“What do you mean?”
“This is about behavior code violations on the ski trip, right? Jeff said there was a four-twenty party? So, who are we talking about?”
I assumed she already knew more than this after my fight with Amanda in the hall, but I guess she witnessed less than I thought. Either that or misunderstood it. I struggle with how to frame what happened. It’s even harder to tell Asha I was part of all this trouble than it was to tell my parents. As much as I want to, I can’t quite shake the feeling that my stupid mistakes will make her disappointed in me. This is the problem with being friends with someone you look up to.
“Um, I don’t know much more about the weed than you do,” I start, which is technically true but still feels dishonest. “But I did see Richard—”
“Oh, shit! Richard?” she whispers so loudly I wince. “Weird. He seems like the kind of guy who wouldn’t be comfortable losing control, like,at all. Did it bother you? Is that why you guys aren’t all flirtastic over here?”
Before I can answer, Mr. Price walks in. He stands in the center aisle and looks up at us all, his fingertips pressing together in a tent.
“All right, lambs, first of all, I want to say that I am not mad.” He says this in a way that lets us clearly know how very, very mad he actually is, and how lucky we are that he is a saint, because otherwise all the guilty parties would be skewered and slowly turned over an open fire. “I’ve been in extensive talks with Mr. Pinski, trying to find a compromise that would honor the behavior code but also not needlessly punish those of you who have been pouring your hearts and spirits into this show and have done nothing wrong. And I think we have found a solution.”
Wow, he is laying the shame on thick. As I prepare for sentencing, I glance at Richard to see what his face looks like when he actually feels regret, but it’s completely impassive, as if he has no idea what Price is talking about. No wonder he gets the lead in all the shows. He has more practice acting than the rest of us. He never stops.
“We are going to cancel the matinee. It had the fewest ticket sales anyway, so hopefully we can notify all our loyal patrons and get them moved to the Friday or Saturday evening performance. Also, we are canceling the cast party, as we do not feel that a school-sponsored celebration of the group is appropriate at this time.” This announcement sparks groans. Mr. Price carefully smooths each one of his eyebrows while he waits for the sounds to stop. “Lastly, we are canceling the final dress rehearsal. You can all thank me later for instituting my multiple dress rehearsal policy, so that you aren’t utterly unprepared. All I ask in return is that you bloody well kill it this weekend. Dismissed.”
As we shuffle out without the normal horsing around, itsinks in how much I’m dodging a bullet. My Saturday night show lives! I still get to do it. I would feel guilty that Amanda was getting the brunt of the punishment by losing a show if she wasn’t the one who got me in trouble in the first place.
Speak of the rat. She’s suddenly right next to me. She opens her mouth.
“No,” I say, holding up my hand to block her face from my line of sight. “No no no no no no no.” I repeat it until Amanda drops back. Asha, though, stays in step with me.
“So many questions,” she says. “Do I dare ask?”
“Probably not. It’s petty and dumb and not worth rehashing.” I’m not proud of a single piece of that story.
Asha steps in front of me and turns around so we’re facing. “Let me be clear. I know friends sometimes grow apart and that’s a normal part of life and all that, but I don’t plan on doing that with you, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I mean it,” she says. “You need to let me in.”
And here we are again. I hate the fact that trying to avoid all my super uncomfortable thoughts and feelings is making Asha think I’m trying to avoidher. It’s enough already. “Does that offer to eat popcorn with me until I’m sane again still stand?” I say.
“Abso-fucking-lutely,” she says. She looks lighter, like I just took a backpack full of rocks off her shoulders. “See you after last bell.” She blows me a kiss and ducks into her French class.
Okay, good. I start mentally preparing myself. I’ll bite thebullet and tell her about the beer. How harshly can she judge me, really, when half the cast just got caught smoking pot? And I’ll tell her what happened with Richard. That will take some time, because knowing Asha, I’ll probably also have to talk her out of going on some crazy crusade of justice where she hunts him down and verbally eviscerates him in public. As much as I’d enjoy watching Asha annihilate Richard, I don’t need that kind of attention on my failed fling. Plus, I should be able to fight my own battles if I want to, although at this point with Richard, I really don’t. I want as little to do with him as possible.
What about the RP? I need to tell her that, too. It’s hard to explain, though. I failed miserably when I tried to tell Richard on the mountain. I don’t know where to start. I envision her shaking her head, maybe thinking I’m exaggerating or overreacting because she knows me well enough to know that those are bad habits of mine. Then she’ll say, “Maybe you just need new contacts.” She wouldn’t really say something so dismissive, of course she wouldn’t, but I can’t think of what she could possibly say that would make it an iota better.
Turns out, I don’t get to find out what either of us will or won’t be able to say, because when I get to my locker after school and pull out my phone, there’s a voice text from my dad:Let’s talk after school.It’s consequences time.
I text Asha a quickgot to cancel—parents’ orders. Rain check?to which she immediately respondsas long as I def see you tomorrow night at my house. Yes, ma’am. I head straight home. When I get there, Dad is waiting for me at the kitchen table, hands spreadout on the cool surface. Usually, he has the radio on, but not now. Now he’s just sitting.
“Hi, Dad.” He doesn’t respond, just presses his lips together and nods slightly. I sit, completely unnerved.
“Am I grounded?” I blurt. I don’t know why, since my parents have never grounded me before. Usually, when my dad is mad at me, he just gives me the silent treatment for a few days. I hate it, but at least it’s predictable. This new “let’s talk” strategy has me off-balance. I hope he doesn’t say he’s disappointed in me. I don’t think I could take it.
“What? That’s not something we— I don’t think so. Did your mother say that?”
“No, I just— She said that you were going to discuss next steps after you talked with Mr. Pinski.”
“Well, it sounds like the school has already taken care of that. Don’t you have some decision-making group you have to go to now? What’s it called?”
“Hold on.” I pull the form with the rotating schedule out of my backpack and look at the bold type. “Better Bets,” I say.
“Wow. Okay.” He rubs the crease at the bridge of his nose. “So you’ll do that, then.”
