The Pretty One(49)

I really, really want to make a beeline out of there, and it takes every ounce of turkey-fortified energy to keep my feet planted exactly where they are. Lucy’s right. I have no choice but to tell him the truth. And now’s as good a time as any. The entire lunch period has stunk anyway. I might as well top it off with a bang.

“What are you doing next Tuesday night?” George asks.

On second thought, maybe I should stick to my original plan. “I’m…I’m busy.”

“How about Thursday then? After practice.”

I think about the line I have been practicing: You’re a really nice guy but I just don’t see this working between us.

“You’re a…a great guy,” I say stiffly. “It’s just that, well, I can’t see you anymore.”

“Oh.” George sounds surprised. “Are you, ah, seeing someone else?”

“No.”

“I’m not asking you to be exclusive,” he says. “I just want to spend some time with you. Get to know you.”

It sounds reasonable enough. So how do I explain that I don’t want to get to know him? “I’m sorry George. But I just…I can’t handle this right now, okay?”

“Handle what?”

“Um…us…you and me…spending time together.”

“Not now?”

“Not for a long, long, long time. Maybe never.”

George’s eyes drift down to his red tennis shoes. “I see.”

“I’m really sorry,” I sputter, as I turn and run toward the exit like the inexperienced coward I am. On the bright side, I haven’t taken a hatchet to anyone. Yet, at least.



After school I head to the auditorium to meet Drew. This is our first practice onstage and I couldn’t be more nervous if I was supposed to sing a capella on American Idol. I make my way through the backstage door out of habit since it’s what we use when we’re working on sets. But the minute I step inside I hear a cry so fierce and terrible, it makes my blood curdle. I stop still and listen while my flight-or-fight response kicks in. I hear it again, louder this time. Once again, the scream is followed by silence.

Holy crap. It’s Lucy!

I race toward the sound of her voice, my body surging with adrenaline. I’ll save you, Lucy! I’m almost relieved that after all this awfulness I have a chance to prove to her how much I love her. But as I hit the stage, I skid to a stop. Lucy’s downstage center, looking perfectly cool and collected, making a notation in her script. When she’s done, she tucks her pencil behind her ear, glances at sweet, gentle Harry Rice (the actor who’s playing opposite her), screams: “Bastard!” and convulses into sobs.

All the senior productions deal with a breakup, and Lucy’s character is a girl who is determined to fight for her man. But unlike my character (who pretty much throws in the towel with a minimum of drama), Lucy’s goes bananas, actually attempting suicide. When I read the script I found it melodramatic and unbelievable, but I was wrong. Lucy seems so upset, so totally devastated, that if I didn’t know any better, I’d think dopey, little Harry (who is rumored to have repeated fourth grade) just broke her heart. I hate to admit it, but Lucy is the star of the school for a reason. She deserves to be.

“There you are,” Drew whispers, coming up behind me.

I learned a long time ago not to trust my instincts, which is good because otherwise I would tackle him to the ground and do whatever it takes to distract him from my sister’s performance. Not that he doesn’t already know how good an actress she is, but why remind him?

“I thought we were onstage today.” I stand directly in front of him, effectively placing myself between him and the stage. Unfortunately, he’s so tall that I don’t even come close to blocking his view.

“My fault,” he says. “I messed up the schedule. We have the stage tomorrow.” Lucy sobs and Drew looks over my head at my sister.

His eyes kind of glisten and it’s obvious he’s totally, utterly transfixed. “She’s good,” he whispers.

My instincts are now telling me he’s really wishing he had cast my sister instead of me and I’m tempted to believe them (just this once). “She’s amazing,” I admit.

“Come on.” Drew nods toward the back door. “I brought something to show you.”

I snap my head away from my sister, totally captivated by the excited tone in his voice. I follow him through the back door and out into the hall. I feel better as soon as I get away from the stage and can no longer hear my sister’s voice. But then again, when I’m around Drew, I always feel as if I’m floating along on my tiptoes.

He leads me into the classroom where we met the day before, unzips his backpack, and pulls out a comic book wrapped in plastic. Hiding the cover from me, he opens the book and shows me a random page. “What do you think of the drawing?” he asks.

“I love it. It’s Jim Lee, isn’t it?”


“Yes!” he exclaims as he practically beams at me.

Until two seconds ago I never would’ve guessed how excited a comic book could make me. But now my hands are shaking and my heart is racing. It’s hard to believe that only a few minutes ago I was so upset. It’s almost as if Drew knew I needed some cheering up.