been wary of her ability to keep things on the DL. Still, I needed no reminder of how much Calvin resembled his younger, sexier brother. In fact, I had trouble staying in the same room with Calvin most days ... the resemblance was almost too unbearable.
“Calvin’s a chef, right?” Bridget asked.
“Yup.”
“Too bad.”
“Why’s that bad?” I asked. Personally, I was pretty excited about the idea of some home-cooked meals in my future.
“It’s not bad,” she said. “I just remember Mr. Rivera talking about his brother once, but I'm pretty sure it was a younger brother who was a cop, not an older brother who was a chef.”
“You have quite the memory, Bridge,” I said, astounded that she knew as much about our English teacher as she did. Because, according to my Mom, Calvin does have a brother on the force. Which meant Bridget wasn’t really that far off. But obviously she still had some things to learn, and the less she knew, the better.
“Future father of my children,” she reminded me. “Here it is! This is the dress!”
She passed me the portfolio. “Ah, yes. Color specifications?”
“Black, just like the picture.”
“Then I'm about to make you one very happy girl,” I said. “I designed that last year for junior prom at Carrollton High— no, Wesley— wait, yes, Carrollton High School. I never got to wear it, so …” I walked to my closet and plucked the gown from the back. “It's all yours.”
“It's already done?”
“And brand new.”
She snatched it from my hands and held it to her body, examining herself in the full-length mirror.
“I’m going to look so hot in this!” I smiled at her excitement. “I’m not kidding, Steph. Nathaniel Bryan will rue the day he asked Rachel Canter to homecoming over his best friend,” she said. She admired the dress for a few long minutes. “God! I love you! I love, love, love you.”
“Yeah.” I smirked. “You've mentioned that once or twice.”
Friday, October 21
Bridget and I prepped ourselves for the infamous homecoming dance. She kept reminding me that practice makes perfect: you—can’t—rush—beauty.
“Oh em gee!” Bridget said as she backed away from the mirror. “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful in all your life?”
“You’re not so great with modesty, are you?” I teased.
“I can't thank you enough, Steph.”
Bridget was working overtime to rebuild her confidence. Her self-esteem had taken a pretty hard hit after Nate asked Rachel to homecoming. The saddest part of the whole thing was that he never even told her he'd changed his plans. He just stopped talking to her. Worse, he’d stopped talking to me. I still hadn't figured out why I was being banished from his inner circle. This wasn't my fight, but somehow I got stuck in the middle.
“I'm gonna get dressed now.”
I pulled a garment bag out of the closet and carried it down the hall to the bathroom. I unzipped the plastic and stared at the gown—strapless, sky blue, elegant, and long. Best of all, it was ready to be worn for the very first time. I slipped into the self-designed dress and zipped up the side.
I looked at the reflection in the mirror. Dark curls fell down my shoulders, and my brown eyes shined, unguarded by the usual glasses. I hardly recognized the person staring back at me. Abcdef Ghijk was a nerdy, bun-wearing, glasses-sporting brainiac. As I gazed at myself, I realized I wasn't seeing Steph at all. The reflection was Baby Levin—the girl I was born to be … with the appearance and demeanor my mother had worked so hard to manufacture over the years.
I walked out of the bathroom and down the hall to my room. Bridget's mouth dropped as I came in, twirling once to show off the dress.
“Wow,” she said. “I guess you’re ready, then?”
“Yes ma’am.”
Together we strolled through the hallway and down the steps, watching Mom and Calvin fumble with their cameras.
“Hold still, Baby,” Mom said. “Wait a minute. Stop moving. I want a picture of you on the stairs.”
“Hurry up! We're already running late.”
“Just stand still!”
“Smile!” Calvin chimed in, snapping a shot of us standing on the fourth step.
“One more and we're outta here, Miss G,” Bridget said. “I wanna be the first to ask Mr. Riv—”
“Bye guys,” I interrupted Bridget, grabbing her hand and pulling her out the door.
Moments later, we were standing in line outside the gymnasium. Ten minutes passed before the group moved forward. In the matter of time we'd stood waiting, we received nearly twenty compliments on our dresses. That boosted my confidence a notch. Maybe I actually had a shot of getting into the summer program with Adriana Holbrook. Obviously Mr. Rivera believed in me. Only time would tell.
A chaperone at the door took our tickets as we filed into the decorated gym. A professional photographer was set up in the corner, willing to take a bundle of money in exchange for one tacky memento. Bridget and I weaved through the tables lined up on the outside of the dance floor until we found a
spot suiting our need—close enough to the dancing without being too far from the bathroom doors. As Bridget claimed, bathroom access was imperative. You never know when a fashion emergency might strike.
“Ugh,” Bridget said as she locked her eyes on a table at the opposite side of the room. “Nate and Rachel are already here. And ew! What is she wearing? Steph, look at her. Isn't her dress awful?”
“Terrible,” I said, silently disagreeing. Rachel looked stunning in a pink princess gown.
“I'm gonna go say hi.”
“Whoa, Bridge.” I held her back. “Are you sure that's a good idea?”
“Of course! I have to be the bigger person, Steph. I can't let Rachel Canter have the upper hand.” She pulled herself free of my grasp and started to walk away. “If I'm not back in five minutes, send a chaperone.”
