Much Ado About a Boy Read online

  “I didn’t do it well?” I whispered, shame and embarrassment flooding through me. Tasha had hinted I should be embarrassed, but I would never take her seriously. But hearing Mr. Meadows choosing his words so carefully was like a punch to the stomach. He was obviously trying to be diplomatic. Was Tasha right? Had I humiliated myself in front of my whole class?

  “It was very … heartfelt,” Mr. Meadows said, confirming my deepest fears. No one uses heartfelt as a compliment. Heartfelt is to tell you that you tried, but oopsie, it wasn’t very good. Or not good enough.

  “So that’s a no?” I demanded.

  “I believe you would do better with material that’s a bit … lighter.”

  My brain spun. I knew Lady Macbeth was a big role, heavy for someone my age. That was the point, wasn’t it?

  “But it’s not all bad news,” Mr. Meadows continued. “I was going to talk to you after class today. I have one more spot for a duo comedy scene in the competition.”

  “Duo? I don’t have a duo.”

  “I know, and we’d have to push it a little since we only have a few weeks, but I think we could make it work. And you have good comedic timing; remember when we workshopped See How They Run last year?”

  I’d played Ida in See How They Run, an easy role that I’d liked mostly because I got to use a Cockney accent. But I didn’t want to be a comedic actress, I wanted to be serious and dramatic, like my idols, Kate Fleetwood or Dame Judi Dench. I’d studied their versions of Lady Macbeth for weeks while working on my monologue. They had taken very different approaches to the same material, but each actress had made it her own. I couldn’t imagine either of them taking a brash, silly role like Ida.

  “I don’t …” I shook my head.

  Mr. Meadows wasn’t listening. He pulled his notebook off the desk and flicked through the pages, searching for something. “How about this?” He tossed the notebook back on the desk and raised his hands in a square, as if framing a movie. “The Beatrice and Benedict scenes from Much Ado About Nothing. It’s a bit lighter than the Scottish Play, but it’s still Shakespeare and it still has enough drama for you to sink your teeth into. And I need to fill one spot in the duos, so you’ll automatically qualify for regionals.”

  “But I want to win with Lady Macbeth at the state competition,” I said. “I don’t want to be Beatrice.”

  “I know,” Mr. Meadows said, slipping back into that sympathetic voice. “I wish I could say yes, but several of the other girls delivered stronger performances this time.”

  My mind raced over the names of the girls who he’d selected: Krista, Abby, Tasha, Courtney. My stomach churned. Tasha would never let me live this down.

  I took a deep breath. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll need to find a partner.” My mind skittered through the guys I knew who were into acting. None of them seemed like a very good Benedict.

  “I already have someone in mind,” Mr. Meadows said. “How about Bentley Nielsen?”

  My heart slammed in my chest and I felt the blood drain from my face. Out of all the guys in the school, the last one I wanted to partner with was Bentley Nielsen.

  Chapter Three

  I tossed my lunch sack onto the table at Summer’s side, not caring that I was most definitely bruising the apple inside. “Bentley Nielsen? Really?” I asked in disbelief. I’d texted my besties on the Bentley situation right after leaving Mr. Meadows’s office, but we hadn’t had a chance to talk until lunch.

  I’d been in a state of denial all morning. There were hundreds of kids at Sweet Water High. What were the odds of Mr. Meadows picking Bentley? Not in my favor, apparently.

  Across the table, Harper Tisdale gave me a sympathetic smile. “Relax, it’s one scene. Maybe it won’t be so bad.”

  “One scene that requires a lot of rehearsals,” I pointed out, slumping onto the bench beside Summer.

  “Maybe this will be a good chance for you two to make up,” she said. “I always thought you’d be cute together.”

  I rolled my eyes “Oh sure, very cute. Leaving aside my undying hatred for him and the fact that I’ve spent the last seven months trying to avoid him. Just because you two are in la-la land doesn’t mean I should be. And especially not over Bentley Nielsen.” I said his name the same tone I’d use to talk about something super gross, like my dad’s sweaty gym socks.

