On the Loose (15 page)

Dear Mrs. Smartly,

Thanks for the last letter. Twelve whole lines. Wow, I think that’s a new record. When you’re as close as we are, I guess words aren’t necessary.

Nothing new here. Things are great. Perfect. I’m going to church, learning to drive, Millie has cancer, and I’m auditioning for a play.

Since things are so fabulous here, I see no reason for a case worker to drop by anytime soon. Plus I saw Rocky drooling this morning. I wouldn’t want to risk your caseworker’s health in case that dog is mad with rabies.

Look, here’s the deal. If you jerk me out of this home, I’m telling the world about your secret crush on David Hasselhoff. I mean business. You don’t want to cross me on this. I happen to know for a fact you even have some of his old cds. As in the ones you can only get in Germany and other countries where they don’t speak English.

Millie has some serious cancer, Mrs. Smartly. They need me. We both know I bring sunshine and boundless happiness into their lives. I am the spring in their step. The color on their cheeks. The reason they get out of bed in the morning. To take me out of this home could jeopardize Millie’s health, and I know you don’t want that on your polyester-clad shoulders.

And no, I still haven’t heard from my mom. But I’m okay with it. I have better things to worry about. Like global warming, the decline in quality reality TV, and you preparing a spot for me at Sunny.

Tell the girls hello for me.

I love you, Miss Hannigan,

Katie Parker

T
he day is
here. Friday. My audition. I unscrew the lid on a bottle of diet pop and chug it until I feel the comforting burn on my throat. I like to think that’s the caffeine doing its magic. More than likely it’s the acid eating my trachea, but whatever. I’m too tired to care. I lay awake all night. When I wasn’t worrying about Millie, I was imagining myself having to share a room with eight other girls again. Eight new strangers at Sunny Haven. Maxine obviously wasn’t too worried to fall asleep. She snored better than ever.

Frances and Hannah follow me down the hall to the theater. Frances has not stopped with the motivational pep talk. My head is so crammed full of positivity, it’s crowding out all the lines I memorized.

The three of us stop at the main doors to the theater. Only those auditioning are allowed in.

Frances pushes her glasses up on her nose. “You’re gonna be great. I know you’re gonna nail this part. And you’ve totally been in my prayers.”

“Prayers-schmayers.”

Frances does a double take. “What?”

“Nothing.” Nothing at all. Oh, yeah, except for the fact that I fired God last night. Here’s your pink slip, Jesus. Things just weren’t working out between us. But probably not something I need to share with Frances. She definitely wouldn’t understand.

“I guess I better go in there.” My stomach quivers.

Frances gives me a quick hug. “Break a leg!”

Hannah gasps. “Oh, my gosh! That’s the meanest thing ever, Frances. I mean, sure, she took out a light pole last night and half of Smith Street was plunged into darkness, but I don’t think that’s any reason to . . . Ohhhh . . . Here comes Trevor Jackson.”

Any lines I have memorized take a flying leap out of my head as Prince Charming himself saunters our way.

“Hey, ladies.”

His smile is dazzling. His voice is smoother than a sax in the Chihuahua marching band. “Hey, Katie.”

And then the most incredible thing happens. Trevor Jackson—
the
Trevor Jackson—winks at me. Yes, I saw it. His left eyelid closed for a brief second. His left cheek lifted in a smooth grin just for me.

Sighhhhh
.

If I have to do someone bodily harm in order to get the part, I will be Cinderella. My foot
so
belongs in that slipper.

I shake my head and try to get some composure. “Hi, Trevor. Are you ready for auditions?”
Don’t giggle. Don’t blush. Keep a steady gaze
.

Trevor grabs the door handle, and his football ring sparkles under the fluorescent lights. “Oh, I’m ready.” He winks again. “I’m always ready. The question is, Katie Parker, are you ready?”

Oh, my gosh. He knows my name.
He knows my name!

The giggle erupts.
Oh, no. Stop it!
Now is not the time for the Frances in me to emerge. “I’m ready.”

Ready for auditions. Ready to go out on a date with you. Ready to spend my life as Mrs. Trevor Jackson.

“Great. See you in there. I’m pulling for you.”

And with those beautiful, parting words, Trevor enters the theater. His spicy cologne lingers, and I close my eyes and breathe it in. S
ooo
nice.

Frances grabs my arm and jerks me back to reality. “Katie, that was Trevor Jackson.”

I smile in the direction of the stage door. “Yeah. I know.”

“I think he was flirting with you. Hannah, did you see that? Was that total flirtage or what?”

Hannah pops her gum. “Frances, what kind of friend tells someone to break her leg?”

“It’s a figure of speech,” Frances says. It’s a drama thing. Break your leg means good luck.”

“So wishing this really horrible thing on Katie is actually wishing her luck.”

“Yes. Do you get it?” Frances checks her watch. “You better go, Katie.” She gives me a quick hug. “Good, er, I mean break a leg.”

“Yeah, Katie, I hope you break both of your legs. And an arm!” Hannah slaps me on the back. “While you’re at it, break a nail.” She looks at Frances. “What? What’s worse than breaking a nail? That’s gotta be some major good luck I just wished on her.”

“Hannah, that’s not . . . never mind.” Grabbing the door, I give it a pull and step inside. “Thanks for the support, guys. See you later.”

Everyone is piled into the first four rows in the theater. Mrs. Hall, garbed in a shocking pink ensemble and matching platforms, chats with Trevor onstage. Her hand shoots out mid-sentence and a prop from
Guys and Dolls
crashes to the floor.

