On the Loose (20 page)

I stumble back in shock. In pain.

And now I’m mad.

Taking a few steps back, I get a running start and torpedo myself toward Angel.

Like a linebacker, I plow into her stomach. With my head.

Angel gets slammed into the floor.

And me? Well, I get detention.

“T
hanks for the
ride.”

Frances stops the car at the Valiant. “Sure, anytime.”

With her daughter sprawled on the gym floor, Coach Nelson finally decided to get off the phone during PE. She sent both of us to the office. I insisted on taking Hannah, my witness.

Angel got three days suspension. I got two afternoons of after-school detention. And Coach Nelson got her wrestling mats taken away.

Frances chews on a fingernail. “What are you going to tell the Scotts?”

I shrug. “Why should I tell them anything? I’ll serve detention, and they’ll never know about the fight.”

“Katie, your eye is the size of a small orange. A bright purple orange.”

Yeah, it does hurt like crazy. I’d flip down her visor and take a look, but my injured eye is swollen shut. I don’t want to overwork my good eye. I’m gonna need it for practice.

With a wave goodbye to Frances, I fling open the door to the Valiant, and with my Cyclops eye, search for Millie. I don’t see her. Hopefully she’s not working at the theater today.

Inside, practice is well underway.

The creaking of the giant entry door gets Mrs. Hall’s attention. “Ms. Parker,” she calls. “Nice of you to join us. I suppose you have an excuse for—oh, ewww.”

All eyes roam my way. Including Trevor Jackson’s.

“Sorry I’m late. I had a little . . . accident.” As in someone’s fist accidentally found its way into my eye socket.

“Well, yes, yes, I see that. So sorry, dear. Come on down here. We’re reading through our lines in small groups. Join your group.” The drama teacher motions me over to Trevor. I smile weakly and mumble a hello to everyone. My group consists of Trevor, Chelsea, and Jeremy, who plays the part of the other wicked stepsister. In drag. That’s right. Mrs. Hall’s idea of two ugly women? A boy in drag and me. Such a confidence booster.

“Katie, what happened to your eye?” Jeremy’s voice is so loud it echoes in the theater.

I want to slither into the orchestra pit and never come out.

“Are you okay?” Trevor touches my shoulder, his face drawn with curiosity and concern.

“I’m fine. Really. I just thought I’d get into character. A little early.” I laugh. Alone.

“Let’s get started. We’re already on page fifteen, but I guess we can start back at the beginning.” Chelsea’s concern is touching. Seriously, I’m about to shed a tear over her genuine warmth. I glare at her with my one good eye.

We continue our read-through for another hour, stopping at the sound of Mrs. Hall clapping.

“Actors and actresses! Your attention, please!” Today Mrs. Hall is decked out in a billowy skirt of eggplant purple. A silver vest covers a frilly lavender blouse. I like this teacher a lot, but one day the fashion police are going to taze and hog-tie her.

“If you have noticed, there are a few roles we did not cast with students. As I mentioned weeks ago, these roles will be open to the public. Community involvement will mean more ticket sales.” Mrs. Hall paces the stage. “Now, we need an onstage orchestra for the ball. Does anyone have any family members who would be interested?”

Mrs. Hall jots down the names that are called out.

“And we have the plumb role of the fairy godmother. I see an older, more mature woman for this character. Do any of you have gifted grandmothers?”

A throat clears behind me.

Mrs. Hall continues. “A great aunt, perhaps?”

“A-H-H-H-E-M!”

The teacher jots down more names. “I feel the part calls for someone who’s ethereal and radiating joy.”

“I’ve got the joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart? Where? Down in my heart? Where? I’ve got the joy, joy, joy, joy—”

My head does a one-eighty and there behind me stands Maxine, belting it out for all to hear.

“What are you doing?” I hiss.

Mrs. Hall frowns, but continues. “This person would need to have a nurturing, mother-like aura.”

Maxine steps out from behind me. “Cookies? I have some home-baked cookies for everyone!”

“No!” I grab her basket of baked goods. Everyone takes their eyes off Maxine and stares at me. “Believe me. It’s for your own good.”

“Introduce me to your teacher,” Maxine whispers.

I sigh. “Mrs. Hall, this is Maxine Simmons. She was just leaving.”

Maxine pokes me in the ribs, her voice low. “Nice shiner, you little scrapper. I’ve got some heavy-duty makeup that will cover that right up. You know,
hide
it.”

“Mrs. Hall, Maxine would make a great choice for the fairy godmother.” I can’t believe this is coming out of my mouth. “She has a lot of stage experience.” She was a showgirl in Vegas. She wore feathers and a leotard. “She is very . . . motherly.” She hasn’t smothered me with a pillow yet. “And we could probably learn a lot from her.” My foster grandmother can burp the Spanish alphabet.

Mrs. Hall studies Maxine from her viewpoint onstage. “Very nice that you could drop by our practice, Mrs. Simmons. Do you always travel with a wand?”

Maxine pulls out a star-topped wand sticking from her purse and waves it. Glitter flies everywhere. “I sing too. Tell them I can sing, Katie.”

I bite my lip. “Oh, she can sing all right.” She belongs on an outtake of
American Idol
.

Maxine graces everyone with a granny-like smile. “My daughter and son-in-law own this theater. And my friend Sam is the theater caretaker. I’m here all the time.”

I snort.

The sales pitch continues. “My apartment was devastated by the tornado. I’m lucky enough to live with my family temporarily.” Maxine’s arm slinks around me, and she draws me to her side. “I would love to help those less fortunate, those without homes.”

Should I start humming the “Star-Spangled Banner”?

