Understudy (17 page)

My eyes barely stay open the next day, after having spent three hours doing a hundred pages of middle school math problems with my left hand. It was worth it though, to see Ricky waltz into play rehearsal the next day. All the stress and anxiety over getting Ricky back, coupled with last minute prop decisions and rehearsal have almost made me forget about Derek.

Yep. I’ve almost forgotten about how he would have been so perfect for me if he didn’t have little secrets. If he didn’t get escorted out of school by cops that day. If he didn’t have a secret not-girlfriend he can’t tell me about.

Maybe I haven’t forgotten about it at all.

“Hey boss, guess what?” Greg calls out from the rafters above the stage.

Cast members whoosh past me as they act out scene three. “What?”

“Let there be lights!” He flourishes his hand to another stagehand who sits at the ancient light board. The spotlight flips on, beaming a bright white burst of light onto the stage. Not blue, not green. White.

I lift my hands above my head and clap for him. He gives me a wink and I try not to let the cuteness of his facial expressions make me reconsider dating him. The spotlight works, the props are complete and my actors know their lines. Everything is going to be okay.

“Oh shit,” Ricky mutters from behind me on stage. I swing around and find him ducking behind the side curtain, his face pale as he watches the back of the auditorium. My heartbeat races before I even know what I need to be nervous about. I glance toward the back, using my hand to shield the bright spotlight. Gwen walks down the aisle, arms around her stomach. She’s still wearing that baggy hoody and leggings, and she looks like she’s gained another ten pounds.

All in her stomach.

Blake walks behind her, a smug expression on his face.

Derek gets to them before I do, but only a second before. “I’ve got this,” I tell him, stepping in front of him before he gets in another fight with Gwen’s boyfriend. Gwen’s eyes are swollen and red from crying. She stares at her chipped nail polish and gnaws on her lip.

“What’s going on, Gwen?” I ask in a sincere voice. I don’t know what made her cry but she doesn’t need to lie to me. If Blake has hurt her, I won’t need to worry about Derek beating him up—I’ll do it myself.

She looks up and a leftover tear rolls down her face. She doesn’t bother to wipe it away. “I’m…Wren, I have to…” She swallows and I force myself to swallow too. I’m pretty sure I know what’s coming. “I’m sorry Wren. I have to quit the play.”

Yep. It hurt just as bad as I thought it would to hear her say those words. “Why?”

Gwen hesitates to answer and I glance at Blake. He doesn’t notice though… he’s staring at Derek. “She’s leaving school,” Blake says, lifting an eyebrow as if to challenge Derek. I don’t pay attention to their stupid staring match. All I care about is the trembling crying girl in front of me.

“Gwen, what happened? Why are you leaving school?”

Her hand touches her stomach. “I’m pregnant, Wren. I’ve known it for a while.”

Derek stiffens behind me. He isn’t touching me, but I can feel his emotions emanating off him. He’s angry, but not at her. “You aren’t that far along,” he says, looking at her stomach. “Why can’t you stay one last week and do the play?”

She shakes her head. “That’s what I was going to do. My parents just found out and they pulled me from school today. We’re moving back to my grandparent’s ranch and I’m going to be homeschooled.”

“Oh god,” I mutter under my breath. She bursts into tears again.

My heart breaks for Gwen and I throw my arms around her in a hug. Her frail body feels cold against my skin. She sucks in a breath. “I’m sorry, Wren. I really am.”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do without you,” I say as I hug her tightly.

“We’ll be fine,” Derek says, shuffling next to me. “Wren will make an awesome understudy. Don’t worry about us. You just take care of yourself.”

“You don’t need to worry about her wellbeing.” Blake sneers. “She’s my girl and I’m going to take care of her.”

Derek’s voice turns to ice. “Like how you took care of that fucking bruise on her arm?”

“You got something to say me?” Blake bellows, nearly knocking Gwen out of the way.

“Guys!” I try stepping between them but Gwen grabs my arm so I yell at them from the sidelines. “Stop it! Derek, go backstage.”

“No,” he says, standing to his full height. “I’m not going anywhere. Gwen you can stay here if you feel safer. We’ll drive you home.”

“Derek—” I don’t even know what I’m going to say. I don’t even want to be in this situation but I’m the director and the responsibility falls to me. “Derek just stop. Blake can take care of her.”

“I’m just trying to help,” Derek says. His eyes flicker with anger and pain at the same time.

“Yeah well you’re not helping,” I snap, letting all my pent up frustration about his secrecy come out in full force bitch mode. “All you do is ruin things.”

“Let’s go,” Blake says, wrapping his arm around Gwen. “She just wanted to say goodbye. She doesn’t need all this fucking drama.”

They turn to leave, Gwen looking like she’d rather be anywhere but walking away. I hold out my arm, pressing my palm against Derek’s stomach as a way to deter him from making any more of a scene. For a moment, it almost feels like I’m touching my old friend. The guy I spent so many evenings hanging out with, laughing together like we were soul mates who just didn’t know it yet.

But then I look at him and he looks at me like he doesn’t even know who I am. I pull my hand back quickly.

