Cinderella Sidelined (7 page)

Good. Exactly as I always thought.

I'm definitely not a theater person.

I'm glad that's settled.

CHAPTER EIGHT

I'm bored.

School's only been out for about twenty minutes and I've got no idea what to do. There's no football game this afternoon, which might be a good thing considering how I felt at the last one and Stella is skipping practice for a dentist appointment, and I really don't feel like heading home so early.
 

The way I see it, I only have one real option right now, especially because there's no way I'm letting myself wander back near the auditorium. That would be reckless and stupid, considering I'm still having to battle my brain to stop thinking about it. Clearly, I can't be trusted within a hundred feet of the auditorium.
 

So I'm staying away, that much I know.

Problem is, I can only think of one other way to kill the next two hours or so before it's time to head home for dinner...and it's not exactly the way I want to spend my time.

But I suck it up and walk over to The Barn without a bag filled with gym clothes for the first time in as long as I can remember. I'm still in my coral sundress and black-and-white striped ballet flats when I wander into the gym.

Coach Morris doesn't notice when I first walk in. She's standing with her back to the door, obviously having just blown the whistle to gather the team around her. All the girls -- now just nineteen instead of twenty -- stare intently at her as she explains something I can't hear.

Veronica sees me first. Her eyes get really wide when she realizes I'm here and she nudges Lynn like I've gone blind in addition to busting my wrist and won't notice. It spreads through the team like a stack of dominos falling, a ripple effect, until it feels like everyone is staring at me except for Coach Morris.

She's still talking, but it doesn't take long for her to realize she's lost everyone's attention and she turns around to look at me just as I'm about to duck out and pretend this whole thing never happened.
 

It's a mistake to come here. I know that now. Any idea that my teammates could treat me normally is just that: an idea.
 

"Well!" My old coach's face lights up when she sees me. "If it isn't my shining star. Ladies, work on your jump serve drill."
 

With curious looks, the rest of the team reluctantly goes over to the hopper to grab balls for one of Coach's favorite drills as she walks right over to me.

"How are you holding up? Surprised to see you here," Coach Morris says, her voice low and her back to the team so they can't overhear.
 

I shrug and force myself to stop watching the drill. I want to grab a ball and slam it over the net so badly, it's making my teeth ache.
 

"I'm fine."

"Emma."
 

I refuse to meet my coach's eyes. "What do you want me to say? It sucks not being able to play? It sucks not being able to play. But it's not like I can do a whole lot about it."
 

"I expected to see you at practice the other day."
 

"What? The day after she ran into me?" I ask, and Coach Morris nods. "Yeah, that wasn't gonna happen."
 

"You're just as big a part of the team today as you were a few days ago, you know. Getting hurt doesn't change that."
 

"Maybe not for you."
 

She shakes her head. "Not for any of us."
 

"I saw their faces just now," I tell her, and it's further confirmed when we both glance over at the drills and nineteen heads quickly swing away from us as my old teammates pretend they're not trying their hardest to overhear our conversation. "See?"

"They're confused. You were their leader and now they don't know how to react."
 

"It doesn't feel right being here."
 

"Emma, this has been your home for years. That hasn't changed because you had an accident."
 

"I don't know."

"It's what you love."

I mash my lips together. She's right, of course. I love volleyball. I always have, and I'm sure I always will, but there's nothing about it right now that makes me happy. Not being in the gym, not watching the team go through practice without me, not listening to Coach Morris' words of wisdom.

It all just makes my stomach feel like it's trying to claw its way out of my body.

"No," I say. "No. Not anymore."
 

"My job as your coach is to guide you, right?" she asks, looking me right in the eyes. Returning her gaze is kind of a struggle, but I manage and nod. "I'm telling you, don't walk away from this. You'll regret it."
 

"It's what I have to do," I say, and my voice is strong when the words come out and I know I mean it.
 

I know it's right for me.

"And there's nothing I can say to convince you?"

"Look, it's going to take six weeks for me to even see if I can get this paperweight off me," I say, holding up the cast. "Maybe I'll just use that as a break and figure out what to do next. I'm not done with volleyball. That's stupid. And I still want to play for the Hornets. It just hurts too much being around the game when I lost my senior year. I'll never be a three-time Arizona state champion. I'm not going in the record books."
 

Coach Morris studies me for a long time, and I'm just standing here, praying she's not going to plead with me more. I don't have it in me to keep saying no to her, not when she's been so amazing to me for so many years. I need her to let this go.

"It's your choice," she says with a sigh. "You're welcome back here anytime. You've always got a home in The Barn."
 

A smile flickers across my face then fades.
 

I hadn't walked into the gym today knowing for sure that I want to walk away from volleyball, but I do now.
 

The only problem with this?

I'm not sure where to go next.

And I'm pretty sure the odds are good that I might steer myself right off the edge of a cliff.

***

I make my way back to the main school building after walking out on Coach Morris and the rest of the team. I'm feeling sicker than I have since the whole stupid accident because up until now, it hasn't quite felt real that I can't play volleyball. But after going into the gym and watching the drill and seeing how my teammates look at me now that I'm no longer useful to them -- it all just makes my stomach churn.

Have I ever even belonged there the way I always thought I did?
 

And as I stand in front of my locker, dumping the books I'll need to maybe do my homework later into my backpack, it hits me. I have nowhere to go now other than home. Killing time after school has never been a problem before, but now I'm totally alone.

Like I'm lost in a place that's always felt familiar and safe.
 

That's not really a good feeling.

It's just after four; still too early for me to want to go home, but I don't see any other choice unless I want to plop down in an empty classroom and start my homework.
 

