Chapter Thirty-Four
School, home, and church. For the past twoweeks, that has been my schedule. The only reason I still go to rehearsals is because it’s under the guise of math club. It’s the one thing that’s still intact, the one thing keeping me grounded—steady. And every day, I’m terrified Mom will find out about it and I’ll lose it too. I’ve already lost Davi. Our relationship is basically over. I haven’t broken up with him officially. It’s a difficult thing to do. Davi has been nothing but kind to me. I can’t imagine hurting him. But even without the official statement, the confirmation, it’s obvious our relationship is not what it used to be.
On Sunday, the day after the Halloween party, things were noticeably tense between us. I replied to his text messages with one-word answers.
DAVI:Hey. Are you okay?
ME:Yeah.
DAVI:You sure?
ME:Yeah.
DAVI:Okay. How are things with your mom?
ME:Fine.
DAVI:Did she find out about us? Dating?
ME:Yeah.
DAVI:Oh.
He didn’t ask what this meant for our relationship. I think he was scared of the answer. And frankly, I was scared of delivering the answer and officially ending things. So, we said nothing else. On Monday, however, I could hardly keep eye contact with him. Whenever he held my hand, I pulled away after a few seconds. The image of my furious, disapproving mother made it impossible to enjoy moments with him.
Before my mom, being in a relationship with Davi felt like living in a cocoon. We were shut out from the world. Well, at least my world, which is where the true threat existed. But now, with my mom knowing about him and disapproving, the cocoon is gone. We’re exposed to our biggest threat.
We still eat lunch together. We walk the halls together. But nothing is the same. Our kisses are brief, forced, and uncomfortable. In the moments when I hold his gaze, I see uncertainty in his eyes—questions he wants to ask but is too afraid to. He doesn’t ask, so I don’t answer. And there are no official words, no confirmation our relationship is over.
Today, rehearsal runs twenty minutes longer than usual. After Mr. Roland dismisses everyone, I climb down from the stage and walk to a seat in the first row, where I tossed my bag earlier. As I fling the strap over my shoulder, Ara appears in front of me, wearing her signature expression.
“Um… yes?” I say, confused and frankly low on patience. I just need to get home and start my English essay.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she asks.
“Excuse me?” Maybe I misheard her because even that’s too much for Ara. “What did you just say?”
She repeats her question, enunciates each word.
Okay. I guess I heard her right the first time.
“I’ve been watching you during rehearsals,” she continues.
“All right.” I’m not sure what to say to that.
“In the past couple of days, your performance has had a steady and tragic decline. Like, it’s hard to watch.”
“Okay. Then how about you don’t watch. I’m sure you have better things to do,” I hiss, then walk away.
I was wrong before. I’m not low on patience. I just don’t have any at all. Ara is the last person who should rate my performance. I already know I haven’t been giving my best lately. Since the argument with my mom, it’s been difficult to devote my full focus to singing on key, dancing on beat, or acting convincingly. The musical is the one thing I still have for myself, but I’m ruining it.
“Hey.” Ara appears in front of me again, stopping me in my tracks.
Frustrated, I grunt. “What do you want?”
“Look. I didn’t mean to be harsh or anything, but…”
Her features soften in a way I’ve never seen before. Honestly, it’s like seeing a magician who’s known for one trick, do something else. I’m sure there’s an audience who would appreciate the new way Ara’s face transforms, but I just want to go home and lock myself in my room.
“Listen,” I sigh. “I don’t have the time or energy for whatever this is.” I take a step forward, and she moves in front of me again.
“Why are you making this so difficult?” She grunts like she has a right to be frustrated. “I’m trying to help you.”
I’m not even in the mood for laughing, but I laugh regardless, because Ara has just said the funniest thing I’ve heard in a long time. “You. Want to help me.”
“You’re talented, Enore.”
Slowly, my chuckles stop. I don’t know what to do with that compliment. If I could, I would hold a microscope over it and conduct an examination to make sure it’s a compliment and not an ulterior motive coated in a lie.
“I’m being honest.”
I scoff. “Sure you are.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“Have you given me a reason to? You’ve been nothing but rude since the moment we met, and now you’re throwing a random compliment at me and you want me to believe you?”
As if I knew this would happen, I’m prepared.
Rule #8: If a mean girl is suddenly nice to you, be suspicious. Be very suspicious.
“Look, Enore. I know you don’t have a lot of reason to believe I have the best intentions, but I do.”
