A Cliché Christmas(18)
I shivered involuntarily. “You know all of them?”
“Yep. I’ve had every single one of them in my class at some point.”
It was still so strange for me to think of Weston as a shop teacher. Weston, who had dreamed of designing buildings and skyscrapers since second grade.
He pulled into Nan’s driveway and then hopped out, opening my door before I could protest.
“All you have to do is say the word, Georgia. I could help you pull this off. But I won’t be ignored.”
I stared at him dead-on, my earlier resolve coming back full force. “I appreciate the ride tonight and the set construction, but I’ll be fine on my own.”
When I started to walk toward the front door, he caught up to me and grabbed my arm, pulling me back. “When you change your mind, and you will change your mind, Nan has my number.”
“Your cockiness is out of control.”
His eyes roamed my face before fixing on my lips. “You don’t really think that. You know me, Georgia.”
I swallowed as he leaned in so close I could smell the peppermint on his breath.
His right dimple came to life as his mouth ticked up on one side. “Good night, Frost Princess. I’ll see you around.”
As I watched him pull away, I was no longer concerned about the chill of the air, but about the protective frozen wall around my heart . . . that was slowly beginning to melt.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The next two days and nights were Weston-free, but they were far from drama-free.
The Clash of the Cheerleaders had given me a permanent migraine, and though my actors were proving to be decent at memorizing, they spoke their lines with as much emotion as roadkill. Plus, Kevin, the boy with the ever-showing boxers, simply would not stop taunting the wise men, no matter what kind of threats I hurled his way.
I rubbed my temples and did another countdown in my head. Twenty-five days.
I was on edge, testy, and annoyed, but worst of all, I couldn’t get a certain set of dimples out of my mind.
“Miss Cole?”
I snapped out of my mental torment.
“Yeah, Josie?”
“Is it true we have to practice every Saturday?”
I tried my best to smile sweetly. “Yes, we need to practice every day we can.” And about ninety more than that.
“Well, I have a Christmas party I have to attend on the fourteenth. It’s out of town. We go every year.”
“Yeah, I have something going on that day, too,” Kevin said.
“Me, too,” another kid piped up.
I stood with my hands on my hips. “All of you have a Christmas party to attend that Saturday? You guys, that is just a week before the show. That is a crucial Saturday practice.”
“Please, Miss Cole. We will work extra hard,” Josie said.
Suddenly, I got an idea.
“Extra hard?” I asked.
The stage was filled with bobbleheads.
“Okay, a Saturday off means that you have to start taking your roles seriously. No more hawking loogies in the middle of your lines. I want to feel the emotion and humor and voice of each of your characters.”
“So, all we have to do is become better actors, and we can have that Saturday off?”
“Yep. And Miss Peach—I mean, Mrs. Aarons—and I will be the judge of that.”
Misty nodded, impressed that I finally remembered her married name.
Perfect.
So, as it turns out, teenagers are the spawn of the purest kind of evil.
On Friday evening, Weston arrived at the theater, trailing behind a pack of devilish hoodlums—a.k.a. my actors.
“What are you doing here?” The hiss of my voice caused several glances to shoot our way.
“I’m their secret weapon, apparently.”
“What are you talking about?”
“They want a Saturday off.” He shrugged. “I’m gonna help them get one.”
“No one cleared this with me.”
“Well, Ms. Tinseltown, consider yourself informed.” He hopped up on the stage with one bicep-straining motion. “All right guys, get in your places. We have a show to put on.” He clapped once and shot me a not-so-innocent grin.
No way. I turned to Misty, looking for her to confirm my outrage.
“I say let him help us. He does know the kids, Georgia.”
I closed my eyes and exhaled. Fine. I can do this. Weston was just one more obstacle to tackle.
A bridge to cross. A gap to jump. A mouth to kiss.
Strike that last one.
“What do you think, Miss Cole?” Weston asked.
Everyone stared at me.
I blinked. “Um . . . what was that?”
“Can the wise men add a swagger to their walks?”
The boys demonstrated this, and I nearly choked with laughter. Misty giggled uncontrollably.
“Yes . . . yes, I think that’s great.”
Weston winked at me and continued with his observations and ideas. Despite the sudden urge to join him up there, I remained on the floor.
“Okay, then, let’s take it from the top.”
As the kids took their places, Weston dropped himself into the seat next to me in the front row. And I heard Misty’s snicker on my other side as he did so.
Weston leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Amazing, isn’t it?”