Addison Blakely: Confessions of A PK (6 page)

For once I could honestly say I wasn’t in the mood for Shakespeare. But in English class, we were reading various scenes from
Hamlet
, having thankfully finished
Romeo and Juliet
before Austin got any more twisted ideas about love. In his case love was a four-letter word—one that more accurately spelled L-U-S-T.

“You okay?” Luke whispered across the aisle.

I gave him a quick nod before pointing at my textbook and holding my finger in front of my mouth. Ms. Hawthorne might have been forgiving once, but I wasn’t one to test a teacher’s limits. I’d had about as much conflict today as I could handle. The memory of Claire’s shock still rang in my head, and I couldn’t help but smile. She’d always tried to get me to be more aggressive. Guess she just didn’t mean toward her.

“You seem sort of dazed.” Luke obviously didn’t get my hint. Apparently one verbal save from an overly testosteroned football player, and Luke now considered himself my best buddy. I guess there were worse things in life, though—he seemed nice enough. Besides, my list of friends seemed to be shrinking drastically.

“Just had some drama with a friend before class. You know how high schoolers can be.”

He snorted back a laugh, and Ms. Hawthorne looked up from her desk. Luke quickly turned the chuckle into a cough, and Austin “helped” by jumping up and pounding him on the back—with much more force than necessary. They exchanged hard glances, and for a minute I wondered if this incident would turn into a full-blown fight.

Ms. Hawthorne stood behind her desk. “Everything all right back there, boys?”

I couldn’t help but smile at her choice of the word
boys
instead of
guys
or
men
. She called it as she saw it.

They offered mumbled replies before Austin returned to his seat.

“Austin, if someone is coughing, they aren’t choking.” Ms.

Hawthorne leveled him with a warning gaze as if she knew exactly what he’d been doing, and then she sat back down. “Back to
Hamlet
, everyone. Act five.”

I fought the urge to look over at Luke, knowing I’d laugh if I did. But Hamlet blurred on the pages before me, and I sneaked a peek at my former rescuer. He shrugged. “We’ll talk later,” he mouthed.

Austin must have seen him speak to me because he tapped the back of my chair with his foot. Jealous dork. I couldn’t respond without risking Ms. Hawthorne’s attention again, so I ignored the thumping and went back to reading. But
Hamlet
wasn’t exactly a pick-me-up sort of play. Thankfully Claire wasn’t in this class with me, or I had a feeling we’d create our own act 6.

The bell rang, and I shut my book with a grateful snap. “Addison, if you please?” Ms. Hawthorne gestured me forward to her desk. I groaned, the sound thankfully lost in the shuffle of everyone packing up their books and exiting the room. She needed to see me
again?
At least this time it wasn’t in front of everyone.

I carried my textbook to the front of the room. “Yes, ma’am?” No small talk today. She was nice enough, but bonding with teachers wasn’t my thing. I wanted the good grades, but a suck-up I was not. I liked earning my way.

My gaze dropped to the floor. Even if Ms. Hawthorne was wearing really cute black leather boots.

“I was hoping your parents were coming to the open house next Friday evening.” She looked up at me from her seated position, her hands folded together over her grade book.

Now what had I done? My mouth dried. “Um—”

“You’re not in trouble, don’t worry.” Ms. Hawthorne smiled. “I’m just eager to meet them. It’s not often I get a student with your scholarly reputation in my class.”

Sad that since I didn’t get in regular trouble and enjoyed making As, I was considered an oddity worthy of parental meeting. What’d she want to do? Shake my dad’s hand on a daughter well done? Thank him for raising me better than the herd of buffoons who didn’t care about their future or college?

I forced a smile in return, suddenly realizing I’d been staring at her in silence. “I think my dad will be here.” I actually hadn’t even planned on telling him, but I supposed now I didn’t have much choice.

“Wonderful.” Ms. Hawthorne stood up, effectively dismissing me. “I look forward to meeting him.”

Grateful she didn’t ask me about my mom, I just nodded and slipped out the door.

I eased into the second row of desks in my Spanish II class, surprised to see Marta occupying the seat on the aisle. Finally, a chance to thank her in person since our impromptu meeting at the library last Friday.

“Tausend Dank.”
I slid into the desk beside her and grinned at her delighted expression. Her face lit up like the church congregation’s did at the close of a budget meeting.

“Bitte!
You’re welcome. And you’ve been practicing.” She tucked her hair behind her ears. “Dare I ask if you’ve learned more?”

“It was the least I could do to say thanks, after you helped me in the library. Your idea was great. I think my project will get an A.” I set my backpack at my feet. “I’m so relieved.”

“Did your friend find you? Claire, was it?” Marta leaned forward in her desk, blue eyes attentive.

I shook my head. “That’s a long, bad story.”

“I’m so sorry.” She looked as if she actually meant it,despite barely knowing me.

“No biggie.” I shrugged. “Hey, I don’t remember seeing you in this class before.” Not that I’d been paying much attention to anything other than my pathetic attempts at learning a new language I hadn’t practiced all summer. Foreign languages didn’t come easily to me. In fact, I refused to admit how long it took me to get the pronunciation right for that German thank-you.

“I usually sit in the back. But I did miss the first few classes because of meetings with the principal and different teachers. Apparently exchange students are more of a headache on paperwork than plain ol’ Americans.” Marta rolled her eyes but smiled as if she were getting used to the drama.

“So this will be your third language?”

“Fourth.” Marta ticked off the names on her fingers. “German, English, Spanish, and French. I’m not fluent in French yet, but I know enough to get by.”

“That’s impressive.” She must’ve been crazy smart—and patient. I had the brains and the discipline to become fluent, I knew I did, but I tended to get distracted by other interests. Hard to want to learn a new language when there were plenty of classic books waiting to be read in English first.