Not exactly my idea of a good time.

So with a resigned sigh, I pick up my backpack, sling it over my shoulder and slam my locker shut before trudging down the hall toward the parking lot where I can catch the bus since my oh-so-sexy cast is keeping my car parked safely -- and uselessly --
 
in our driveway back home.

I promise I'm not thinking about Russ or singing or theaters when I end up wandering past the auditorium on my way to the bus stop.

Okay, maybe I don't have to take this exact path through the school halls to get outside, but I've ended up standing right outside the same stupid heavy oak doors that made me so obvious to Russ the other day.

You want to know the crazy part?

I'm actually thinking about going in.

I stand outside the oak doors, bouncing my weight from foot to foot, absently gnawing on the skin of my bottom lip.
 

Should I do it?
 

Yeah, I probably should. It'll be so easy to take the three steps forward and pull open the door and walk right inside, down one of the aisles and straight up to the stage, announcing that I'm here and ready to tryout.

I swallow hard, beads of sweat prickling along my palms, and I back up against the wall for extra support. The idea of going for it doesn't exactly get a great reaction out of me.

Okay, maybe it's not so easy.

That doesn't mean I can't just go in anyway, right? I mean, what's the harm in creeping inside and snagging a seat in the back row just to watch? It'll be like checking it out in some kind of covert undercover operation or something, I don't know.
 

But at least I can keep my balance when I think about doing it, so something tells me it's probably not the worst idea I've ever had.

I slowly walk toward the doors, but make sure to use the ones off to the side that hopefully won't make as much noise as the giant center ones did the other day. I don't need to go announcing my presence to anyone -- and especially not to Russ -- right away.

I really wish I could borrow Harry Potter's cloak of invisibility right about now.
 

With a deep breath that I hope will give me some confidence, I shut my eyes and feel my hands circle around the heavy metal doorknob. I count to three -- I don't know why, but Mom always told me to count when I'm not sure of my next move -- and give it a yank.

I shoot a quick mental thank-you note to my lucky stars -- the door opens quietly and I'm able to slip through unnoticed. I ease it shut behind me until it closes without a sound, and I finally feel like I can let out the breath I've been holding in.

That's when the singing starts up again, and I realize I haven't even noticed it's practically silent in the auditorium when I walk in. I glance over at the stage. There's a girl standing under the harsh, bright lights who I don't think I've seen before.

She's definitely not Russ.

Phew.

I creep over to the back row of seats and drop down into the one on the aisle, as far away from the stage as I can possibly get without being outside the auditorium.
 

One of the girls auditioning bursts into song. It's a familiar-sounding tune but I can't figure out where I've heard it before and I watch as she moves around the platform, flinging her arms every which way, twirling across the stage. She's really into it, clearly holding nothing back. And as she runs around singing about a lost love, she really makes me believe it, you know? Everything about this girl screams that she really does have a broken heart.

I can't look away.

I lean forward, chin against my good palm, elbow digging into my knee, as I stare at the stage, totally caught up in what's happening in front of me.

Out of nowhere, a guy jogs onto the stage from one of the wings and starts circling the singing girl while she pays him no attention.

I watch intently for a second until I suck in my breath, my eyes grow wide.

There he is.

It's Russ.

My eyes are glued to him as he sweeps across the stage. He's still dressed in the same blue jeans and white button down shirt he was wearing earlier today at lunch, but his cheeks are pinker and his hair's a sweaty mess, like he's just finished running a marathon.

She stops singing and then the most surprising thing happens: Russ starts.

Even though I'm watching him closely and I see his mouth open in time with the words, I'm still not convinced the music is actually coming from him.

'Cause here's the thing: he's kind of really good.

"And there will never come a day / when you're not on my mind / and that's just the way / it'll be for all of time," he croons, and I realize my heart's starting to pound with every word, every lyric that comes out of his mouth.

What the hell?

The girl joins him in a duet and they hold hands, arms extended, as they finish out the song. I'm completely captivated, staring at them, breathing heavily, and I have no idea what's happening to me or why. I don't snap out of it until the song ends and the two of them disappear out of sight off stage.
 

I shake my head and reach down to pick up my backpack. This is too weird. I clearly can't handle it and it's doing screwy things to my brain.
 

It's better if I stick with my original gut instinct and get the heck out of town now.

"Hey."
 

The voice comes out of nowhere and it's so close to my ear that I have to fight the urge to reach back and swat the source of the noise like it's an annoying fly buzzing too close to my head.
 

I spin around in my seat, then frown.

Russ is kneeling down behind me, arms draped over the back of the chair, grinning widely at me.
 

His hair is sweatier up close.

"Where'd you come from? I don't recognize you without your princely attire."
 

Last I saw him, he was making his way backstage. I'm not sure how he noticed me sitting back here and got to me all in about thirty seconds.

He grins. "Good to see you again, too, Emma."
 

I plaster a big, phony smile across my face and muster the friendliest voice I can manage. "Hi, Russ. How was your day? Did you get your homework done yet? Math quiz go okay?" I immediately raise an eyebrow and return to my normal voice. "Is that better for you?"

"Perfect," he says with an even bigger smile. "Thanks, Mom."
 

"What do you want?"
 

"Me? Shouldn't I be asking you?"

"I don't want anything."
 

"Then why'd you come back?"

I glare at him. "I wasn't in the mood to go home early. Not that it's any of your business."
 

"Oh, of course not," he says, pushing himself to his feet and folding his arms across his chest. "I'm just the lead in the play here, no big deal."