XXVI. White Knight
My white knight, not a Lancelot, nor an angel with wings; All I want is a plain man And I would like him to be more interested in me than he is in himself. And if occasion'ly he'd ponder what make My white knight, not a lancelot, nor an angel with wings.
Just someone to love me,
who is not ashamed of a few nice things.
My white knight who knew what my heart would say if it only knew how.
Please, dear Venus, show me now.
All I want is a modest man
A quiet man, a gentle man
A straight forward and honest man
To sit with me in a cottage somewhere in the state of Iowa.
And more interested in us... than in me.
Shakespeare and Beethoven great,
Him I could love 'til I die. Him I could love 'til I die.
Just someone to love me, who is not ashamed of a few nice things.
My white knight, let me walk with him where others ride by;
Walk and love him 'til I die, 'til I die.
Let's Get Physical is the property of Olivia Newton-John. Portions of The Tempest are the property of William Shakespeare. The characters of Miranda, Prospero, Gonzalo, etc. are not mine and the dialogue has not been changed.
"Okay, so link Liberty to Craig," orders Ellie, setting some napkins on the sturdy picnic table.
Paige files a nail, takes a deep breath.
"Liberty dated J.T., who is Toby's best friend, and Toby is Ashley's stepbrother, and Ashley's dating Craig," sighs Paige. "Easy, hon."
"You guys shouldn't talk about Craig while he's away," chides Marco, impishly smiling.
"Craig loves being the center of attention," defends Paige. "He'd love it."
Ellie laughs, one of many they were sharing that afternoon, Sean being the noticeable exception. He hangs by the grill, awkwardly fooling with it. They weren't using it, and ever since they arrived, Sean kept separating himself from the group. Perhaps that's because the arrival itself was awkward. Amanda Nash speedily let them in, not exchanging any pleasantries. She did seemingly check for any blemishes on Sean, then retreated to the bedroom. Ellie said nothing, said her father was in better spirits. John Nash was, kneading the dough, allowing Sean to lay out the sauce. Up close, John looked older, seasoned, small lines near his forehead and chin. You could tell he'd seen a battle or two.
Making the pizza was fun at least. Ellie looked really cute covered in flour, the bad cook that she was, and Sean learned what the different cheeses were, not that he currently remembered them. Ellie kept dropping things– the recipe, a spoon, a bag of greens. The funniest moment had to be Ellie offering to carry the finished product to the car, her father and Sean yelling "no" at the same time. That was enjoyable. Being free from doing anything important...not as enjoyable.
He's pretty sure that Ellie invited Marco and Paige to help relieve some of his anxiety, and take the focus off him. Once Amanda retreated to her bedroom, it was a clear sign that the graduation dinner had a long-lasting impact. Ellie wanted some of the fun to continue, so she invited Marco, who couldn't shake Paige. All the weirdness is my fault, thinks Sean. She can barely stand to look at me. Ellie's father is going through the motions of being nice.
After the early morning meeting with the car ring crew, Sean has laid low, accompanying Dale two more times to the garage. He'd yet to go pick up the paycheck from Mr. Hill, and really didn't want to, face his ex-boss when he's doing dirty dealings with his son. Besides, Dale was leaving money in his mailbox. The envelopes looked so sinister, with the address of the business (he'd said it was legitimate, but this confirmed it), Sean's name scrawled in an ugly fashion, and hard cash inside. The camshafts Sean retrieved were a good purchase; a regular buyer recommended the business to a few friends after being pleased with them. Since Dale did the trading with two other guys late at night, Sean never met the customers, which took a lot of joy out of it.
He loved meeting the customers at Hill's: elderly ladies who relied on him to give their little cars one more shot of oomph; eager sixteen year olds who wanted their first cars in prime condition; middle-aged men who knew and loved to talk cars. None of that was present in the early morning interactions with Dale. One interesting part, however, is Ty. Sean can't shake the feeling that this quiet kid knew a lot more than he let on, and Dale wasn't sharing if he did. Maybe the loss of Jay is making him eager for a friend, despite the age difference. Marco and Paige were in Ellie's social group, not his.
"Sean, do you want to play?" calls Ellie. "Marco here is about to link Craig and Darcy."
"Nah," waves off Sean, smiling.
Instead of playing anymore, Ellie leaves Paige and Marco to chat, following Sean to the side of the house. He leans next to a bush.
"Your mom fled," says Sean.
"Headache," covers Ellie.
"Lying," groans Sean. "This was a bad idea."
"They're willing," assures Ellie. "Please."
