Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Thirty minutes later, Megan and Ryan were lawfully wed without any further incidents. If you didn’t count the bee that attacked her during the ceremony. Not sure what they expected when they decided to surround themselves with a thousand flowers at an outdoor wedding. They might as well have sent the bees an invitation.
Forty minutes after that, the reception was in full swing and I was very happy to have a drink in my hand. Though the drink was now an empty glass. Just as I was about to head to the bar, Donna walked up with two full glasses.
“I hope one of those is for me.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
After setting the empty glass on the table, I accepted the new one. “I still can’t believe they brought him.”
Trey Collins was on the dance floor with one of Ryan’s nieces. She was maybe ten and twirling all over the place. To his credit, he was doing a good job of keeping up.
“What do you have against him?” Donna asked.
The little girl spun too hard, forcing Collins to keep her from falling. He did so without missing a beat—literally—or grabbing anything more than the youngster’s outstretched hand.
“They put him across the hall from me. He teaches Econ and World History, and the kids love him.”
Worshipped might have been a better word. The vote for homecoming king and queen took place earlier in the week, and thanks to some crazy campaign by the students, enough of them voted to give Collins the crown. The king was a meaningless title celebrated only during the pep rally, but was still supposed to be for the kids, not the teachers.
Thanks to the wedding festivities, I missed out on the pep rally the day before, but Georgie made sure I got a full rundown. The crown was too small but looked cute. The kids loved every minute of it. Blah blah blah.
“If a bunch of teenagers like him, then he can’t be so bad,” Donna said.
“You obviously don’t spend a lot of time with teenagers.” Sipping the wine, I watched as Collins switched partners to Megan’s twin cousins who were barely old enough to walk. Because, of course, babies loved him, too. “They only like him because he’s a pushover. I’d be amazed if they learn anything in his classes.”
I had no proof of this, of course, but on the rare occasion I tuned into the buzz about him, his teaching skills were never mentioned. It was all about him being a great guy and so funny and the best coach. We were still undefeated so the last bit seemed true enough, but until I heard something like ‘ He explained micro-economics so well that I finally understand it ’ I was maintaining my assumption.
“Have the kids said he’s a bad teacher?”
The little girls were taking turns running through his legs and having the time of their little lives. “They never say a negative word about him. He’s like the reverse of teacher’s pet. He’s the students’ pet.” I downed more wine. “I couldn’t even get to my room the first day of school because he was holding court in the hall. The man thrives on adoration. It’s sickening.”
“Don’t the students like you, too?” she asked.
“Of course they do,” I said, “but not because I let them cruise by. They actually learn something in my classes.”
Tired of watching Trey Collins charm every guest under the age of twelve, I set down my glass and hopped to my feet. “I’m going for another piece of cake. Do you want one?”
“No, thanks, I need to check on Calvin. I think the bridal party dance is coming up, so don’t wander off.”
I wasn’t big on dancing, especially with a man I barely knew, but Ryan’s younger brother had been nice enough. His wife was adorable, and their daughter, the flower girl, had stolen the show when instead of dropping the petals gently down the aisle, she’d flung them at the guests with all her might.
If those things had been rocks instead of petals, we would have needed medics on the scene.
This would be a perfect time to need something from the house, but that wouldn’t be cool to Megan. She’d given us all the option if we wanted to be included in the wedding or be regular guests instead. Of course, we all agreed to be bridesmaids, and that job came with certain responsibilities.
I’d performed the role no less than five times, so I definitely knew what I signed up for, and dancing was part of the gig.
Sure enough, before I reached the cake table, the disc jockey called all wedding party members to the dance floor. At least I only had to do this one. Spinning on my heels, I strolled back to the dance floor, searching the crowd for my partner, but there was no Devin in sight. Only six men in the room were wearing tuxedos so he shouldn’t be this hard to spot.
“About time you got out here,” Trey said, stepping up beside me where I hovered at the edge of the dance floor.
“Have you seen my partner?” I asked, still scanning the room. If Trey insisted on talking to me, he might as well be useful. “The one I walked down the aisle with.”
Trey pointed to the other side of the dance floor. “The one over there with the flower girl?”
