Addison Blakely: Confessions of A PK (23 page)

I didn’t think.

“Did he end things with Sonya for you?”

I nodded, still somewhat surprised it’d been that easy to win Wes over. I hadn’t even really tried. I’d just been there, listened, hung around. Thrown his sarcasm back in his face. Maybe that’s what Wes needed—someone to keep him on the up-and-up. Not someone like Sonya, who would only drag him down into what he didn’t need to be anymore. I could change him. I’d do it and prove it to Marta and my dad and everyone else who thought Wes was just a brooding rebel. I’d show them all.

That is, if he actually called me. Why hadn’t he just said “okay” when I asked if he would, and then I’d know? Or maybe I shouldn’t have even asked. Was that considered clingy and annoying? Man, dating was hard. I almost missed my books.

Marta slurped the end of her drink then tried to shove her straw through the ice in her cup. “I just hope you know what you are doing.”

“I’m not doing anything other than trying to date a nice guy. A guy who needs a good influence.”

Marta’s brow twitched, but to her credit, she didn’t argue. “You know, Luke is also a pretty nice guy. And his wardrobe actually involves cotton and jersey knit.”

I threw a fry at her and laughed. “You can have Luke and his cotton T-shirts all you want. They don’t do anything for me.”

Marta propped one elbow on the table, resting her chin in her hands. “Not that he’d look away from you long enough to see me anyway.”

“Give him time. I’m not that hard to get over, trust me.” I rolled my eyes as I searched for the last fry in my bag. I shouldn’t have thrown away the other one. “Or hey, just use your turquoise belt to catch his attention. It practically glows in the dark.”

“You are just so hilarious.” Marta flung her wadded-up straw paper at me, and I caught it and tossed it back as she giggled and ducked beneath the table. “Maybe I should enter the talent show after all. How to make ugly clothes look good.”

“You’d make the top ten for sure.” I grinned at her, glad our friendship had survived the disagreement. Once again the differences between Marta and Claire struck me like a sledgehammer. Marta spoke honestly from her heart and invited discussion. Claire always insisted on winning every argument and forcing the issue until you just gave up from sheer exhaustion. She’d actually make a great lawyer. Maybe that should have been her talent instead of fashion.

“When’s our next practice, anyway?” Marta pulled her phone from her purse and hit a few keys to access her calendar.

“Tomorrow. Which reminds me, I need to get that ad copy to Debra at the Foundation for the newsletter.” I groaned. “I can’t believe we only have a few weeks until showtime.”

No telling what Mrs. Lyons would have me do next. I’d have to draw the line in the assistant sand eventually. Like if she asked me to give her a pedicure or told me to clean the boys’ bathroom.

“I just hope our advertising pays off for the Let Them Read Foundation.” Marta slipped her phone back into her purse. “This could end up making a real difference for some kids—assuming everyone gets their act together to make this show something more than a joke.”

No kidding. “I hope so, too.” I helped gather the trash onto our tray and then carried it to the garbage can by the door. Man, did I hope. I hoped the talent show was a success. I hoped I wouldn’t find Claire puking in the bathroom again tomorrow. I hoped Mrs. Lyons didn’t get sent to the ER for high blood pressure the night of the dress rehearsal.

Most of all, I just hoped Wes would actually call me.

T
his is for a good cause!
Do you people not even care?

Have you no respect?”

I winced at the frustration in Marta’s rising voice and stood, dropping my clipboard on the stage as I hurried around the heavy velvet curtain. Where was she—and more importantly, why was she yelling about pride and commitment? I stopped short stage left, where Marta actually stood on a cardboard box, hands on her hips as she lectured those poor souls brave enough to stick around and listen.

“This is your school. And if that doesn’t make you care, then what about the fact that all the funds received from this show are going to help kids learn how to read?” Marta pointed her finger at Jessica’s face, and to her credit, the girl didn’t even flinch. “You are supposed to be one of the strongest singers here, but instead of helping someone else, all you do is sing in front of the mirror. It is pathetic.”