Ellie strokes Sean's shoulder, as a car door opens, John Nash exiting with a large pizza box. The plan was to make it at home, and for John to locate the wood fired pizza oven at Camini's. He was smart enough to know that the first ovens were actually in Quebec, so the oven had Canadian roots. Camini's in Toronto was a descendent of that, informed John.
"Who wants pizza?" yells John.
"Me!" exclaim Paige and Marco, quickly getting up.
Marco takes the pizza from John, sets it on the picnic table, Paige in tow. Ellie shrugs, glances at her father and Sean as she moves to join them.
"You did a good job on that sauce, Sean," commends John. "Very steady with the ladle."
"Oh," says Sean, beginning to walk with Mr. Nash. "Good."
"I imagine it's because you're used to working with cars," says John. "Cooking and mechanics are more alike than people realize. There's a lot of trust and patience involved."
"Excuse me, sir?" says Sean.
"Well, you go to a restaurant or a garage, and you build camaraderie with various types of people. They rely on you."
"True," admits Sean.
He hasn't really thought about the brevity of what he does, or rather did at Hill's. In all honesty, he was more amped to see people smile after he told them he could do it. That must be where that camaraderie came in, or something.
They reach the backyard, John pausing at the screen door. He parts it.
"Mandy, pizza's here!" yells John.
"My compliments to the chef!" praises Marco, cheese sticking on his lips.
"Pig," teases Paige. "But this is beyond gourmet level, Mr. Nash."
"Thank you," says Mr. Nash, lightly yanking Ellie's ponytail.
The conversation ends with Amanda Nash, jersey sweater at her waist, arriving, clutching two bottles of beer.
"Mom!" exclaims Ellie.
Amanda stares at her, confused.
"Oh!" says Amanda. "They're root."
Ellie releases a huge sigh of relief, takes another bite of her slice.
"One for John," informs Amanda. "And one for Sean."
Sean gently takes the bottle, exchanges a small smile with her. Hey, that's actually nice of her. He wasn't a root beer drinker, but he'd down a dozen bottles to get back into her good graces.
"Have you seen my Cadillac, Sean?" asks John.
"In passing," confesses Sean.
Yeah, he saw it, making out with Ellie in the garage, post-Christmas gathering with her mom. You don't tell your girlfriend's father that, though.
"Maybe you can see it now," suggests John.
Hmmm, uh-oh. They want to get him alone. Ellie's lips part, glancing guiltily at Sean. Suddenly very, very much missing the grill, moans Sean inwardly, as he trails John to the Nash garage. Man, at this point, he'd take the Hill's garage because he's well aware he's on the verge of being grilled.
John lifts the garage door with a single flourish, blue terrycloth shirt showing off a few muscles. A wonderful, light-green Cadillac, possibly from the sixties, greets Sean's eyes. Sean can't help smiling, taking in the fine automobile. It's a classic, immaculately kept, looks tons better in the early afternoon.
"Spent so many years saving for this," sighs John, happily. "Diligence pays off."
"Cads are amazing," says Sean. "They just have that finish...can't explain it."
"Totally," says John, uncapping his root beer.
Sean does the same, takes a swig.
"What kind of cars are you working on now?" questions John.
None, thinks Sean, immediately. He's simply going to the outskirts of town to find stray parts that may or may not work.
"Different ones," replies Sean, his stomach flip-flopping.
"Did Ellie tell you that I worked at a garage when I was younger?" says John. "For two summers. Then basic training."
"Really?" says Sean.
"I had no skills, not like you," shares John. "Was pretty lazy actually. But one of the mechanics liked me, told me I should maybe try a new path. So he suggested the armed forces."
"That's how you got in?"
"Yeah. I was just thankful to listen to anyone that wasn't a parent, you know?" laughs John.
Sean nods knowingly, drinks half the root beer. John is way more easy-going than Amanda, and this talk isn't so scary. He does hate lying, however.
"Listen...sir," speaks up Sean, clearing his throat. "Ellie is great, and I'd never...never hurt her. Not intentionally. I did before..."
"Sean, there's gotta be more than a few scrapes and bruises for me to call in the firing squad, okay?" reassures John.
"Thanks," says Sean, face reddening.
"Still, Ellie is our first priority, so if there's another reason we should be concerned..."
"No, there isn't," interrupts Sean.
They were all so kind to him, and that said a lot given their last dinner. Ellie's parents were trying...for her.
"Pleasing parents is tough," says John, out of nowhere. "Then again, I find that if you please yourself, you'll ultimately please everyone else."
"Lesson from the army?" inquires Sean.
"Lesson from life," says John.
John clinks Sean's bottle with his, each man taking a sip.