That was the one. Before I could take a step, the music started, and Devin lifted his daughter into his arms for the dance. Nice of him to let me off the hook. “Guess I don’t have a partner. Bummer.”
“I’ll dance with you,” Trey offered.
Unless a pig flew by, that wasn’t happening.
“I’m good, thanks.”
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Josie said, coming up behind me and cutting off my retreat. “The whole wedding party has to dance.”
I pointed to the father and daughter. “My partner is taken.”
Without hesitating, she and Miles stepped around me as Miles said, “Dance with Trey. He’s practically an honorary groomsman anyway.”
This was not part of the agreement. “I’m fine sitting it out.”
“Just dance,” Josie said. “It’s not like you don’t know each other.”
Out of excuses and not willing to put a ding in Megan’s big day, I sucked it up and accepted my fate. “Fine, but are you sure you can dance with someone over four feet tall?”
“I’ll give it my best shot,” he said, extending his hand with a smug smile on his face. He was enjoying this entirely too much.
Taking his hand, I let him spin me into the traditional dance position. One hand on his right shoulder, which was bulky and solid, and the other in his, which he held pressed to his chest. This was way too intimate for my comfort, but I could endure anything for four minutes. Even Trey Collins.
“You look nice,” he said when I gave every indication that this would be a silent encounter.
“Thanks.”
“Is this bridesmaids all wearing different dresses a new thing?”
For Becca’s wedding, she let us each pick out our own so long as they were in the same color story. Megan followed her lead, and this method had now become a pact, with Josie and Donna promising that if they made it to the altar, the rest of us got to choose.
“It’s an agreement,” I said. “When one of us gets married, the rest of us get to choose our own bridesmaid dresses.”
“So you’ll do the same when you get married?” he asked, spinning so that I was going backward. I wasn’t the most graceful person, but the switch was so smooth I didn’t miss a step. It pained me to admit, but Coach Collins was a good lead.
“No,” I said, hoping he’d take the hint from my one word answer and shut up.
“You won’t let them pick their dresses? That’s not cool if you all agreed.”
Why were we having this conversation? Was he hoping to be one of my bridesmaids?
“No, if I ever got married, I’d let them choose, but I’m not getting married so it’s a moot point.”
He pulled back, his bright blue eyes wide with surprise. “You already know you’ll never get married?”
“Yes.”
“Why not?”
Longest four minutes of my life.
“Because I don’t want to. Can we dance in silence, please?”
He executed another spin, and ignoring my request, changed the subject. “Burke says he and Aiden came to see you.”
Since this topic wasn’t prying into my personal life, I decided to allow it. “They did.”
“They asked if they can come late to practice so they can audition.”
Time to find out how much he supported his players stepping into the arts. “What did you tell them?”
Smile gone, he watched me closely. “I haven’t given them an answer yet. Will they be wasting their time if they go?”
“I can’t say until I see their auditions.”
“Then you aren’t going to hold being athletes against them?”
The reason we never had athletes in the club wasn’t because I kept them out. “If they can act and are willing to work and commit, then they’re as welcome to join the production as any other students. But we’re running on a shorter schedule for this one, which means lots of rehearsals. If they join the cast, they’ll have to decide which is more important. The team or the play.”
Instead of assuring me the team would come first, he said, “When will the play run?”
“We’ll have six and a half weeks from Tuesday, with the actual performances running the weekend before Thanksgiving.”
As if he couldn’t think and dance at the same time, we stopped moving and instead swayed in place. “Can we compromise?”
This should be good. “Compromise how?”
“We only have three games left, so they’ll be all yours after the 26 th , unless we make the post-season. Can you do rehearsals after five?”
I preferred to start right after school so the kids didn’t have to leave and come back. “Why can’t you hold practice later instead?”
“Because we need the daylight.”
He had me there. If these boys were good enough and really wanted to join, then I wasn’t in any position not to negotiate. I needed them more than they needed me, and we could switch back to our regular rehearsal time once football season was over.
“I could do that.” Surrendering to my own curiosity, I asked, “Why did you encourage them to join the play, anyway?”
We shifted into motion again. “I didn’t single those two out, but I’m all for the guys doing more than football. Most of them won’t make a college team, and they never know what else they might be good at if they don’t try other stuff.”
