Stage Kissed

  Before I lose all my rationalized confidence, I smack the call button and wait. If I get voicemail I’ll hang up. I’m not as comfortable as she is leaving messages.

  Three rings. I should hang up.

  Four rings. Yeah, I’m going to hang up.

  Five rings.

  “H-Hello?”

  Oh great, she was sleeping. “Uh…”

  “Oh, hi, Seth. Hang on a second.” She yawns and I smack my head with my phone. She could tell it was me just from that? I’m more pathetic than I thought.

  After a couple of moments her soft voice comes across through the earpiece. “What’s up?”

  “Sorry I woke you. I was just, you know, calling you back.”

  “Oh right! Yeah, sorry about that super-long message. Did you just get home?”

  I get halfway through a nod before I remember she can’t see me.

  “Yes. You? Sounds like I woke you up.”

  “Kinda.” Her voice comes out tired and hushed. “I’m still at the stupid committee meeting. I think I fell asleep at Candace’s kitchen table, right in the cheeseballs.”

  I chuckle and surprise myself as a yawn comes out with it.

  “You sound just as sleepy,” she says, smile going through her voice.

  “I am. Long day.” I pause, letting not only the day, but the entire week catch up with me. I thought being in MESA, orchestra, and work kept me busy. Now I know schedules pack up nearly ten times over when people actually know who you are. I’d always felt a little bit of sympathy for Kate when I could tell she was overwhelmed from her “in demand” status. I can completely empathize with her now. “You know how it is.”

  “All too well. I’m about to go up to Candace’s bed and just sleep here. Don’t think I’ll make it home.”

  “Do you do that often?”

  “Only when I have to.”

  Good thing she has all these friends. In her situation, I’d probably end up pulling to the side of the road and sleeping in my car.

  “So…anyway,” she says, “Friday?”

  “Uh, what?”

  She laughs, but it’s so sleepy it almost puts me to sleep. “Trig on Friday after work. You okay with that, or is Mr. Popularity already booked?”

  If I’m booked, I don’t care. I’ll move whatever it is for her.

  “Friday’s great.” A smile curves my lips. “Your Corolla or mine?”

  Another tired chuckle comes through the phone. “Well, I’d love for us to ride together, save gas and the planet and all that, but I gotta get to work right after soccer, and I don’t want to leave my car at Jamba overnight again. Can you believe people will just chuck garbage under the hood if you leave your car sitting somewhere for a while?”

  “What? When did that happen?”

  “Night of Suzi’s party. Stupid, right? People are such buttholes.”

  Laughter bursts from deep in my stomach. The kind of laughter I don’t use much. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Kate insult anyone, even if I know she thinks it.

  I think I like it.

  “I’ll say.” I don’t even stutter.

  “So, how about we’ll study at my house after?”

  “That sounds good.”

  “Thank you so much. Really, Seth, I think you’re—”

  In the background, I hear someone call, “Kate? You coming back in? We need your opinion on the centerpiece proportions.”

  There’s a pause before Kate sighs into the phone. “Duty calls.”

  “Tell her it’s past your bedtime,” I say, desperately wanting her to finish her sentence.

  “I’m going to.” She laughs, then lets out another yawn which I echo. “Thanks again, pal. Hopefully I’ll talk to you sometime before Friday.”

  Fat chance of that happening. I know my schedule is full, and Kate’s going to be a walking zombie tomorrow if that meeting is still going on.

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “Later.”

  I wish there was a replay button for that conversation, because I really don’t think I’ll be talking to her at all until we work together again.

  My head does that bob thing when I nod off, and I bolt straight in my chair.

  “So that’s what you need to know for next week’s test,” a voice says through the fog.

  Where am I?

  I shake my head and focus on the board in front of the room, which lists all the topics that will be on the trig test next week. The bell rings and I look down at my blank notebook.

  I am so screwed.

  “You only snored a little bit.” Jesse laughs from the seat on my right.

  I brush my hand down my face. I should feel more rested, since I must have fallen asleep the minute my bum hit this chair. But I don’t.

