In Between Page 23

  Maxine purses her lips. “It’s the best I could do under pressure.”

  Despite nearly meeting my death, I feel a twinge of pity. “Sorry about Sam. He might’ve been a little harsh.”

  She laughs. “Please, I’m an old pro. I’ve got Sam right where I want him.”

  We walk down the road, my shoes squishing with every step. “You have no idea how to get out of this one, do you?”

  Maxine sniffs. “Not a clue.”

  Chapter 37

  “Congratulations on another successful day of not passing out in biology.”

  I dig around in my lunch sack for my sandwich and scan the cafeteria. “Yeah, I’ve yet to be able to recreate that moment. It did get me out of class.”

  Frances grins. “It was kind of gross today when Mr. Hughes knocked Josh Palmer’s pig off the table.”

  “Totally disgusting. I thought Mr. Hughes was going to start bawling.”

  Frances and I giggle until she’s snorting.

  As my friend focuses on her fries, my mind goes to James, Millie, and the Valiant. I wish I could snap my fingers and make it all better for my foster parents. I don’t see any way that theatre is going to be finished by the opening. I wish Millie would just postpone it. Every day we get a little more done. But I have no less guilt.

  “Earth to Katie. Hello?” Frances waves a hand in front of my face. “Did you hear a word I just said?”

  “Um”—I smile sheepishly—“you said I’m the best science partner you ever had?”

  “Nice try. What’s up with you? You’ve been like this all week.”

  How do I explain the extent to which my life stinks right now? “Things are just really stressful at my house.”

  Frances steals one of my carrot sticks, which I am more than happy to share. “Like between the Scotts?”

  “Yeah, but it’s more than that. It’s the theatre. It has to be done for the opening night, but it’s just not possible. And it’s my fault, you know?”

  “It’s not your fault. It’s the fault of those people you were hanging out with. You didn’t know that was going to happen.”

  “But it did. And I was there.” I shake my head. “We’re running out of time.”

  Frances pops another carrot in her mouth. “So tell me what you need to fix this.”

  I laugh, though nothing is funny. “A miracle.”

  My friend smiles. “Guess you’d better start praying for one. I mean, God is in the miracle business, you know.”

  “That’s what I hear.” Like it’s just as easy as that.

  “Hey, Frances.”

  Frances looks beyond me. “Oh, hi, Charlie.”

  All the noises in the cafeteria fade away and thoughts of the Valiant dissolve as Charlie’s name echoes in my head. Oh, no. This is where Trudy Marple’s grandson tells Frances and everyone else at In Between what a freak I am. How I climb up in trees and spy on complete strangers like a perv.

  “Charlie, do you know Katie?”

  Though I’m tempted to be rude and ignore him, I’m forced to turn around and acknowledge Charlie.

  “Katie, nice to . . . meet you.”

  I clasp his outstretched hand to shake, but I don’t return his mischievous smile.

  “Are you new here?” He acts like we’ve never laid eyes on each other, as if he didn’t see me facedown in a pool full of algae just two days ago. “Perhaps you’ve just. . . dropped in?”

  Frances kicks me under the table. “Katie’s been here a little over a month. Haven’t you?”

  “Yeah. A month or so. But Charlie and I actually met—”

  “In the hall the other day. I think we usually pass each other on the stairs right before second hour.” He smiles. “It’s good to put a name to the face.”

  I’m suspicious, but I return his smile. “Yeah, you too.”

  Charlie takes an empty seat next to Frances. “It’s so easy to get lost in the pool of faces.”

  I choke on a carrot.

  “Yeah, the school is getting pretty big.” Frances nods in agreement and offers our new tablemate a French fry.

  “It’s like sometimes you could drown in all the people here, you know?”

  I glare at Charlie and give him my best evil eye. I call it Evil Eye Number Twenty-seven. It’s just the right combination of eyebrow, nose wrinkling, and lip curl.

  Two can play at this game.

  “I guess for a small town your school is fairly large,” I say. “But the halls are so crowded it’s like you’re close enough to dance with someone.” Score one for Katie.

