The New Girl Read online

Chapter Three

  Tuesday, September 06

  I stood at Mr. Rivera's closed door the next morning and read the list. Bridget was going to be thrilled to learn that she'd been cast as Juliet. Nate, on the other hand, would shudder to learn that his time on stage wasn't limited to one audition at the loss of a bet; he was playing her Romeo.

  I scanned down the rest of the cast list and didn't recognize any of the remaining names. Rachel Canter, though, was named understudy for Juliet. I’d kinda be lying if I said I wasn’t a little excited to see her face when she learned she was only second best to Bridget.

  The next page listed the crews. Under the costumes section I read:

  Abcdef Ghijk

  Costumes - Lead Designer

  I tried to smile but failed miserably at that attempt. For the first time in my life, I was officially participating in a school activity. I had a place, a role of my own! Webster Grove wasn’t shaping out to be such a bad place, after all. Things were already different, changing. Good.

  I opened the door and let myself in the classroom. Mr. Rivera sat at his desk and read silently to himself. He looked up and smiled. “Could you close that behind you?”

  “Sure.” I nodded, closing the door quietly as I walked in.

  Bridget and Nate were the only two students in the room—both who I’d assumed arrived early to check the cast list.

  Bridget was bouncing in her seat as I sat down.

  “I'm Juliet! Me! I'm Juliet Capulet! Can you believe it?”

  “Congratulations,” I said, now looking to Nate. He was slouched in his chair with his forehead and nose pressed to the top of his desk. “Is he okay?”

  “I'm gonna kill myself.”

  “Oh, you are not,” Bridget said, responding to his muffled voice. “It's a good thing, Nate.” She turned back to me and frowned. “He’s such a worrywart. Anyway, I looked for your name. Sorry you didn't make the cut.”

  “Oh, I did,” I said, biting my lip. “I'm working on costumes.”

  “Really?” she asked, scratching her head. “I didn't see your name.”

  “It's there,” I said with a wink. I looked back to the front of the room before turning back and narrowing my gaze on her. “So ... why is Mr. Rivera keeping the door shut?”

  “He thinks people are too dramatic with their reactions to the cast list,” she said, brushing it off.

  “What happened,” Nate explained, lifting his head, “is that he made the mistake of leaving it open when Hormones here read the list.” Bridget rolled her eyes, but Nate sat straighter. “You think I’m kidding? It was the biggest scene ever created on school property. She jumped, she screamed ... she cursed. At one point, she started hyperventilating. We thought she was gonna pass out right there on the floor.”

  “And you?” I asked him, having no doubt that his description of Bridget’s reaction was spot-on.

  “I actually did pass out,” he said, and I didn’t doubt that either.

  The bell rang and students poured into the room.

  Mr. Rivera stood from his desk and addressed the class. “Good morning,” he said. “Let's get started, shall we?”

  After a lengthy reading assignment and instructions on upcoming research papers, the bell sounded for the change of class. Bridget, Nate, and I stood up and gathered our books.

  “Miss Wright, Mr. Bryan, Miss Ghijk— congratulations,” Mr. Rivera said.

  “Thanks,” Bridget and I said in unison, both blushing like children. I’m certain I heard Nate mumble bite me as we left the room.

  We moved into the hallway and through the growing group of students rushing to their next class. I walked side-by-side with Nate as Bridget turned off into French. As we crossed the hallway in front of Miss Holt's room, she stepped out and stopped us dead in our tracks.

  “Nathaniel,” she said, smiling. “Congratulations, our very own Romeo Montague.”

  “Thanks,” he said, almost as if talking to her left a sour taste in his mouth.

  “And Steph,” she said, lowering her head. I could tell from her expression alone that she had no intention of congratulating me on the position I’d landed. And I was right. “I'd hate to remind you again that there are strict policies against student-teacher fraternization.”

  I cleared my throat. “I'm sorry?”

