Understudy

“Who knows which math teacher Ricky has?” I ask to everyone in the room. Gwen glances around as if waiting for someone else to say it, but when no one does, she takes out her cell phone. A quick text later and her eyes light up from the glow of the screen. “He said he has Math Models class with Mrs. Nolan.”

“Thanks Gwen,” I say, not really liking the words as they leave my mouth but knowing it’s not Gwen’s fault I’m totally jealous of her.

“Wait, Math Models?” Derek says, the disbelief in his eyes matching my same reaction to the class name. “He’s missing rehearsal because he’s failing Math Models?” He emphasizes the last word like it’s an insult.

“Hey fuck off,” Gwen snaps, giving an icy glare to Derek that sends a chill of delight up my spine.

“Sorry, but I don’t know how you could fail that class.” Derek is unfazed by her gutter mouth.

I shake my head a little to take my focus off their quarrel and back on the more-than-a-eureka-moment I’m having. Mrs. Nolan. Math Models. I gather my backpack and shove my directing equipment-a script, clipboard and video recorder—inside. Derek’s eyebrow goes up as he watches me prepare to leave. “You guys go on without me,” I say in my Authoritative Director voice. “I’m going to fix this.”

Classic rock plays at a dull volume in Mrs. Nolan’s classroom. She sits at her desk bobbing her head to the music as she grades papers. She’s wearing hot pink glasses and her acrylic nails are so sparkly, they are the first thing I notice when I look at her. I knock on the doorframe and clear my throat.

I don’t exactly know Mrs. Nolan, but I know of her. She’s the teacher with an M&M candy obsession and her classroom is decorated all over in every possible type of M&M souvenir ever made. Her son died in a drunk driving accident a few years ago and now she’s made it her mission to make sure that no students ever drive drunk. She puts her phone number on the bulletin boards and tells people to call her, no matter what time of night if they ever need a ride home. Someone like that is sure to want to help me out.

“Come in,” she says without looking up from her papers. The one she’s grading right now makes her frown. Her red pen slashes across the first few answers. The pen is polka dotted and topped with a green M&M.

“Hi Mrs. Nolan,” I say, stepping past an M&M coin bank and a shelf of M&M plush dolls. “I’m Wren Barlow, I’m not in your class but I’m—uh, directing the school play.”

She peers at me from the top of her glasses and quickly marks the last three answers with a big red x. “You’re Sophie’s niece. How is she? I haven’t heard from her in ages.”

“Oh, she’s fine,” I say. Fine seems like a decent word to use even though it has no tangible meaning in this context.

“Tell her to call me, will you? I miss our Tuesdays at the Greyhound Race Park.”

I nod. Mrs. Nolan seems nice enough and she’s one of the few people who voluntarily spend time with my aunt, so it should be no problem to get her help.

“What can I do for you?” she asks, right on cue.

I smile, holding my arms up like I’m about to ask the silliest thing ever. “Ricky has been missing rehearsal because he’s failing your class, and, well we don’t have a proper understudy for him.”

“Oh I know all about that,” she says, clicking her tongue. “The boy whines every single day about needing to get back to rehearsal.”

I feel a sense of pride when she says this. He’s been whining! About my play! I really am doing an awesome job at this directing thing.

“That’s exactly the problem,” I say, my chest automatically popping out confidently. “My—er, team needs him to come back. I was hoping you could help me with-”

“You mean Gwen needs him to come back,” she says with a snort.

My eyebrows crinkle. “What do you mean?”

She lifts the stack of papers on her desk and taps them on their sides, making them all neat. Her eyes look like she’s trying to decide on the right words to use. “I’ve taken the two of them home from three parties lately. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other.”

I guess I make some kind of noise because she looks up at me and slaps her hand over her mouth. “Opps, guess that was a secret.”

“Mrs. Nolan, this play means a lot to me. I know Ricky doesn’t deserve an easy grade but I don’t want to be punished for it. Is there anything he can do to make up his grade enough to get to participate again?”

Her eyes slowly roll in a circle as she lets out a long sigh. “Here.” She hands me a colorful workbook with the kind of pages that tear out. “There are a hundred pages in here. Have him do every page and I’ll use it as a test grade that will bring up his average to a C minus.”

I peek over her shoulder. “That says eight grade math,” I say skeptically. “Ricky is a senior.” Did she grab the wrong one?

She shoves the book in my hand. “Honey you better take this before I change my mind. And it’s due on Friday, no exceptions.”

I ditch rehearsal and head straight to Ricky’s house. I’m sure Gwen and Derek have everything under control anyway. Ugh.

Ricky answers the door after my third time of ringing the doorbell. His eyes widen when he sees me. “Sorry, my music was loud.”

I hold up the workbook. “If you answer all these worksheets Mrs. Nolan will give you a passing grade. You have to do it by the end of the week.”