  Okay, maybe that was laying it on a little thick, but I was right about the la-la land part. Harper and Summer were both in that dreamy, floaty stage over their boyfriends, and I was glad they were happy, but … third wheel much?

  “It’ll be fun to do the scene, though,” Harper said. ”Haven’t you always loved Much Ado About Nothing?”

  I dug around in my lunch bag and pulled out a package of fruit snacks. “That’s not the point,” I muttered. “The point is, if I want to make state, I have to be with Bentley. And we all know how well that worked out last time.” I tore the fruit snacks open and dumped them into my hand as silence descended on our table. My friends concentrated on their food, but the memory of homecoming hovered in the air among us, like some kind of rain cloud that just won’t go away.

  Bentley grew up in Sweet Water just like me, but we hadn’t really known each other until last semester when we were in the same drama class. He was unquestionably cute with his curly brown hair and athlete’s build and smoldering brown eyes. Yes, Bentley’s eyes can accurately be described as smoldering and that’s not just me being overly dramatic. Well, maybe a little bit.

  Sometimes in class, I’d catch him looking at me, or I’d find myself looked at him, like there was some kind of magnetic field that kept pulling my eyes back toward him. So, when he’d asked me to homecoming, I’d said yes. The theme was Masquerade Ball, but I’d been wearing costumes my whole life and I wanted the formal dance experience.

  Like an idiot, I let myself get all excited and bought the dress of my dreams—a long gown of deep blue chiffon as fluffy as a cloud. The color turned my hair to copper, and the full skirt made that awesome swooshy sound when I twirled. I’d been so excited to wear such a beautiful dress and so proud to be going to homecoming on the arm of one of the cutest, most popular boys at school.

  I should have known it was too good to be true.

  The night of homecoming, Bentley stood me up. No call, no text, nothing. Just—boom. Me waiting on the couch in my formal while my parents tried not to make it awkward. After waiting over an hour, I gave up and spent the rest of the night crying in my pajamas, eating ice cream, and binge-watching Jane Austen movies, because if anyone can relate to stupid guys, it’s Jane. Never mind that her stories always seem to work out in the end. Those are only stories. Her real life didn’t work out, if Becoming Jane has any truth to it.

  “Maybe this could be a chance to find out what happened,” Summer finally said.

  I chewed on a raspberry-flavored fruit snack. The thing is, I hadn’t talked to Bentley since then. He’d transferred out of drama class at the end of the semester, and we didn’t have any other classes together. He moved in a different circle of friends, so we’d become really good at avoiding each other in the halls or at school events. I’d thought I only had to make it to graduation, and then I’d never have to see him or think about him again.

  “I don’t want to find out what happened,” I finally grumbled. “I want him to go away.”

  Sometimes, the pain of being stood up on homecoming felt as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. Bentley had played in the football game and I was in the stands cheering as loudly as anyone. After the game, I went home to change and he was supposed to pick me up so we could go to dinner, then the dance. But he’d never shown up, and I’d been too humiliated to do anything about it. The whole school knew, and some of them—Tasha—still hadn’t let me forget.

  My friends exchanged a concerned look. “Maybe Mr. Meadows could find someone else?” Harper suggested.

  The idea sent a spark through my brain. “Maybe I’ll find someone else,” I said quickly. “Then i
f I go to Meadows and tell him I already have a partner, he won’t feel sorry for me and make me work with Bentley.”

  “I don’t think he feels sorry for you.” Harper frowned. “He probably thinks you and Bentley look good together, or that you have good chemistry.” She pointed her string cheese at me. “Because face it: you do.”

  I didn’t want to face it. I didn’t want to think about how Bentley was drop-dead gorgeous, like a young Johnny Depp. I didn’t want to think about how his eyes were the same color as melted chocolate, or how his mischievous smile made his cheek crinkle in the most adorable way. And I definitely didn’t want to think about how he was just tall enough that I could have nestled my head perfectly against his shoulder as we’d danced at homecoming.

