Learning (6 page)

She reached toward the picture to take it down or turn it around … anything but seeing Cody’s face stare at her while she tried to read her Bible. Anger stiffened the edges of her soul and she bit the inside of her lip. How could he care so little about her? Even tonight … when he had to know she was having her first performance sometime soon. He wasn’t a nice guy … that was all she could figure. She’d been wrong about him all along.

But just as she was about to grab the photo and fling it across the room or at least toss it under her bed, she hesitated. He was part of her past. The picture was no different than the ones of her family and her kitty, Gus … no different than the one of Andi Ellison and her, or the photo of Tim Reed from their time in
Scrooge
a few winters back. Just an old friend who made up a piece of her past.

Nothing more.

Fine. She would leave the picture up. But still as she turned her attention to the Scriptures she felt the bitterness of his rejection, the hurt of his betrayal. He had promised he’d be her friend always, but now … now he didn’t act like she was alive.

A long sigh rattled up from her chest, and she focused on the words before her. They were both familiar and comforting:
Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all, the Lord is near.

Bailey stopped. Always when she had read this section of Philippians, she had felt reassured by that last line. Be gentle because God was close by. It made her realize that as a believer, she would never be alone — no matter how difficult life became. But here … for the first time, the words screamed an entirely different message.

What are you trying to tell me, Lord … that I need to be more gentle?

There was no response, but Bailey tried to imagine how her heart and soul must’ve looked a minute ago when she was thinking the most angry thoughts at Cody Coleman. God didn’t want her to be angry … He wanted her to be gentle. In this moment, that was the message of Philippians 4:5, Bailey was absolutely certain. And the only way to be gentle was to forgive him.

She closed her Bible and stared at the picture of Cody again. Tears stung at her eyes, but she blinked them away. Suddenly her anger and inability to forgive him felt like a mountain resting on her chest … making it hard to feel gentle about anything. Amazing that after a fun Skype date with Brandon she could still feel so upset by Cody.

Dear Lord, I don’t want to hold anything against him … but I can feel it in my heart … I’m still so mad. So hurt.

Then some of her anger melted away.

Let your gentleness be evident to all, daughter … I am with you always.

God was speaking to her, she had no doubt. He was using the Bible — the way He often did when she prayed — making His will known to her by bringing a verse to mind. The realization was sobering. She couldn’t hold a grudge against Cody and be gentle at the same time.

Bailey drew a slow breath and relaxed a little as she exhaled. If she was going to deal with her anger toward Cody she would have to start somewhere. Maybe if he were out of sight, she wouldn’t think about him. The way he clearly didn’t think about her. This time, without second-guessing herself, she did the only thing she could do.

She took Cody’s photo and dropped to her knees. Then she gently sent it sliding beneath her pretty bed, all the way up against
the opposite floorboard. That way she wouldn’t have to look at his face again.

Even if she wanted to.

C
ODY HAD STARTED HIS FACEBOOK PAGE
for two reasons: to update the kids at Lyle High about the football program … and to keep them posted on Cheyenne’s progress. Cody sat in his bed, his legs stretched out, his laptop open. Facebook also gave him a chance to keep up on his players, all of whom were his friends on the social media site now.

He clicked to Arnie Hurley’s page. Arnie was a senior, the starting quarterback. But his profile picture looked like something from a honeymoon album. He and his girlfriend, arms around each other, the two of them locked in a significant kiss — the sort of kiss that could lead any guy to places he didn’t really want to go. “Nice,” Cody muttered, frustrated. He’d have to have a talk with Arnie. Rumor was the kid was sneaking into his girlfriend’s room every other night. Cody hadn’t believed that until now.

Cody clicked out of Arnie’s profile and opened the one belonging to Marcos Brown. His most recent status update said only: “Working on the farm. Again.” Marcos lived with his cousin’s family on a farm at the outskirts of town. Three years ago, his mother died of the flu, and his father was a lifer at the state penitentiary, convicted of killing his boss in an argument over a pay raise, according to the school principal, Ms. Baker.

