The Locket

The week had been strange and, at times, awful—little changes everywhere and the continued stuck-around-my-neck state of the locket adding up to big anxiety and plenty of sleepless nights—but all my worries seemed trivial as soon as I reached the top of the stairs and eased out onto the catwalk leading to the grid high above the stage.

The fashion show run-through was finished and the light board programmed. I was done serving Rachel Pruitt for the day . . . except for one pesky spotlight that wasn’t working the way it was supposed to be. One little light that I was going to have to crawl out above the stage and replace.

There’s nothing that will take your mind off your troubles like being seconds away from falling to your death.

“I can’t do this. I have to come down,” I whispered into my headset, my hands fisting around the iron railing of the catwalk.

“Did you forget the safety harness for the light?” Sarah asked, her voice echoing through my pounding head. “I can have the stagehand run one up before he leaves.”

I looked down again. Big mistake. I suddenly couldn’t move. All I could do was stare out onto the iron grid where the theater lights hung—black and dusty—from their C-clamps and imagine falling fifty feet to splatter all over the stage. It didn’t matter that the spaces in the grid were way too small for a grown person to fit through or that I knew members of the drama club wouldn’t be allowed to hang the lights if it weren’t completely safe.

All rational thoughts vanished in the face of the pure terror pumping through my veins. The air was too hot to breathe. My vision swam. “I’m coming down.”

“No, you’re not,” Sarah said firmly, in stage manager mode. “It’s fine. You’re going to be fine. Just replace the spot and be done with it.”

There was a moment of static on the other end of the headset and for a second I could have sworn I heard Sarah laugh. “Then why did you volunteer to work lights?”

“I forgot how scary it was up here.” I sounded about three years old. What a baby. The dorkiness of it all helped me draw a slightly deeper breath.

“It’s totally safe, Katie, I promise. You’re going to be fine.” Sarah’s calm voice soothed me even further. I managed to pull one hand away from the railing to wipe my sweating palm on my jeans. “Do you want me to come up there? I’ve still got a few things to do at the soundboard, but—”

“No, it’s okay. You’ll be late for your rehearsal if you help me.” Not to mention I’d be late to meet Isaac and Mitch if I kept stalling. “Just . . . keep talking, okay? It helps.”

“No problem. I can talk and program sound at the same time.” The beep of the computer saving settings confirmed her words as truth. “I am a multi-tasker. So how’s the secret project going?”

“What secret project?” I asked, easing out onto the grid on my hands and knees. My heart jumped into my throat and did a back handspring that would have made many on the BHH cheerleading team extremely jealous.

Sarah’s dad was an architect and had been cool enough to draw me a simple set of plans for a tree house platform. I’d spent all afternoon Wednesday and Thursday building it in my garage, enduring the stuffy air in the name of keeping my construction secret from Mitch—who had been known to wander into my backyard without announcing his presence.

“Right. The tree house. I’m sorry.” I grabbed the spotlight from the catwalk and inched a little closer to my final destination. I could do this, as long as I didn’t think about it too much. “It’s going great. I already finished the platform and cut the wood for the steps.”

“I did.” I didn’t mind her surprised tone. I’d been equally shocked that I could build something so big all on my own. It was a simple plan, but still . . . I was pretty proud of myself. “I used my dad’s nail gun and power saw and sander.”

“Ooh! That is so sexy.” She laughed. “Don’t let Isaac see you with power tools. He’d probably quit basketball to sit around and watch you whip things out of your tool belt.”

Thinking about him made me happy and sad all at the same time. Happy, because things were the same as they’d ever been. Sad, because . . . things were the same as they’d ever been. He was so cute and sweet and fun, but he was also so obsessed with basketball and himself. More and more, I noticed that Isaac never asked me how my day was or what my plans were. Our conversations always revolved around him, as if he took for granted the fact that he was the more interesting half of our couple.

Which he was . . . but still . . . it would be nice if he’d at least pretend I was interesting. Mitch seemed to find me interesting. But Mitch wasn’t my boyfriend.

Mitch wasn’t the person I should be thinking about last thing before I went to bed, Mitch wasn’t the person I should hope to see sitting alone at a table in Jukebox Java when I walked by after school, and Mitch certainly wasn’t the person I should be thinking about while I was making out with my boyfriend on my back porch. I shouldn’t be thinking about Mitch at all, let alone comparing Isaac’s kisses to a kiss that had never happened.