Oh boy. She’d lost it. “Uh, Marta?” I tugged at her sleeve, but she batted me off. I glared at her, wishing I had the whistle Mrs. Lyons had stolen last week from Coach Thompson. That thing performed miracles when it came to redirecting attention.

“And you.” She swung her finger around to point at Tripp, who stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the wall by the electrical outlet. “You’re the best dancer here. Why aren’t you getting your team ready? Don’t think I didn’t see Michael’s last rehearsal. Your boys have a long way to go before opening night.”

Tripp straightened and opened his mouth to protest, but Marta wasn’t done. “You should all be helping each other, working together to put on a quality performance. Yet all you’re doing is parading around like every act is a solo act, and worse than that, leaving all the hard work to Addison and Mrs. Lyons. Guess what? This is a group project. You might flaunt your specific talent during your time slot, but the final product represents this entire school. You should all be helping make it the best it can be.” She crossed her arms over her chest, and I saw a hint of turquoise belt peeking from beneath the hem of her shirt. “You are all ridiculous.”

“Okay, show’s over, everyone.” I grabbed Marta’s arm and pulled her from her literal soapbox. “Back to rehearsal.”

The majority of the group eagerly dispersed, but Tripp lingered. “Hey, uh, Addison? Is there anything you need me to do before my time spot?”

I stared, my mouth open in what I’m sure was a totally unattractive way. Tripp Larson? Asking to help? After getting railed publicly by a foreign-exchange student? I glanced at Marta. “I think that belt has superpowers.”

Marta nudged me, and I turned back to Tripp. “Uh, I mean, yes. That’d be great. Just ask Mrs. Lyons what was next on my list and have at it.”

Tripp nodded, and I quickly called him back. “I didn’t check this off yet, but I already scanned the copy for the Foundation’s advertising. I’ll be e-mailing that in to the representative tonight, so don’t do that part.”

He just lifted one hand in acknowledgment and swaggeredaway. Even his walk had rhythm. Then you had guys like Michael…. I sighed. One miracle that afternoon was enough. I couldn’t be greedy and ask for two.

“What’s wrong with you? And by the way, your accent gets thicker when you’re mad.” I took Marta’s elbow and steered her away from the few students who still lingered by the curtain. Some shot her curious glances, but none of the stares carried disdain or anger like I expected.

“Just like I said.” Marta cocked her hip to one side, her eyes blazing. “Everyone is acting like a bunch of babies, and I’m tired of it. We—
you
especially—are being worked to death for something you didn’t even mean to sign up for. While everyone else jokes their way through rehearsal and expects the final product to magically come together with zero effort. If the town shows up for this, it’s going to be, what do you call it? A gigglestock?”

I snorted. “Laughingstock.”

“It’ll be even worse than that.” Marta let out a loud huff. “Then they’ll demand their money back or refuse to come next year. Or worse, the school will decide it wasn’t worth it, and there will be no more fund-raisers.”

“Don’t think I’m not grateful. That was downright impressive.” I pointed after Tripp. “But seriously, why do you care so much? You won’t even be here next year.”

Marta’s crossed arms dropped to her sides in defeat. “This just isn’t what I’m used to. Students in Europe are a lot more universally oriented. They aren’t so selfish.” She grinned when I raised my eyebrow in disbelief. “Really. They’re still teenagers, and they’re still divas at times, but they think outside the box.”

“I guess I can see that.” It didn’t take a prescription lens to notice our small-town school wasn’t nearly interested enough in worldwide events—or even local charities. Other schools played the morning news in homeroom and discussed current events. We threw spitballs.

Marta brushed her blond hair back from her face and shrugged. “I guess I’m realizing how quickly my year here is going by, and I’d hoped to leave a little of this mind-set when I went home.” She wrinkled her nose. “I do not want the only thing I leave behind to be this belt.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re amazing.” I gave Marta an impromptu hug. “Don’t think for a minute you haven’t done something worthwhile. Just take exhibit A.” I stepped back and held out my arms in a wide gesture. “A year ago—no, six months ago—I would have never even considered organizing a fund-raiser or helping direct a school production. And look at me! Coerced, but still kicking.” I grinned, and Marta finally smiled back.

