Chapter Thirty-One

Faith

When school started Monday morning, people stared at Faith everywhere she went. Lots of whispering, lots of laughter behind her back.

She didn’t care. None of it mattered anymore.

Violet stopped her at her locker. “You okay?”

“Fine.” Faith slammed her locker door shut. “Peachy.”

“Girl…”

“I’ll be okay,” she said. “Although I heard Cameron is looking to beat Kyle up after school.”

“Good luck with that,” Vi said. “He’ll be at baseball practice. Only an idiot would pick a fight with a guy who has access to friends with bats.”

“We’re talking about Cam.”

“Oh, right. Then I hope he succeeds in finding Kyle. A beating would do him good.”

“Just so long as he lands a punch or two.”

Vi put a hand on her hip. “What happened?”

Faith shook her head. When she walked into school that morning, she’d passed right by Kyle. He’d smiled briefly at her, like a casual friend would, but didn’t say anything. That hurt, but if she told Violet, her best friend would take on Cameron’s quest—an enemy of my enemy is my friend, so to speak. “It’s nothing. Just all the gossip.”

“Ignore it. The scheme did what it was supposed to do. You aren’t getting nasty texts from football players anymore, are you?”

“Only a few.” Faith snorted. “I got twelve more asking if I’d meet up with them for lunch or coffee. Apparently, I’m now the school slut, which is laughable.”

“It’s going to be fine.” Vi gave her arm a bracing pat. “See you at lunch?”

“Sure.”

The day didn’t get any better, though. She was so preoccupied, she failed a pop quiz in political science, and couldn’t find her homework in English. When she walked into Spanish, Holly Masterson hissed, “Bitch,” as she passed by.

Faith waved a hand, exhausted with the fight. “Whatever.”

Snickers ran around the room and Señora Cabraya gave everyone a stern look. “Seats, por favor.”

Faith went to her desk, wondering if there’d ever be an end to this godforsaken day.

When school finally let out, she only had an hour to run home, do homework, and be back up to the performing arts center for rehearsal, but there was no way she was staying at school. She dashed out to her car before most people had cleared their lockers. She hadn’t seen Kyle since that morning, which wasn’t a surprise—the school was huge. Still, she half wondered if he was avoiding her.

She let herself in through the garage door. A pile of mail sat on the kitchen table, as usual, but there was a letter sitting at her place. A letter with NYU’s logo on it.

She approached the letter with caution, heart hammering. The envelope was thin. What did that mean? Was it good news? Or bad? She reached for it with shaking hands and tore open the end.

Dear Ms. Gladwell,

Thank you for your interest in the New York University musical theater program. Your audition was reviewed by a panel of three tenured faculty. Unfortunately, we are unable to extend you an admission at this time. You may audition again next year. We wish you all the best in your future endeavors.

Sincerely,

Dr. J. Rabin

The letter dropped to the floor, falling from numb fingers. They passed on her. She wasn’t going to NYU. They didn’t want her. She wasn’t good enough.

Tears welled up in her eyes, and every nerve was raw with pain. What was she going to do? Where would she go now? None of the Texas schools that accepted her had musical theater programs that compared with NYU.

With a cry, she snatched the letter off the floor and crumpled it into a tiny ball. She still had to go to rehearsal and perform tonight like nothing mattered. The show must go on, or some shit like that. But all she wanted to do was crawl into bed and cry while letting her dream go. Mom wasn’t even home to give her a comforting hug.

Faith went out to the porch and wiped her eyes. The backyard and all its colors mocked her grief. She wished she could pull up every azalea. Tear them apart with her bare hands…

Her shoulders slumped. No, she didn’t want that. No matter how Kyle ignored her, no matter how awful this day was, the yard was beautiful, and she couldn’t ruin it, even though everything else was.

She shoved the letter deep into the kitchen trash can so her parents wouldn’t find it before she could tell them herself, which she didn’t feel like doing, yet. There had to be some time to absorb it first, so she could talk about this without sobbing. She did her homework methodically, not really seeing, or caring, the answers she put down. When she realized she’d been reading the same page of Julius Caesar over and over, she finally gave it up. She’d seen the play twice, and that would have to do. Better to go on to practice early than waste her time.