I was as horrible a girlfriend in my do over as I had been the first time around, and I needed to get a grip in a major way.

The only reason I was thinking about Mitch’s kiss was because Isaac and I had been together forever. I’d never kissed anyone but Isaac and I’d kissed him for three years. Mitch was intriguing because I’d only kissed him once, but I knew better than to be sucked in by the lure of the new and ruin the good things I had.

Mitch was my friend and Isaac was my boyfriend. That was the way it was supposed to be. I just had to find a way to put some of the spark back into my romantic relationship.

“Isaac might have to learn to deal. I’m considering a career in construction,” I said, lifting the old light up to the grid and settling the new one in its place.

“Ha ha. Speaking of heights, you should come see the tree house this weekend. After it’s up in the tree.”

“Sure. Dad’s putting the platform on a low limb. He’s securing it and nailing the steps on the tree this afternoon while Mitch and Isaac and I are apple picking. That way it will be a surprise.”

“Very cool.” She was quiet for a second, and I heard the soundboard computer shutting off. “You done yet?”

“Almost,” I said, tongue slipping out to wet my lips. “I’ve got the old light out and the new light in. Just need to put on the safety harness.”

“I’ll let you know. I’m not back on the ground yet.” She was right, though, it hadn’t been that bad. My heart still raced like I’d downed three All-nighters at Jukebox, but I’d replaced the light and was on my way back to the catwalk without having a fullblown heart attack. “Thanks for talking to me.”

“Yes, I do.” I left the old light sitting on the catwalk where Mr. Geery, the drama-club sponsor, had said he would pick it up later, and started down the winding circular stairs leading back to the stage. “The manners are deeply ingrained. My mom and dad wouldn’t even change my diaper when I was a baby unless I said please.”

“You don’t need manners with friends.” Sarah’s voice hit me twice, once in my earbud and once from just ahead of me, at the base of the stairs.

I pulled my headset off and handed it over. “I think you do. Especially with friends. I’d rather be unmannerly with people I don’t like than people I do.”

Sarah shot me a sideways look before hustling back toward the equipment lockbox. “But aren’t you always meaner to the people you love? I’m way meaner to my dad and mom than I am normal people. And Hunter . . . Well, I love my sweet little brother so much I punched him in the face on the way to school this morning.”

I laughed and grabbed my backpack from the floor as Sarah locked up the headsets. “I’m sure that really messed him up, you being so buff and all.”

“It did. He cried.” She jogged the ten feet to the dressing room and knocked on the door. “Ya’ll almost done in there? I need to lock up.”

“Almost done, a couple more minutes,” came a muffled voice from inside. Who knew it took so long to hang up clothes? Not I. But then, I usually left mine draped over the chair at the desk in my room and did my homework on the bed when the pile got too high.

Sarah sighed, crossing her thin arms and checking her watch before turning back to me. “Hey, did you hear that Hunter’s the new equipment manager for the basketball team?”

Did I? In my old life, I certainly had. I’d heard about five minutes before I learned Hunter was the one who’d told Isaac about me and Mitch. “Yeah, I think Isaac told me. I think . . .”

“He’s so excited. He thinks it will give him an in for making varsity next year, even though he’ll only be a sophomore.”

“Maybe he’ll get better this year. Isaac improved a lot between freshman and sophomore years.” Isaac, who was probably already waiting for me in the parking lot.

I considered ducking into the dressing room to change into the clean shirt I’d brought but thought better of it. Better to stay dusty and free of embarrassing interaction for the day. So far, Rachel hadn’t found a way to put me in my place this afternoon and I meant to keep it that way. “Listen, I’d better—”

“Me too.” Sarah sighed. “Come on, you guys, I’m going to be late for rehearsal.” She banged on the heavy metal door . . . the heavy metal door that was on the opposite side of the theater than it had been.

My heart rate spiked, shooting back into crawling-out-on-the-catwalk territory. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t noticed this before. The boys’ dressing room and the girls’ dressing room were flip-flopped, like I’d crossed through a mirror and was seeing backstage from the other side.

