The Possibility of Somewhere Read online

  A delicate snort was her response. Tiffany wanted to be looked at. I glanced over my shoulder. She stood behind me, wearing the unofficial uniform of the dance team, a shirt in neon coral and the kind of shorts that violated the dress code for everyone except girls who bounced around in pep rallies.

  Tiffany’s sole attempt at originality came from the miniature bronze sculptures dangling from her earlobes. “Cute earrings,” I said.

  “Thanks.” She hoisted a camera bag onto the table, drew out a media card, and popped it into my computer’s card reader. “Here are some candids.”

  Photography was Tiffany’s third love, right behind herself and the dance team. Uncool as it was to be in the Journalism Club, she’d had to join to find an outlet for her work.

  I paged through the images, mostly of students from the first two weeks of the school year. There were the requisite shots of the football players and cheerleaders. A dozen or more of Sawyer. But Tiffany had also taken several shots of less obvious subjects. Friends hugging after a summer apart. The head custodian taking a smoke break behind the cafeteria. A teacher setting up an experiment in the chemistry lab.

  The collection showed serious talent. Our web site had plenty of space in its “Campus Candids” gallery. I could use at least half of her photos. “Do you have permission to publish these?”

  “All of them, but I want to ask about the last one.”

  That was strange. I maximized the last image.

  It was the best shot of the bunch—a masterpiece in black and white. Mundy Cruz sat cross-legged on the wooden bench in the front schoolyard, chin resting on fists, eyes closed, a killer smile curving her lips. Beside her, Cam reclined, his head thrown back in laughter.

  I focused on Dr. Holt more closely. He always looked that happy, even in class. This semester was the only time I’d taken art. Until I’d started babysitting the Fremonts, fine arts hadn’t been interesting to me. But now that I wanted to be a schoolteacher, drawing seemed like an important skill to be exposed to.

  My timing was good, because Dr. Holt had enthralled our class from the first day. His every word inspired confidence in our ability to create art. The tiniest gesture from his beautifully slim hands urged us to dig deeper.

  Smiles of approval were his secret weapon. After earning one, we’d work our butts off to earn the next. The committed art students were hoping Mrs. Banik stayed home with her baby, so he wouldn’t have to quit.

  “What do you think?” Tiffany sounded cautious.

  “It’s an amazing shot.” With a few taps of the keyboard, I copied the images into a staging area.

  “Are you worried about posting that one? They look too friendly for a student and teacher. Will people wonder if there’s something going on?”

  “There is something going on. Campbell Holt is Mundy’s stepfather.”

  The news rippled through Tiffany like an electric shock. “How come people don’t know that?”

  “I guess they can now. It isn’t a secret.” I gave her a thoughtful look. She could’ve flung that image on the Internet and made things uncomfortable for a day or two. It was cool that she’d asked first. “I’m glad you checked, though, before things got embarrassing.”

  She shrugged off my comment. “Do you think she’d let me use that in my portfolio?”

  “Portfolio?”

  “I’d like to make a career of photography. Maybe go to college.”

  Whoa. Tiffany wanted to go to college? That was surprising. Her dad was a real lowlife who treated her and her mother like a pair of mindless fluffheads. He might spoil his little princess with small things, but the big things? He controlled those with a grip of steel. No way would he let her escape the future he had mapped out—which was hostessing in his seafood restaurant down at the beach, avoiding ass-grabs from dirty old men with large expense accounts.

  Like me, Tiffany had to be investigating colleges behind her father’s back. Well, he wouldn’t hear about it from me. “Good luck with that.”

  Her gaze met mine. A desperate kind of hope flickered in her eyes. “Thanks. I’ll need it.”

  * * *

  Dad roared up around four and waited for me get in, a huge smile on his face.

  I smiled back. “Are you liking your new job?”

  “Sure am. Mr. Cooper says I’m a natural at it.” He screeched out of the parking lot. “I even caught a shoplifter today. She was white, too.”