As it turned out, the boy’s uncle demanded hard work and lots of it — and he didn’t believe much in sports. The man also thought doing homework was a sign of weakness, which meant Marcos was pulling an
F
in two classes and a
D
in another. If he didn’t pick up his grades, he wouldn’t be able to play next year
— and he was easily their biggest lineman. Cody made a mental note to talk to Marcos tomorrow.

He checked a few other players’ pages and caught what looked like beer in the background of a couple photos. The more Cody looked through the profiles of his players, the more he became convinced he needed a meeting. He wasn’t taking a group of noncommitted kids into football summer camp this year. Not when so much was riding on the coming season. The whole town expected them to fail. If Coach Oliver couldn’t do anything with the Lyle Buckaroos — then Cody couldn’t possibly be better. He was too young. That was the mind-set.

“You’ve heard of a rebuilding year,” one of the old men told him after practice last week. “Well, we’re looking for this to be a five-year rebuilding project.” He gave Cody a sharp but friendly slap in the shoulder. “It’ll take that long for you to look a day older than them boys out there on the field.”

Cody was aware of the doubts around Lyle. He could live with that. What he couldn’t live with — absolutely not — was standing by and watching his players throw away their chances. Whether for a girl or for grades or because they’d gotten sucked into the same partying that had nearly destroyed Cody. He wasn’t there just to teach them how to win football games. It was his job to teach them about life. The way his coach, Jim Flanigan, had taught him.

He was about to turn in when he saw that Cheyenne had posted something a few minutes ago. She was doing so much better than any of them had expected. Her situation was very serious for a few weeks after the accident. But once she began talking, it became evident that her personality was intact, her ability to reason and remember and feel — exactly as it had been before her injuries. But her physical body had been a mess of broken bones and nerve damage.

After two weeks in the hospital, she’d been moved to an
inpatient rehab facility in Indianapolis, where Cody stopped in to see her at least once a day. She was making tremendous strides — and once already he’d visited with a group of his players. They all knew about the accident, since it had happened during practice. Cody felt it important to keep them up on her recovery. Especially since he and the team had been praying for her every day.

He clicked her name and went to her Facebook page. Her status read:
Thank You, God, for Cody … he’s been there for me every step along the way. Literally … I couldn’t have done this without him.

A smile tugged on his lips and he looked for a long time at her picture. It was a snapshot of Cheyenne and Kassie — the little girl Chey had visited so often, who had died of leukemia. The girl’s loss was still hard for Cheyenne, and the photo was a way of keeping her memory alive. But tonight Cody couldn’t take his eyes off Cheyenne, the love in her eyes, the peace on her face. She was a very special person, and no matter what happened between them in the months to come, Cody definitely had feelings for her.

Cody clicked the
like
button on Chey’s status and then went to his own:
Football meeting tomorrow after school … Oh, and Cheyenne is walking twice as fast now as she did when she arrived at the rehab center. Keep praying!

He was about to sign off, when he went to Bailey’s page. His eyes scanned her update, and he felt himself grow utterly still. Tomorrow night she would begin her role in
Hairspray
… her first night on Broadway. Bailey was working for her dreams, realizing them. A hundred people had commented beneath her update, congratulating her and promising to pray. But what about him? Had he let her know he was proud of her or that he cared about this milestone in her life? No … he’d done nothing at all. Nothing kind, no brief conversation where he might tell her how happy he really was for her. He was right about his decision to let Bailey go. He couldn’t be her friend, couldn’t stand by while she moved onto
a life without him, while she dated Brandon Paul. But alone in his room he realized again how his actions must’ve looked to her. Almost like that of an enemy. And there was nothing he could do about it.

Because his silence would always say more than his words ever could.

B
AILEY COULDN’T STOP SHAKING. SHE WAS READY TO WALK TO
the theater, and what little dinner she could force herself to eat she had already eaten. Her dance bag held her shoes and a change of clothes, water bottles, and her makeup. She stepped outside her room and walked down the hall.

