TWENTY-ONE
Berry didn’t text me back that night.
I called her twice before I left for school the next day (calling, the last and final straw in communication), but no answer.
I snuck out of the house early—Lucy wasn’t there when I got up and Millie was on the phone—and got to school before the bell. I spotted Berry in the parking lot, doing tricks on her skateboard. The sky was gray and annoyed, with little clouds turning into even thicker clouds with every minute.
I ran over, darting around cars. “Hey.”
Berry jumped off her board. She was wearing a green sweater with an angry set of eyes on the front. “Hey.”
“Did you get my text about the money? The lawn? I’m going to pay for it.”
“Yeah.” Berry toed her board forward with her boot. “Yeah, my parents were pretty pissed when they got the email.”
“I mean, we didn’t do it,” I said.
“Sure.” Berry kicked her board forward. “But we shouldn’t have gone to that party.”
“I know.” I sighed. “And I’m sorry they were shitty to you and I like dragged you into the worst idea ever. Like honestly I got basically screamed at by my parents about it yesterday. Like about ‘my choices.’ Even though Tanner is clearly a fucking liar.”
I guess I expected Berry to be mad about the email, too. She just stared at me like I had a glowing orb on my forehead.
“They’re making me quit the play,” I added. “Because of the email. And a bunch of other things, I guess. The pizza fight. All that stuff.”
Silence.
Horrible, uncomfortable, so thick you could cut it with a knife, silence.
“Okay, well. . .” I took a step backward. “Anyway. . .look, I’m sorry I brought you. And I’m sorry—”
Berry looked at me with stone eyes. “You really don’t get it.”
“Get what?”
Berry’s cheeks turned their traditional bright pink. “You don’t have to be sorry that I came to the party with you. I decided to go. I wanted to go with you. I wanted to make sure you would be okay.”
“I know. I mean, thanks. I really appreciate it. I mean, I appreciate, like, everything you do to be a good friend. You’re the best friend, Berry.”
Berry’s eyes flicked up to the sky just as the first drops of rain started falling. “You don’t get it.”
“WHAT?” Raindrops pittered and pattered down on my face.
And trickled down Berry’s cheeks.
“Never mind.” Berry reached down and picked up her board, the wheels spinning.
Suddenly I was chasing a speed-walking Berry threading through the parking lot. Like she was trying to lose me. “Berry!”
Berry didn’t look back. “I need you to give me some space, okay? Please leave me alone.”
The rain turned into a torrent as Berry sailed off. Endless sloppy raindrops. And me. Feeling more alone than even that first night in Greenville with the endless dark that would be my new home.
By the time I made it into the school I looked like a wet sponge, and not just because I was wearing yellow head to toe. Yellow, the color of caution, of which I apparently had none.
“Anne!”
I swiveled, my boots squeaking on the floor, to see Mr. Davidson shaking off his umbrella and taking in my yellow faux-fur parka, which was now about twenty pounds of fur and rainwater. “You’re soaked. Fuzzy and soaked.”
“Yeah.” I flapped my arms. “Well. Yeah. Actually. Mr. Davidson. I have to talk to you.”
“Let’s get you dried off first,” he offered, holding open the door to his classroom. “We have a few more minutes before first bell, and I think I have some paper towels in here somewhere.”
Magically, he also had a thermos of tea and some cookies, which he spread out on his desk before handing me a wad of napkins. “Help yourself. You look like you need it.”
“Uh, I’ll skip the tea, thanks.” I dabbed at my jacket. “Um. So I have to tell you—”
“You’re quitting the play.” Mr. Davidson sat down behind his desk. “I got an email from your mother this morning.”
“Yes, well,” I said, grabbing another sheet of paper towel. “My mom thinks, with everything happening, it’s not a good idea. Plus, I basically am being framed for arson right now by a bunch of Forevers, and Berry hates me, which I can’t really get into because I will totally lose my sh—stuff, if I do.”
“The Forevers?” Mr. Davidson grabbed a cookie. “Who are the Forevers?”
“Like the people who act like they have been here since like the dawn of time,” I explained, grabbing a cookie for myself.
“Ah.” Mr. Davidson brushed the crumbs from his desk. “I see. Well, I’ll be very sad to not have you in the play. I was looking forward to seeing your Pan.”
“Will you change the play?” I asked, grabbing another cookie because they were really good. Kind of lemony. “Because of the letters. And the parents. Who hate it?”
“Ha-ha, no.” Mr. Davidson flicked his hands. “No, I’m not changing the play because the Pyes feel ostracized by the existence of art that isn’t a direct reflection of their experiences and tastes. This whole thing is a power play to get Sarah the lead, as I’m sure you’ve guessed. Despite their additional threat to withdraw funding for the costumes and sets, which is a traditional Pye donation to the school, our Peter Pan will go on. Trust me when I tell you this is not my first, nor will it be my last, tussle with Ettie Pye.”
He winked. “I starred in our high school production of Our Town with her, did you know that?”
“No!” I wonder if that’s where Sarah got her dress.
Or if her mom made her wear it.
He sat back, lifting up his sneakers and placing them on the desk. “You know,” he said, “I’ve been here for as long as any so-called Forever. My family are very pillars-of-the-community types. And for as long as I’ve been here, there has been a general resistance in this place to anything new.”
“Someone else who’s also a pillar told me Greenville has a stick up its. . .um. . .behind,” I admitted.
Davidson perked up. “HA-HA! Yes. That would be my great-aunt Beverly! Yes, that is her common Greenville Gripe. The stick. Yes.”
“Wait. She’s your great-aunt?” I did some fast math. “So Principal Lynde is your. . .”
“Cousin.” Davidson nodded. “Yes. She is also the owner of a stick, but I will deny saying that if you repeat it.”
Small towns.
Mr. Davidson took a long sip of tea. “You know, when I was young, Aunt Bev used to take me to see plays in other cities. We took a trip to New York once and I saw Guys and Do lls.”
“Really? I love ‘Sit Down, You’re Rockin’ the Boat.’ ” I grinned. “But I’ve only seen the movie.”
“Marlon Brando!” Mr. Davidson clutched his chest dramatically. “Heartthrob.”
“Exactly.” I smiled.
“Gosh, that’s a great one.” Mr. Davidson shook his head. “One day we’ll have to put aside some time to compare our love of musicals. OH! And we should invite Beverly. You know she was quite taken with you the day you all came to take her portrait.”
The school bell rang. Mr. Davidson gathered up his tea and cookies. Then he looked at me, pointedly. “Don’t quit.”
“My mom—” I started.
“I’ll talk to your mom.” He tossed the lot of wet napkins in the bin just as the door opened and students flooded in.
“Okay.”
“Come to rehearsal today.”
“Okay.” I could feel tears stinging the corners of my eyes. “Thank you,” I said. “Really. Like. Thank you.”
Mr. Davidson waved me off with a gentle flick. “See you after school.”
Mr. Davidson, clearly, was one of the few people in Greenville who a person could call a kindred spirit. By which I mean that he was clearly a fellow lover of marvelous things.
I truly hoped he also loved disco.
I skittered out of the classroom and into the hallway, which was flooded with students, a mix of Forevers and locals and probably a bunch of kids in between, jostling and shoving each other down the hall, trying to make it to the other side of the day.
I stepped forward and was swept into the flow, not really sure of anything beyond the one person I needed to find.
Berry.
Who didn’t want to talk to me. And by the time I got to homeroom, was nowhere to be found.