The New Girl Page 8

  Chapter Eight

  Friday, October 28

  “Welcome back, Miss Ghijk,” Mr. Rivera said as I walked into class the following Friday.

  Bridget, Rachel, and I had received a four-day suspension for the homecoming bathroom brawl. The time off was miserable, to say the least. And Mom still hadn't forgiven me for 'rolling with the rough crowd.' I'd be lucky if she ever let Bridget set foot in our house again. And sadly, I hadn't seen or spoken to my best friend since her parents picked her up from the dance.

  The classroom was empty with the exception of the two of us, and I nodded in acknowledgment as I took a seat. I propped my head into one hand and tapped a pencil on a book with the other, hoping someone else would walk in soon and ease the discomfort.

  “It's been strangely quiet this week without you here,” he finally broke the silence, walking over and leaning on the desk in front of mine, just as he’d done on my first day of school.

  “Mmm-hmm.” I pretended to ignore him.

  “Are you going to be bitter for the rest of the year?”

  “You could’ve tried harder to help me,” I said, finally meeting his gaze. “You know I had nothing to do with that fight, and you just stood there and scolded me.”

  “You said yourself that you didn't want preferential treatment, Steph.”

  “On the assignment,” I spat. “But what happened at the dance … I had nothing to do with that. It wasn’t fair.”

  “Sometimes life's not—”

  “I don't need your words of wisdom, Alex,” I said, biting back my frustration. “I know better than anyone how unfair life is. I've been jerked around the country for the past fifteen years; I've had very few friends, a loose screw for a mother, and now I’m dealing with all these feelings for y—” I stopped and took a deep breath. I didn’t need to finish that sentence—feelings for you. I knew it. He knew it. It went without saying. “Forget it. Life sucks. I know. Spare me the lecture.”

  He stared at the floor. “Steph, I'm sorry if I've made things difficult for you. I never meant—”

  “What happened with the production?” I asked, hoping to change the direction of the conversation. “Did you find a replacement for Juliet?”

  “The cast really came together and worked hard these past few days. Bridget's return to the stage tonight will be welcomed with open arms.”

  “Bridget’s still in the show? How? She hasn't rehearsed since last week. It's opening night.”

  “We found a way around the rules, Steph. I arranged private cast rehearsals outside of school.”

  Why wasn’t I surprised? Of course he did.

  “That was very nice of you.”

  “Some people, like you, put blood, sweat, and tears into this production. I wasn't as willing as my co-director to pull the plug.”

  I wanted to be mad, but he made it almost impossible. What he’d done for Bridget … for all of us … it was admirable.

  “Curtain at six, then?”

  “Yes ma'am,” he said, smiling. “Are we going to be okay? No more fighting?”

  “Yes.”

  “Friends?” he asked, leaning to meet my gaze.

  “Friends.”

  Friday, October 28 | 5:55 PM

  “No, no, no!” I yelled at Nate. “Wrong costume! How are you screwing this up on opening night? Hasn't someone been here to monitor the correct protocol? God! No offense, but I seriously hate actors! You know you’re not entitled to my praise just because you're on stage, right?”

  “Deep breath, Steph,” Bridget hugged me from behind.

  “Oh, you,” I said with wide eyes, not failing for a moment to recognize the demonic tone of my voice. I turned and pointed a finger in her face. “You're the reason we're in this mess to begin with. No one has a freakin' clue what's going on with costumes because I've been sitting on my butt every night for the last week because you couldn't keep your temper at bay!”

  “Steph,” Nate said, stepping in. “Listen, hon. We love you, but we're not above killing you. Take it down a notch.”

  “Can someone get Steph a drink of water?” Bridget yelled.

  “Keep it down, guys,” I said, trying to lower my blood pressure. “Voices carry to the audience. Let's be professional here.”

  “You're one to talk,” Nate mumbled.

  “Actors to the stage, curtain in five,” the stage manager called into the dressing room.

  The cast started to shuffle. With a good luck hug to both Nate and Bridget, I took a breath and let my hair down. The room was finally empty. I sat down and lowered my head in my hands.

  “Calm down, Steph,” I told myself. “Only three performances and this will all be behind you.”

  Most of the night was a blur. I vaguely remember several bottles of water and distinctly recall the hundreds of trips to the bathroom. Staying hydrated was my plan for motivation. No one could get too lazy when they had to keep running off for bathroom breaks. The actors rushed in and out of the dressing room all night, changing costumes, adjusting hair, and touching up make-up. Silent moments would come and go; I was thankful for whatever peace I got.