  “Kate, Billy, can I see you before you leave, please?” Ms. Meyer waves us over. I meet Billy’s eyes in the back of the room and we shrug. Can’t imagine what she wants to talk about.

  Ms. Meyer doesn’t start talking when we reach her desk. Her lips are pinched and her eyes linger on the few students remaining in the room. As each second passes, a feeling of dread builds in my stomach.

  It wasn’t a big deal. She wouldn’t really care, would she?

  After the last student steals a quick glance at Billy and me twiddling our thumbs before leaving, Ms. Meyer clears her throat. Her eyes meet ours. I hitch my books higher into my stomach. I think I know what’s coming.

  And I think I might throw up.

  “Do either of you know what I want to talk to you about?”

  Her words, her tone, the way she’s piercing my heart with that glare. She knows. And she wants us to admit it before she asks. I should say, “Yes. I copied Billy’s homework a few times.” A good person would do that.

  Then again, a good person wouldn’t have done it in the first place.

  But it’s no big deal. It’s just a few trig assignments. One I forgot about, and then another I didn’t have time for. The third one I tried. I really tried. But it was a different language. I woke up to myself drooling on problem number one.

  I open my mouth but all that comes out is a strangled exhale.

  “Hmm.” Her eyes move from Billy to me. She pulls out two sheets of loose leaf, one with Billy’s name on the top and one with mine. “These are yesterday’s homework assignments, no?”

  “Yes,” Billy and I say at the same time.

  “It’s strange.” Ms. Meyer stands straight and crosses her arms over her chest. “They’re exactly the same.”

  “We worked on it together,” Billy quickly says. My eyes dart to him, without moving my head.

  “You did, huh?” Ms. Meyer turns around and pulls out a purple folder. “Well then, what I find interesting is that all of these,” she holds up the last two weeks of assignments, “are exactly the same too. Down to side work that was needed to get to the final answer.”

  Oh. My. Gosh.

  This is really, really bad.

  “There’s nothing wrong with working on assignments together, right?” Billy’s voice is higher. I have yet to say anything, and I’m pretty sure I couldn’t form coherent sentences if I tried.

  Ms. Meyer completely focuses on me now. “Your quiz scores have been horrible. It is clear you don’t understand what’s going on, Kate. Are you working with Billy on these assignments, or are you copying his work?”

  I want to scream, It’s just trig! Do you know how much stuff I have to do? With all my classes, work, basketball ending, soccer beginning, National Honor Society, the stupid yearbook, and the end of the musical…something has to give. So what if it’s a few trig assignments? Who the heck does that hurt?

  I take in a shaky breath. I’m going to cry, dang it. The school’s got a no-tolerance policy for cheating. How many soccer games will I be forced to miss? Will I get kicked out of NHS?

  My dad’s going to kill me.

  “We worked on them together,” Billy says again. He’s covering for me for all the times I let him copy my homework, an
d ironically we never got caught then. “She’s so tired the quizzes are probably—”

  “Billy, stop.” It feels like I’m watching myself interrupt him, like the words aren’t my own. I clear my throat. “I copied Billy’s homework.”

  Ms. Meyer looks at Billy. “Is this true?”

  Billy’s gaze moves from me to Ms. Meyer and back. His eyes are sad, but he doesn’t need to feel bad for me. I did this to myself.

  “Yes,” he finally says.

  “You can go, Billy.” He turns to leave and Ms. Meyer speaks to his back. “But if I catch you letting anyone else copy your work, you’ll have to face the consequences of cheating, too. Got it?”

  He nods once. His eyes linger on me for a second before he leaves, closing the door quickly behind him. The room instantly gets smaller and warmer.

  “What have we gotten ourselves into, Kate?” Ms. Meyer’s voice draws my attention back to her.

  “I’m so sorry,” I ramble. “There’s no excuse. I know that. I just…I just didn’t have time to do it. And some of it I didn’t understand. But I know that’s no excuse. It was just…easier.” My shoulders fall. There are some teachers at this school who wouldn’t care, who might actually feel bad for me. But Ms. Meyer’s not one of them.