We watch them walk a few steps and then Gwen stops, grabbing her boyfriend’s hand. “Can I say goodbye to Wren for a second? I just remembered something about the play that I need to tell her.”

She dashes down the aisle and gives me a hug. In my ear she whispers, “Tell Ricky I’m sorry. Tell him I love him.”

All I can do is nod and then watch her walk out of the auditorium and ultimately, out of the play. Gwen Summers is no longer the lead role in LOVE & SUICIDE.

I am.

The energetic, muscular ab king on my television tells me what a great job I’m doing as I bang out the last three crunches on my 20 Minute Abs workout. I’ve lost track of how many days it’s been since I started this challenge of getting ripped abs in just thirty days. It’s been longer than a month and I’m still not bikini-worthy. Guess all that pizza with Derek didn’t help much.

My long, hot shower doesn’t help me shove Derek out of my mind. But I’ll have to if I want to get through the next four days of rehearsal until opening night. I had spent all night hoping to get a call from Gwen telling me that this was all one big mean prank on me and that she’s still going to be in the play. But by four-thirty in the morning, I had to accept the fact that it wasn’t a prank. Life can be cruel and unusual sometimes.

Mom drinks coffee in the kitchen and offers me some toast when I emerge, still towel drying my hair. I grab a couple slices of her homemade bread and throw them in the toaster, telling her I’ll have to take breakfast to go today.

“Why the rush?” she asks.

I spread a layer of butter across the toast and wrap them in a paper towel to eat in the car ride to the school. “I’m getting there early to figure out what I’m going to do with Mary.”

“Who’s Mary? A friend of yours?”

I shake my head as I run around, tossing the wet hair towel and grabbing my backpack. “Mary was Margot and then she was me, and now she’s nobody.” Mom’s eyebrows flatten in confusion. Guess she hasn’t had enough coffee yet. “Mary is a character in the play with a small role, but now I have no one to fill the spot.”

Mom nods and gives me a coy smile. “Maybe your aunt can help you out with that today.”

I snort. “Aunt Barlow won’t help me with anything. I’ve already tried.”

Mom sips her coffee and smiles at me over the rim of her cup. “You didn’t hear this from me, but someone went to the principal and begged for their job back yesterday.”

“
What
!” I beam with excitement and Mom shushes me, nodding toward the garage where Aunt Barlow could come inside at any moment. “You didn’t hear it from me!” she whispers and then shoos me off to school.

A wave of relief floods over me as I drive to the high school and eat my now soggy toast. The play is Aunt Barlow’s problem now. I can’t wait until first period theater arts class so I can hand her the director reigns. I still have to act in the play as Gretchen, but I finally have my lines memorized and, after all, being the lead in the play was my plan in the first place. Now, after a two month train wreck, I’m finally back to square one.

Mrs. Buchanan sits at the teacher’s desk in first period theater arts class, reading a knitting magazine. She must not have gotten the memo that Ms. Barlow is returning to teach. I take my spot at the desk in the back row next to Greg and notice that the walls are still empty. Dust collects on the sticky residue left over from the tape that used to hold Ms. Barlow’s acting posters.

We make it through the entire period with no sign of my aunt returning to work. Everyone in class shoves back the desks and rehearses the play in front of the classroom as usual. I fill in for Gwen and Mary, but it’s obvious I can’t do both roles on stage because the two characters talk to each other.

Even though it shouldn’t be my job anymore once my aunt finally returns, I dig through the old paperwork she left behind and find a list of people who auditioned for the play. I’m hoping someone who didn’t make the cut will still be available to take over Mary’s role. There’s only four days until opening day, but that’s enough time to memorize the lines.

One girl on the rejected list catches my eye. Maggie from my AP English.

I grab an extra script and highlight Mary’s lines. After class, I dash into the hallways and scan the crowds of students hoping to find her before next period starts. The longer she has to read over her lines, the better. I’m about to give up on my search when a flock of bright red hair catches my eye. Ms. Barlow stands in the English hallway, just outside of a classroom door, smiling at students as they walk by.

I march up to her with a quizzical look. “Hey…”

Her eyes widen as if she hasn’t seen me in ages. “Wren, darling, how are you?”

I am so not in the mood to play her games. “Why weren’t you in class this morning?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about. I most definitely was in class this morning. I taught about Shakespeare.”

I glance into the classroom she’s standing next to, and sure enough, her director’s chair sits in the front near the whiteboard. “You’re teaching English now? What about theater?”

She laughs. “Why would I teach those ungrateful brats when I can teach English students instead? I don’t understand why you’re making that face at me, Wren. You’re the one who thinks English is much more important than theater.” The two minute warning bell rings and she swoops into her classroom door, waving a hand at me as if she were a beauty queen on a parade float. “Better get to class, dear. Who knows, maybe someone will ask me to write them a recommendation letter now that I’m a ‘real’ teacher.”

Fury and hatred swell up in my chest as I walk to second period. What kind of teacher quits in the middle of the school year and then comes back to teach something else? How did the principal even allow this? And why do I have such terrible freaking luck?