II.
A subtle creak sounds as the door opens, his shadow moving against the wall of the room. The creak isn't as loud as the air conditioning, thankfully. July in Los Angeles is sweltering; it must be a crime. J.T.'s chest goes up and down, his figure shaking in the darkness. Toby taps him.
"No...no...I don't need Viagra!" breathes J.T., forehead sweating as he moves in frustration.
Gross, moans Toby inwardly. It's the wet dream all over again. He pokes J.T.
"Bunnies!" exclaims J.T., Toby covering his friend's mouth.
J.T. glances around his green room furiously, steadies himself.
"Bunnies and pills?" whispers Toby. "Do I even want to know?"
'Playboy," whispers J.T. "Hugh Hefner...you know...just...just it was worse than the pump incident, and we'll leave it at that. What are you doing in my room?"
Where to start? He can't sleep. He's upset. His room feels like one big Manny reminder.
"I gotta get away," says Toby, standing.
"From here?" exclaims J.T. "Why? Anne Marie hasn't come back...curiously. She's not here to antagonize you."
True, Anne Marie hasn't returned or called him. Fred did hear from her, and she asked if Toby got home safe, but no direct calls to Toby or J.T. The situation is terrible. Yet, he doesn't want to go home. Manny has all these important things coming soon, and he told her he'd be there.
Getting away still seems like the best option, however. He can clear his head, without being mean to his mother. A couple things he said to her he has to admit were pretty low– that Manny was there for him more than her, which is true, and that she doesn't know him, which is true. But the way that he said them was cruel. He should've talked to her in a calmer tone.
"Well, where are you going to go, huh?" prompts J.T. "Hey, there are a lot of landmarks that..."
"I'm not going on a Liberty-based trip," interrupts Toby. "That's your deal...sorry."
"I was the one that made sure you and Manny wound up at Grauman's," says J.T.
"Look, normally I would," consoles Toby. "I...well, I need to be alone. Like there's all this pressure. With my dad and my mom and Manny..."
"Whoa, I get it," says J.T., releasing a whistle. "This is...like...self-discovery. Your big coming-of-age moment, like in the movies."
"What?" says Toby, scratching his head.
J.T. came up with the weirdest stuff.
"You have to question everything to know everything," says J.T., standing next to Toby. "On the eve of your birthday. It all makes sense."
"You're not making any sense," returns Toby, brushing past him to stare out the window.
"Why do you think all this stuff is happening in one summer?" asks J.T. "In drama class, a central character has an epiphany, where the guy figures out what he truly wants after this big conflict. He has to go through all this mess to figure it out."
"Mess?" says Toby.
"Kendra's secret...your parent's divorce...the relationship with Manny...your faith," lists J.T. "They're all waiting for you to do something about it."
Okay, that's hitting the nail on the head. He does have to act, in all those situations. Not act like Manny acts, but take some action. There is a chink in J.T.'s reasoning.
"I know what I want," says Toby.
"Do you?" says J.T., raising an eyebrow. "For instance, why haven't you told Manny you've been talking to Kendra?"
Toby opens his mouth to answer, but is struck by another J.T. question.
"Are you interested in a relationship with your mom?" continues J.T. "I can keep going, Toby."
"Stop," sighs Toby, removing his glasses.
"I'd say you have as much drama in your life as Manny does, at this point," sighs J.T. "An interesting turn in events. What's the solution?"
Is there a solution? You can't really mend a relationship with a parent you've barely seen in the past few years during one week, and you can't totally stomp out ignorance.
"I can...I can talk to Kendra, though," realizes Toby. "I can talk to her!"
"And get closure," inserts J.T.
"Um...yeah!" says Toby. "There's this expo she invited me to, and we can talk afterwards. She'll be in a good mood."
Kendra played off her secret in their last couple exchanges, even if J.T. didn't know that, so whatever happened, she had taken care of it. This would open up the potential for them to be friends. Manny would feel better knowing that's the case, and they could move on. Problem solved.
"Wait, isn't Manny's opening performance tomorrow?" reminds J.T.
"At three," says Toby. "The expo's at ten. It's two now. If I leave now, I should be fine."
"Want me to go?" proposes J.T.
"Eh, save my seat at Manny's thing?" begs Toby. "I don't want to miss it."
"That's a big distance by bus, Tobes," says J.T.
"Bus...no," says Toby. "Mercedes...yes."
J.T.'s smile brightens in the moonlight.
III.
"Seaweed is the new Diane von Furstenburg," teases Colin, draping a fake piece of ivy over Manny's shoulders.
