Colors (20 page)

“I don’t care.” I turn away. I just want her to leave.

“Don’t care?” Aunt Jenny’s voice rises. Now I’m in for it. “Don’t care?” She tugs at my shoulder, forcing me to turn toward her, and then she sits on the edge of the bed. “You’ve never missed a rehearsal. Ever. That in itself tells me there is something wrong here.”

I don’t say a word. She is getting too close to reaching me with her words. I resolve to remain silent.

“What happens if Scott hears about this? Do you think he will like this new attitude of yours?”

Scott Scheer. Zane. My
little secret
.

So what if Scott finds out? I’m tired of dealing with this.

Then a tsunami of nausea. I fight to hold it back. I flash back to my MTM audition.
Now, now, now, none of that
Mr.
stuff. I’m Scott
…. I instantly liked Scott Scheer. I can’t let him down.

Slowly, almost painfully, I sit up in bed.

“Now, that’s the Neil I know.” Her tone instantly changed, Aunt Jenny brushes the hair off my forehead. “If you hurry, you can make second period.”

I know I have to get to school. No matter what has happened, I can’t let the cast and Mr. Novak down. Most importantly, I
cannot
let Scott Scheer down.

But I have some thinking to do.

“I have to work out first. I missed yesterday. I can’t miss two days in a row.”

“You have to get there by the end of third,” she reminds me. “You want to get counted for the whole day.” She stands up.

“Okay,
Mom.
” I roll my eyes. Surly. Sarcastic. “Have you memorized the whole school handbook, or just parts?”

“Watch it, Buster,” Aunt Jenny admonishes, with a smile that says
I’m not taking the bait.

I glower at her.

She glowers back.

I just stare.

“That’s it.” She claps her hands together. “Get dressed. I’ll give you ten minutes.”

Go away, go away… go away, go away, go away.
I use my best powers of mental telepathy.

But she just stands there. Her motherly feet planted.

Well, that didn’t work.

She smiles again at me.

I should have known the nasty me wouldn’t work. I’m a good actor, but even I can’t pull off nasty when it comes to dealing with Aunt Jenny.

Okay—it’s time for the old charm. “Please? I have to work out. I won’t have time this afternoon.” I give her Melissa’s
puppy dog eyes
. A good actor stores up everything for future use.

It works. She is putty in my hands.

“Make it a short one. Remember, if they don’t count you there a full day, you can’t go to rehearsal this afternoon.”

Aunt Jenny walks to the door.

I hope Zane’s as easy to get rid of.

She turns. “Tell me again why you’re so pressed for time this afternoon?”

“The rally is this weekend, remember?” I frown at her. She should have remembered. Then I cut her some slack. After all, she fell for my act, so instead of being annoyed at her, I should be feeling guilty.

“Oh, yeah.” Aunt Jenny hits her forehead with the butt of her palm. “I’ll forget to attend my own funeral. What time’s the show tonight?”

“It’s a
service
, not a show,” I correct her. Being short with her is a perfect way to deflect my own guilt.

“Yeah, yeah,” she says, “it’s all show biz to me. So, tell me, what time do I need to be camped in front of the idiot box?”

“The program starts at 7:30.” I reach for my workout shirt, pull it on. “It’s on Channel 466 on cable.”

“Not exactly NBC, now, is it?” She thinks she’s a comedian.

“No, it’s not.” Shirt’s on. Now if she’ll leave, I can switch my pajama bottoms for my shorts. And work up a guilt-washing sweat. “It’s all Christian, all the time.” I hope she doesn’t detect the annoyance in my voice. Am I annoyed at her for delaying me or at me for making such a big deal out of a minor Christian TV thing? “But it’s national exposure.”

“Yeah,” she says. “The three people who watch it come from all parts of the country.”

Aunt Jenny whoops at that one.

I glare at her. I don’t need her here right now. Not her feeble Kathy Griffin attempt, nor her blocking my workout start.

“Well,
excu-u-u-u-use
me.” She draws out the second word, then laughs.

I just look at her.

“It’s a joke. An old comedian used to say it that way.” So much for thinking she’d know a
new
comedian. I still don’t respond. She’s really pissing me off. Why won’t she get out of here? “Before your time.
Way
before your time.” I continue my withering stare. But she’s not buying it. Instead of leaving, she collapses into my desk chair. “I need to rest my bones. Am I that old?” She drops her head into her hands. If you live with an actor, sooner or later, it rubs off, I guess.