  “We were just talking about overcrowding yesterday at the student council meeting.”

  I ignore Frances and continue staring down the guy in front of me.

  And then I get it.

  He’s not going to rat me out and announce to the world I’m a Peeping Tom. Charlie’s afraid of me outing him for dancing with Sam Dayberry.

  “Thanks for waltzing over here and introducing yourself, Charlie.” Hey, this is kind of fun, though I’m running out of material.

  His cheeks turn as pink as Frances’s wool sweater. Frances becomes engrossed in conversation with the girl next to her, and Charlie gives me his full attention. “Just remember this, Katie Parker. I have cafeteria-lady connections. You tell anyone you saw me dancing with Sam, and you will never have a hair-free lunch again.”

  His voice is low, for my ears only, and he barely holds on to his serious face.

  I lean in. “Charlie.” I snap a carrot with my teeth. “Your cafeteria threats don’t scare me. I bring my lunch. If you want me to keep quiet about your little foxtrot with Sam, you’re gonna have to do better than that.”

  He laughs quietly and considers his options. “How about I’ll forget what happened Tuesday, if you will.”

  The boy smells so good, it’s all I can do not to sniff his arrogant air. “Did something happen Tuesday? I don’t seem to recall.”

  Charlie stands up. His eyes hold mine, and my skin heats like a cafeteria fryer. “I’ll see you around, Katie Parker.”

  I watch him walk away, a boy sure of his place in this town, this school. While his smile might be a work of art, I know boys like Charlie are not my type. He’s smart, preppy—and totally hot. The guys who like me usually have a few body piercings and a taste for cheap cigarettes.

  And I’d do well to remember that.

  When I walk into the Valiant that afternoon I take a big, healthy breath, ready to confront Charlie’s dance partner.

  I find him sitting on the lobby floor, absorbed in laying some tile.

  “Hey, Sam. Broken any hearts lately?”

  He jerks, and a small tile shoots out of his hand. “Blast it!”

  Bending down, I pick up the stray piece. “You were pretty hard on Maxine yesterday.”

  “Shh! Keep your voice down. Millie could show up any moment.” He wipes his hands on his work pants and gets to his feet. “A man has to face his reality. Maxine is either going to date me or she’s not, but her escapades have gone on for too long. It’s not the first time someone’s done her dirty work and crashed in a pool.”

  “It’s not?”

  Sam throws his cap on the floor. “I was being metaphorical!”

  “Oh. Well, actually, Sam, a metaphor is a—”

  “You know what I mean. She could’ve gotten you hurt—your neck broken. Maxine and I are a farce, and I’m done with it. I’m tired of the games. I’m too old for it.”

  “Maxine’s totally devastated.”

  He picks up his hat and eyes me warily. “You don’t mean it.”

  “She talked about you the whole way home.”

  Mostly she was describing all the painful ways she was going to get even with him the entire ride back.

  “What did she . . . no, forget it. I don’t even want to know. We have work to do. We’re way behind schedule here, and we need to focus.”

  I catch the glimmer of interest in his eyes, but let it go. He’s right. We are not g
oing to be ready for the opening of the Valiant at the rate we’re going. It’s something that’s been keeping me up at night.

  “Sam, what are we going to do? The theatre isn’t anywhere near ready for opening night. We have a week and a half left, and I’m scared it’s not gonna happen.”

  His hand rests on my shoulder. “We’ve worked hard here, Katie. You’ve done a fine job. You need to be proud of what you’ve accomplished.”

  My hand sweeps the theatre. “It’s not good enough. Isn’t there anything we can do? Work more hours? I could stay longer.”

  Sam shakes his head. “We may be running behind here, but I happen to know the Big Guy is right on schedule.”

  “James?”

  “No. God.”

  “Whatever! Look around you. All I see is the theatre’s nowhere near finished. Do you have any idea how this is going to break Millie’s heart? She thinks Amy’s coming next week, did you know that?”

  “All we can do is our part. Whether the theatre gets done or whether Amy Scott comes back home is out of our control.” Sam’s patient eyes meet mine. “I’ve been praying for God’s help. Have you?”