“Maybe you are right.”

“I’m always right.” I nudged her with my elbow. “Now come on, Miss Do-Gooder. Let’s see if we can tackle the rest of my clipboard tasks together—assuming Tripp wasn’t so motivated by your freak-out back there that he finished the list by himself.”

Marta linked her arm through mine as we made our way across the stage to snag my clipboard. “Ja, wouldn’t that be something?”

I stopped short. “Speaking of clipboard tasks, I need to make myself a note so I won’t forget to e-mail Debra the ad copy for their newsletter. We really need that free advertising. It’ll be sent to a bunch of local businesses in Crooked Hollow and the outskirts of town.”

“Every little bit will help,” Marta agreed. She waited as I pulled up my settings on my phone and began making a notation for a reminder when a familiar voiced sounded from the wings. “Nice set.”

Another familiar yet female voice echoed the sentiment. “I agree. Beautiful backdrop. This is really coming together.”

No. No.
No
. My fingers froze over the keys on my cell. Marta’s soapbox presentation must have gone to my brain. Surely I was imagining things. Surely that wasn’t my—

Dad stepped out of the wings, Ms. Hawthorne close on his heels. They smiled when they saw me, though Ms. Hawthorne’s grin looked more like an apologetic grimace. A rush of heat flooded my body, and I gripped my phone so hard my knuckles turned white. A spasm of pain bit into my wrist, but I clenched even harder. Better my hands than my teeth.

“Addison, there you are!” Dad practically beamed, as if he’d made a unique discovery. Like
I
was the one out of place in this cozy little scenario.

“What are you doing here?” The words hissed from my lips, and I wished the stage would open up and swallow me whole. I wasn’t even in the show, yet this auditorium was about to witness a drama like it’d never seen if my dad didn’t exit stage left.
Now
.

“I came to follow Kathy to the mechanic. She’s getting her car worked on, so I offered to give her a ride home.” Dad shrugged like this made perfect sense.

He couldn’t have just met her at the garage instead and spared me this moment? My mouth opened, but words refused to come out. I gaped like the pet goldfish I used to have in elementary school. Bubbles. I sort of wished I could join Bubbles in the ground under the backyard oak tree right about now.

Dad stopped in the middle of the stage and leaned closer to the backdrop for a better glimpse. “Looks like the show is shaping up nicely.”

A sudden amused snort from behind garnered my attention.

Claire stood behind me, waiting her turn to go onstage, her arms loaded with clothes. A satisfied smirk danced across her expression, amusement highlighting her eyes. “Wow, Addison. Is your dad going to stick around to help Mr. Adger with his car, too? Or does he only chauffer pretty English teachers?”

If I hadn’t still been paralyzed with shock, I’d have slapped her with my clipboard.

Ms. Hawthorne gently tugged at my dad’s arm. “I think we should let the kids get back to rehearsal.” She pulled harder at my father’s reluctance to follow, mouthing “I’m so sorry” to me over his shoulder.

“David, the mechanic will close in fifteen minutes.” I recognized the desperate plea in Ms. Hawthorne’s voice, and I realized with a start she was on my side. Just like in Got Beans.

“Oh, right. Let’s get going, then.” He lifted his hand in a wave as they traipsed down the stairs to the auditorium floor. At least he didn’t try to hug me. “See you for dinner, Addison. Kathy’s staying for meat loaf.”

Just get him out, get him out
. The stage dipped and bobbed, and I closed my eyes briefly against the flux of dizziness as another wave of mortifying heat washed over my body. The only way this situation could get worse is if I actually fainted. Wouldn’t that be just the icing on this cake of nightmares? I inhaled deeply through my nose and let it out slowly through my mouth. Wasn’t working.

Staying for meat loaf
. There were so many things wrong with that sentence I wasn’t even sure where to start. I just nodded weakly, leaning against Marta’s supporting arm as my dad and my English teacher marched up the center aisle together.