In Between (34 page)

“I want to praise one student for investing the time and effort into studying. This person is to be commended for making the highest grade, a
B+
.”

Gotta be Simon Pensky, the one who always pulls the highest grade and is totally obnoxious about it. Last week he offered to help me study for a quiz: “I can tutor you, Katie. I’d be glad to show you what I know.” And then he made these hubba-hubba eyebrows. I nearly barfed on him. I thought about showing him what
I
knew—courtesy of Trina.

Mr. Walker tosses a test on my desk, face down, and my stomach turns.

“This person could teach the rest of you a thing or two about studying.”

I flip my test over. My heart stops.

“Congratulations, Katie. You earned the highest grade.”

It’s me? He was talking about me! I think I’m going to hyperventilate. The shock—it’s too much. This has to be a miracle. They’ll want to put me on the evening news, like those people who see Jesus in tortillas.

The red
B+
leaps off the page, and I can’t take my eyes off of it. I must be dreaming. These things don’t happen to me. Katie Parker does not set the curve. I flip through the exam, almost certain it’s a mistake.

But it’s not. I made a
B+
. Oh, my gosh—I
am
smart! I can’t wait to tell Frances and the Scotts. This baby’s going on the fridge.

The bell rings, and Simon, the dethroned math whiz follows me out. “Hey, good job on the math test.”

He stands a little too close, and I give him my best Stephanie-as-Juliet smile. “Thanks. I guess I don’t need you to show me all you know—about math.” I waggle my brows.

I breeze past him, resisting the urge to stomp on his foot as I go. Trucking it down the corridor, I push my way through the crowded hall and hold onto my test like it’s a winning lottery ticket. I walk past my locker and take a right. There’s a stop I need to make before I head off to lunch. It’s something I’ve been trying to scrounge up the courage to do, and now I feel like I could do anything.

Stalling before a glass door, I pause to collect my thoughts, rehearse what I’m going to say, and check my hair in the reflection. Not bad. A good hair day
and
I aced an algebra test.

I swing open the door and make my way down the hall until I come to the office I need. I clear my throat. “Mrs. Whipple?”

The counselor sits with her back to me, facing the window, but makes no response. Maybe she’s meditating. Or thinking of more ways to torture innocent students.

“Mrs. Whipple?”

She abruptly spins away from the window and slams her hands on the desk. “What do you want?”

I can do this. I can do this. I’m a card-carrying smart girl now. “I was wondering if I could talk to you about next semester, I—”

“No, go to class.” She wipes her hands on her calico skirt, and I can tell I’ve interrupted snack time.

“Pastor and Mrs. Scott were going to come and speak to you about next semester, but I thought I would save them the trip.”

Mrs. Whipple drums her chubby fingers on the desk, weighing her options. “Fine. Just make it quick. I have important things to do, and the sooner you spit it out, the sooner I can tell you no and get back to work.”

From the looks of the crumbs on her mustache, I would guess that important work involves a package of Chips Ahoy.

Here goes nothing. “As you know, I’m in Art. I think I have a decent grade in there, but I happen to be really bad at it.” During the pottery lesson last Thursday, my vase came out looking like a shoe. An elf’s shoe.

“Your lack of artistic abilities is not my problem, Miss Parker. You couldn’t hack band, and now you want to bail on art?”

A million sarcastic comments screech in my head, but I plaster a pleasant expression on my face. “But I think we’re on the right track with the arts, ma’am.”

“If you’re here to ask me to sign you up for office aid next semester, you are flat out of luck.”

Okay, who marries people like this?

“No, actually I’d like to be put in drama.” There. That wasn’t too hard. I’ve been in here two minutes, made my request, and so far I still have my head attached.

“Drama?” She laughs.

“Yeah, I know. It surprised me too. But I’d like to try it.”

“You come in here, barely passing the tenth grade, and think I’m gonna do you favors and change your schedule? For the third time in six weeks, I might add.”

I nod. “Yes, please.”

“Miss Parker, I don’t have time for this. You want to be taken seriously? Then you do something to earn it. The transcript you transferred in with sure doesn’t scream out responsibility and seriousness.” Mrs. Whipple jiggles her mouse and begins typing.

“But my grades have gone up.”

“Humph.” She doesn’t even look up from her computer screen.

I lay the test on her desk and slide it over. “Maybe you’d like to take a glance at this.”

With an eye roll and a smirk, Mrs. Whipple grabs the algebra test. Her face changes to a frown. “Well, my, my. What have we here? You scored a
B
?

“
B+
.” Thank you very much.

She shoves it back to me. “I don’t think this proves anything.”

“Yes, it does. I made the highest grade in the class. Me, Katie Parker. Top score.” I point to her computer. “Pull up my grades. Go ahead.”

Mrs. Whipple hesitates, but she punches some keys, and within a few seconds my quarter grades are on the screen.

“Hmm. Interesting.”

“See? They’ve gone up. A lot. I’ve really been working hard. I think I’ve found something I might be interested in, something I might be good at. I won’t ask for another schedule change.” Actually, I don’t know if I’ll be any good, but after watching all those rehearsals of
Romeo and Juliet
, I definitely know what
not
to do.

“Even if you get in drama and can’t memorize a single line?”

“I won’t say a word to you.”

“Even if they put you in a boy’s role, glue on facial hair, and make you wear a wig?”

“I’ll say thank you.”

“I don’t know . . .” She eyes me.

“Even if I get in there, get stage fright, and pee my pants during every performance, I will stick it out.”

“Now that would be worth the price of a ticket.” She sighs and grabs a pen. “Fine. But if your grades go down or if I hear of any trouble out of you, I’m sticking you in a double block of PE.”

Yes! I’m out of art. “Thank you, Mrs. Whipple.” I almost want to hug the old bag. “Um, while I’m here, I want to report a really mean teacher. In fact, I think she’s a tad bit abusive.”