  “He is your teacher,” she said, bending slightly at the waist. “As am I. And I will see to it that you are watched very closely, young lady.”

  A few quiet moments passed. Miss Holt refused to blink and I didn’t respond. Honestly, I didn’t know how to respond. What exactly did she want me to say? I hadn’t given her—or anyone!—any reason to think that I needed close watching at all.

  “Right,” Nate said, breaking the awkward silence. “Off to class. Wouldn’t wanna be late.” He grabbed my wrist and pulled me down the hall. My concern must’ve come across quite clearly because he stopped mid-walk and took my hand. I turned into him. “Hey … you okay?”

  “Fine,” I lied, shaking my head. “That was just … that was strange, right?”

  “Don’t think too much on it,” he said, now patting my back. “She has a thing for him. It’s jealousy, that’s all it is. You made an impact on Mr. R. with your designs, and someone,” he said, looking back at Miss Holt. “Someone doesn’t know how to hide her insecurities.”

  I followed his gaze and looked back at our young, beautiful math teacher. She was now engaged in conversation with Mr. Rivera—who’d since left his own room. She playfully nudged him, giggled, and smiled as they talked. He seemed uncomfortable, out of his element, and yet he still stood there, friendly and polite. I watched as he forced a fake smile, and all along I could see him trying to slowly ease out of the conversation. I kept staring, feeling strangely awful for him. When he finally glanced up, no longer looking at her, he met my stare from the other end of the hall. Both expressionless, our eyes locked for a few long beats. And just as Nate waved his hand in front of my face, I thought I caught a faint smirk from Mr. Rivera, but there was no way to know for sure, because the bell rang, and we were late for class.

  Friday, September 09

  Three days passed, and each seemed to drag on longer as they came. Nate and I hadn’t mentioned our run-in with Miss Holt to anyone—especially Bridget. We weren't really sure what’d happened or why. Still, it was finally Friday. I found zero reason to fret over the uncontrollable.

  The final bell rang to end the day and Bridget and I walked out of Physics. We strolled down the hall, out the door, and onto Main Street. Destination: home, for a study date, leading up to the first sleepover of my life!

  We walked through the front door to find the house filled with an overwhelming aroma of baked goods. Following the smell to the kitchen, we found my mother in a sundress, pearls, heels, and apron.

  “You look like Donna Reed,” I said, taking stock of all the baked goods scattered around the kitchen.

  “Who?” she asked, pulling a fresh batch of cookies from the oven.

  I sighed and shook my head. “Mom, this is Bridget. Bridget, I believe this creature ...” I looked at Mom again and shook my head. “This is Caroline, my mother.”

  “Look, Baby,” Mom said, wearing a smile. “I baked goodies for your sleepover.”

  “Yum!”

  “Are they edible?” I asked, interrupting Bridget.

  “Of course they are,” Mom said. But I had little reason to believe so. She’d never excelled in anything domestic. “Don’t worry, Calvin taught me all the basics.”

  Calvin, the chef—college degree and everything. Woo-freaking-hoo. Right.

  I grabbed a cookie from the cooling rack and took a cautious bite.

  “Okay,” I said, chewing slowly. “They're actually not bad.”

  “Don't seem so surprised.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I told you Calvin would be good for us, Baby.”

  “We're going to head upstairs to study,” I said, a little frightened by her emotional response to my semi-com
pliment.

  “Feel free to keep the cookies coming, Miss G,” Bridget said, and then she and I turned and walked back through the foyer.

  In a matter of days, Mom had managed to turn a cluttered and box-filled house into a fully furnished and decorated home. The environment was so welcoming and comforting that it almost felt like another dimension. In the past, the closest thing we’d ever had to furniture was bookshelves made of cardboard boxes. Now, with a dining room table, couch, and chairs, I hoped she could stay true to her word. I was really starting to love Webster Grove.