My eyes scan the perimeter like I’m a lion on the hunt. I size up my prey. Many are harmless, but there are a few girls who could easily be a princess.

I sign in and check the list for those auditioning for
Cinderella
. The names take up two full pages. Apparently word traveled fast that Trevor was the leading male. Great. Now every girl at In Between High wants to be an actress.

A heat rushes over me, and suddenly I’m ticked. That’s right, I’m mad. I care about this play. If the role goes to some two-bit Barbie doll just because she looks better in a tiara, I am gonna go postal.

I. Am. An. Actress.

This is more than just wanting to be partnered up with the hottest, finest, yummiest boy in school. What if this is the last play Millie gets to see me in? I don’t want to be third ballroom dancer from the right. I want to be Cinderella!

Fine. Look out all you primpy, overstuffed, oversprayed, swooning girls. Katie Parker is in the house, and I am not letting you bat your eyelashes all the way to my role. This is war.

“Students! Take your seats please. We are about to get started.” Mrs. Hall crosses to center stage, her platforms clicking on the hardwood floor. “As you know Drama I is going to perform
Cinderella
for the community. I am very excited to see you all here. It seems we have many Cinderella candidates. It’s time to get serious and focus on the roles you are auditioning for. Do we all have our motivation?”

Oh, I’ve got my mine.

“Cinderella is a hardworking girl living a tragic life.” Mrs. Hall throws her hands to the ceiling. “She gets a chance to go to the ball and meets her Prince Charming. Our prince, of course, will be played by Trevor Jackson.”

Sighs and ill-contained giggles ricochet throughout the theater.

Mrs. Hall narrows her eyes. “As I was saying, Cinderella is introduced to her prince. And even though she’s dumb enough to fall for his good looks and smooth dance moves, she does eventually get that happy ending.” She clutches her heart and laughs bitterly. “Cinderella naively thinks he will always love her. Well, he won’t, Cinderella, he won’t. Pretty soon he’ll trade in the horse and carriage for a Miata convertible and a gym membership. And just when a little gray starts to show in your hair and you’ve given your last miniskirt to Goodwill, in walks Prince Charming’s new secretary. Well, fine! Who needs your stupid glass slipper—”

“Mrs. Hall?”

“Yes, dear?”

“I have to be at baseball practice by six.”

Mrs. Hall tugs on her electric pink collar. “Right. Let’s get started. Actors and actresses, I need your attention. We will begin with the reading for Cinderella since that seems to be where the most interest is. You will read a scene with Trevor, your prince. When I call your name please meet go center stage with him.”

Sighhh
. I would go anywhere with Trevor Jackson. Center stage, stage left, and definitely offstage.

The drama teacher calls girls out alphabetically. Since my last name begins with a P, I have quite a wait. As each Cinderella wannabe recites her lines, I scrutinize every word, every gesture, every vocal inflection. I must be better than the best here. I was born to be Cinderella. I mean, let’s think about this. Cinderella comes from a poor background. I do too! Cinderella wasn’t used to fine things. Me neither, Cindy. Cinderella is destined to find true love with the prince, who happens to be Trevor. What a coincidence—so am I. The play might as well be titled
Katie
.

An hour slugs by. And then, “Miss. Parker, you are next.”

The air whooshes out of my lungs at Mrs. Hall’s announcement. Now? Already? If I wasn’t giving God the cold shoulder, I would totally be asking for some help. But I’m through with that, so it’s all up to me. I am gonna blow these people out of the water.

My legs carry me up the steps and to center stage. Trevor’s easy grin gives me a small sense of comfort. The sight of forty girls glaring back at me does not.

Okay. Shoulders back, deep breath.

Hold on to your
thee-uh-tuh
seats because I am here to dominate.

“Katie, are you ready, dear? Begin reading from page thirty-seven.”

I face Trevor. Oh, my. He has the best teeth. How does a guy get his teeth so pearly white? They look like an actor’s teeth, so perfect and—

“Get on with it, dear.” Mrs. Hall makes a grand gesture with her bangled arm.

Right. I take one last look at the script then put it down.

Mrs. Hall shakes her head. “No, dear, this doesn’t have to be memorized. Don’t you need your script?”

“No.” My eyes lock on Trevor’s.

With my muse right before me, I grab his hand and recreate the scene in which the prince dances with Cinderella. There is no In Between, there is no Katie or Trevor. On this stage stands Cinderella and her prince. Two people on the path to love, happiness, and some really good costumes.

“And when I dance with you, it’s like all my cares float away. I will never forget this evening.” I am so smooth.

“Good lady, you must give me your name. I beg of you.” Trevor’s deep voice sends a chill down my spine.

“My name is of no matter. This dance is all that . . . What is that? I must go. No, I must leave you. Good-bye.” And I tear myself from Trevor’s arms, fleeing to stage right.

I’m not sure, but I think I might’ve just achieved brilliance. Mrs. Hall’s face is beaming. She nods her head in appreciation.

“It’s in the bag.” Trevor stands next to me and whispers low.

“I don’t know.” I shrug innocently. “I just went out there and did what I could. I know it’s nothing you’re used to working with. I’m new to drama.”

“You were awesome.” One hand goes on my shoulder. “I’ll call you if I hear anything. But you know who I’m pulling for.”

I laugh softly. “Thanks.” My fingers rest on his briefly before he returns to center stage. That’s right, I just dared a hand touch. Score.

If Trevor wants me to be the lead, then that will seal the deal.