Bob and Betty were finishing tea at the kitchen table. So far Bailey loved everything about them. They shared a love Bailey wanted to learn more about, and once the madness of her daily rehearsals settled down, she planned to do just that.

“You look like a vision.” Betty was on her feet. She walked to Bailey and touched the side of her face, her arm. “You shine with the love of God, Bailey Flanigan. Something tells me you won’t be in the ensemble for long.”

“Thanks … that means so much.” She gave an exaggerated exhale. “Especially right now.”

“You’ll be fine.” She gave Bailey’s hand a quick squeeze. “Well, Bob,” she turned to her husband. “Let’s pray for her.”

“Definitely.” He came to them and put an arm around each of their shoulders. “Father, we lift up Bailey Flanigan to You. She is nervous, as well she should be. For it is only in our nervousness and inability that we find strength to succeed in You.”

Bailey smiled and the feeling eased her nerves. She loved the Kellers, the way they took care of her and treated her like their own daughter.

Bob continued, asking God to stand guard over Bailey
throughout the night, as she performed her part and as she made an impression on the producers and director. “She is prepared, Lord … now go with her and help her shine. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

The couple exchanged a look, and Betty gave Bailey a hurried grin. “Bob used to pray for us that way, back when we first met. We were in the same show on Broadway, and Bob figured we needed all the prayer we could get.” She smiled at her husband. “So we prayed together every night before we went on.”

Another piece of this couple’s story, a reason why they shared such a happy marriage. Bailey wasn’t surprised that they prayed together. “Thanks, Bob … I need to pray every night too. For sure, that much.”

Bob and Betty walked her to the theater, and along the way they bought her three long-stemmed white roses. “Because I just know you’re going to be a triple threat.” Betty gave her a quick hug. When they reached the front of the theater, the couple bought tickets and walked her to the stage door. Francesca Tilly was very aware of the empty seats. She told them at every rehearsal that if they didn’t keep it fun, if people didn’t feel welcomed to the sixties, then she couldn’t guarantee how long the show would stay open.

“Should I be worried? That there are still open seats?” Bailey paused near the stage door and searched the eyes of her new friends.

“No, dear.” Betty smiled and shook her head. “They won’t close
Hairspray
for a very long time. Maybe not ever.”

“I hope not. I hadn’t really thought about it until now.” Bailey stood a little straighter and took a deep breath. “Well, … I guess this is it.”

“You’ll be perfect.” Betty leaned close and kissed her cheek. “Go get ‘em.”

“Thank you.” Bailey searched the older woman’s eyes. “You’re a gift from God, Betty.” She turned to Betty’s husband. “You too,
Bob. I don’t know if I would’ve survived those rehearsals if it weren’t for you.”

“Nah,” Betty waved off the compliment. “Just doing our job. You’d do the same thing if you were in our place.”

Bailey bid the two of them goodbye and walked across the backstage toward the girls’ dressing room. The couple planned to go home after the performance, since Bailey was going out for pizza with the cast. She’d catch a cab back home — something they all agreed was a safe choice. The costume room was empty as Bailey stepped inside and she realized she was a little early. But that was perfect. She needed this time to focus, to go over the songs and dance moves one more time in her head.

On a long clothes rack, she found a costume bag with her name pinned to it. A thrill ran through her veins as she unzipped it and looked at the two dresses inside. They were both adorable. For most scenes she would wear the white dress trimmed in pink with a big pink sash and matching pink socks. Bailey was to wear her hair in a single ponytail, with a pink ribbon that hung the length of it. She found a place in front of the mirror and plugged in her curling iron. When she was finished turning her long hair into ringlets, she tied her ribbon and was about to spray the style in place when Chrissy walked into the dressing room.

“Hi.” Bailey could barely contain her excitement. She was the only member of the cast whose first show was tonight. To everyone else it might have been just another night on Broadway, but certainly not to Bailey.