  Up the stairs and at the end of the hallway was a single, large bedroom; my sanctuary. Of all the places I'd slept in my life, it was by far the best. There was a large bay window—padded window seat and all—that overlooked the backyard. The view, though, was slightly obstructed by a giant oak tree growing too close to the side of the house.

  My room was the only one left that hadn't been unpacked. Boxes were still stacked and piled across the hardwood floor and in the closet. The bed was unmade and covered in mismatched sheets, pillowcases, and a comforter. My desk was empty with the exception of a laptop and a silver touch lamp.

  “Not much for housekeeping,” Bridget said without shame.

  “We don't stay put for very long. Why get attached?”

  “You need to at least paint these butt-ugly walls,” she said. “How do you even sleep in here? That color is hideous.”

  “It's not easy,” I admitted. That much was true; if we stayed, the lime green had to go.

  Bridget raised a finger to her mouth and looked around the room. Deep in thought, she turned back to me and smirked.

  “How confident do you feel about Monday's English test?”

  “Very.”

  “Then we're not studying tonight.”

  “We're not?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “We're painting.”

  We ventured into town in Mom’s car—thank God Bridget could drive— and returned a half-hour later with a gallon of a lavender paint for the walls. I’d put what little money I had into making that one investment. We returned, and Bridget instructed me on taping off the wooden trim along the floor and ceiling. After taping, we took a break to make a frozen pizza.

  The sun started to set and Bridget and I made our way back to my room. After filling a paint tray and holding a roller in hand, I stared blankly at the wall.

  “Uh, Bridge …”

  “Hmm?”

  “I have no idea what I'm doing.”

  “It’s just like painting a set,” she said, like that should’ve been a clue. “One stroke at a time.”

  She smiled and dipped her roller into a puddle of liquid lavender. With a few strikes against the wall, the green slowly disappeared. I followed her lead and helped cover the first wall, then the second, then the third, and finally the fourth. By five AM, the room had survived a full second coat.

  To avoid the fumes, we gathered blankets from the linen closet and made a large bed on the floor in the living room. Snuggled tightly under the blankets, I rolled to my side and nudged Bridget.

  “Hmm?”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “For what?”

  “Your friendship. Making this adjustment so easy.”

  “I’m awesome, I know.”

  We shared a sleep-deprived laugh.

  “The room turned out great,” I said, closing my heavy eyes.

  “Yup. I knew it would.”

  “Good night, Bridge.”

  “Night,” she said, rolling to her side.

  I closed my eyes, and for the first time in my life, counted my blessings. Mom had never been much of a mother, only a clueless teenager with a driver’s license. But still, she put a roof (or two) over my head each year. Bridget and Nate were the closest thing I’d ever had to siblings and the best friends a girl could ask for. My designs were getting better with time, and Mr. Rivera himself had recognized my potential. And speaking of … I might’ve even developed my first real crush. I couldn’t even care that it was on one of my teachers. I liked him. How couldn’t I? It was impossible not to fall victim to his sweet voice, or to be swept away by those dark eyes. He was kind, intelligent. I’d never met anyone like him, someone whose presence alone could demand so much authority and attention. He was basically the ideal man, all rolled up into one, perfect body. He was—

  “Steph,” Bridget interrupted my thought.

  “Yeah?” I said, quickly pushing the mental image of our teacher aside.

  “You ever been in love?”

  “Nope.” Not unless you count whatever it was that had me hung up on my teacher. I smiled again.

  “I think I am,” she said, sleep falling on her faster than before.

  “With Mr. Rivera?”

  “No,” she mumbled, rolling over.

  “With who?” Silence. “Bridge?”

  She opened her eyes, no longer looking the slightest bit tired. “Nate.”

  I drew my lips together and nodded. Of course she was crazy about Nate … I saw that one coming from a mile away. But did he like her? I didn’t know. I really, really hoped so, though. I wanted my friend to be happy, and nothing makes a person happier than being loved and in love.

  I fell asleep with a smile that night. All of those thoughts of love and happiness had my heart ready to explode.