  She brushes the bangs of her pixie cut out of her eyes. “What do you think we should do?”

  I shrug because what I want to say she won’t agree to.

  Can we just forget this? I won’t do it again.

  Ms. Meyer exhales loudly and her features slacken. “I’m going to have to report this, Kate.”

  “I know.” I stare at the books in my hands.

  “It’s for your own good. You’re better than this. You can do better in my class. You just have to apply yourself.”

  But that takes time. “You’re right.”

  “Let’s you and me take a walk to the principal’s office. Is there somewhere you’re supposed to be right now? Someone you need to tell you’ll be a little late?”

  Nope. Being late is nothing new. No one will be surprised.

  But when we enter the hallway, Ms. Meyer flanking my side, the low murmur among the students tells me everyone is surprised about one thing.

  Kate Ryan is being taken to the Principal’s office.

  The walk from my car to the front door is the longest I’ve ever taken. My feet are lead. I think I might be coming down with something. I’m warm, then cold, then warm, then I have no feeling. I’ve royally effed up. Before my foot crosses the threshold of the front door, my father’s voice finds my ears.

  “To your room now, young lady.”

  I only stick around long enough to take my shoes off. I hoist my backpack higher and march past him without raising my eyes. I can feel Mom looking at me from the kitchen. Thank heavens the girls are at practice. I don’t need to feel disappointment coming from them, too.

  I throw my bag on my bedroom floor and flop onto my bed. Within seconds, tears are flooding my pillow, my breathing is coming out in gasps. In reality, I got off easy. They decided not to put it on my permanent record. But I have to miss the first two games for soccer, and I fail all those homework assignments I cheated on. That’s it.

  According to the school.

  Neither of my parents comes in for three hours. I think I only cried for two of them. Finally, there’s a light knock on my door. I brace myself to shed additional tears.

  “Kate, we’re coming in,” my mom says.

  “Okay,” I say into my pillow. I don’t look up until I feel one side of my bed drop slightly. When I look over my shoulder I see Dad standing over me. My mom is sitting next to me, and she pats my leg.

  “Care to tell us what happened?” she asks, her voice soft but authoritative.

  I tell them, and like I expected the tears roll down my face almost immediately. The disappointment in their eyes is just too much. The thing is, I never gave the cheating a second thought. It was what I needed to do to survive. And let’s face it—most of my classmates do it. Why did I have to be the person to make an example of?

  Of course, I don’t say any of that. I just say that what I did was wrong. I know that. It won’t happen again.

  Please don’t kill me.

  After my explanation, and a few moments of silence, Dad finally speaks.

  “Well, failing those three assignments isn’t going to do anything to help your trigonometry grade.” He looks at Mom. “Your mother and I think missing the two soccer games is fair. But we’re going to set a few rules, too. Cheating will not be tolerated, young lady.”

  “I know.” I’m saying that far too much today.

  “You must be home by nine every night, unless you are working the closing shift. You are grounded for a month. There will only be school, work, and extracurricular activities. No friends. No parties.” He clears his throat. “And your mother and I will be checking your homework every night for the next month so we know what’s going on with you. Understood?”

  “Yes. I’m so sorry,” I whisper, and the tears pour out again.

  Mom reaches out and pulls me in, wrapping her arms around me. “We know, honey. Take this time to get your priorities straight. All right? There’s no excuse for this, you hear us? None.”

  I move my head up and down on her shoulder. I failed my homework assignments. Missing two soccer games. Grounded for a month. No friends. No parties.

  Not that I really had time for those before, anyway.

  Kate's grin has been forced all night. I want to talk to her, but Jamba is apparently the place to be. Some people aren’t even buying anything. They just came in to get the real story about the trig test from Kate herself. She keeps waving people off, laughing and joking, and I watch, wondering why she’s not telling Nancy that she can’t go to the soccer tryouts “just to watch.” Why she tells Aaron she’ll do another full sheet of pictures for the yearbook. Why she says “okay” with that tight smile when Candace asks her to organize and run the next Honor Society meeting.