Manny brushes it past her nose, stares at her bare, clean, tanned feet. One more rehearsal won't kill her, but it's so early. Arissa suggested a dress rehearsal at nine-thirty to iron out the mistakes from Monday. Before lunch with Anne Marie her focus wasn't disrupted, and she delivered her lines well. Even Blake looked stymied that Manny was improving. If she doesn't have distractions, she does fine. Then lunch happened, she fell apart, and she's a tad distracted today.
When she left Toby in the limo, his whole face was crushed. Maybe they were too optimistic. Anne Marie didn't have to like her; it wasn't in the rules. Although, the rules of good breeding meant she should be polite, and despite her forgiving nature, Manny would be more cautious when they met next. Meh, she was patient with everything else regarding Toby, so why not this too? He just mattered that much to her.
"You look so shipwrecked," praises Colin, whirling Manny around.
She did. The costume designer and lead seamstress, Becky, did an outstanding job on all their costumes. Blake, Manny hates to confessed, was handsome in a flowing white shirt, tight brown pants, stockings, and black shoes, like a debonair Renaissance gentleman on vacation. Manny looked appropriately demure and pretty in a pale lavender, brocade dress with hints of lace and ruffles, a corset and bloomers underneath. The dress, however, is torn at the right places, suggesting a rich princess lost at sea. She pinned her hair with Becky and Emma's help, and that took awhile because it has grown fairly long.
Manny remembers one of the first rules of performing, starts removing her jewelry when Lia walks by, nearly clipping Manny with one of her large fiery red wings. Manny flinches.
"There's got to be better reception here," says Lia, holding her cellphone up to the stage light.
"There is," comforts Colin.
"You may want to keep an eye on your wings, Lia," says Manny, pointedly.
"I can't control where they go," defends Lia, glancing down at her costume.
It's very showy, a tutu dyed red and orange to give the illusion of flames. Overly large, red wings, formerly for an over-sized butterfly in another play, were attached to the back, and Lia had to turn very carefully for most of the rehearsals. Manny's grateful she wasn't stuck with such a troublesome costume. More notable was the hair, Lia's curls large and huge, flowing in various directions. She has the appearance of a devilish angel.
"What's the scoop, ma?" says Colin.
"Thought Dad was trying to call," informs Lia. "He usually wishes me good luck. Nope."
Well, after she attacked him yesterday, Manny's not surprised. She won't tell her that. Manny sits at the make-up mirror, tucking her feet under her dress.
"Awww, Manny looks like such a lady," coos Colin.
"Agreed," says Lia, Manny glad there's no iciness in her voice. "Has Manny the lady conquered virgin territory yet?"
Manny blushes, drops her charm bracelet next to some bobby pins.
"You did!" cries Lia. "What...last night?"
"Spill," encourages Colin. "I'm still...waiting for that special someone. So hearing about first times relieves some of my anxiety."
Manny giggles. "Nothing to report yet."
"Shoot," whispers Lia.
"We keep getting interrupted," moans Manny. "Like...by adults, basically."
"That's the problem!" sighs Lia, shifting her way to Manny, nearly knocking over a mannequin.
"Huh?" says Manny.
"You go where there's no adults," says Lia. "How do you think I lost it?"
"Being drunk with a photographer that told you you were beautiful in the Hamptons," supplies Colin.
"Quiet!" chides Lia, flicking Colin's ear. "Manny, adults hover. Okay, most of them...not my dad. Anyways, I got a place that'll be perfect."
Colin leaves his stool, letting Lia sit. She presses a few buttons on her phone, smiles and sighs deeply when she arrives at a picture. Manny stares at her cluelessly, accepts the phone.
"It's a bed and breakfast," explains Lia. "Tucked away, private. Woodsy, elegant. My parents went there when I was small. Dad kept it as a keepsake. If you go under our name, they'd treat you decently. The owner knows me."
This is perfect. They'd be far away from anyone they knew, with no interruptions to finally make good on "greenlight." It fit all Toby's requirements too; the location is private and the trip would be special.
"You say?" prompts Lia.
"I say...give me the directions," answers Manny.
Colin high-fives Manny, then they all hear a grating voice warning them that they have five minutes. Blake, the owner of the voice, strolls to the stool, pumping out his chest.
"Miranda, care to undo my codpiece?" teases Blake.
"You are a waste of space," dismisses Lia.
"Don't fall mid-air, you foxy little spirit," replies Blake, puckering his lips at Lia. "I'll see you on the boards, Manny."
Blake sprays some breath freshener into his mouth, slams it down next to her charm bracelet.
"Cheap stage jewelry," he says, evaluating it.