“Hey.” Chrissy looked surprised to see her. “That’s right …” She looked Bailey over and grinned. “It’s your first night.”

“It is.” Bailey clutched her hands together, her eyes wide. “I’m praying I won’t mess up.”

“Come on, Bailey.” Chrissy had bleached blond hair and too-thin long legs and she played an ensemble role, same as Bailey. And like Bailey, she understudied for one of the lead roles — the
role of Amber. “You give your all at every rehearsal. And you have connections like crazy. A movie credit with Brandon Paul. I mean … you’ll be a lead in no time.” Something about Chrissy’s tone sounded defeated.

“Thanks … I guess.” Bailey wasn’t sure she liked Chrissy’s comments. “I sort of like to think I earned my spot.”

“Well, yeah …” Chrissy uttered a light laugh. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Bailey hoped not. Especially after the rumblings from other cast members that she’d taken the easy road to Broadway, or that her connections were the only reason she was here. Bailey watched Chrissy take a spot in front of the long mirror. “I’ve watched you rehearse the Amber role.” Bailey had wanted to tell her this for a while. “Chrissy, you’re perfect.” The girl who played Amber now was rude and arrogant. She wanted nothing to do with Bailey, and she’d made that clear from the beginning — Francesca’s thoughts on the cast being family or not.

Bailey gave her hair a few light spritzes with the finishing spray. As she did, Chrissy peeled off her sweatshirt and prepared to slip into her dress — a pale blue number with as many pretty bows and matching hair ties as the one Bailey wore. But in a rush Bailey could no longer focus on Chrissy’s dress, or her own costume, or anything but what was suddenly and certainly painfully obvious.

Bailey had noticed this before, but not as dramatically as right now: Chrissy was bone thin. Her shoulders jutted out like balls at the end of a couple of sticks. The ribs across her back all jutted out, and her spine was bruised — probably the result of all the sit-ups Francesca ordered from them each day.

Moving as quickly as she possibly could, Chrissy slipped her dress over her head. “What?” She must’ve caught Bailey looking at her. For the first time since they’d known each other, Chrissy’s tone wasn’t as kind as usual. “Is something wrong?”

“Chrissy …” There was a knowing in Bailey’s tone and in her expression … she could see it in the mirror. She didn’t want to have to spell out the obvious. “Are … are you okay?” Bailey had wondered a time or two whether her new friend might struggle with anorexia. Her dance clothes made it clear that she was too thin. But now there was no denying the obvious. Chrissy had a problem, for sure.

“I’m fine.” She laughed, but it sounded pinched, unnatural. “I’ve had a cold … I get a little underweight.”

Was she kidding? Bailey wanted to scream at her, tell her that she desperately needed help. But instead all she could do was look at Chrissy for a long moment. The girl hid her problem well. Her arms weren’t as thin as her legs, and since the dress she wore on stage had a longer skirt, she had so far danced her way under the radar. Francesca had told them a few times just since Bailey had arrived that eating disorders would destroy a girl’s career as fast as drugs or drinking. “All things in moderation,” Francesca had told them. It was a mantra of sorts when she talked to them about their personal lives. So had she pulled Chrissy aside and urged her to get help? Or were her comments more of a suggestion for the cast, her way of addressing Chrissy’s troubles in a passive manner?

Because Chrissy’s problem was both obvious and dramatic, and Bailey had no idea what to do. If Chrissy wouldn’t admit she needed help, Bailey wasn’t sure she could do anything. She would make a point to talk to her later — maybe after the show. For now she only smiled nervously at her. “I’m here for you … if you want to talk.”

“Thanks.” Chrissy applied her makeup in silence after that.

Bailey finished up first and reported to the green room. There were so many hurting people on the
Hairspray
cast. Two of the guys were gay, and Bailey had overheard them talking in rehearsals about their partners — both of whom were dying of
AIDS. Bailey had a feeling several of the other guys were gay too, but she didn’t ask.