So he was a realist who cared about more than how they could help the team win. Maybe I had made some unfair assumptions. “Do you think they’re serious about this?”
Trey nodded. “They’re good kids. They wouldn’t try out if they weren’t serious.”
Burke I could see sticking with it, but Aiden not so much. If he put as much effort into the play as he put into his class work, we’d be in trouble.
The song ended and I stepped back. “I hope you’re right.”
“Like I said, they’re good kids. Give them a chance.”
“They’ll get the same chance as anyone else.”
Another song started, making hearing each other difficult even a foot apart. Leaning forward, Trey said, “Maybe you could extend me that same courtesy.”
He wanted to join the play now? “What does that mean?”
“Give me a chance before you write me off.”
A chance at what? Before I could ask, Jacob appeared beside us. “Hey, Trey, we’re headed down to the speakeasy. You coming?”
Eyes still on me, he said, “Yeah, I’ll come.”
“You want to come, too?” Jacob asked.
“I’ll pass,” I said, opting to put some space between myself and Trey Collins.
One dance, which I tried my best to avoid, and now he was acting all weird. The last thing I needed was to give him the wrong idea. If anything, I’d been pretty clear about where we stood. Which was very far apart .
As the men walked away, I wandered off the dance floor feeling a bit stunned. Talk about coming out of nowhere.
“Are you good?” Donna asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”
“Because you look like you’ve been hit upside the head.”
That was one way to put it. “No, I’m good. The wine is hitting me more than usual, that’s all.”
Her eyes followed my gaze to where Jacob and Trey were talking to Ryan. “Are you sure it’s the wine?”
“I’ve been pretty upfront about disliking him, right?” Neither of us needed to clarify who I was talking about.
“You have been to me. Is he not getting the message?”
“Hard to tell.” He could have just wanted me to stop being openly hostile, which was a fair request.
Donna nudged me with her elbow. “Looked like a deep conversation during that dance. Maybe you don’t dislike him as much as you think?”
As if. “I dislike everyone, remember?”
The snort she let out was quite unladylike. “You keep telling yourself that, but you’re just as susceptible to an unexpected love story as the rest of us.”
What a terrifying thought.
This had to get better, because it couldn’t get any worse.
Let’s just say auditions weren’t going well. Emma was completely out of her element, Jackson was overacting more than usual, and Kaitlyn was trying so hard she would be eating the scenery if there was any to be eaten. Madison and Hannah were resisting my best pitch for them to take parts, and no one outside of the current members showed up.
Including the football players.
In an unexpected twist, Nick Lowell was the only one who came prepared and presented an authentic, understated audition. Why did the rest of them think that a serious play meant sliding into melodrama? This was real life stuff. Or at least close enough to be relatable.
I had much higher hopes than what I was getting.
Aiden and Burke not showing up didn’t surprise me, but I was still disappointed. Nick wasn’t lead material, and Jackson was dead set on playing the villain. I couldn’t argue because the part suited him perfectly. That left us in a tough situation, and I started to question whether this play was the right way to go.
“Let me try again,” Emma pleaded. “I’ll do the karaoke scene. That’ll be better.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Emma, I know that you can sing. I need to see you act. Darcy is a girl just like you. Play her that way.”
She crossed her arms. “She isn’t like me. I know what I want to do with my life. She’s all what should I do, woe is me . I can’t relate to her at all.”
“But you could relate to a prim librarian from 1912 Iowa?”
The teenage diva had no response.
“I can relate to her,” Kaitlyn said. “Let me do the opening scene again.”
I appreciated her ambition, but the experience wasn’t there. Flipping through my script, I decided to have them work together. “Jump to page seven and do the part of Darcy’s friend Rebecca. Emma, you play Darcy.”
The rivals were not happy about my suggestion, but if they continued as competitors, we would get nowhere. Even if they never faced the same problems as the characters, they were teenagers. They could absolutely relate to these kids.
“Emma, your character doesn’t want to go to this party, but Kaitlyn’s character is trying to convince you. She’s questioning whether you’ve made the most of your high school years. How would you feel if someone told you that?”