  I swallow a rude comment. “No,” I sigh. “I haven’t prayed about this.” I really don’t think I’m qualified.

  “You want to help, girl, then you start praying.” He gives my nose a tweak. “Tonight.”

  Dragging my feet, I follow him into the theatre. The conversation turns to school and church as we return to a painting project started last week. I pour some red paint in a tray, and with small brush strokes begin to touch up a damaged mural on the wall. Sam works beside me, filling in a gold Art Deco sun which completes the picture.

  I load my brush with more paint. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Is this about Maxine?”

  “No.”

  “Then shoot.”

  “Why doesn’t James ever come to the Valiant?”

  Sam finishes a sun ray before answering me. “I’ve known James all his life—love him like a son. And that man can preach the Word like nobody else. But somewhere along the way, I think he got so busy ministering to others he didn’t stop and minister to himself. James and Millie are dealing with their hurt in their own ways.”

  “Do you think Amy’s coming?”

  He draws his brush back and surveys our work. “It’s not for me to say.”

  “But what if she doesn’t?”

  With a weathered hand, Sam points out a spot I missed.

  “Sam, the theatre isn’t going to be done on time, is it?”

  He sets his brush down and wipes his brow with the back of his sleeve. “Have a little faith, Katie.”

  “Just like that? It’s that simple?”

  “Kid, it’s all we’ve got.”

  I leave Sam and go to the bathroom to wash out my brushes, my mind on overload. Sam makes this faith business sound so easy. My algebra teacher makes math sound easy, but my report card tells a different story. Some things are just beyond me.

  When I return to the theatre, Sam is nowhere to be found. I take the opportunity to grab a juice box and a pack of peanut-butter crackers and sit down to watch the Romeo and Juliet rehearsals.

  “What’s here? A cup, closed in my true love’s hand? Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end . . .”

  “No, Stephanie, quit smiling. This is the serious part, remember? We talked about this last week. You just woke up to find your true love’s body next to you, and he’s dead. Dead, Stephanie, okay?” Bev runs a hand through her short hair and paces back and forth next to the stage. “Imagine you just broke your flat iron. Think how upset you’d be. Got it?”

  Stephanie nods, her ponytail bobbing enthusiastically.

  “Pick it up from your last line.”

  Stephanie thinks for a moment. “Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end . . . um . . . um . . . Don’t tell me. I know this.”

  I quietly finish her line. “O churl! Drunk all and left no friendly drop to help me after? I will kiss thy lips; haply some poison yet doth hang on them.”

  Laughter behind me makes me jump.

  “You know you’ve been spending too much time here when you can quote the lines better than the actors.”

  I smile. “Hey, Millie.”

  Maxine appears behind her. “How’s it going, Sweet Pea?”

  “I think we’re making some progress.” I hope my expression is more believable than my voice.

  Millie smiles. “Good. I know you are. We’ve made some progress too—on the Harvest Ball. We finally have the menu set and all the decorations purchased.”

  “Yup.” Maxine drops into a seat. “This event planning has been hard work.”

  Millie looks to the ceiling and blows an exasperated sigh out her lips. “I think I’ll go touch base with Bev.”

  Maxine twirls a ring around her finger, looks behind us, and begins to absently hum a little tune.

  “He’s here somewhere.”

  My foster grandmother faces forward with a jerk. “I have no idea who you are referring to.”

  “Yes, you do. Sam—he’s in the building somewhere. But he’s probably avoiding you.”

  Her ruby red lips purse together in a haughty pout. “I had hoped we could be adult about this, but I can understand him being too devastated over losing me to stick around.” Maxine’s eyes roam the theatre. “Seeing me would probably bring him further pain, and I do so hate to see a grown man cry.”

  “You are an angel of mercy.”

  Maxine digs in her purse and stick a piece of gum in her mouth. “I believe it’s Romeo who says, ‘Live and be happy.’”

  “Prosperous.”

  “What?”

  “Romeo says, ‘Live and be prosperous.’”