Manny shakes her head as Blake leaves the backstage area. Why couldn't Arissa cut the nasty kiss they had to share? Manny made her body go numb everytime, and didn't care if the scouts didn't find that part believable.
"Manny!" whispers a nicer voice. "Manny!"
Emma peeps in from one of the backstage door, Hannah at her side. Hannah didn't want to be in the audience, so they had relegated themselves to a side room, where Emma was explaining the Tempest's story. To Manny's happiness, Hannah appreciated the story, and Miranda was Hannah's favorite. At least she has one fan.
"Em?" says Manny, going to her.
"Your cell," shares Emma.
Manny props her phone to her ear. "Hello?"
"Manuella?" says Joseph. "Is that you?"
Her heart beats faster. Now she feels like saying awww. Lately, her calls to her parents were very short-lived.
"Hi, Dad," greets Manny.
"Your mother is with me," informs Joseph. "We're sorry we can't come, but we're very happy that you've worked so hard."
"Prospero's daughter!" cries Maria.
"Thanks, guys!" says Manny, a tear coating the edge of her eye. "Our group is about to rehearse so..."
"We didn't know the time," confesses Joseph. "Well, your mother and I know you will do a good job. Emma said she'd take a picture at the end."
"I'll make sure to be up front," promises Manny, jokingly.
"Okay...love you," says Joseph.
"Love you too," says Manny, clicking off.
They called to wish her good luck! And she wasn't expecting it...like Lia. Poor Lia. It's Chante all over again. Manny hands the phone back to Emma, who waves and leaves.
"Lia!" whispers Manny, urgently.
Lia struggles to remove a curl from the cusp of her wing.
"You're the best Ariel I've ever seen," says Manny. "I mean it."
Grinning shyly, Lia shrugs. "I know."
IV.
Faking sick isn't as easy as it seems. Sure, he's done it once before, several years back. That was to get out of an exam, an exam he winded up doing anyway. Spinner holds his breath, dials the number of the Dot. His eyes water, taking in the ongoing blue floor mats, the shiny balance beams, the hoops twirling over the arena. Like clockwork, he starts to cough.
"Hello?" says Pat, his boss.
"Pat...Pat...thank goodness," coughs Spinner. "This...this is Gavin."
"Gavin...are you alright?" cries Pat.
"Fine...a little...a little light-headed...a little underwear...I mean, under the weather," sputters Spinner. "Bug going around."
"Mmmm hmmm," says Pat. "Gavin, how much more time do you want?"
Man. Might as well admit the truth. He'd been asking Pat for an extension ever since the last day in June. Given that he was Pat's best worker, he got it. That was before he had a reason to stay. Emma, for whatever reason, is rattled, truly rattled. Her reaction to him touching her scared him. Did he do something wrong? Did another guy do something bad to her? Paige was skittish after the Dean thing. He came to Cali with her, and yes, would rather leave with her. Camp would be ending soon, and he could accompany Emma and her friends back to Toronto.
"Eight more days?" begs Spinner. "Pat, I'll do anything. Wipe the cheese off the nacho maker. Tell your wife that you aren't playing poker after hours in the kitchen area..."
"How'd you...," begins Pat. "It's gin rummy. Spinner, we're real busy..."
"That's why I feel so guilty," says Spinner. "But...my friend...she's...she needs me."
Pat releases a huge sigh, a sigh big enough to cross continents if he measured it.
"This is that blonde girl?" says Pat.
"She's more than a blonde girl," corrects Spinner. "Dude, she's my friend. And she's been supporting me...so yeah."
"Consider it a reward for your good grades," grants Pat. "You better be back here in two weeks, Gavin Mason."
"Thanks, dude...I mean, sir!" cries Spinner.
"Kelsey, don't touch that! Daddy said don't touch that!" snaps Pat, a dial tone sounding in Spinner's ear.
Okay, his daughter obviously diverted his attention, and that's fine with him. Spinner goes to the rear of the auditorium, where Kendra is warming up, bending backwards under the bright lights. There's something about having a sister that's more athletic than you. Makes you feel blah, moans Spinner inwardly. At least his grandmother, in the stands knitting, can't surf better than him.
A strikingly petite brunette in a gold unitard twirls on a nearby mat, multi-colored ribbon in hand, movements in perfect synch to the music.
I took you to an intimate restaurant, then to a suggestive movie
There's nothin' left to talk about, unless it's horizontally
Let's get physical, physical, I wanna get physical, let's get into physical
Let me hear your body talk, your body talk, let me hear your body talk
Spinner beams, stroking his belly with a pleased expression on his face. Kendra punches him in the chest.