The thought made me shuffle backward, fingers digging into the canvas of my backpack. I hadn’t read the Alice books in years, but I remembered what a bad feeling they’d given me. Even as a kid, I’d hated the idea that nothing was as it seemed, that normally cute little animals were scary and disturbed, that a card queen could order a little girl’s head chopped from her body, that—

“Hey, watch out!” Sarah grabbed my sleeve and pulled me forward seconds before a great metallic clattering filled the air. I spun to see one of the heavy stage ladders lying right where I’d been standing and a red-faced freshman boy a few feet away, his arms overflowing with a giant prop box.

“What the hell, Shawn?” Sarah yelled, pushing in front of me, gesturing to the fallen ladder with one angry finger. “You could have fucking hurt someone. Watch where the fuck you’re going.”

Shawn turned even redder, until he looked almost purple in the dim backstage light. “I’m so sorry, Katie. I didn’t even see it.”

“It’s . . . fine. No worries,” I said, trying to smile despite the fact that I was still pretty freaked out.

Whether it was the fact that I’d nearly been crushed or that Sarah was cussing like a sailor, however, I couldn’t really say. In my real life, Sarah wouldn’t say shit if she’d had a mouth full of it. Now she apparently threw the “eff” word around like it was going out of style.

I shivered, suddenly cold. I couldn’t wait to see Gran tomorrow and learn what she knew about the locket. I couldn’t wait until Saturday after next, when this do over would finally be over and I could start fresh with no conflicting memories to mess with my mind.

“Yeah, Shawn just needs to try to suck less,” Sarah said, dismissing her freshman stagehand with one final glare before she turned back to Rachel. “Are y’all ready? I need to head out.”

“Just a couple more seconds,” Rachel said in her talking-to-someone-who-matters voice. Ever since the fashion show girls found out Sarah was a “professional” actress, they’d been a lot friendlier. “Sorry, we’re almost finished. We’re just deciding on the dresses for the finale. I think I’ve picked mine.” She gestured down at the skintight red dress she wore. It looked like something my gran would have worn to a 1960s cocktail party. It was really different. Interesting.

I peeked into the room, swallowing hard as I took in the rhinestone pins and cat-eye glasses, the taffeta and chiffon and strings of pearls. All ten girls were decked out in period costume. It was like they’d stepped out of Leave It to Beaver. Or maybe Stepford Wives would be a better analogy.

“Um. No.” I shook my head a little too long. I could feel myself shaking like an idiot, but I couldn’t seem to stop. It was starting to feel like this wasn’t even my life anymore.

Who had dreamed mundane details were so important? That the color of a door or the arrangement of a classroom or the expected Wednesday chili dog buffet line could mean so much?

Rachel reached out, plucking a dust ball from the end of my hair and flicking it onto the ground. “Listen, Isaac and I talked.” She made the word “talked” sound like a bona fide betrayal. “I know you were upset that I didn’t ask you to be part of the show.”

I was going to kill him. How dare he talk to Rachel about me behind my back? And tell her things I’d never even said, no less? I tried to smile. “No, I wasn’t upset at all. I mean, I’m not upset. Now, or ever.”

She swiped an invisible bit of lipstick off the corner of her lips. “I mean, I really wanted this show to have all the hottest senior girls at BHH in it. I told Isaac that, but he still didn’t get it. He just can’t see clearly where you’re concerned. But you understand, right?”

“Oh, yeah. No worries.” I understood completely. She’d thrown the “senior” part in there so it wouldn’t seem like she was being mean, but she was. She knew it, and I knew it. Once again, she was making it clear I wasn’t good enough for Isaac and that he was the only one who hadn’t gotten the memo.

Sarah took a deep breath and discreetly grabbed the strap of my backpack. “Okay, Rachel, I have to go. You can have the keys.” She tossed the keys in a wide arc. For the first time in my life I witnessed Rachel Pruitt suffering from awkward as she snatched them from the air. It was only a second, but it was enough to make me silently pledge my eternal friendship to Sarah Needles. “Lock up the dressing room and the front and back doors to the theater. I’m telling Mr. Geery you’re in charge, so if anything gets stolen, it’s your fault.”

“Thanks, Sarah,” Rachel said, so sweet she’d make sugar taste artificial. “You’ve been a big help. You’re such a good friend to our little Katie. And her boyfriend.”

“Whatever, Rachel.” Sarah spun away, pulling me with her. When she was in stage manager mode, Sarah was confident enough to treat a senior goddess like an equal.