“Bridge!” She disappeared on the dance floor. The music and the dancing started without warning. The lights were low, and the room was loud. I'd been at homecoming for two minutes and was already hatching an escape plan. With my will to flee so much lately, it was hard not to wonder if I had more of my mother in me than I’d ever care to admit.
“Flying solo tonight?” Mr. Rivera asked as he stood near the table. He wore black slacks and a button up shirt with a tie that perfectly matched my blue dress.
“Of course,” I said. “Taking the new girl to a dance is always a gamble.”
“Interesting fact,” he said, inching a little closer. “Do you know that teachers are allowed to participate?”
“In what?”
“Dancing.”
“Oh, yeah?” I asked.
He nodded. “Of course, we're not exactly allowed to ask for a dance. But it would be incredibly rude to turn down a student who proposed the idea.”
“So,” I said, casting a sideways glance. “Are you asking me to ask you to dance, Alex?”
“Me?” He smiled. “No. I'd be fired if I did something like that.” We shared a lingering stare before he quickly shook his head. “Did you just call me—”
“Oh, well, it’s a shame you weren't asking,” I said, standing up. I eyed him from head to toe and let out a low whistle. “Yeah, really. Too bad, because you look great, and I would’ve loved to take a spin with you.” I sent him a quick wink and disappeared into the crowd, still feeling his eyes watch me as I moved further and further across the floor. Walking away from him was the hardest thing I'd ever done. But I'd just flirted with him, like … major flirting. And if anyone else had noticed, especially another teacher, I couldn’t imagine the repercussions.
I found Nate sitting alone at a table in the back corner, water bottle in hand. I sat down next to him and glared with disapproval.
“What?”
“Oh, nothing,” I said. “Just came to find out how a person can go from being your best friend one day to hating your guts the next.”
“I don't hate your guts,” he said, taking a drink of water.
“I wasn't talking about me.”
“Oh, her,” he said, twisting his face.
“Seriously, Nate? What is wrong with you?”
“She came over here and told me that she needed to borrow Rachel. She said ‘one minute, I promise.’ Well, it's been five minutes, and there's no sign of them anywhere.”
“I'm sure they just went to the bathroom for some girl talk,” I said, but I suddenly felt the urge to run out and make sure Bridget hadn’t murdered Nate's date. If I'm not back in five minutes, send a chaperone. “I'll go check up on 'em and send Rachel back your way.”
“Thanks,” he said. “You look nice, Steph.”
I smirked. “Thank you, Nathaniel. As do you.”
I turned on my heel and rushed to the bathroom as quickly as possible.
The closer I got, I started to hear exactly what I’d hoped I wouldn’t. Yelling and screaming echoed in the hallway. A crowd of girls had gathered around the doors to watch Bridget and Rachel struggle in a pretzel on the floor. No one tried to stop the fight; they only encouraged the brawl with catcalls and cheers.
“Someone get a teacher!” I yelled. I fought the crowd to reach the two bloodied girls in the center of the room. “Bridget! Stop! She's not worth it!”
With that, Bridget, who was now sitting on top of her opponent, cocked her fist back and punched Rachel square in the jaw.
I pulled them apart, kicking and screaming. Rachel took a running start at Bridget again when another girl stepped in to hold her back.
Miss Holt tore through the group of bystanders. The majority of the students cleared out on her arrival.
“You, you, and you. Suspended,” she yelled.
Mr. Rivera rounded the corner and stopped next to his co-worker. “Someone said there was a fight?” His gaze landed on the three of us and he dropped his shoulders. “Girls.” Like Miss Holt, he should’ve been angry. But I saw more disappointment in his eyes as he stared at me. “What happened?”
Miss Holt pointed at me. “Why don't you ask Miss Ghijk.”
“Wait. Me? I was just trying to—”
“Save it,” she said, holding her hand up. “You were involved in a fight on school property. You'll be lucky if you get by with anything less than a five-day suspension. And all three of you can forget showing up for the fall production.”
“No!” Bridget said. “You can't do that!”
“I just did,” she said with a tone of finality in her voice. “The show is canceled.”
Mr. Rivera shook his head. “Pipe down, Karen.” Miss Holt stared in awe at his demand. He shifted his attention back to us. “Okay, ladies. Let's talk this out.”
“Mr. R,” Rachel whined. “I came in to touch up my lipstick and Bridget pounced me.”
“Bullsh—”
“Watch your mouth, Miss Wright,” Mr. Rivera said, raising his voice. “You're already in hot water; let’s not make it any worse.” The room fell quiet. “We'll need to call each of your parents and have you escorted home.”
“I can walk.”
“I'm sorry, Miss Ghijk,” he interrupted. “Someone will need to speak with Caroline, as well.” Bridget's face wrinkled and Miss Holt perked up, both probably wondering how Mr. Rivera knew my mother by name. He continued, “Report to the office first thing Monday morning to discuss the consequences. In spite of Miss Holt's serious misconception, your punishment does not rest in our hands.”
I stared at the floor. How could this happen?
My experiences at Webster Grove High School were stacking up to be nothing short of memorable. First, I land the job of a lifetime working on the fall production. Second, I get set up on a blind date—or something of that nature— with the hottest teacher to ever walk the planet. That very teacher encouraged me to take a major step in pursuing my dream, and now, at the homecoming dance, I'm being kicked out and facing suspension for ... well, nothing within my control.
Wonderful.