"Oww," protests Spinner.
"You're not coming to the meets to check out girls," says Kendra. "This is a serious event. People get picked up for the Olympics here."
"That's awesome!" exclaims Spinner.
"I'm straggling behind too," whispers Kendra. "A lot of these girls are first division level, and I'm an alternate."
"You got demoted?" says Spinner.
"Shhhh," shushes Kendra. "For a bit. Had to plea for a spot. If I do well, back in the game. Luckily, not a lot of balance beam competitors signed up for this expo. Not as popular as the floor routines.."
"It was popular at Degrassi," recalls Spinner. "You, Emma, Manny..."
"Don't mention Manny to me," snaps Kendra.
Spinner pretends to zip his lips, Kendra murmuring as she reaches for some chalk, white dust flying off her hands.
"Sorry...moodiness strikes for the millionth time," says Kendra.
"Ah, you're nervous," consoles Spinner. "Don't be."
Kendra doesn't reply, sits on the balance beam, letting her head go from left to right. She rights her shoulders, thrusts her hips upward. Spinner turns away, not wanting to see his sister in that position.
"Uhhh," groans Kendra.
"Ewww," complains Spinner.
Then, he finds the courage to glance at his sister, clutching her waist. Beads of sweat glide to her cheeks, Kendra breathing deeply.
"Kendra?" says Spinner.
"Charlie horse," informs Kendra. "There...gone. I'm fine, Spin."
He stares on as Kendra hunches forward for a few seconds, regains her composure. Her mouth is still contorted in pain.
"Are you sure?" asks Spinner.
"I'm the athlete," breathes Kendra. "I know my body. Totally fine."
She is the athlete so yeah, she might know better than him. Kendra had never had an injury before, so perhaps it is a passing thing.
"Good luck, sis," says Spinner, patting her on the back.
Kendra smiles, starts situating her suit as more audience members come into the auditorium, music blaring in their wake. Spinner joins his grandmother on the bleachers, passing some chatting commentators on the way.
"How was your trip to L.A., dear?" asks Grandma Mason.
"Great...uh, may go again," says Spinner. "Grandma, you're kind of...like...a girl?"
"Not as spry as I used to be, but yes," laughs Grandma Mason, setting down the sock she's knitting.
"If you have this feminist chick...ugh, girl...would you be offended if a guy tried to help?" questions Spinner.
"If she's really in distress, it doesn't matter," replies Grandma Mason. "There's far too few good men, Gavin. I know your mother raised you to be one of them."
"Uh, cool," demurs Spinner.
"Why can't you get a haircut, though?"
"Grandma!"
V.
Toby locks the Mercedes, throws a few cautionary looks at the car before starting to the arena. The arena's large, apparently having produced many rising talents. He could barely find a parking space when he got there, sunlight so bright he has to shade his face with his hand. Joining the throng of people, he sees homemade banners, ribbons, cameras, and noise makers. He walks next to a banner championing an athlete named Sarah, her family screaming in anticipation.
Other banners hang prodigiously above the auditorium floor, announcing championship years, the sports where they reigned supreme. A long table with a blue tablecloth has two men and two women behind it, a sign reading "Santa Clara Junior Gymnast Expo" in front. Microphones were inches away from their mouths. The stands were packed, full of excited families. Toby spots Spinner in the center of one row.
The real excitement is on the floor. Ribbons pranced everywhere in a wave of color as small girls danced, most likely a preview to the whole thing. Their high ponytails flopped, their little limbs wiggled. He could barely do leap frog when he was that age. Whatever, he knows he's searching in the wrong place. If Kendra was anywhere, it was near the beam. That's her event. She got so enthusiastic when Hatzilakos first recognized her potential in that category, Toby being the first to receive the news, not her mother or Spinner.
Across the gargantuan blue mats, past the rings, he finds Kendra, anxiously rubbing her wrists. She always did that when she had a sudden case of nerves. Her dark hair is bound in a ponytail, blue unitard over her tight muscles and amazing body, delicate feet tapping the mat. Her nerves disappear, however, when she views Toby, motions for him to come to the other side. Hurrying before the ceremonies began, he reaches her, grins.
"You came!" cries Kendra. "You actually came!"
"Me miss the expo?" says Toby, awkwardly. "Uh...so you're up when?"
"I'm first," sighs Kendra. "They're putting me on before the showstoppers."
"More like showing the best they've got right at the beginning," argues Toby.
Kendra bows slightly, both of them laughing.
"So after the expo, what are you doing?" says Kendra. "I was thinking we could grab lunch...I might not get to see you before you split."