I wasn’t confident enough to snub Rachel. For some stupid reason, I couldn’t bring myself to be rude to the girl who had inferred I was an ugly troll more times than I could remember.

“Don’t let her get to you. You’re gorgeous, way prettier than she is. People would skin their babies for hair your color.” Sarah flung open the back door. We both winced in the bright sunlight. It was easy to forget it was still daylight in the blackness of the theater. “I’ve got to run, but call me la—”

“I will!” On impulse, I lunged for Sarah, hugging her tight. “Thanks for saving me from the ladder. I’m so glad we’re friends again.”

“Me too.” She hugged me back, tentatively at first, but then a real, strong squeeze. “It sucked not seeing you. You . . . really mean a lot to me. You know that, right?”

“Me too. Let’s not let it happen again. No matter what.” Sarah’s green, yellow, and brown eyes practically glowed with intensity. I’d never seen her so serious. And it was because of me. Because she’d missed me. It was almost enough to make me hug her again, but I didn’t. I knew she wasn’t a huge fan of the touchy-feely.

Moments like these were what I needed to remember when I was freaking out about little differences. I wouldn’t trade my renewed relationship with Sarah for a million Wednesday chili dog buffets. And who cared if she cussed more than she used to? Words were just words. Actions were what mattered, and Sarah had proved what an amazing friend she was.

And I was going apple picking! I actually squee-ed aloud as I ran around the theater, heading toward the west parking lot.

Who cared that Rachel had stung me yet again? I was going to relive a precious moment from my childhood with two of my favorite people in the world. Rachel probably wouldn’t know a precious moment if it came up and bit her on her perfect little butt. She probably . . . wouldn’t . . .

Mitch waved at me from across the lot. He leaned against the door of the family van, ready for wholesome, fruit-picking fun in a white, long-sleeved shirt beneath a pair of faded overalls. He looked like an overgrown Huckleberry Finn, which shouldn’t have been cute, but it was. Really cute. It made me wish I’d thought to dress up too. My jeans and blue-and-white-checked button-up were definitely farm friendly, but Mitch had taken this to an entirely different—and awesome—level.

If Isaac had been sporting overalls too, it would have been a moment of such preciousness I would have been forced to grab my cell and take a picture. Of course, if Isaac had just been there—regardless of his state of dress—that would have been good too. But he wasn’t. It was only Mitch.

I slowed, crossing the last few feet to Mitch’s van at a trudge, my feet clearly wanting to avoid the inevitable. “He’s not coming, is he?”

“Great.” I wanted to rant about the fact that Isaac should have called me, not Mitch, but I knew why he’d done it. He didn’t want to deal with me “nagging” him about basketball consuming his life. Basketball came first and he was sick of me pressuring him to change that. “This stinks.”

“We don’t have to go, if you don’t want.” Mitch shrugged. “I know you wanted this to be a three-of-us kind of thing, so—”

“No way.” I smiled and grabbed the bandana out of the front pocket of his overalls. “We’re going. And we’re going to pick apples and keep them all to ourselves and not give Isaac any.” My fingers trembled a little as I tied the bandana around my hair, but I pushed my anger and disappointment away.

I wasn’t going to let basketball ruin another day. Mitch and I were going to go and have fun, and we’d be back when we got back. Isaac had talked about watching a movie at his house tonight, but if I didn’t get back in time, he could watch it by himself. It was probably some stupid boy movie he’d ordered from Netflix anyway.

“Hell, let’s get some cider too,” Mitch said, playing along. “And we’ll warm it up and go sit right in front of his house and drink it.”

“Not even one. And then he’ll cry,” Mitch said, absolutely serious, so serious I wanted to laugh, but I didn’t. It was more fun not to.

“That’s right, but we still won’t give him one.” I narrowed my eyes, doing my best Mom impression. “And he’ll learn not to stand us up ever again.”

“That’s right.” I fought a smile as I walked around to get into the passenger’s seat. “Sometimes you have to show people a little tough love.”

“Speaking of, I love you in that bandana.” Mitch hopped into the car, the light in his eyes making me glad we hadn’t canceled.

We laughed as Mitch pulled out of the parking lot and down the street lined with fire orange trees. Crisp fall air rushed in the windows and a demo tape Mitch had scored from one of his music connections blared from the speakers. It was going to be a perfect afternoon, whether Isaac was there or not.