“It won’t stay up. I can’t figure it out.”
Aurora grabbed a chair from a nearby table. “Move over, guys.”
“What are you doing?” Dave looked at her, skeptical.
“Standing on a chair. What does it look like I’m doing?”
“Are you sure about this?”
“Yes, we short people do it all the time. You should see me in the grocery store.” She placed the chair about an inch from the wall, then planted one foot on it while holding onto the back.
“Let one of us help you up.” Duncan’s voice was next to her ear.
The thought of his hands on her hips or butt made heat creep up her neck. “I can do it. Just stay clear.” She didn’t want her giant butt in anyone’s face.
“Be careful …” Mike was even nervous, the gentle soul.
Aurora hoisted her other foot up onto the chair and slowly stood. She inspected the area where they were trying to attach the draping. “Looks like someone ripped their drape out instead of removing it properly. That’s the problem.” She picked a piece of white fabric up with her fingers and twisted around. “Can someone pitch this?”
“Here.”
Duncan reached his arm up. She gave it to him, then reached toward Dave with the other hand. Wordlessly, David handed her the dark red fabric. Aurora made sure she had the right side out and clamped it into place. Now came the fun part. She used the wall to balance herself and bent over to grasp the back of the chair. Her knees groaned. The guys huddled around her, terrified. And then, it happened; the muscles across her lower back twinged and twisted, her joints screaming under the strain. She grimaced and shook her head when Dave tried to grab her shoulders. Once she had her hand on the chair, she could slide one foot out and set it on the floor. Then she was off the chair.
She pursed her lips and breathed through the pain, her hands on her lumbar area. “There.”
“Did you get hurt?” Dave looked horrified.
“I pulled my back out—it’s no big deal. I’m going to sit for a minute though.” She turned and sank into the chair. She looked up at four worried faces. “Guys, I’ll be fine. Duncan, do you think we can pack everything up and slide it under the table at the front? We should keep the stuff for the hallway table on top so we can grab it easier tomorrow.”
“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Let’s go.” He ushered the others off. “Do you have any pills you can take on you?”
“They’re in my purse. I can take some at dinner.”
“I’ll find a water fountain, and you can take it now.”
Bending over a fountain sounded akin to torture right now. “Duncan, I can’t—”
“I have a reusable bottle. Stay there.” He jogged off.
Aurora rested the back of her head against the wall behind her and prayed for the floor to swallow her whole.
Aurora had finally managed to stop crying. Her back was in constant pain, the chairs at school were not helpful, and she kept forgetting homework! This wasn’t her. She was having her third panic attack of the day, hiding out in the bathroom during musical rehearsal. One of her fellow chamber choir members, Joanna, came into the bathroom, softly singing Aurora’s name. Aurora peeked out from the bathroom stall.
“There you are! We’re going to run our scene now. We need you,”Joanna said.
Nodding, Aurora wiped her eyes. But Amber, who had made no secret that she planned on making acting her career, had followed Joanna inside.
“Honestly, Aurora, no professional director would ever put up with this! You’re such a baby.” Tears sprang anew as her heart broke, and Aurora slipped back into the stall, locking it behind her. She regretted it not five minutes later. That was the nicest thing Joanna had done for her all year, and she screwed it up.
Duncan returned with water and her purse. She rifled through it until she found her Tylenol. As she took her pills, Duncan pulled out another chair and straddled it backward to sit opposite her.
“Everything is all put away. Are you well enough to go to dinner?”
She nodded, her voice hoarse. “I don’t know why everyone’s making such a fuss over me.”
“Because we care. We cared back then, too.”
Her cheeks turned red. “I was too high on narcotics to see it. The doctors didn’t diagnose me with arthritis until college. So, all throughout senior year, they bounced me around on different drugs. I wasn’t myself. I don’t even remember much of it, but I vaguely remember being a complete brat. That’s why I never wanted to come back. I was so ashamed of what an ass I was that year.” Her lip trembled as she handed back the water bottle. “I don’t deserve your sympathy.”