I turn on the charm again, walking over to her and patting her on the back. “Now, now, Granny. Do you need your walker to get to the TV room tonight?”

She swats me. “Shoo.” She waves me away. “Land’s sake, young’un, I can make it to t’other room without help.”

“Well, then, I reckon you’d better skedaddle, ma’am, so I can git on with this here workout,” I drawl.

“Git on with y’self, boy, but you call me on that thar newfangled tellyphone you keep in your pocket, y’ hear?” She drops the accent. “I want to know how rehearsal went.” But then she starts up again, “Since I pay for that thar goldarned newfangled contraption, ya might as well use it to send me a smoke signal.”

Aunt Jenny leaves the room, chuckling at herself.

Thank God.

As I tie my shoes, a feeling of dread once again envelops me, erasing the tiny bit of joy Aunt Jenny’s old lady act had brought.

If I play my cards right, I won’t have to see Zane until rehearsal.

M
Y
PEN
makes circles, stars, lightning bolts all around the notes I’ve copied into my notebook from the board. I can’t stop doodling. My nerves are alive, right at the edge, ready to burst. It’s the last period of the day, and Miss Coit is summing up a long and very dry lecture. Not a single word has registered. With Coit’s lectures, you need a roadmap, but with the mood I’m in, even Google Maps wouldn’t help me follow her train of thought. My mind races with
Zane
.

I had managed to duck Zane all day. I got to school just before fourth period, and then I spent lunchtime in the library.

I’d missed Show Choir. How I was going to explain that to Ms. Walter was anybody’s guess. I’d have to use those acting skills again. I’m becoming quite the good liar, apparently.

On my way to fifth period class, Melissa had grabbed me in the hall. “Where were you this morning?” she chirped. But she must have not cared, because she continued without a pause, bubbling on and on about the rally. I felt dirty somehow in her presence. Especially, when I saw Zane across the hall, eyeing us. Luckily, I’d managed to duck them both for the rest of my short day.

Why did Zane have to mess everything up?

“Isn’t that right, Mr. Darrien?” Miss Coit is helicoptering over my desk, glaring at me.

I jerk back to reality.

“Could you repeat that, Miss?”

“Just what I thought,” Coit intones. “You need to….” The dismissal bell cuts her off. The class scurries to leave, almost knocking the teacher down. She sighs and walks back to her desk.

I gather my books, pens, notebook, and stuff them in my backpack, trying to retreat quickly and safely.

Then I hear her: “Mr. Darrien, I need a word with you.”

Uh-oh, this doesn’t sound good. I had a plan. I’d get to rehearsal just in time to do the scene, then split right after. I’d tell Novak I’m sick. But now I may not even get there on time.

I walk to Miss Coit’s desk. The walking dead.

“Mr. Darrien,” she begins. It’s going to be one of her award-winning lectures. And does she have no idea everyone talks behind her back because she uses our last names to call us out? It’s creepy. She’s the only teacher who does that. Like we’re in some exclusive English prep school.

Miss Coit proceeds to spend the next ten minutes giving me noise about my not paying attention in class. She alternates between her stern, Wicked Witch of the East voice and her concerned, Glinda the Good Witch voice. I don’t know which is worse. I figured her out long ago. Neither character fits her. She really is somewhere in between. One minute she loves us, next minute she hates us. It might work for her if she could actually learn to teach.

Finally, she finishes and shoos me out of the room. “Dismissed, Mr. Darrien.”

Now, I’m definitely late for rehearsal. The quickest way to the auditorium is through the foyer. I have to chance it.

I’ll keep my eyes straight ahead, sing to myself. The score of
Annie Get Your Gun
always distracts me…
anything you can do, I can do better
….

As I enter the expanse, I focus on the opposite hallway, trying to avoid the colors dappling the floor. One thing is good about being late. I won’t run into Zane. Zane is never late, after that first audition day.

I’m starting the second phrase of the song when a voice stops me. “Neil, wait up.”

Thank God it’s only Melissa. Not Zane.

But, still, I can’t be trapped in this room with the
colors
. I ignore her, walk faster.

Pattering footsteps race up behind me.