  Did he really just say that? “Shoplifters come in all colors and sizes, Dad.”

  He continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “The break room has free snacks. Good ones. Oh, and guess what, baby girl. Mr. Cooper is having a problem with the computer in his office. I told him you’d take a look.”

  “You what?” I gaped at my father. He was chewing on a toothpick, staring through the windshield as he drove through town. “Why would you say that without asking me first?”

  “He needs help, and you’re smart with computers.” He scowled. “I don’t like your attitude.”

  “It’s not attitude, Dad.” I ought to take a breath and start over. This might go better if I acted curious. “Has Mr. Cooper called whoever installed the system?”

  “They charge by the hour, and they’re real expensive. If it’s something easy, you could figure it out fast and save him some money.”

  “What kind of problem is it?”

  “Dunno.”

  “What kind of computer?”

  “Dunno. Does that matter?” He pulled onto the highway and floored it.

  “Yes, it matters. He could have a machine that I don’t know anything about.” I gritted my teeth. I had to be honest here, and it would piss off my father. “Sorry, but I’m not the best person. The problem could be a real time suck, and I’m too busy right now.”

  “Doing what?”

  Really? Did he ever see me lying around with nothing to do? I was awake at dawn and going strong until midnight. Why would I want to spend my precious time off at yet another job? “Besides babysitting three nights each week, I’m taking three AP courses. The homework never ends.” Then there is the college search.

  “You can spare a couple of hours. I promised.”

  Spare some hours? I didn’t do that for myself. “You shouldn’t have promised.”

  “He’s expecting you Saturday morning at nine o’clock.” Dad’s hand snaked out cobra-quick and latched onto my wrist. “It’s my first week there, Eden. Don’t screw this up for me.”

  I went still. With four miles to go, I should drop the subject until he cooled down. “Can you let go of my arm, please?”

  When his fingers relaxed, I slipped my wrist from his grasp and scooted closer to the door.

  “Your mom got another job.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. At the convenience mart where the highway dead-ends near the beach.”

  It was a scuzzy place on a lonely stretch of road. If I’d tried to dream up the worst alternative for her, my brain would never have imagined a job this bad. “When does she start?”

  “Last night.”

  Of course. Marnie had worked a shift while I was with the Fremonts, so that I wouldn’t know. “Tell her to quit.”

  “Like I can stop your mom when she’s got a bug up her ass.” He shrugged. “She clocked out at midnight.”

  “Holy shit. Dad.”

  “She wants to pay you back for the car.” His lip curled. “She doesn’t count on me lasting long at the hardware store.”

  God, he was a jerk. He’d planned this conversation carefully, knowing exactly what to say and when to say it, in order to manipulate me into doing what he wanted. And it was working. The thought of Marnie at that place made me sick. “I’ll give Mr. Cooper an hour.”

  “Thought you might.”

  7

  Terminally Embarrassed

  Thursday after the final bell, I walked to the gazebo. My route took me through downtown Heron and around the courthouse square. I followed a zigzag path through pools o
f shade cast by pecan trees—anything to escape the sun broiling my head. When I reached the sloping meadow in the middle of the park, I was sticky with sweat.

  There was no sign of Ash. Good. I’d have the place to myself for a while.

  The gazebo rose six feet above me, like a fat white cupcake resting on a carpet of faded green. In the summer, the town band used it as a stage for concerts. Otherwise, the gazebo sat empty, waiting for picnics, playtime, or whatever else a kid could dream up.

  I climbed its twelve wooden steps and flung my arms wide as I twirled under the high-domed ceiling. When I was a little girl, I had come to the gazebo on rainy days, wearing a princess nightgown and glittery tiara—both handmade by my lady-in-waiting, The Right Honorable Countess Marnie. Since nobody else would brave the weather, we could enjoy afternoon tea and dancing, totally alone.

  My best childhood memories had happened here. Why had I suggested this place to Ash?