  Doesn’t anyone notice there’s something bugging her? It’s like Kate has all these friends, but she doesn’t have any close enough to tell her to take a break. I think Brit would, but she’s probably the only person who hasn’t shown up at Jamba.

  I clear my throat and call out, “Josh!”, and a guy in his mid-twenties picks up his smoothie and leaves a tip with a “Thanks, man.” When I nod, Kate’s eyes cut to mine and the corner of her mouth twitches. Almost as if she wants to smile, but she has no idea how anymore. So I smile for her.

  Once the clock reads 9 PM, I go lock up. I snap the outside lights off before anyone else has a chance to bug Kate. I’m pretty sure she’s had enough.

  “Ever want a day off?” Kate asks. I turn around and watch her wipe one of the circular tables. It looks as if it’s taking all the effort she has just to slosh the cloth across the tabletop.

  I toss a chair up on top of one she’s already cleaned. “A day off from work?”

  She shakes her head, the final pieces of her ponytail falling loose from under her hat. Her eyes look like they’re only just staying open. “From life. Don’t get me wrong, I love my life, but sometimes I wish there was a mute button on people.” She sighs and drops the rag on the table, pulling her phone out of her pocket. Her jaw clenches as she types in a response to whoever it is and shoves the cell back in her pants.

  I swallow, hoping she’s okay there’s not a mute button on me and ask, “You okay?”

  As usual, she tries to wash her face free of whatever is causing her stress. It looks cute, with all her hair in front of her eyes and a spot of smoothie on her cheek, but it makes my gut clench. She doesn’t have to pretend to be happy when she’s not. She shouldn’t feel obligated to say yes all the time, or smile, or be carefree. If she’s sad, she should feel okay to be sad. Or angry, or disappointed, or stressed, or exhausted, or anything. She should be okay to feel whatever she wants to feel.

  Whatever look is on my face makes her smile even more forced
. “I’m fine, really. Just need a second to breathe.”

  She flops into a chair and pulls her phone out again. She growls at it before returning yet another text.

  I’m not sure if it’s the right thing, and my whole body is shaking even entertaining what I’m thinking of doing, but I feel I should help somehow. Even if I’m not exactly comfortable with this kind of stuff.

  Wiping my palms off on my khakis, I walk to Kate and hope I don’t look as nauseous as I feel. “Give me your phone.”

  Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t argue with me. When it lands in my palm, I press the screen with my thumb until it goes black. “Mute button,” I say with an attempted smirk as I hand it back.

  She chuckles, tucking it in her pocket. “I don’t think my phone’s been turned off since I got it.”

  I take a step forward, pushing the dryness out of my throat. “I’m giving you the night off from life.” The smile she’s wearing isn’t forced anymore as I slide behind her. As much as it terrifies me, I settle my hands on her shoulders and slowly start moving my thumbs in circles along her vertebrae. The action makes me control my normal nervous shakes, but it doesn’t make my chest loosen. I hope she doesn’t smack me, because I’ll feel like an idiot.

  She drops her head forward and lets out this long moan. I’m barely breathing, and I can’t believe it’s my twitchy hands causing her to make that noise at all. And since I can’t think about that without going into a slight panic attack, I click my brain over into analytical mode.

  She’s full of knots. All along the cervical vertebrae and up the sternocleidomastoid. If I apply just the right amount of pressure, working along the least sensitive tissue up to the most sensitive, those knots will stretch right out. I use the heel of my hand to press up, then back down Kate’s neck, and she lets out another moan, and I have to zap my brain back into what I’m doing and not how she’s reacting.

  It seems like things are in slow motion as I try to concentrate on the anatomy of her neck and shoulders, and not the fact that her skin is riddled with goose bumps. I want to close my eyes so I’m forced to focus on untying those knots, but I can’t stop watching her completely melt underneath my hands.