She shoved every angry, upset, painful feeling down deep and drove back to school. In the distance, she could see small figures running laps around the baseball field. Kyle was out there somewhere, but he didn’t care about her, or her drama, anymore. She wasn’t worth his time. Or NYU’s. No matter how many times people told her she was special, turned out she wasn’t special enough.

She clutched her dance bag close, hunching over it, and walked briskly into the rehearsal hall.

Cade smiled and waved from the soundboard at the back of the theater. She was too upset to smile, but she nodded. His smile faded and he rose. “You okay?”

“Fine,” she said. “Just got some bad news is all.”

“Are you sure that’s all?”

His face was so kind. Cade was one of those boys who was funny and sweet and totally underrated. He also had a way of making you trust him on sight. Why couldn’t she fall for a guy like him?

Maybe that’s why she said, “I didn’t get accepted to NYU. Please don’t tell the others.”

He nodded. “I won’t. I know how they can be. And Faith? I’m so sorry.”

She blinked back tears. “Me, too.”

She made her way down to the stage where Mr. Fisk was practicing a solo with Jenny, the girl who play Ado Annie. Faith couldn’t help but smile. Jenny sounded exactly like Gloria Grahame, the woman who’d played her in the classic 1955 version, nasal twang, fake innocent expression and all. Funny how Faith had pretended to be a girl who “cain’t say no” to the bad boy of Suttonville, and still didn’t end up with a happy ending like Ado Annie.

They finished and Mr. Fisk spotted her. “Faith, come warm up, honey. How about ‘People Will Say We’re in Love?’”

Her stomach clenched. “Not sure I’m in the mood for that one, Mr. Fisk.”

He gave her a sympathetic look. Her drama teacher was well connected with gossip, so he probably knew some, if not all, of what happened the last week. “Then ‘Many a New Day.’” He smiled. “Everyone deserves a do-over.”

She smiled, knowing full well it was weak. “That’s fine.”

“Cade, could you reset the board for Faith please? Drop channel seven. We won’t need it.”

“Will do!” Cade’s disembodied voice called from the sound booth at the back of the theater.

Mr. Fisk waved her over to the piano. “Jenny’s great, but she doesn’t have the power you do.”

Power, as if. She had no power at all. Still, she wasn’t going to blow a performance for any finicky guy or mean university. She did a few quick vocal warm-ups, then nodded to her teacher. He started the intro on the piano.

The song was about a girl who had been courted and flirted with by a man who teased her. The girl, to teach him a lesson, agreed to go to a shindig with his rival. In retaliation, the man she really loved invited another girl to go with him. Now she was singing about how she didn’t care, that she would move on. But in the end, Laurey couldn’t move on. And she ended up hurt. The song was as much about new beginnings as it was about painful endings.

When she finished singing, she focused back on everything around her. Her cheeks were wet, and half the cast, along with most of the orchestra, had arrived. All of them were watching, and when the last piano note died, everyone started clapping.

Mr. Fisk gave her arm a squeeze and motioned her close. “You’re as strong as Laurey, honey. Don’t you forget that.”

She nodded and went to take her place with the cast, hurriedly drying her tears on her sleeve. Just like the song, she’d start all over again.

They practiced most of the first act without any mishaps, other than Mr. Fisk stopping the orchestra teacher once or twice to adjust the pit’s tone or volume. Once when Faith wandered too close to the edge of the stage, a bass player waved his bow at her, grinning from ear to ear. They were having a great time down there. It thawed some of the icy pain around her heart.

Drama kids and musicians were her people.

After a break, Mr. Fisk called, “I want to block Laurey’s nightmare ballet with the full cast and chorus to see how spacing looks with the dance elements. That way we can do a full Act I run-through tomorrow. Laurey, Jud, center stage, please.”

Faith changed into her pointe shoes, then walked over to Josh as the chorus dancers surrounded them. “Ready?”

He shrugged. “My part’s not that hard.”

Anger burned like a banked coal in her chest. “Good. Then don’t screw it up.”

“Places!” Mr. Fisk called from the fifth row. “Orchestra, start from the beginning. Faith, remember you’re bewildered and increasingly horrified.”

