The Bad Boy Bargain (Suttonville Sentinels #1)(47)

She clutched her dance bag close, hunching over it, and walked briskly into the rehearsal hall.

Cade smiled and waved from the soundboard at the back of the theater. She was too upset to smile, but she nodded. His smile faded and he rose. “You okay?”

“Fine,” she said. “Just got some bad news is all.”

“Are you sure that’s all?”

His face was so kind. Cade was one of those boys who was funny and sweet and totally underrated. He also had a way of making you trust him on sight. Why couldn’t she fall for a guy like him?

Maybe that’s why she said, “I didn’t get accepted to NYU. Please don’t tell the others.”

He nodded. “I won’t. I know how they can be. And Faith? I’m so sorry.”

She blinked back tears. “Me, too.”

She made her way down to the stage where Mr. Fisk was practicing a solo with Jenny, the girl who play Ado Annie. Faith couldn’t help but smile. Jenny sounded exactly like Gloria Grahame, the woman who’d played her in the classic 1955 version, nasal twang, fake innocent expression and all. Funny how Faith had pretended to be a girl who “cain’t say no” to the bad boy of Suttonville, and still didn’t end up with a happy ending like Ado Annie.

They finished and Mr. Fisk spotted her. “Faith, come warm up, honey. How about ‘People Will Say We’re in Love?’”

Her stomach clenched. “Not sure I’m in the mood for that one, Mr. Fisk.”

He gave her a sympathetic look. Her drama teacher was well connected with gossip, so he probably knew some, if not all, of what happened the last week. “Then ‘Many a New Day.’” He smiled. “Everyone deserves a do-over.”

She smiled, knowing full well it was weak. “That’s fine.”

“Cade, could you reset the board for Faith please? Drop channel seven. We won’t need it.”

“Will do!” Cade’s disembodied voice called from the sound booth at the back of the theater.

Mr. Fisk waved her over to the piano. “Jenny’s great, but she doesn’t have the power you do.”

Power, as if. She had no power at all. Still, she wasn’t going to blow a performance for any finicky guy or mean university. She did a few quick vocal warm-ups, then nodded to her teacher. He started the intro on the piano.

The song was about a girl who had been courted and flirted with by a man who teased her. The girl, to teach him a lesson, agreed to go to a shindig with his rival. In retaliation, the man she really loved invited another girl to go with him. Now she was singing about how she didn’t care, that she would move on. But in the end, Laurey couldn’t move on. And she ended up hurt. The song was as much about new beginnings as it was about painful endings.

When she finished singing, she focused back on everything around her. Her cheeks were wet, and half the cast, along with most of the orchestra, had arrived. All of them were watching, and when the last piano note died, everyone started clapping.

Mr. Fisk gave her arm a squeeze and motioned her close. “You’re as strong as Laurey, honey. Don’t you forget that.”

She nodded and went to take her place with the cast, hurriedly drying her tears on her sleeve. Just like the song, she’d start all over again.

They practiced most of the first act without any mishaps, other than Mr. Fisk stopping the orchestra teacher once or twice to adjust the pit’s tone or volume. Once when Faith wandered too close to the edge of the stage, a bass player waved his bow at her, grinning from ear to ear. They were having a great time down there. It thawed some of the icy pain around her heart.

Drama kids and musicians were her people.

After a break, Mr. Fisk called, “I want to block Laurey’s nightmare ballet with the full cast and chorus to see how spacing looks with the dance elements. That way we can do a full Act I run-through tomorrow. Laurey, Jud, center stage, please.”

Faith changed into her pointe shoes, then walked over to Josh as the chorus dancers surrounded them. “Ready?”

He shrugged. “My part’s not that hard.”

Anger burned like a banked coal in her chest. “Good. Then don’t screw it up.”

“Places!” Mr. Fisk called from the fifth row. “Orchestra, start from the beginning. Faith, remember you’re bewildered and increasingly horrified.”

That shouldn’t be a problem. She took her place stage left, and Josh crossed to stage right and hooked his thumbs into his waistband. His smug expression faded into a hard, dominating expression. Almost too believable.

Faith raised her arms into fourth position and tilted her head. Bewildered. Afraid. Grieving. Oh, she had that down. She widened her eyes and parted her lips as two saloon girls did a mocking cancan on either side of Josh, who had now become Jud in her eyes.

The dancers moved aggressively her direction. Relevé, pirouette away. Elevé, skitter to the back of the stage. Be afraid, Laurey. Be very afraid. He’s going to hurt you.

Her heart pounded—the fear felt too real. Three cowboys jigged around her, and she clapped her hands to her head and spun in the opposite direction. Jud knocked them away and reached for her. She leaped, landed, took three flutter steps, then jumped into a full split, crossing the stage mostly in the air. Jud stalked after her again, and the mocking cancan girls walked behind him, sneering and smirking.