  Fresh pain twisted through me. “Forget it,” I told my friends. “I’ll find someone else, or I won’t go.” Before they could argue, I tossed the handful of fruit snacks into my mouth. There was no way I was going down that road again. I’d find someone else, and Mr. Meadows would have to deal.

  There were more fruit snacks than I’d bargained for. They filled my mouth and one slid down my throat, lodging halfway. I tried to cough it back out, but it only slipped farther. I couldn’t breathe; I couldn’t swallow. Frantically, I waved my hands at my friends and clutched at my throat.

  “Oh my gosh, Bailey!” Summer gave out a shriek as she jumped off the bench. “She’s choking!”

  A haze of white started to cloud my vision, but not before I saw everyone in the room turn to stare at me. Well, at least it would make an interesting obituary.

  Then, strong arms seized me from behind, pulled me off the bench. I fell backward against a broad, muscly chest, and the hands tightened under my ribs to perform the Heimlich. The guy lifted me off the ground, once, twice, and then three times, driving his fist into my diaphragm. The third time, the air whooshed out of me. The fruit snacks came up and landed on the table with a gooey smack.

  The arms released me. “Are you okay?”

  My heart fell as I recognized Bentley’s voice. Of course.

  I turned and looked up into his deep brown eyes, his forehead crinkled in concern. Shivers raced over my arms. “I’m fine,” I said in a shaky voice.

  “We need to get you to the nurse.” Summer gripped my shoulder.

  My throat felt raw and my heart was thumping like crazy, but I wasn’t sure if that was because I’d nearly died, or because Bentley had held me in his arms.

  I pushed the thought away. I hated him. He may have saved my life just now, but he’d still humiliated me in front of everyone last fall, and that wasn’t something I’d easily forget.

  “You probably should see the nurse,” he said after a pause. “Want me to walk you there?”

  The lunchroom was still silent as people watched the drama unfolding at our table. I was sure they’d all be talking about it for the rest of the afternoon. From the corner of my eye, I saw Mrs. Haskell, a lunch monitor, making her way toward me.

  I lifted my chin. “I’m fine,” I said in a voice like ice. “Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Nielsen. I won’t be requiring your help any longer.” Before he could reply, I snatched my crumpled lunch bag from the table and raced from the room.

  Chapter Four

  “Relax, it’s not that bad. Everyone will forget about it over the weekend.” My mother flicked her hand, shooing away my near-death experience as easily as she’d flick a fly.

  Okay, not really. She was super concerned when I told her I’d choked, and very relieved that I was okay. But she didn’t understand just how awful it was to have had Bentley Nielsen save my life and to have the whole school witness it.

  Maybe the Heimlich wasn’t exactly romantic, but even hours later, the thought of his arms around me, the memory of my back bumping against his chest, sent shivers racing through me. Plus, I couldn’t get the smell of his cologne out of my nose. Seriously. What was that? I put on perfume and the scent would fade in minutes, but Bentley always smelled good. He wore a deep, earthy cologne that made my stomach do a flip. Even now, several hours later, I could still smell it faintly on the back of the shirt I’d been wearing when he’d grabbed me.

  Not that I’d been walking around sniffing my shirt all afternoon. Not much.

  Another shiver cascaded through my stomach, and I rubbed my arms, trying to brush away the goosebumps that had been erupting since lunchtime at the merest thought of Bentley.

  My mother didn’t notice. She was kneeling in the middle of my little sister, Carley’s room, sorting through clothes. Stacks of shorts, T-shirts, nightgowns, and underwear teetered between us, and when I looked closely, I recognized some of them as my hand-me-downs. It was hard to believe I was ever small enough to fit into the teal-and-purple Ariel nightgown my mother was folding.

  I leaned my back against the wall and slid down until I was sitting on the floor of Carley’s room. “So what do I do about the drama competition?”

  Mom tipped her head to examine a small tear in the nightgown. “I think you should go for it.”

  “But I worked so hard on the monologue,” I protested, thinking of the hours and hours of practice I’d put into it. Mom would know; she’d helped me learn the lines and block the movement and had even sewn the nightgown to turn me into a perfect Lady Macbeth.

