I couldn’t get the image of the two of them out of my mind. It seared my brain as I threw my backpack down in our hallway and stomped to the kitchen. It was about a hundred times more painful than when Connor dumped me.
I stood in front of the cupboard and surveyed my mother’s spices.
I’d read something about a beauty contest being sabotaged when someone put chili powder or something in the contestant’s clothing. It had made her itch and sneeze, and I was hoping to find something to do the same to Angie.
“Honey, are you home?” Mom hollered from the front door. “I need help with the groceries.”
“Coming, Mom,” I yelled back, but I didn’t move.
I hesitated, hand in the air, but then the image of Dev smiling at Angie flashed into my mind, and I grabbed the cayenne pepper and put it in my backpack.
I told myself that it didn’t have anything to do with the fact that I’d seen her flirting with Dev. It was about the play.
Still, as I helped Mom with the groceries, the hurt feeling wouldn’t go away. It was much worse than when Connor had betrayed me. I didn’t think Dev would be fooled by a pair of pouty lips and fake eyelashes, but apparently, he was as weak as all the rest.
I was going to put my plan into motion at school the next day. I cut my last class and snuck into the costume closet. The lighting was dim in there and the room felt unbearably stuffy.
Angie’s outfit was hanging right in front. It was almost too easy. I started to sweat but managed to turn her costume inside out. I whipped out the spice jar and sprinkled the powder all over her gown.
The dismissal bell rang and I threw the jar into my backpack and slipped out before classes emptied out into the hall.
A few minutes later, I strolled into rehearsal. Monet and Fanelli were the only ones in the room.
“What’s with you?” Monet said. “You’re never here on time.”
“I cut class,” I said, without thinking. Mr. Fanelli gave me a dirty look and I added quickly, “I wanted to go somewhere quiet and prepare.”
His frown faded, but he still had to give me a lecture. “Sophie, I don’t approve of skipping classes.”
“I won’t do it again,” I promised rashly.
My answer seemed to satisfy him, because he only grunted and went back to his clipboard.
Monet said, “We have a couple of minutes before we start. Want to get a soda?”
Perfect. An alibi.
We headed to the vending machine outside.
“I’m really proud of you, you know,” she said.
“Why is that?”
“Because you kept your promise,” she said.
“What promise?”
She gave me a friendly sock on the arm. “Quit kidding around.”
I had a feeling I was heading for trouble, so for once I decided to think before I spoke. “Oh, that.”
While she continued to talk, I frantically tried to recall what she could be talking about. The promise not to regain my social status by any means necessary—like costume sabotage?
I started to sweat. If she found out what I’d done, she’d never forgive me, as a stage manager or a friend.
“We should get back to rehearsal,” I reminded her.
We hurried back into the auditorium, where most of the cast were gathered.
Monet said, “C’mon, people, time to get into costume and makeup.”
The drama classroom had been converted. The desks were gone and several rows of temporary makeup chairs had been set up in their places.
One of Monet’s lackeys wheeled a clothing rack filled with our costumes into the room. I changed into my dress and threw a robe over it to protect the fabric when I was in hair and makeup. My costume was the typical ingenue white, pretty but boring.
Mrs. Swenson, who volunteered for every production even after her daughter had graduated, waved me over. I liked her the best of all the volunteer moms and gladly went into her chair.
“Sophie, how are you? You’ll dazzle us tonight, I’m sure.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Swenson. I hope so,” I replied. “How is Shelli?”
We chatted about her daughter’s college experience while Mrs. Swenson braided my hair and twisted it into a bun in the back of my head. Then she applied thick greasepaint to my face and finished the rest of my makeup.
Finally, I was ready. I thanked her and hopped out of the chair, giving up my place to Vanessa, who was playing a minor role as a widow.
Fanelli hollered, “Places, everyone!” The words gave me that familiar thrill. I’d been so focused on climbing back to the top that I’d forgotten how to enjoy the acting process.
Angie sneezed once backstage. A little flurry of spice rose from her dress. I looked around, but no one else noticed. I thought everything was going according to plan.
It was my chance. I’d have the role I’d always wanted, the role of tempestuous Katharina, the role I thought I was meant to play.
“Do you smell cayenne pepper?” she said.
Mr. Fanelli didn’t even yell at her for breaking character. “Angie, are you feeling okay?”
A little panicky feeling fluttered in my chest. She didn’t look well. Her eyes were all red and her face was starting to swell.
“Cayenne?” Connor said, his voice rising. “You’re allergic to cayenne pepper.”
“I know,” she said, her speech thickening.
She was having an allergic reaction.
“Does anyone have any Benadryl?” Monet asked.
“Get her some water,” Fanelli shouted.
“I think I have some Benadryl in my purse,” I said. There was a sick feeling in my stomach. I didn’t like Angie, but I didn’t wish her any real harm.
I ran backstage and grabbed my backpack. I rummaged through it until I found the over-the-counter medicine I was looking for and returned to the stage. Angie chugged a huge bottle of water, sitting on a chair surrounded by the cast and crew. I was relieved to see that the swelling in her face was already receding.
“Here you go,” I said. I handed it to Connor, and that’s when I noticed the reddish-brown powder all over my hand. I looked down. There was a trail of pepper running down the skirt of my white dress. I tried to hide my hand, but it was too late.
“What’s that all over your skirt?” Monet said.
Everyone was staring at me.
“It’s cayenne pepper,” Dev said. The disappointment in his voice nearly made me cry.
“It’s not,” I said. “It’s…from lunch.”
I tried to hand Connor the Benadryl, but he refused it. “Like I’d take anything from you,” he said. “It’s already taken care of. She had an EpiPen in her bag.”
Monet grabbed my backpack and shook out the contents.
“Hey!” I said, but it was too late.
She dug into it until she found something. “Aha,” she said. She held up a small container. “This is cayenne papper.”
There were general expressions of disgust from the crowd, but I ignored them. I only cared about Monet at that point. “It was just a p-prank.”
Monet gave a snort of disbelief.
“I didn’t know she was allergic,” I said pleadingly, but Monet was stone-faced.
“Don’t ever talk to me again,” she said.
Fanelli, for once, hadn’t commented until then. “Monet, take over the dress rehearsal. Vanessa will stand in as Bianca. Sophie, in my office. Now.”