She pulls my elbow and jerks me around. “Didn’t you hear me calling you? I yelled all the way from the hallway. I know you could hear me. What? Are you avoiding me for some reason?” Her face is dark, angry.

I don’t need her right now. I stare into her eyes, focusing on her and her alone.

Before I can talk, she goes off again, “I don’t get it, Neil. Why were you trying to duck out on me?”

Someone drops a book behind me. My eyes dart past Melissa’s shoulders. A glimpse.
Red. Blue….

No. Concentrate. Answer her. Don’t think.

“Chill, Melissa. I’m late for rehearsal. I had my mind on that and that alone.”

I gaze into her eyes. Yes, to placate her. And yes, to redirect from the colors.

It works. She smiles, and my nerves calm a bit.

“Don’t forget. We have to be at the arena by 6:30. Kenny said he would have the robes brought over for us.”

“Sure,” I answer, wanting to get away, out of this hellhole.

The colors are spotting Melissa’s white blouse now. The sun must have shifted. I feel droplets form on my upper lip. It will only be a matter of time before sweat starts pouring from my forehead and my knees turn to jelly. So much for this madness being over.

“I can’t believe we’re going to meet Miriam.” Melissa smiles, totally oblivious to my dilemma. Mercifully, she looks at her watch. “Oh, my hell! I have to be at the hair salon in ten minutes. See you later.” She turns and runs out the nearest door.

I shake my head, frowning as I watch her retreat. As soon as she’s safely away from me, I turn to finish my walk through the foyer, breaking into a gallop, trying to occupy my mind with inane thoughts. I concentrate on Melissa and her quirks. Until I met Melissa, I’d never heard that expression, “Oh, my hell!” I say it under my breath. The first time she said it, I’d asked her what it meant, and she told me it was just something her grandmother said all the time. “It’s like ‘oh my God,’ but saying that is taking the Lord’s name in vain, so Gran curses the devil instead.”

Melissa is drowning in church stuff. I shake my head again. I could have asked her to ride with me tonight. Having her ride shotgun would keep my mind off Zane. And we are a couple. I wonder why she didn’t ask for a ride? Maybe the beauty shop appointment will make her run late.

“Oh, well.” I sigh, realizing I’m out of the foyer and halfway to the auditorium at the end of the 900 hall. I slow, scanning the hall for signs of Zane. This is just paranoia because I know, I just
know
Zane is already at rehearsal, but then again, he could pop out of a classroom door at any time.

With Zane nowhere to be seen, I approach the auditorium doors. I tremble. I slowly roll my neck and shake out my entire body. Just relax.

You can do this, Curly.

I glance up at the clock: 3:45. Ten minutes late.

I take a deep breath. It’s showtime.

I pull open the door.

A black cavern. Bright light streams from the stage.

Hail Mary, full of Grace.
I flash on a priest somberly escorting an inmate down death row to the gas chamber on some late-night movie.

Ms. Walter stands just inside the door. “Neil, I was worried about you.”

I start to speak to her.

“Not now. Mr. Novak’s a wreck. You’d better get up there.”

Mr. Novak is onstage, standing with his back to the others, talking to someone.

The director looks toward Sonny Broadnus, who is standing at stage right, talking to another cast member. Novak shouts, “Sonny, looks like Neil is not in attendance today.” There is a sneer in his voice. “Do Curly for us?”

Oh, great. I’m being replaced.

“I’m here, sir,” I call to the stage, as I do my walk of shame. “Sorry I’m late. It won’t happen again.”

“It better not, Darrien,” Novak spits back over his shoulder, “because Broadnus is waiting in the wings.”

I hasten my steps up the aisle. I scan the cavernous space, searching the room for Zane. Maybe he’s hiding in the shadows, but I don’t see him.

Zane’s not even here and
I’m
getting the big lecture.

Then my thoughts shift. A feeling of lightness. Of hope.

Maybe he won’t show up.

The rest of the cast members are gathered in the first few rows. As I climb the steps to the stage, Will Parker gives me a shout-out. “Hey, Curly.”

The director shoots the actor a look that says,
Back off unless you want to be in hot water too.

“Well….” Mr. Novak pauses for dramatic effect.
“Mr. Darrien.”
Sarcasm drips. “Glad you could make it.” He holds out a gun and holster to me.