  A board creaked behind me. I stopped twirling and faced my Darcy. He was standing a few feet away, expression neutral, eyes masked behind shades.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he said.

  “I hadn’t noticed.”

  Ash dropped a folder onto the wooden bench that hugged the gazebo’s perimeter. With a flick of his hand, he opened the folder, lifted two stapled sets of paper, and held one out to me.

  I accepted it with a frown. “What’s this?”

  “A script for the MIM.”

  There were several pages, covered with text in an extra-large font. I skimmed my set, reading as Ash/Darcy asked Eden/Elizabeth to prom. “What happened to The Twilight Zone?”

  “It’s the voice-over at the top and the bottom.”

  “And everything in between is a basic rewriting of the proposal scene?”

  “Yeah, I decided not to go too far out there. Since we’re the first team to do one, we don’t know what Ms. Barrie is looking for. We can give her something straightforward and add a little edge with my Rod Serling imitation.”

  “Anything left for me to do?”

  “What?”

  “This is your script and your imitation. You’ve done all the work.”

  “Not really. We’ll perform it together on Monday.”

  “So I can read the lines you wrote.”

  “Fine. What did you bring?”

  “My notes.”

  He exhaled noisily. “What’s the issue, Eden? Someone had to write a script. You didn’t. Let’s use mine.”

  “It’s a team project, Ash. I’m half of the team.” I looked at his pages again. In addition to the voice-over stuff, he’d given himself the best lines in the rest of the scene. What a surprise. In Ash’s version, Darcy sounded more balanced than he did in the book. Ash’s Lizzy sounded silly to reject such a splendid offer.

  Maybe, like Darcy, that’s what Ash thought. Life was easy for him. He was rich, built, and friendly. Had he ever worried about losing his home? Did he know how it felt to be terminally embarrassed by his parents? Were girls so eager for his attention that anyone who wasn’t must be an idiot?

  He’d had a glimmer of an inventive idea and backed away from it. The remainder was an accurate yet conventional adaptation of Austen’s words. I knew we could do better. “No, don’t think so.”

  “Why?”

  “I want an A.”

  “Wow.” His lips tightened. “I suppose you’ve come up with something great.”

  “Actually, no.” Ash and I were the smartest kids in the class. We had to be more imaginative. Kneeling on the bench, I faced into the park, as if inspiration would be out there somewhere in the sunlight filtering through the trees.

  He slumped onto the bench a couple of feet away, extended his legs, and wiggled like he was about to take a snooze. “How about I sit here while you take over?”

  “I’m good with that.”

  His head angled in my direction, the shades firmly in place. It was hard to be creative with him watching me.

  He waited a minute before asking, “Anything yet?”

  “No.”

  “Could I make a suggestion?”

  “Could you be quiet instead?”

  “Nice.” He looked at the dome. “At this rate, we’ll get there Monday and have to wing it.”

  “Uh-huh.” I slipped an arm around a pillar and hugged. What could we do? Because we couldn’t show up in class with nothing prepared.

  Or could we?

  Maybe …

  “You’re right, Ash. We can wing it.”

  “What?” He snapped into a sitting position. “You’re joking, right?”

  “An improv.” Possibilities floated in the murky fog of my brain. “It could be intense.”

  “It could fail.”

  I pushed away from the bench and backed into the center of the gazebo, unable to contain my excitement. “Nobody would expect us to do something unrehearsed. It’s brave.”

  “It’s insane.”

  “Sorry. Ignoring you.” Fragments of the concept slowly crystallized. We could prepare three or four strategic sentences. Around them, Ash and I would react naturally. The unknowns would keep the tension high. “We could have an outline.”

  “No, Eden. The MIM is ten percent of our final grade. We can’t do something that might work.” He got to his feet and took a step closer to me. “Would you just do a read-through of my script?”

  “What are you scared of?”

  “There are too many things that could go wrong.”

  “Like what?”

  The silence lasted a long moment, disturbed only by the distant shrieks of children in the playground.

  “Ms. Barrie might think we haven’t made an effort.”