Mrs. Hall grins. “We would be delighted for you to read for the part of the fairy godmother. Just come with me, and we’ll do a quick audition. Students, any protests?”

Maxine’s arm around me tightens. “One word, and I’m taking pictures of your shiner and sending them to Millie.”

I close my eyes in defeat and watch my foster grandmother flitter and flounce away.

“Hey, cool lady.” Trevor breaks the silence in our group.

“Yeah,” I mutter. “She’s just nifty.”

Chelsea grabs her designer purse. “I’m out of here. See you all later.” She lowers her lashes. “Bye, Trev.”

‘Bye
, Trev
?’ What was that?

Jeremy gathers his stuff. “I gotta go too. I hope your face is better tomorrow.”
Call me
, he mouths. I watch my red-headed friend walk away.

This leaves me and Trevor. Alone.

If this were a movie, the cameras would be coming in for the close-up.

Say something witty, Katie.

“So how’s the baseball team looking this season?” Sports. Always a good topic with boys.

Trevor frowns. “The season ended last night. We lost.”

Oh, right. And this is where I exit.

“So what did happen to your eye?” He moves in closer. One single theater seat separates us.

“It was. . . nothing.”

“You ran into a door?”

I return his smile. “Fell off my bike.”

His laugh is better than all the ibuprofen I took. “Hey, I’m really sorry you didn’t get the role you wanted. I did not see that coming.”

“Yeah. I guess I can work on my range with the stepsister part. Being mean will be a stretch for me.”

His eyes rove to my swollen face. “I think you’re on the right track.”

We share in the laugh this time, and I feel one more link added to our connection.

“So what are you doing this weekend?”

My heart quickens at his question. Where is he going with this? Is he going to ask me—

“Because some people are having a little get-together, and I wanted to know if you’d like to go.”

Play it cool. Don’t start shrieking until you get outside to the parking lot. This may not be a date. He may just mean this in a friendly sort of way. Not in a will-you-wear-my-letterman-jacket sort of way.

“Um . . . yeah. That sounds great.” The Scotts may totally disagree. “What time?”

He scribbles something on a piece of paper. His dark hair catches the stage lights. “Eight. Here’s the address.”

Oh, okay. Not a date. Exactly. “I’ll meet you there.”

“See you tomorrow at rehearsal.”

I hold the paper tightly. “See you then.”

“And Katie?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t run into any more doors.”

C
lang! Clang! Clang!

Wednesday morning I shoot out of bed, yelling. My pulse pounds.

The fog clears, and I realize I’m in my room. In my own bed.

But a crazy woman stands over me, a copper pot in one hand. A wooden spoon in the other.

“What are you doing?” I shout. “Are you trying to kill me?” I clutch my racing heart.

Maxine laughs. “You look funny when you sleep. Your mouth hangs open like this.” She opens her mouth like a rhinoceros. “And your nose twitches like—”

“Maxine, what are you doing?” I check the alarm clock. Ten ’til seven.

She throws her kitchenware on the bed. “James and Millie left for the hospital about thirty minutes ago. Her surgery is in two hours. That gives you an hour to get ready and one hour for us to get there.”

“Get where?”

“To the hospital,
Señorita
Sleepy Pants.”

And now I’m awake. “Millie banned us from the hospital today.”

“James and Millie are gone. And I am in charge. And I say we’re going to St. Mary’s Hospital.”

I brush my bedhead out of my eyes. I always wake up looking like I battled a wind storm all night.

“How are we gonna get there?”

Maxine throws me my pink, fluffy robe. “Meet me in the conference room at oh-seven-hundred hours. You will be debriefed.”

She walks out the door, Rocky at her heels.

“I’ll be
what
?” I call.

“Meet me in the kitchen in ten minutes! I’ll fill you in!” And she skips down the stairs, beating her pot like a drunk percussionist.

Minutes later I step into the kitchen. “What is that smell?”

Maxine closes the oven and wipes her hands on a gingham apron. “Breakfast.”

My stomach quirks at the strong aroma. “Sure doesn’t smell like Millie’s waffles.”

“Bah! That’s sissy food. What we need is the breakfast of champions.”

“Wheaties?”

“My special triple-decker pizza. It’s not quite done.”

“What exactly are you up to?” I’m afraid to ask. The answer always gets me grounded.

She opens the freezer while humming a chirpy little tune. “This morning calls for a good stiff drink.” Maxine pours something into a frosty mug. Next she plops ice cream into the drink.

“A root beer float?”

“Yup. Drink up.” She slides one across the table, and I catch it in both hands. “Cheers.”

She clinks my glass with hers and guzzles her root beer down. “Must go check the pizza.”

“Maxine, you know I can’t drive us to the hospital. I’ve only had one driving lesson.”

She cuts the pizza into sections. “Well, of
course
you’re not gonna drive. We don’t have time to knock down any power lines.”

My foster grandmother serves me a plate of the biggest, cheesiest, meat-loaded pizza this side of Italy. “Are these green beans on here?”

Maxine shrugs. “I thought we could use the protein. Let me pray for our food.” She clears her throat. “Dear Precious Lord, you know I try hard to be obedient. Well, today is not a good day. Okay, neither was yesterday. Or the day before. Anyway, today we will be visiting Millie. Katie will be skipping school. I will be skipping my
Days of Our Lives
. And Lord, about Marlena—”

“Get on with it, Maxine.”

“
Ahem
. Right. So, God, we ask forgiveness for disobeying, but we will be doing it anyway. Please be with the doctors. We ask for healing for Millie and strength for the family. And we pray the wind won’t be against us as we bike our little hearts out. For our dear Millie. In Jesus’ name we pray, amen.”