That shouldn’t be a problem. She took her place stage left, and Josh crossed to stage right and hooked his thumbs into his waistband. His smug expression faded into a hard, dominating expression. Almost too believable.

Faith raised her arms into fourth position and tilted her head. Bewildered. Afraid. Grieving. Oh, she had that down. She widened her eyes and parted her lips as two saloon girls did a mocking cancan on either side of Josh, who had now become Jud in her eyes.

The dancers moved aggressively her direction. Relevé, pirouette away. Elevé, skitter to the back of the stage. Be afraid, Laurey. Be very afraid. He’s going to hurt you.

Her heart pounded—the fear felt too real. Three cowboys jigged around her, and she clapped her hands to her head and spun in the opposite direction. Jud knocked them away and reached for her. She leaped, landed, took three flutter steps, then jumped into a full split, crossing the stage mostly in the air. Jud stalked after her again, and the mocking cancan girls walked behind him, sneering and smirking.

She backed up, spinning, and bumped into the cowboys, who took three menacing steps forward, forcing her toward Jud. Goose bumps rose on her arms, and real horror crept up her throat. She couldn’t disassociate herself from Laurey anymore.

Josh grabbed her around her waist and pulled her roughly against him. Faith went up on her toes and arched her back as he spun them in a circles. At the end of the third spin, he gave her a little shove, sending her twirling into the cowboys. They laughed and spun her right back. Faith bunched her muscles, took a step, and leaped into Josh’s arms.

He was supposed to catch her waist and lift her above his head—the easiest of their three lifts this scene. Just a quick up, then down. Instead he staggered back and dropped her.

Faith barely kept her balance and landed hard on her heels. Mr. Fisk yelled, “Cut!”

“What was that?” she asked.

Josh shrugged. “Sorry. You’re heavy.”

The two cancan girls rolled their eyes and one said, “She’s got muscle tone, but she’s not even close to heavy, you jackass.”

“Shut up, Alyssa.” He turned to glare at Faith. “Whose idea was it to put lifts in this thing, anyway?”

“Mine,” Mr. Fisk snapped. “And you told me you could do it. Can you?”

“I’m not sure.”

Mr. Fisk muttered under his breath before pointing at Josh. “Run it again. Anticipate the move. Faith’s giving you momentum with her jump. You just have to carry her the rest of the way up.” He sighed. “All the same, we probably should remove the fish lift. I’ll work out something else.”

Faith’s face burned. Heavy? Sure, she had muscle tone, like Alyssa said, but she’d never thought of herself as heavy. Was that what NYU saw when they watched her audition? A ballerina with a pretty voice, who couldn’t be lifted by a typical musical theater student? A girl who could jump, but couldn’t fly?

They went through the scene again and again. Josh managed to lift her twice, but he dropped her one other time, and fell over, carrying her with him on the last try.

“Cut,” Mr. Fisk called wearily. “That’s it for tonight. Go home, rest up. Josh, Faith, make sure you stretch and find some Icy Hot for those bruises.”

Everyone scattered. Rehearsal had been a disaster, and no one wanted to stick around. Faith lingered on the stage, trying to stop feeling defeated. “Mr. Fisk? Can I stay? I want to work out a few things to modify the scene for tomorrow.”

Lights were already being turned off around the theater. Mr. Fisk glanced back at Cade. “I wish I could say yes, but I’m late for something. Can it wait until tomorrow?”

Tears welled in her eyes, so she stared at her pointe shoes. “Okay.”

“Mr. Fisk? I can stay,” Cade called from his dark audio nook. “I have a key. If you’re okay with that, Faith?”

Mr. Fisk looked torn, but Faith jumped on it. “That would be great.”

“All right,” he said. “I’m trusting you two. Only one hour, got it? Then lock up and head home before your parents write me nasty emails for cutting into homework time.”

She nodded. “Thanks.”

He walked out and Cade said, “You ready?”

She took her place center stage and he turned off most of the lights except for a spotlight right on her. The seats disappeared and she was alone in a sea of darkness.

“What song? I have all the recordings back here,” Cade called. “The nightmare sequence?”

She swallowed down the last of her tears. “‘People Will Say We’re in Love.’”