“What can I say? I like to be well versed.” She grinned. “Besides, it gives me an excuse to beg my father to send me to a Spanish-speaking country next.”

Nice. I opened my mouth to reply, but Señora Martinez stepped in front of her desk at the front of the room and called the class to order.
“Atención
, atención.” She clapped her hands, a significant feat seeing how she wore a giant ring on almost every one of her fingers. Her bangle bracelets jangled as she held up a colored flyer—the same one that had been on Claire’s locker last week. “The annual school talent show will be held the week before Thanksgiving break. It’s time to start signing up.”

Half the class groaned while the other half cheered. I just stayed silent and sighed inwardly. Nothing personal, but talent shows were for girls like Jessica Daily, who’d already auditioned for
American Idol
, or for guys like Tripp Larson, who could dance better than even a video-edited Usher. If I sang, it was in the shower, and even then I worried about offending my bar of soap—and dancing, well … if I had trouble just walking in a straight line sometimes, it should be obvious that rhythm wasn’t my strong suit.

Marta raised her hand, but Jessica slipped her tanned arm in the air first. At Señora Martinez’s nod, she lowered her arm. “Do we have to audition? Or does everyone who wants to perform get to perform?” I could tell she wasn’t worried about passing an audition so much as sharing the stage with those less worthy.

“It depends on the turnout,” Señora said. She perched on the edge of her desk, her flowing blue cape settling around her legs. Did she really dress in Spanish garb 24-7, or was it just part of her role as teacher? Because honestly, I could probably learn Spanish better from someone in jeans.

Señora tapped the flyer. “There are thirty time slots available on Wednesday. If more people show up for the audition, they’ll go ahead with tryouts. If not, those who want the slots will get them.”

“Not a problem.” Jessica flashed her pearly teeth, and I wondered not for the first time this year how often she Crest white-stripped.

“Marta, you had a question as well?” Señora Martinez pointed at Marta.

She nodded. “I was curious what the proceeds from the show went toward.”

“Proceeds?” Señora frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Proceeds from ticket sales, refreshment sales …” Marta’s voice trailed off, and she threw me a confused look. Sadly, there was no language barrier here, just plain lack of caring from the people involved.

I leaned over and whispered, “Usually any money earned just gets thrown into the school’s general fund or the drama department. It’s always more for performance than for a good cause.” More accurately, a way for the popular to grow more popular and the ridiculed to become more ridiculed, but that was a point to share another time.

“Doch!
That’s such a waste.” Unfortunately, Marta didn’t whisper, and now the entire class was all ears. She realized the attention and stood formally to her feet. “Why not charge extra this year and find a good cause to donate funds? That’s what we do in Stuttgart. European teenagers are much more involved with their communities and beyond than what I’ve seen here. I think we should change that.”

Señora crossed her arms over her chest and nodded thoughtfully. “Marta, that’s a wonderful idea. I’ll bring it up to the principal and the school board at our next meeting. I don’t see why they would object.”

Um, I could—because someone would have to be in charge of picking a good cause, researching it, adding that tidbit of information to the flyers and other means of advertising, helping promote in new ways so we’d actually bring in some decent proceeds, rallying the students to actually care enough to put on a quality performance, and keeping up with the funds raised, as well as getting the money to the charity afterward. Somehow I didn’t see any of the staff willing to go to all that trouble without personal or direct school benefit.

I raised my arm to explain the hazards involved, although I hated to contradict Marta. It
was
a good idea. But there would be a lot involved that could backfire on her later.

“Addison, excellent!” Señora clapped her hands with excitement, bangles dancing. “You’ll make a perfect leader for this. Thanks for volunteering.”

My arm slipped back down to my lap, suddenly numb, as Marta enthusiastically patted my back.

What just happened?

S
till lingering in my post-volunteer shock even as the bell rang an hour later, I shuffled into the hallway with the throng of fellow escaping students.
Though there was no escaping this particular mess I’d made.

Marta stuck close to my side in the crowd. “I’m so excited you’re going to organize this fund-raiser.” Her gentle voice lilted higher as she leaned in to be heard over the slamming of lockers around us. “This will be wonderful.”

I stopped at my own locker and just stared, not even sure which class I had next, much less what book I needed. What had I gotten myself into? I replayed the last hour in my mind and tried to figure out what had gone so terribly wrong. Apparently I missed a step—a pretty crucial one—sometime between when Señora Martinez mentioned Marta’s idea was a good one and when I raised my hand to argue. Well, maybe not argue. More like inform. A now moot point as I was suddenly a hero—at least in Marta’s eyes. I bet the rest of the class could not care less about my volunteering—or worse yet, maybe they realized my blunder from the expression that had surely been on my face and were laughing at me.

Marta continued as if I hadn’t totally spaced out. “I’d be happy to help you. I know this is a big task.”

I couldn’t help but smile at her more formal manner of speech. Is that how I would sound if I ever became fluent in Spanish? Not that there was any danger of that happening soon. Yet another moot point. “I don’t even know where to start,” I finally said. Oh yes, math was next. Great. This day just kept getting better. I swapped out my books in my locker.

Marta’s head tilted to one side as if the answer were obvious. “First, you should choose a charity or good cause to contribute the funds to and get the charity approved by the principal.”

“You say that like it’s so simple,” I argued. “There are a zillion good causes out there. How can I narrow it down?” And if I did, how would I choose something anyone would care enough about to promote or invest in? Something relevant that would appeal not only to the students but more importantly, to their parents and families and to the community. They were the ones needing to be convinced to purchase tickets to our petty little performance in the first place. Despite what Jessica Daily thought, not everyone in the world really wanted to hear her sing.