reams, Wren. I had dreams too, when I was your age.” She looks at me. “And I followed them. And I succeeded, to an extent.”
I don’t know what to say, so I just stand here. She runs her fingers through her cropped hair, leaving the bright orange tips all spiky. “You needed recommendations for this scholarship, I assume?”
I nod. Shit, I think I know where she’s going with this. She purses her lips. “How many?”
“Four,” I say. “One from the principal and three from… teachers.”
She takes off her glasses and sets them on her desk. Rubs the skin above her nose like she has a killer migraine. “Imagine how I felt when I was eating my tuna sandwich in the teacher’s lounge and I overheard three teachers talking about your recommendation letter.”
“They were talking about me?” My ears burn as I picture my math, science and English teacher discussing my performance as a student. “What did they say?”
“That’s confidential.” With her glasses still off, she sits on the corner of her desk and places her hands in her lap. The fine lines around her mouth form a frown, but I’m not really buying it. She’s an actress, after all.
“I couldn’t believe that my own niece didn’t ask me for a recommendation letter. I sat for the rest of my lunch, wondering what I could have done, both as an aunt and educator, to deserve such treatment.”
“Aunt Barlow,” I object. “It’s not like that at all. I didn’t think the college would like me getting a letter from my own relative. It would be like cheating.”
“Or perhaps, you don’t feel that my class is of the same caliber as English and science. Sure, math is an excellent class to have a recommendation in, but English? Surely, theater is as important as English.” She takes a long breath and mutters to herself, “What would Shakespeare say, I wonder?”
“Is this why you gave me a crappy role? Because you think I stiffed you?” I slam my script on the desk in front of me. “This is so not fair, and you know it.”
Someone knocks on the door. “Come in!” Ms. Barlow says, as cheerful as if we had just been in here discussing large sums of free money. She rushes to the door with a warm friendly smile on her face. I grab my script, fold it in half and shove it in my back pocket. My hands are shaking as I mentally replay the conversation we just had. She’s the adult in this situation, and she’s acting like a child.
I got stuck with a stupid stagehand role, and apparently it’s my fault because, god forbid, I want to get into a good college so I didn’t ask my family member for a letter of recommendation?
She can take her Prop Construction Manager role and shove it down her drama queen throat, for all I care. I grab my backpack off the floor and turn to leave, but stop short when I see who’s in the doorway.
“Wren, say hello to one of the stagehands who will be helping you build sets. I hear he’s very talented in shop class, just like you. Principal Walsh recommended that I bring him on board.” She puts her arm on his shoulder. “What was your name again, dear?”
“Derek,” he says, giving me a nod.
Okay. So maybe the Prop Construction Manager won’t be so bad after all.
Margot and I have an unspoken best friend code when it comes to dating hot guys: She who sees him first, gets to date him first. The good news is that Margot hasn’t mentioned any new guys at school lately, so that means I’ve seen him first. The bad news is that she is way prettier than I am. Actually, that’s just the neutral news. The bad news is that Margot is currently single.
At lunch, Margot picks on her garden salad while I think of an organic way to bring up Derek and stake my claim on him. All the seniors have the same lunch period but it isn’t hard finding him in the crowd. Because he’s sitting alone in one of the corner tables made for two people. His sexy level goes up by a million points when I see that he’s reading a book instead of a magazine with a half-naked babe on the cover.
“That must be a new guy,” I say causally, poking my fork in Derek’s direction. “He’s cute.” Mission complete. With those two words, I have unofficial dibs on him.
Margot’s head jerks up when I mention new man flesh, and she scans the room. “Where?”
“The guy with the long hair.”
“Oh my god,” she narrows her eyes at me. “You mean that psycho? Derek Hayes?”
“What do you mean psycho?”
Her mouth falls open. “Don’t you remember? He was new at the beginning of the school year and then he went to juvi for the last however many months it’s been.”
“Are you sure it’s the same guy?” My heart sinks. Derek doesn’t seem like a criminal.
“Yeah, I think he almost killed a teacher,” she says with a shrug. “Or maybe it was drugs or something.”
I rest my head in my hands. Almost killing someone isn’t exactly my idea of romantic boyfriend material. “That blows. He looks hot from here.”
Margot makes a gagging sound. “Don’t be gross, Wren. He’s a criminal.”
The rest of the day goes entirely too fast and before I know it I’m leaving last period and heading to the auditorium for Rehearsal Orientation. Only my aunt would have a rehearsal for a rehearsal.