“Who?”

“Coach Nelson.”

“She’s my sister.”

Right then.

The afternoon sun
hits me as I descend the steps of In Between High and make my way to the bus stop.

A horn honks, and soon I’m hearing my name called over the rumbling bus engines. I search the parking lot, and there, circling for a parking space, is James. I throw my hand up in a wave, and he pulls up to the curb. Rocky hangs his head out of the passenger window, and his tongue flaps out the side of his mouth.

I run up to James’s truck. “Are you lost? You know this isn’t In Between Community Church, right?”

He grins. “Get in. I thought I’d pick you up today and spare you a ride on the bus.”

Could this day get any better? Not having to ride the stinky bus is just the cherry on top.

The truck smells like a convenience store pine air freshener, but I gladly hop in, shoving the mongrel to the middle. He promptly plants his paws on my lap and sticks half his body out the window.

“So what brings you out here?” I try to push the dog off with no luck.

James navigates through the parking lot, which at three o’clock is worse than any reality-show obstacle course.

“I thought I’d take the afternoon off, spend some time with you, and watch rehearsals. See if Sam needs me to drive a nail or two.”

James and I swap smiles. Yup, this guy’s really making progress. I believe we have me to thank for that. Clearly I bring out the best in people. Why, Mrs. Whipple was practically begging to assist me today.

“I also thought we’d drive through the Burger Barn and get some ice cream cones.”

“Some chocolate mint would hit the spot.” James should pick me up more often.

We pull through the Burger Barn drive-thru and get two double scoop cones. Rocky whines at my ice cream. “Not a chance, flea bag.”

James hands me some napkins. “We’ll have to eat it quick. Millie put me on a diet this weekend, and ice cream isn’t on it.”

“So basically you’re picking me up just so you can have an excuse to have dessert.”

He grips the steering wheel. “Katie, I’m a man who hasn’t had sugar in three days. I’m prepared to stoop pretty low.”

James takes the long way to the theatre, driving until there is no trace of his ice cream. I’m still working on the second scoop when we arrive at the Valiant.

I jump out of the truck then reach back in to grab my backpack. The dog makes a dive for my unprotected cone. “Rocky!”

The mutant mutt sits in the seat, licking his chops and what’s left of my ice cream, and looking disgustingly pleased with himself.

When the three of us walk inside the theatre, both Sam and Millie look shocked to see James.

Millie hugs her husband. “Honey, what are you doing here?”

James winks at me. “My schedule happened to clear up for the afternoon. I’m here to help, so put me to work.”

Millie takes James’s hand and leads him into the theatre. She talks faster than the speed of sound, updating him on all things Valiant.

Sam and I work side by side, painting walls until my hand cramps around the roller brush. The gold paint covers the last of the graffiti, and as I step back and look at it, my heart lightens.

“Thank God that’s gone.”

“You can say that again.” Sam picks up the paint trays. “You better clean up. It’s nearly time for you to go home.”

I wipe my hands across my painting shirt, clearing the gold off my fingers. “Nope. I’m staying. Millie said we could stay a few more hours tonight.”

“How did you manage that?”

I tell Sam all about my improved grades, then leave to wash out my roller. Watching the paint rinse out into the sink, I smile just thinking about the day. Good things do happen to me. My life has officially stopped being a series of catastrophes.

“Katie!”

I ignore Sam’s voice and continue scrubbing the roller. Just a few more seconds.

“Katie!” This time it’s Millie.

Throwing the supplies into the sink, I shut off the water and dash into the theatre.

“What? What’s wrong?” My feet skid to a halt on the tiled floor, and I freeze at the sight in front of me.

“You have some visitors.”

There, filling the theatre, stand Pastor Mike, his wife, and everyone from Target Teen. They’re decked out in work clothes, many of them carrying brushes, hammers, drills, and tool boxes.

Pastor Mike steps forward, wearing his Jack Sparrow grin. “Did somebody order a miracle?”

“I did.” My arms break out in goose bumps. “I ordered one.”

“Well, we were in the neighborhood. Thought we’d drop by and see if you needed any help.”

I can’t stop shaking my head, and my eyes well up like I’ve just been crowned Miss America. They did this for me. And the Scotts. All those things Angel said about the churchies replays in my head.

She
was
wrong about them. I can permanently delete those doubts.

Frances breaks through the crowd, her parents close behind her. “Let’s get this party started.”

I hand her a paintbrush and give my friend a quick hug. Yes, me. Hugging.

Sam and Millie start assigning jobs. Soon the Valiant is filled with the sounds of tools, hard work, and laughter. And progress. The hours fly by, but every few minutes I have to stop and look around, in awe at the transformation happening around me.

“You got yourself some good friends.” Sam hands me a bottle of water.

My hair is damp with sweat, but I don’t care. “The Valiant . . . it’s going to be finished on time. I know it.”

“See? Faith. I told you it would work.” He puts his work-gloved hand on my shoulder. “Did you pray like I asked you to?”

“Yeah.” I nod. “Could be just a coincidence though.”

“Girl, there are no coincidences. We got about seventy people here who can testify to that.”

“We’re gonna make it, aren’t we?”

Sam takes a swig of his own water and wipes his mouth. “You see, Katie, it’s kind of like me and Maxine.” His eyes crinkle beneath his cap. “I never had a single doubt.”

O
pening night. It’s
finally here.

Maxine and I sit in the front row of the Valiant, and I can’t take my eyes off the place. I can’t believe it. The churchies worked with us all week, putting in some long, exhausting evenings, and it was only a few hours ago we hammered our last nail and painted our last stroke. The Valiant looks like something out of an old movie, with its cool Art Deco style. It’s like the theatre has come to life.