“I’d say there’s more to high school than parties.”
“Perfect. That’s what Darcy says. But at the same time, she’s curious what a party would be like, and doesn’t want to have any regrets. You don’t get a second chance to be a high school student, so what you miss you miss. Relatable, right?”
Both girls flipped through their scripts. “I guess,” Emma said.
“Kaitlyn, you really want your friend to go, and you think she’ll regret it if she doesn’t. It’s coming from a good place, but it’s still peer pressure. That’s one of the major themes in this play. The pressure you all face. You’ve all felt it, right?” I said to the full group.
They all murmured agreement. This play was going to hit very close to home for some, if not all of them. Which was the exact reason we had to do it. If we could get the rest of the student body to pay attention, we had the chance not just to survive but to make a real impact.
This was never my goal in the past, but maybe it should have been.
The girls took their places, facing each other at the edge of the stage, and delivered the lines. Only this time there was no overacting. A few lines in, their deliveries became genuine. They were becoming the parts.
When they finished, a hush fell over the room until seconds later, applause broke the silence.
“That’s what I’m talking about.” Leaping to my feet, I approached the stage. “How did that feel?”
“Good,” Emma said, clearly surprised by her own performance.
“I like this girl,” Kaitlyn said.
Her character didn’t come across in the most positive light by the end of the play. “Have you read the entire script?”
“Yeah.” She looked up with a smile. “I want to play her.”
“Then she’s yours.” The lead part was the only one contested, so this settled things nicely without me having to be the bad guy. But we were still without a male lead.
As if the thought conjured them into being, Aiden and Burke strolled down the side aisle of the auditorium and took two seats at the end of a row. I had no idea what time it was, but I knew they were late. Very late.
“Thank you for joining us, gentlemen, but auditions started an hour ago.”
“We got here as soon as we could,” Burke said.
As usual, Aiden remained silent.
They obviously didn’t get how this worked. For one, a play was an ensemble endeavor. Not only did everyone need to be on time, but they needed to respect the time of the rest of the players. I couldn’t have them strolling into rehearsals whenever they felt like it.
“I appreciate that, but if you can’t show up on time, then you have no place here.”
“But we?—”
“Ms. Pavolski, can I talk to you for a minute?” boomed a voice from the back of the auditorium.
I turned to find Coach Collins standing just inside the doors. The temptation to tell him no was outweighed only by my ingrained mutual respect for all fellow teachers. At least when students were around.
Having a good idea what this was about, I reached the top of the aisle and proceeded to walk past him out into the corridor. No need for the kids to see us argue.
“They’re late because of me,” he said, catching me off guard. I expected him to insist I make an exception for his players.
“The reason is irrelevant.”
“I told Assistant Coach Neighbors to let them go early, but my message didn’t get conveyed. As soon as I found out, I drove them over here.”
“I realize that my play isn’t as important to you, or even this school, as your football team is, but it’s important to me and to my kids. We take it seriously, and we respect each other’s time.”
He ran a hand over his bald head. “You said you wouldn’t penalize them for being athletes.”
“I’m penalizing them for being late. Athletics has nothing to do with it.”
After a brief hesitation, he said, “Bull.”
“Bull?” I repeated. “Are you calling me a liar?”
“I’m calling you a hypocrite.” A beefy arm went up as he pointed toward the closed doors beside us. “If those boys were late because they had an art club meeting, or needed to stay over to finish a shop project, you’d give them a pass.”
Would I? Maybe. Okay, probably. And if being late wasn’t their fault, then I wasn’t being fair. But I also needed to protect my kids and my production.
“What happens when rehearsals start, they get here a half hour late, and everyone has to wait around? Or when it’s opening night and we aren’t ready because two members of the cast couldn’t make it? If they can’t get here on time for auditions, how do I know they’ll be here when it counts?”
Without hesitation, he said, “I’ll make sure of it.”
Now he was their chauffeur? “You’re personally guaranteeing that they’ll never be late again?”
“I give you my word. They won’t be late again.”
He was too sincere for me to continue putting up a fight.
“Fine. Then they can audition, but if they aren’t good enough to make the cast, no arguments. Agreed?”
Trey gave a curt nod. “Agreed.”