“Right. And if Mindy and Jodi hadn’t fallen for Whitney’s fake kindness and accepted her invitation to a party, they wouldn’t have been humiliated in front of their senior class.”
“Um…” Ara frowns. “What?”
I realize she might not understand my reference to the movie The Outcasts. Well, unless she’s seen it. But with the look of confusion on her face, she likely hasn’t.
“Never mind,” I tell her. “Just forget it. I have to go. And it would be great if you stopped jumping in front of me.”
“Fine.” She throws her hands up in surrender, steps aside, and I walk away with no inference.
Rule #8: If a mean girl is suddenly nice to you, be suspicious. Be very suspicious.?
It’s late—almost six—and the school is more active than it should be. Students and teachers walk the halls. In the distance, I see Sybil’s parents enter the gymnasium. What’s going on? As I’m about to stop Felicia from English lit and ask, a hand falls on my shoulder. Reflexively, I flinch before turning around and facing Mr. Roland.
“Enore, you’re just in time,” he says, smiling.
“Just in time for what?”
With wide eyes, he looks above my head. “That?”
I turn around to see what he’s staring at, and again, I flinch. “What in the world is that?” I’m shaking and sweating while looking at the enormous poster on the wall, the poster with my face on it and the words Cinders and Embers Starring Enore Enchanted.
“A poster for the musical, obviously.”
“Yes. But why is my face on it?”
“Well, you are the star of the musical. And a bonus is your status as an internet star.”
“I’m not an internet star.”
“Of course you are. With that viral video of yours.”
Tension builds in my head, and I shut my eyes and rub my temple.
“I thought tonight was the perfect time to hang it up—right before the parents arrive.”
My eyes fly open, then shift to the gymnasium doors. “Parents? What are you talking about?”
“Well, it’s parent-teacher night. And I’m looking forward to meeting your mom. I’m sure she’ll lose it when she sees your face on this stunning poster.”
That much is guaranteed.
My heart pounds. This is bad. But maybe there’s nothing to worry about. With all the studying she’s been doing lately, my mom likely won’t come. Unless Auntie Sara prompts her to. And something tells me she will.
“You have to take that down.”
“Take it down?” Mr. Roland steps back and looks at the poster. “Why? Doesn’t it look good here? Do you think it would look better somewhere else?”
“Um… yeah.” I glance around, then point at the stairway at the far end of the hall. It’s the perfect secluded corner. “How about there?”
“What? The stairway?” He laughs. “You’re funny. No. It’s perfect right here. All the parents can see it when they walk in. They won’t miss it.”
That’s exactly what I’m scared of. Sweat covers my forehead as I breathe deeply.
“My goodness.” Mr. Roland leans into my face and studies me. “You don’t look so good.”
I wipe my head with the back of my hand. “I’m fine.”
“I beg to differ. Come along.” He takes my arm and leads me down the hallway.
“Where are we going?”
“To the gym to get you a cold beverage. Looks like you need one.”
“What? No,” I say, dragging my feet. “I’m fine.”
It’s bad enough my mom will see the poster when she walks into school, but I can’t be in the gym when she arrives or I’ll risk being publicly scolded. And the embarrassment alone could be detrimental to my mental health.
“We like to make parent-teacher night a bit special, especially the first one of the year,” Mr. Roland explains when we enter the gym. “That way, it’s more of an attraction for the parents.”
With soft lighting and classical music in the background, the gym looks a lot like a cool lounge space. Unlike the homecoming dance, the ambiance is calm and elegant for the mature crowd.
Mr. Roland brings me to the refreshment table and hands me a chilled water bottle.
“Thanks.” As I take a sip, I hear my name and turn around. “Mrs. Hathaway,” I say to Sybil’s mom. “Hi. How are you?”
“Wonderful, dear,” she replies. “Is that you up on that poster?”
“Um… yeah.”
“Stunning, dear. Absolutely stunning. Can’t wait to see you on that stage.”
The halfhearted smile I hold in place during the exchange falls when she turns away. I need to get out of here, preferably before my mom arrives.
“Thanks for the water, Mr. Roland. But I should go now.”
“Nonsense. You should stay—mingle with parents, tell them about the musical, and get them to invite their friends.”
“Isn’t that something you should do?”
“Yes, but I think it would hit better if it came from you—the star.”
I really wish he would stop calling me that.
“Come on.” He hooks his arm into mine and leads me across the room and toward a group of people.