Already one of them had pulled her aside during a rehearsal last week. “Look … everyone’s talking about you. How you’re a Bible fanatic.” His angry tone softened a little. “I’d just like to ask you not to judge us … you know, those of us who are gay. God loves us too.”

The comment left Bailey speechless. Of course God loved them. He loved all people. But that didn’t change the Bible’s viewpoint on homosexuality or taking care of the body, and so far she had no idea how she was supposed to respond. She didn’t want to come across as self-righteous or judgmental. She wasn’t perfect, after all. She struggled with anger at Cody and doubts about her abilities and place in the
Hairspray
cast. But at the same time she was anxious to offer them the hope of God. The conflict remained, and she still had no idea how to treat the situation. Christians had taken so much heat for being judgmental that Bailey wasn’t sure she could say anything.

For now, Bailey put all those thoughts from her mind. This was her opening night, and she could hardly wait to get on stage. Out there they didn’t have to worry about eating disorders or AIDS or any other struggle except her own — to keep up with the rest of the cast. Tonight they would be just a group of kids dancing their way through the sixties, looking for racial equality.

Francesca found her in the green room ten minutes before show time. She walked up quickly and put her hands on Bailey’s shoulders. “Are you ready for this, Ms. Flanigan?”

Bailey gulped. “Yes, ma’am. I hope so … I mean, yes. Yes, I am.”

Francesca studied her. “You bring a good name to this show.” She sized her up and down, as if she were still forming an opinion of Bailey. “Keep working hard and you’ll do well. I believe that.”

Bailey thanked her, but she felt defeated. A good name? Was
that really why she was here? Because her name and her connection to the movie
Unlocked
brought buzz to a show that hadn’t been selling out lately? She felt the blood leave her face, and her fingers tingled the way they had once when she’d fainted after a blood test. She couldn’t be about to step on stage for her first night on Broadway not sure if she belonged. The doubt would paralyze her. No wonder the cast was whispering about her, calling her out about her faith and her connections. For a long moment she thought about putting in her time tonight and then resigning. If she wasn’t good enough, then she didn’t want anyone’s charity.

Breathe,
she told herself.
Dear God … help me lean on You. Help me be good enough … please.

The response was straight out of a devotion Bailey had read earlier that morning:

Daughter, remember in this life you will have trouble …

In this life she would have trouble. But the rest of the verse was where she focused her attention. Because God had already overcome the world, and He’d already overcome her anxiety about tonight.

She took a deep breath and remembered something her mother had told her earlier that week. “Not all things will be easy for you, Bailey. It’s the hard things that grow us. If you need to get stronger as a performer, then you’ll get stronger.”

Bailey headed out to her place in the wings. She and the others in the ensemble didn’t make their appearance until a couple scenes into the show. The whole time she let Francesca’s words stay with her. She needed to be ready. No way around it.

The house was filling up, but not like it needed to be. “We need to get those seats filled,” Chrissy whispered to her in the shadows. “Otherwise they’ll pull the show. They’ll only be patient for so long.”

More pressure to perform. Bailey willed her breathing to slow down, prayed that her heartbeat wouldn’t get too far ahead of her.
She would get better, and together they would make the show so great people would flock to see it. Bailey just got here. If she could be strong enough to stay, she couldn’t bear to think about the show closing.

“We need to pray,” Bailey spoke in a whisper too — more to herself than to Chrissy. “For the show to do something good. So it’ll stay open.”

“No …” Chrissy’s face held a sadness that she probably hadn’t intended to reveal. “We don’t need prayer. We need an audience.”

Again Bailey saw the opportunity to talk, the chance to share exactly what her faith meant with a girl who seemed at least a little curious. But Bailey still had no idea how to take the conversation from talk about rehearsals and shows and the intensity of their director to a place where the faith she so desperately clung to would be evident.

And maybe even something one of her castmates might claim as their own.