  Except maybe it wasn’t so perfect after all. I didn’t have a spot at regionals after all that work.

  “I’m not discounting the effort you made, sweetheart,” Mom said as she folded Carley’s nightgown and slid it back into the drawer. “But obviously, it wasn’t what Mr. Meadows was looking for. So the best you can do is adapt, right?”

  I thumped my head against the wall. “Really? That’s all you’re going to say?”

  She brushed a strand of her auburn hair back from her face and sent me a stern look. “What do you want me to say? You did your best, and you lost. But the other kids who won did a good job too, right?”

  Not as good as me. The words sprang to my mouth, and I kept them back with difficulty. I knew I was better. My Lady Macbeth had depth, feeling, and dramatic pauses. Plus, it was Shakespeare, and who doesn’t love Shakespeare? Tasha had done some cheesy monologue from the movie Transformers. That’s not even real acting.

  But she was the one going to regionals instead of me.

  “Bailey?” Mom’s forehead creased. “They were good, right?”

  I nodded. As much as it hurt, I knew Mr. Meadows would never be unfair. He had his reasons; I just didn’t like them. “I guess so,” I finally admitted.

  “Well, if you did your best, that’s all you can do,” Mom said. She checked the sizing on a pair of Carley’s denim shorts, then tossed them into the donate pile by the door. “Not to change the subject, but it’s date night. Can you babysit?”

  “Sure,” I mumbled. Not like I had anything planned for Friday night. Harper and Summer were going out with their boyfriends, and I had nothing going on. Was there a word for when your parents had a better social life than you?

  Don’t get me wrong; I was glad my parents were happily married. They were always hugging and kissing, and sometimes Dad grabbed Mom and led her through a little two-step in the middle of the living room. But sometimes it was embarrassing too, the way they always held hands in public and looked at each other like they’re teenagers on a first date and not a couple who’d been married for almost twenty years. They were in their forties, for crying out loud. Wasn’t all that lovey-dovey stuff supposed to be over by then?

  “Why the big sigh?” Mom asked, breaking into my thoughts.

  “Nothing. Just thinking.”

  Her forehead creased. “Do you need to talk more?”

  I shook my head. More talking wouldn’t help get me out of this situation with Bentley. But maybe … I jumped up and pulled my phone from the back pocket of my jeans. Maybe Bentley could get me out of this situation with Bentley. “I gotta go,” I said.

  “We’re leaving at six,” she called as I left the room.
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  I raised my hand in acknowledgment and sped into my own room, closing the door firmly behind me. At times like this, I wished I had a lock, but my parents didn’t allow them on our bedroom doors. I slid down the door and pressed my back against it to at least block anyone who would try to come in, then scrolled through my contacts with shaking fingers.

  Yes, I still had Bentley’s number. It was stupid, but after he’d stood me up, I couldn’t bring myself to delete it. It would be like admitting I meant nothing to him and could be forgotten as easily and as quickly as my phone forgot a contact. Sometimes I would pull up his number and stare at it, as if it were some kind of voodoo doll expansion pack and if I wished bad things on his phone number, bad things would happen to him.

  Not that I wanted bad things to happen to Bentley, or anyone, for that matter. But a little humiliation wouldn’t be the worst thing. Like dropping a huge pile of books in the hall between classes, or shutting the tail of his shirt into his locker and having to be rescued by the janitor. That kind of stuff.

  I clicked on Bentley’s number and opened my chat app. It was one of those apps that makes you send a picture, so I took a quick snap of the purple sequin Converse I wore and typed a text over the top. Hey. I know you probably don’t want to do this Shakespeare scene with me either, so it’s okay if you tell Meadows you won’t.

  Was there a worse way to start a text message than hey? No one ever started good news with hey and a period. Maybe hey and an exclamation point, but even then, it’s suspect.

  I expected him to reply right away, and when he didn’t, I put my phone on the carpet at my side and closed my eyes. Typical Bentley. Maybe he wouldn’t reply at all, and I’d have the double humiliation of having to confront him on Monday in the hall. Or maybe he’d deleted my number and thought I was a spammer.