I spend the next twenty minutes forcing a smile, talking to parents about the musical, watching the door for my mother, and plotting my escape. Unfortunately for me, Mr. Roland, as if sensing my desire to run, hasn’t unhooked his arm from mine. Gosh, what kind of wahala is this?
The gym fills up more, and while glancing at the door for what seems like the hundredth time, I see Auntie Sara, Uncle Davis, and my mom walk through. I gasp and alarm Mr. Roland and the couple we’re speaking to.
“Um…” I clear my throat. “Sorry. Excuse me, but I have to go… um… to the restroom.”
“Can’t it wait? We’re telling Mr. and Mrs. Benson about the fabulous musical.”
“Unfortunately, no.” I force my arm from Mr. Roland’s tight grip and rush away.
The crowd of parents and teachers helps me stay hidden. If I’m slick enough, I can make it out of here without running into my family. All I have to do is keep my eyes on them while moving. It’s likely they’ve already seen the poster. If my mom’s wrath is going to come down on me, it won’t be here. It’s the perfect setting for another public humiliation, and I’m not having it.
“Hey, where do you think you’re going?” Mr. Roland’s voice makes me freeze. His hand on my shoulder prevents me from running through the doors, which are only a few feet away.
“Um… I have homework to do.” I turn to him and manage an innocent smile. “At home. So I should go.”
“Okay. I get it.” He rolls his eyes. “You don’t want to hang out with a bunch of parents and teachers all night. Noted. But can we just do another five minutes of publicity? Trust me, you’ve been doing well so far.”
“I’m sorry, but I—”
“Enore? What are you doing here?”
I know that voice. It’s my mom’s. So much for a slick escape.
After expelling a deep breath, I turn around. Uncle Davis and Auntie Sara stand with her, their little entourage of three that should be four.
Before I can speak, Mr. Roland, the person who made this disaster possible, steps forward. “You must be Enore’s mother.” He gasps in a melodramatic way that warrants an eye roll. “The resemblance is striking.” With a wide smile, he looks between me and my mom, then extends his hand. “I’m Mr. Roland. The theater director at Bellwood High.”
“Oh. Nice to meet you.” She shakes his hand with a polite but fake smile. Knowing my mom, she’s probably wondering why she’s meeting the school’s theater director rather than a math or science teacher.
“I must tell you,” Mr. Roland goes on, “your daughter is bringing something very special to our musical this year. Not only does she sing like an angel, but her acting isn’t so bad either.” He laughs, but the joke, if it is one, doesn’t land.
Uncle Davis, Auntie Sara, and my mom look at each other for clarification. They missed it. Somehow, they missed the poster. But now, because Mr. Roland is feeling very chatty and overly friendly, they’re going to find out the truth. My head is suddenly weightless and fuzzy. I’m going to faint—right here, on the gym floor where the sweat of countless teenagers has landed.
“Enore, honey.” Auntie Sara’s smooth voice breaks through the fuzziness in my head. Her grip on my arm is tender. “Are you okay? You look a little out of it. Maybe you need to sit down.”
“Home,” I manage to say. If I can cut this conversation short, I can spin a good cover story to explain away what they’ve just heard.
“Okay, dear. Let’s get you home.” She puts an arm around my shoulders and steers me from Mr. Roland, and I think I’ve succeeded in getting my family away from the chatterbox until my mom shakes her head.
“I’m sorry. I don’t quite understand. What is this about a musical?”
“Yes, Cinders and Embers, our modern spin on the Cinderella story. Enore is the star, but she must have told you so much about it already.”
Slowly, my mother arches an eyebrow and turns to me. My teeth dig into my lip, and even when I taste blood, I don’t let go.
“We just put the poster up today, and it’s stunning. I’m sure you saw it in the hallway on your way in.”
Instantly, my mom spins around and marches toward the doors. Uncle Davis paces behind her, and after letting me go and ensuring I’m steady, Auntie Sara does the same. All three of them stand in the center of the hallway, facing the poster.
I look at Mr. Roland, who believes he’s been a good informant. “You should look for another lead.”
His smile drops quickly, but I walk away before he can say a word.
In the hallway, I hold my breath while approaching my mom. I’m certain I’m about to receive the public humiliation I hoped to avoid, but she turns to me with an impassive expression and says, “Let’s go home.”
Finally, after many failed attempts, I get to go home. But it definitely won’t provide the escape I hoped for.