"I can't," informs Toby. "Have to be somewhere at three..."
"You can't reschedule it?"
"It's Manny's...Manny's show."
"Right...Manny," mumbles Kendra. "Guess I'll go resume getting limber. You don't need to do that for chess."
Toby chuckles. "You're mad that I beat you?"
"Why would I be mad at my white knight?" replies Kendra, punching his shoulder gently.
Under the lights, he can see small bags under her eyes, and her skin appears a little pale. Weird, because the only sign of tiredness he's ever seen from her is lying on the beach. Come to think of it, he's never seen her lie on a beach, not being active. No, he shouldn't be worried. It's her business. This is a trip for closure.
She grins, jogs to the rest of the gymnasts, seated on a bench. A commentator coughs, begins to speak, and Toby selects a seat in the front row, near a rather large family supporting a girl named Petra.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome!" says the commentator. "It's a beautiful, sunny day in Santa Clara, home of the champions. My name is Doug Yeltsin. To my right, Jody McCaffery, chair of the Santa Clara Athletic Conference. To her left..."
Doug Yeltsin goes on to list the rest of the panel, Toby keeping his gaze locked on Kendra. She plays with her hairclip, then rests her palms on her knees. This is all so familiar, watching her like he used to, praying she got good scores (no scoring today, however), sitting with the other parents, waiting patiently for her turn. Having Spinner in the audience reinforced that, too.
Finally, Doug says a familiar name too– hers.
"Kendra Mason is one of the participants in our new top-notch clinics," announces Doug Yeltsin. "She's one of our Canadian imports, direct from Toronto, scoring repeatedly well at Gleeson Academy, an accomplished harbor for up and coming Olympians. In fact, Amanda Borden visited Gleeson on one of her recent tours. Like Amanda, Kendra's main strength is on the balance beam."
Kendra walks across the mat with a host of cheers from the audience, including Spinner pumping a fist in the air. Toby claps until his hands hurt. Kendra grabs more chalk, steadies herself in front of the beam.
"That's right, Doug," says Jody McCaffery. "Now, Kendra started off strong this year, but took somewhat of a reprieve in April following an unfortunate fall during competition. Still, that hasn't deterred her from returning."
"Thank goodness for that, because her acrobatic prowess has earned her a mark of distinction in the Santa Clara community. Definitely a promising upstart to keep an eye on," says Doug Yeltsin.
Taking a deep breath, Toby views Kendra doing the same, her eyes holding the beam in sight. She goes forward, mounts the beam, stretches her arms. Her body tumbles in a perfect ball, as she does a handstand, landing on her feet afterwards. The crowd cheers.
"Kendra!" shouts Spinner. "Yes!"
Wow, she's as good as ever, compliments Toby inwardly, grinning widely.
Mid-beam, she does a couple leaps, which elicits clapping from the audience and the commentators. Her control is still excellent. Hmm, the routine is familiar too. She may've done this at her last Degrassi meet. In fact, he's sure she did. That means a back handspring is coming. So difficult.
Kendra squats, swings her arms forward, and her body goes backward, cheers erupting with premature squeals. None of them are prepared for the squeals coming from her, as Kendra's waist bumps the balance beam and she tumbles to the blue mat. Toby feels his entire body stiffen. The commentators stand pathetically, as a woman, probably her coach, and a few gymnasts circle her.
"Kendie!" cries Grandma Mason. "No!"
Toby shakes his head, moving to the mat at the same time as Spinner. It takes them a few seconds to weave through the crowd, Kendra's head resting in the lap of her coach.
"Aaaah," cries Kendra, softly, eyes shut in pain.
He's in pain, seeing her like this. What happened? She was doing amazingly, and now she's crumpled on the floor? How could that change in a matter of seconds?
"Where does it hurt?" asks her coach.
"I...I can't!" exclaims Kendra, her voice carrying. "I have to perform. I...I have to..."
Her eyes drop, and suddenly she's no longer speaking. Spinner and Toby stoop to her, tears lining her brother's eyes.
Somehow I'm keeping it together, thinks Toby, as Kendra lays motionless to alarmed gasps. She's got to be fine. Kendra's so strong and a fighter and everything he fell for. Thankfully, she's woken up, fumbling for contact.
"Kendra," whispers Spinner, clutching her leg.
"Should we move her?" asks another gymnast.
"It's too crowded...she needs air," insists her coach.
Toby weakly grabs her hand.
"Toby," whispers Kendra.
"Let's get her to my office," commands the coach, trying to help Kendra to her feet.
"Lead the way," says Toby, managing to get his hands under her body.