  Maxine studies my face a moment before giving a careless shrug. “Whatever.” She takes a nail file out of her giant gold purse and works on her nails. “No matter. That ship has sailed.”

  “So who will take you to the Harvest Ball this weekend?”

  “Oh, Katie, my dear. The burden of being Maxine Simmons is that there is only one of me for all of my gentlemen admirers. Maybe one day you’ll understand.”

  “You can’t find a date, can you?”

  “Not even if I paid cash.”

  A plan begins to brew in my head—bits and pieces of ideas swirling around.

  “Maxine, maybe you just gotta have some faith.”

  “Girl, I got faith.” She pops a blue bubble. “What I need is a date.”

  Chapter 38

  “Whatcha working on?”

  Totally bored, I pop my head into James’s study. He’s been holed inside for hours.

  His chair creaks as he swivels to greet me. “Wow, don’t you look nice. Tell me again how you got roped into going to the Harvest Ball?”

  I take a seat in a worn leather chair, settling my black skirt over my legs. “I volunteered to help.”

  James grimaces. “And I thought you were such a bright girl.”

  “Very funny. I think it will be fun. And besides, Millie needs some help.”

  “It’s very nice of you to go.”

  “Plus, since I’m grounded for life, this gives me a chance to break out of the house.” I look over James’s shoulder and catch a few words on the computer screen. “Working on your sermon?”

  He leans back in his chair and sighs. “Yes. It’s not coming together like I thought it would. Sometimes it’s like that. One week the sermon will almost write itself, and other times I’m still struggling with it as I take the pulpit.”

  “What’s it about? Maybe I can help you.” I grin. “I did get an A on my persuasive essay in English last week.”

  “I saw that on the refrigerator. Does your teacher always put giant smiley face stickers on your papers?”

  My face warms. “No, but Millie does.”

  James laughs. “It was a good essay. Definitely deserving of a spot on the fridge.”

  “See, so maybe I could help you out. What�
��s the topic? If it’s about how God thinks grounding from TV is a sin, you can use some of my material.”

  “Ah, no. But what an interesting topic—God’s thoughts on you being deprived of cable.” He’s doesn’t seem too concerned with my plight. “Actually I’m planning on teaching about forgiveness.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah. Heavy topic.”

  “And what are you going to say about it? How about ‘forgiveness: you should do it.’”

  “Very catchy. I thought I’d go a little more in depth though. I’ll probably talk about how God’s forgiveness is ours for the asking. That Christ died on the cross for all of our sins so we would be forgiven.”

  “Last Wednesday night Pastor Mike said a lot of people ask for forgiveness, but then don’t let it go.” My eyes are glued on James. “You know, like they go through the motions of asking God to forgive them, but then they hang on to their guilt. He said it can really weigh you down.”

  James laces his fingers and studies his hands.

  “But what do I know? I’m new to this.” I jump out of my chair, my skirt flouncing. My work here is done.

  “Just can’t get anything past you kid.”

  I stop in the doorway and turn to find James watching me.

  “Many will try, James. Few will succeed.” I smile, not sure what to do with this awkward moment I’ve created.

  He unclasps his hands and relaxes them on the chair, his head tilting as he studies me. “You know, I wasn’t sure about you.”

  My heart stutters. “I hear that a lot.”

  “No, I mean . . .” He scrubs a hand over his face. “I’m botching this up—kind of like my sermon. What I’m trying to say is . . . I wasn’t certain I wanted a foster child in my home—at my age and with my track record as a parent. Millie and I . . . well, Amy isn’t a success story for us. Yet.” His eyes are steady on mine. “I didn’t know if we—if I—was qualified to be a parent again.”

  “I think you’re doing an okay job. At least your omelets are good.” And I mean it. I think James has come a long way. We both have.

  I take a step out the door, then a thought occurs to me. “Hey, James . . . Maybe kids are like parents—we don’t pick them, you know? We just gotta work with what we’ve got.” I think of my mom and how there were good times too. I remember the Christmas I got a puppy. How we’d sing Disney songs in the car. Or watched Gilmore Girls reruns together.