Walter Carrick was one of those souls that was defined by a brand of determinate wisdom that made decisions quickly but experience had taught to wait. Being around him was a bit like watching a jack-in-the-box wind, Julian was prepared for the shock yet he always caught her off-guard. He was born with a pride that was easily wounded but not easily exhibited. By outward showings, he came off as a little bit of an actor himself- a performer that was self-conscious out of costume. Julian was both attracted and put off by the mystery. Walter: insincere or intriguing?
But regardless of the quandary that the stage manager embodied, Julian was finally getting into the make believe world of the stage. Mr. Todd wasn't yelling at her for awkward song transitions anymore, and his infrequent praise sometimes landed on her. On stage she was a heart-broken shell, and backstage she was heart-wreck. Fantine and Julian were unlikely friends, but as the production was entering the final stages before opening night- Fantine became a sort of pen pal as Julian delivered her lines. Soon the curtains would open to a full theater, and all of it would be over. The alter-life of Fantine would return back to her pages of script, and Walter Carrick and Julian Agacelli would return to their unrelated lives at Feinman HS.
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Will Fletcher got a girlfriend. Ari Spellman, the church's youth ministry intern. The kind of girl that wears fabric flowers in her hair cut from the eclectic prints of vintage dresses she picked up at Goodwill last week for two dollars, unimpeachable, jovial, fun, and depressingly nice. Kate's prospects now narrowed to zero, she decided she was going to put her free time into looking like Jessica Alba.
However, five days into the regime of planks and curl-ups her abs were still snuggled up under the quilt afforded by a normal BMI, and she was excessively sore. Daydreams of receiving a five-year belated admissions letter to Hogwarts were then supplanted by crepes, tarts, tandoori chicken, and the purchase of a kitchen torch. But there is only so much satisfaction that can be derived by cooking when her little brother would be just as happy with Captain Crunch, maybe more so. The ruckus of homecoming dresses and parties were erupting all over Rutherford High, and Vermillion was prepping for the East Coast Choral Invitational. Kate decided a road trip strategically planned for the weekend of the Homecoming game and dance would ease her malaise, but she wasn't sure how she would ever convince her parents to let her take the car, and that she wasn't going to get kidnapped. She would worry about the minor details later.
She was going camping at Walden Pond. Thoreau's ghost and the undateable girl from Rutherford. She was going to catch up on her fun reading list, and teach herself how to knit. She had covertly made her reservation for a camping site, and collected the paperbacks from the library. Her yarn was turquoise blue, with size 8 needles, and she was knitting a scarf. She would have foil popped popcorn and s'mores, but she hadn't decided whether she wanted to try to catch lunch from the pond for her second dinner. There was a week and a half left, but she still hadn't asked her parents. She was role-playing the conversation in her room, pacing back and forth. She heard a knock on the door, but figured her mom would answer it. She was compiling arguments for her safety on her roadtrip, and eventual multi-day camping stay.
"Kate! There's someone here for you." The excitement in her mother's voice initially embarrassed her, but that quickly turned to hope that something awesome was about to happen. But by the time she had actually reached the top of the stairs turned to deep foreboding, which turned out to be merited given the sight she saw when she reached the landing.
Chris was standing in her entryway wearing a wizard wig and beard, a bathrobe over his girl jeans, and a sheet draped over his shoulders. He was holding a large piece of poster board, with camel humps cut into the top. He turned to face her.
"Kate, thou shalt have no other dates but me. Thou shalt go to homecoming with me. Thou shalt be ready by 6:30, and you shall have an enjoyable evening."
Kate was frozen on the last step. Oh, heck no. "Uh..." Kate took a deep breath. "Thank you." She took the cardboard tablets from Chris, and opened the door for him.
"I'll get back to you." Shooting him with forced enthusiastic Fonzie guns. He seemed okay with that, but just barely. It was unapologetically the most that Kate could give him at the moment. She closed the door, her eyes still unable to blink
"How darling!!! How do you want to say yes?"
Kate looked pained, but her mother was brainstorming and so missed it. Her mother was hit with an epiphany "Oh no... homecoming is next weekend, we've got to get you a dress!"
Kate's Walden Pond stash seemed to audibly call her. She didn't want to get a dress. She didn't want to go to Homecoming. She didn't want to go with Chris, who had obviously felt to awkward to invite or had already been rejected by Victoria and Laura, both of whom he had recently been pursuing (which ensured his failure on both fronts). She didn't want to spoil the perfect anticipation of her Transcendental overnight by having it retroactively denied by her mother.
"What if we put 'It wouldn't be a sacrifice to go to Homecoming with you' inside a Cornish game hen?"
Kate was horrified. "No Mom... I think I'll just stick to a plain old phone call."
"Kate you can't do that after he went through all of that effort."
"Well..."
"What if you put a note saying yes inside a water bottle filled with grape juice labelled 'The Red Sea"
Kate wasn't quite sure what that had to do with anything, but seemed infinitely less disgusting that handling raw poultry, and had the added bonus of not necessitating an actual conversation. "Sure...sounds...good" Kate couldn't manage 'great' so close to Chris's murder of her awesome weekend plans.
On her way to Chris's house with her bottle of juice she slipped her books into the drop-pail at the library. Well, at least I get to dress up. Kate was feeling wry at best.
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