Carrying Kendra, Toby walks side by side with the coach, Spinner and their grandmother following. She does weigh more than he bargained for, but it's a short distance, Toby laying her flat on an examination table.
"I'll call for the doctor," says her coach.
"We're right outside, Kendie!" reassures her grandmother, Spinner leading her to the door.
Kendra squirms, views them leaving. Toby starts to the door.
"Can Toby stay?" asks Kendra. "Please?"
The coach nods reluctantly. "Til the doctor comes."
She wants him with her? After such a scary ordeal, he can see why, but him? Spinner or her grandmother might be a better fit, and he's about to suggest it.
"I need you, Toby," breathes Kendra, black eyes shaking. "I need my biggest fan here."
There's no doubt in his mind that he should stay. There is a doubt concerning his ability to make it to L.A. today. Then again, she called him his biggest fan, and he's always been there when needed. Always.
Toby wraps his hands with hers. "Squeeze if you need to."
VI.
"Isn't it great not to be in the first scene?" says Blake, appearing from the shadows.
Manny smirks at him, half his light hair obscured by darkness. Sure, it's great to be in the shadows, and view the audience once in awhile. But not when your boyfriend's missing. Where is he? Emma laid her sweater on the seat next to hers and everything. J.T. kept glancing at the back door.
Onstage, Gonzalo is bemoaning the storm, the tempest, that has steered them to the island. The wind, courtesy of two large fans, pounds his frame forcefully. It's a mad storm, and she's mad, because she knows a hurricane or something else catastrophic would be the only thing that would keep Toby away from coming this afternoon.
"Let's all sink with the King!" cries Antonio, as a stagehand clashes two metal boards together.
She sat through his mother's lunch, well most of it for him, so he can sit through the play. In fact, Toby paid attention to all her plays, and was able to offer some key insight every now and then. She likes to think that part of her rubbed off on him. Well, Toby's not taking in anything, since he's not present. Gosh, where is he? What if he missed her entrance, her first entrance in a huge, historic role, a professional theatre role?
"Manny!" whispers Blake.
"What?" snaps Manny.
"Be cool, baby," says Blake, looking perplexed. "Prospero's not the only one that knows magic."
Manny arches an eyebrow. "Okay?"
"Shhh, from the props department," explains Blake.
He moves completely from the shadows, Manny viewing a small white rabbit chewing absent-mindedly on Blake's thumb. Manny grins.
"So cute," coos Manny.
"See, I'm not a bad guy," says Blake. "Animals like me...for some mysterious reason."
"What are you doing with her?" asks Manny.
"Had to occupy myself some kind of way since I'm not in this thing for the first eighteen minutes," shrugs Blake. "She's Becky's."
"She should meet Hannah," says Manny.
"Eh, why not?" says Blake. "I'll go introduce them."
Blake smiles at her, perhaps the warmest smile he's ever mustered, Manny returning it. She'd much rather be smiling at Toby. Gonzalo rages against the storm.
"Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground," roars Gonzalo. "Long heath, brown furze, any thing. The wills above be done! But I would fain die dry death!"
The storm ends with a final rumble of thunder, gust of strong wind. The actors playing Gonzalo, the Boatswain, Antonio, and Sebastian clamber to the right of the stage. Manny repositions her seaweed, stares hopefully into the audience a final time. Waves crash again. Her heart crashes. The seat's empty as it was before, tears falling at the sight of Emma's sweater.
Her father Prospero, really the most talented actor in their camp Travis, grins at Manny as the stage lights go down, then up, signaling their entrance. He walks to the center, stage book in hand.
Manny wipes her eyes, pretends to struggle with the seaweed over her body, much to the amusement of the theater goers.
"If by your art, dear father," cries Manny. "You have put the wild waters in this roar, allay them."
She flips back her hair purposefully to more chuckles, seeing Emma and Arissa laugh especially. Arissa told her to play the first line comedically.
"The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch, but that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek, dashes the fire out," continues Manny.
Prospero lays a hand on her shoulder. He's touched her like this in practice, a few times. But it's the first touch of comfort, without Prospero knowing that the person she wanted most in the world to be there isn't, and her tears can't control themselves. Hasn't she supported him...in everything? Where's the Toby who was in the front row at the pageant, or who sat with her when her father found out about the trip to the clinic? How could he be so forgetful? How could he forget her?
Her onstage father stares at her in shock as the tears flow.
"O, I have suffered with those I saw suffer," chokes out Manny. "A brave vessel, who had no doubt, some noble creatures in her, dashed all to pieces. O the cry...the cry did knock against my very heart."