CHAPTER 8: Stacey

I cannot BELIEVE what happened at rehearsal today. No, it wasn't Sam this time, because the two of us had a little "chat" beforehand. I'm talking about three certain cast members who were distracting me big-time. It's bad enough they did what they did, but what really pisses me off is that Kristy's own little brother was one of them! Sure, he's a little kid, and little kids will find a way to push just the right button, but seriously! Come on! And to top it all off, for the rest of the day, everyone was looking at me like I was some kind of ticking time bomb. The only good thing to come out of all this was not only Sam standing up for me, but also my sitting job at the Johanssens'...

I'd taken all I could that day. I ran to the girls' room, kicked the door open, and stormed inside. Next, I yanked off my ascot, threw it against the wall, threw my bracelet on the floor, and punched the side of the paper-towel dispenser. I was so angry, and in so much pain, that I didn't notice the paper towels streaming onto the floor. Well, so what!

Just then, I heard one of the stall doors open, and saw Mary Anne standing there with a surprised look on her face. "Stacey, what's wrong?" she asked.

"Oh, we were rehearsing 'Humming', and three of the guys were backstage messing me up," I fumed. And that's when I broke down and bawled like a baby. Honestly, I don't think I've cried this much since Laine Cummings turned everyone at my old school against me after I'd wet the bed we'd been sharing at Deidre Dunlop's slumber party, which soon led to me being diagnosed with diabetes, among other things. Okay, so maybe this wasn't such a big deal compared to that, but I was still upset.

"Oh, Stacey, shh," Mary Anne said tenderly, kneeling beside me. She put her arms around me, and I sobbed into her shoulder. After a minute or so of consoling me, Mary Anne handed me a tissue from her pocket. I wiped my eyes, and she helped me stand up.

"You all right, honey?" she asked. I nodded and sniffled. "Oh, your hand!"

I looked at it. My knuckles were swollen and scabbed, but to my amazement, they weren't bleeding. If there's one thing Mary Anne can't stand to look at, it's blood. Since there wasn't any, she wet a paper towel and pressed it against my hand. The cold dampness eased the pain.

Just then, the door opened, and Ms. Halliday poked her head in. "Is everything all right, girls?" she asked. I could tell she wasn't too happy with what just happened.

"Yes, ma'am," Mary Anne answered, avoiding eye contact with Ms. Halliday. Either she was too busy helping me calm down, or she's still a little intimidated by that particular teacher. I'm guessing a little of both.

"Stacey? Would you like to come back to rehearsal now?"

"I'll be out in a few minutes," I said, calmer than before. Ms. Halliday nodded and left as Mary Anne threw the paper towel away and washed her hands. Then she picked up my bracelet and ascot as I washed my face.

"It's all right now, Stacey," she said, handing them to me. "Try not to think about it, okay?"

"Thanks," I said, trying to smile, as I put them back on. "Oh, by the way, sorry for getting mascara on your shirt."

"Oh, that's okay," Mary Anne laughed. "I've got a Tide pen in my purse."

When we came out of the bathroom, I found Sam, holding my script. I could tell by the look on his face that he felt awful. "You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," I answered. "My hand hurts like hell, but I'm fine."

"Really?" he asked, taking it. "Want me to kiss it all better?"

"Sam," I said, in the same tone of voice I use whenever Eleanor Marshall is doing something she knows she's not allowed to do. But then, that's just what he did: he kissed my sore knuckles.

Call me crazy, but instead of carrying out my threat, I just stood there, dumbfounded, then all of my anger just melted away. Normally, Sam is a goofball with a capital G, but sometimes, and this was one of those times, he can be really sweet.

"Come here, sweetie," he whispered as he wrapped me in a hug. At that moment, Jason Everett happened to be passing by on his way to the water fountain.

"Everything all right?" he asked. I nodded and waved him on. I guess as the male lead, he felt that it was his responsibility to check up on his fellow castmates.

Afterward, Sam gave me my script, and we walked hand-in-hand back to rehearsal.

When we got back, we saw Dawn and Charlie going over the dialogue prior to "Yes, My Heart", under Mr. Cheney's watchful eye. I also happened to look toward the stage door, and saw Kristy talking to Jackie and David Michael. She was talking softly enough that I couldn't hear her, but you didn't need a PhD to know that she was pissed. I hoped she was telling them to behave themselves or else.