  “You’re the poster child for overachiever. She knows better than that.”

  “What if my mind goes blank?”

  “I’ll jump in.”

  “What if your mind goes blank?”

  “We’ll fill the void with adoring glances and smoldering sighs.” I couldn’t hide my frown of irritation. His excuses made me more determined to have my way. “What is wrong with you?”

  “It’s too risky.”

  “Which is why, if we pull it off, we’re guaranteed an A.”

  “We won’t pull it off. So, no, we’ll do my script.”

  “Okay. Bring it with you on Monday to class, and I’ll give it another look.”

  “If we don’t rehearse it, then it’s like an improv.”

  “That thought had occurred to me.”

  He muttered something that sounded like crap. It was probably the closest he’d ever come to swearing. I felt honored.

  “Fine, Eden. Let’s hear your plan for the improv.”

  “In the book, Darcy offers Elizabeth marriage, which is something she wants desperately, just not from him. How do we make that modern?” The only thing I wanted desperately was to get out of this hellhole of a town, and Ash could have no effect on that.

  His face hardened into angles and planes, smooth as marble. “In my script, I ask you to prom.”

  Not something I wanted, but our audience would understand. “Sure. We can use that.” I stared at him, wanting to tune into his reaction, but all I saw was my reflection in his shades. “After you beg me properly, I’ll say no.”

  “I’m counting on it. What’s next?”

  “Some name-calling, back and forth.”

  “My mind won’t go blank on that one.”

  There were so many synonyms for arrogant jerk. Which to choose? Bastard? Prick? Asshat? The trick would be to figure out what Ms. Barrie would let me get by with. “Then you can remind me what a sacrifice it is to ask someone…” I bit my lip and looked away.

  Why hadn’t I thought of this before? Like Lizzy, I had parents who were embarrassing. I would never bring them up on my own, but Ash could. He was perfect for the job, a Mr. Midas whose touch turned everything to gold—sports, grades, projects. If he had any flaw at all, it was his lack of humility. “You can remind me what a sacrifice it i
s to ask out the daughter of a slut and a redneck.”

  He whipped off his shades. “No.”

  “You have to.”

  “I’m not saying that.”

  It would be agonizing, but once the deed was done, it would be out there. The thing that had been laughed at behind my back would’ve been said in my presence. It wouldn’t make people change their minds, but it might make this topic boring enough that it would wither and die.

  We had to do this. “It’s the kind of risk Ms. Barrie expects.”

  “Ms. Barrie wouldn’t want us to—” His lips clamped shut.

  “She expects us to be brilliant. She wants us to dig deep and set the bar for her excellent idea.”

  “We’re going too far, Eden.”

  “No, we’re not. The proposal scene is about misjudging a person. It’s about Darcy loving a girl in spite of her background. It’s about Elizabeth rejecting what she wants most over a misunderstanding. We can make this real. We can be Elizabeth and Darcy.”

  He remained silent for so long I wondered if he’d forgotten where he was. A breeze ruffled the black silk of his hair. “Please, Eden,” he said, the words so soft I had to lean forward to hear. “Let’s do it my way.”

  “We’ve been on enough project teams before to know that we won’t fail.”

  “This feels different.”

  “It’s okay, Ash. I want you to do it.”

  He stood over me, his gaze studying my face with such care that it felt like a caress. “I don’t get you.”

  “You’re not supposed to.”

  With a tense nod, he slipped on his shades. “It’s a bad idea, but I’m not arguing anymore.”

  “Good. Then—”

  The beeping of his phone interrupted me. He pulled it from his pocket and tapped out a text in response.

  I craned to read upside down.

  Be right there

  His eyebrow arched. “Do you mind?”

  “Your mom’s checking up on you?”

  He flushed. “She worries.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Yeah. Gotta go.” He grabbed his folder and thudded down the steps.

  It was good to be alone, so I could think through the MIM. I sank onto the bench and hugged my knees to my chest, my mind racing.