  Finally, the show was done. Curtain call was over. The actors had taken their bows, the audience had clapped their hands raw, and the crowd was beginning to disperse into the night. An hour later, clothing was strewn about the room, resting on chairs, piled on the floor, and I even found one balled up in the corner. I set my crew to work to start collecting and hanging the costumes, taking note of any pieces that might’ve been torn, ripped, or damaged. Thankfully, no errors were found, which meant I was spared the trouble of arriving early for tomorrow's show to make repairs.

  The crew finished their duties and said goodnight, leaving me alone to lock up the dressing room. I pulled the keys from the hook and moved toward the door just as it opened. Mr. Rivera stood smiling for a moment before biting his lip.

  “You’re nervous.”

  “Hmm?”

  I touched my own lip. “I’ve noticed you only do that when—”

  “Steph,” he said, stepping in the room and closing the door behind him. “Can we talk?”

  “Sure, what’s up?”

  “I've been meaning to ask you something.”

  “Okay?”

  “Don’t laugh,” he said, pointing a finger. “But I’m really curious to know if you believe in fate?”

  “I … uh… well, I don’t know. I think. Sure. Maybe?”

  “I do,” he said, letting go of a breath as his shoulders slumped, and he dropped his hands to his sides. I, too, took a deep breath, suddenly nervous about the direction of this conversation. Why were we talking about fate? What did that have to do with anything? Why did it matter if I believed in it? Why did he?

  “During the summer,” he said, spelling out the answer to the questions I was asking myself. “Mrs. Basting fell off a ladder and broke her legs, leaving me to run the production. Then, of all places for you to turn up on your wild trek across the country, you land yourself in my class where you meet Bridget.”

  I smiled. I’d never forget that day. Meeting him, Bridget, and Nate all in one day… it was kind of perfect. They made this transition into a new town so much easier for me than anyone ever had.

  “It’s no secret that Bridget’s the reason you turned up at the auditions,” he continued. “And then you, kiddo, and your incredible talent, end up designing the best costumes Webster Grove High has ever seen. And school aside, I got the honor of spending an evening with you, learning about your biggest dream and why you’ve been inspired to design. And all of this, when you add it up … it’s fate, I’m certain. We were meant to meet. We were meant to cross paths, now, at this very point in our lives.”

  “Oh boy,” I said, rubbing my sweaty palms on my jeans. “Mr. Rivera, I’m not sure—”

  “Can you spare a few extra minutes before you leave tonight?”

  I caught a small glimmer of hope in his eye, so I nodded. “Sure.”

  “Goo
d,” he said, backing away and opening the door. He stuck his head into the hallway and mumbled something to someone I couldn't see. He opened the door and a beautiful Hispanic woman moved into the room. Her eyes were as dark as Mr. Rivera's, and natural silver highlighted her hair. She was taller than him, slim as a super-model, but aged gracefully. A thin smile stretched across her lips and she nodded.

  “Gran,” my teacher said, excitement dancing in his eyes. “This is her. This is Steph.”

  Oh, God. He was introducing me to his grandmother? And maybe I was crazy… but she looked an awful lot like—

  “Steph,” Mr. Rivera continued, gently placing his hand on the small of my back and urging me closer to the woman. “After everything you’ve told me, everything you’ve been through to get to this point, it is an incredible honor to be the person introducing you to my grandmother.”

  “Are you …” I asked breathlessly, because I couldn’t find the words to finish the sentence. Surely I was seeing things. Surely this wasn’t happening. “Are you?”

  “I am,” she said, extending her hand to shake mine, but I couldn’t move. It was really her.

  “Adriana Holbrook,” I whispered under my breath. “Designer to the stars.”

  I looked from my teacher to his grandmother and then back to him again. He nodded, and my eyes filled with tears. I should’ve taken her hand; I should’ve introduced myself. There were so many things I should’ve done in that moment to make an outstanding first impression, but all I could do was throw my arms around Alex’s neck and hug him.

  He’d brought her here; he’d done this for me. The man I’d just wrapped admirably in my arms was quickly becoming the biggest dream come true, and I couldn’t begin to imagine what fate had in store for us next.

  This was only the beginning. I knew it.