After she was done with that, she came inside and over to me just as Sam was walking away.

"I'm all right, Kristy," I said, before she could ask how I was.

"Okay," she said. "Oh, by the way, Mr. Cheney says he wants to see you after rehearsal."

"Oh, boy," I groaned. "I bet I know what he wants to talk to me about."

Kristy nodded in agreement. "Don't worry, Stace. After all, it wasn't your fault."

"I don't know, Kristy," I sighed. I really didn't want to face Mr. Cheney, and the fact that the rest of the cast was looking at me like I was some kind of ticking time bomb didn't help, either.

After rehearsal, I timidly approached Mr. Cheney. "You wanted to talk to me?" I asked, but my thought was, You wanted to yell at me and throw me out of the play?

"Yes, Stacey, I did," Mr. Cheney said, sitting on one of the seats in the front row. He was upset, but he wasn't angry. Not yet, anyway. "First of all, I'd like to know what possessed you to use that kind of language in front of your castmates."

"I don't know," I answered. "I'm really sorry, Mr. Cheney. I don't normally blow my stack like this. I guess it was getting distracted while I was going over my song that pushed me too far."

"Yes, I guess it did," Mr. Cheney agreed. "Look, Stacey, I'm sorry if you're having trouble with things outside the play, but the way you just reacted was totally unprofessional. Now, you're not in trouble this time, and tomorrow, I'm going to address the rest of the cast on what just happened. However, in the future, if anyone's giving you any trouble, you should let me know, and I'll deal with it, okay?"

"Okay," I nodded. I was glad, and also surprised, that Mr. Cheney was going to let me stay in the show.

I didn't have to be at rehearsal the next day, so I was available to baby-sit for Charlotte Johanssen. She's eight years old, very smart, and one of my favorite kids to sit for. When I first met her, she was really quiet and shy, and had no friends her own age. Now that she's skipped a grade, not to mention my good influence, she's started to come out of her shell a little more, and has a new best friend practically every week. I'm still proud of her to this day.

When I got to their house, the first thing I noticed was how quickly Mr. Johanssen was running around the living room. "I've-got-a-meeting-and-Dr.-Johanssen's-in-the-middle-of-surgery-I-should-be-home-by-5:30-at-the-latest-Charlotte's-reading-in-the-den-there's-apple-cider-in-the-kitchen-well-I-should-get-going-see-you-later." And he was gone in a flash.

"Well, hello to you, too," I said after he'd hurried out the door. He must have been in quite a hurry. Oh, well. I picked up my Kid-Kit from the table by the door, and went into the den. Charlotte was on the couch, reading Superfudge.

"Hi, Char!" I said cheerfully.

"Hi," she answered, looking up at me. She sounded a little upset.

"Is something wrong?" I asked, sitting down beside her.

"No, everything's fine."

"Are you sure? You don't sound like everything's fine."

"No, I'm all right," Charlotte insisted, but then she saw the look on my face that I usually get whenever I don't think someone's telling me the truth.

"Okay, I'll level with you," she said, putting in her bookmark and laying her book in her lap. "I heard about what happened at your rehearsal yesterday."

"You did?"

She nodded. "Jackie Rodowsky told me. He said you yelled at everybody and ran into the bathroom, crying."

"Oh," I said. Apparently, Charlotte was afraid I'd lose my temper with her today. "Look, I can explain. You see, I hadn't been having a good day, and by the time I got to rehearsal, I wasn't in the greatest mood. I should've just taken some time to myself, before I did anything else, but I didn't, and—well, one thing led to another, and I just flew off the handle. But don't worry, I told the director I was sorry for what I did, and he understood, so everything's all right now."

Charlotte nodded. "And Jackie and David Michael say they're sorry for what they did, too," she told me.

"Oh. Well, if you see them before I do, tell them I said no hard feelings, okay?"

As soon as I said that, Charlotte smiled that cute dimpled smile of hers. "Okay, Stacey," she said, giving me a hug. "Hey, you brought the Kid-Kit!"

"Yup," I said. "And your daddy says there's apple cider in the fridge. Want some?"

"Sure!" Charlotte exclaimed.

"While we're doing that, you can help me with my lines."

"Okay!" Charlotte agreed, grabbing my hand and leading me into the kitchen. For now, everything was back to normal.