Circle the Soul Softly (6 page)

No worries. Two hours of vectors and trapezoids effectively blunt all disappointment by numbing my brain to outside stimuli. Until there's an instant message from “Hamlet99.”

I know immediately that it's David.

hamlet99: i'm bummed you can't go
kt13: me, too. sry
hamlet99: yeah.
kt13: maybe u cn take somebody else?
hamlet99: hm.
hamlet99: maybe.
hamlet99: NOT!
hamlet99: u there
kt13: yeah
hamlet99: feeling stupid now
kt13: why
hamlet99: um, no words
kt13: me 2
hamlet99: easier when ur acting
kt13: lines are gd
hamlet99: i'm going to tell him maggie
kt13: tell me first
hamlet99: i really like you
hamlet99: not just friend-like
hamlet99: uh …u there?
kt13: yeah
hamlet99: i actually said that
kt13: same
hamlet99: really
kt13: yeah
hamlet99: whoa
kt13: yeah
hamlet99: wanna go see a movie or something when i get back?

FOURTEEN

In real life there's no such thing as geometry. Not when I have the boyfriend I always wanted: an OMG-he's-cute, older-guy boyfriend who loves theater, does not act stupidly jocklike or fixate on his sex drive—at least that I've seen
yet
(smile, giggle, blush)—a boyfriend who hangs out with me, calls on the phone and, best of all …
really
likes me.

Me
, Katie!

We go back to school in January, after the most incredible four days of my entire life (excluding of course,New Year's Eve, when my mother said “No way” to the party David's sister was having). In those four days David has taken me to dinner
and
to a movie
and
to a play at the Geffen,
and
we walked around the Santa Monica Promenade
holding hands
.

I have magically morphed to my True Self, the one I sensed but couldn't find, the one that
fits
. I'm funny; I have words (well, most all the time); I can (almost) throw Stacey's bad moods right back at her; I like my family and Robert; I meet David's sister, Casey—we like each other; he meets Michael—and
they
like each other. Corny love songs make sense. My brother can call me “Skates” whenever he wants. And last, but certainly not least, I'm barely—but truly—passing geometry.

Which means—in real life—I can work on the musical that Tess will start directing next week. The one David happens to be in. The one Stacey did
not
get a lead in, much to everyone's surprise. And when we're not in rehearsal, David and I can go out. Which turns out to be nothing like I ever imagined. Going out with David means we talk. About everything—politics, school, stupid people, even religion. David believes in reincarnation. He thinks souls decide things in between lives, and know before they come back each time how long they're going to live.

“It's like you make yourself a promise,” he explains one afternoon. We're sitting across from each other on the greenroom couch, waiting for rehearsal to start. His left leg is pressing against mine, and I have a hard time concentrating on what he's saying. “You know, like maybe I decide I need to be responsible for my actions, so I choose a life situation that'll give me chances to do that. Make sense?”

“Um, that would be …not a bit.”

He laughs.
(I make him laugh!)
“Okay. Imagine that in a past life I was your basic Jake-type, irresponsible and stupid, and say I was high one day and hit some old lady crossing the street. And nothing happened to me because my parents got me out of it. This time around,my soul decides I need to learn about consequences, so I choose to come back disabled or get hurt in a war or something. Voilà. I understand consequences.”

“What about the old lady?”

“She chose too. She's working something out.”

“Ah. Very convenient.” I've gotten over the leg; now I can't stop staring at his eyes.

“Or complicated,” he adds.

“What if you screw up again?”

“I keep coming back until I figure it out.”

“But how do you know what you're supposed to do when you're here?”

“You don't. That's the challenge.”

“Uh-huh.” I drop my voice to a whisper. “Why do you think Stacey chose to come back an asshole?”

I catch his smile and miss his answer as Tess pokes her head in the door and motions us to join her. He takes my hand and we head out to the stage. I'm not sure how much I believe David's philosophy, but right about now, does it matter? I'm in a theater. Actors are working through a play. I'm scribbling notes for an amazing director and sucking in that peculiar but intoxicating theater smell—years of sawdust and paint and artists and rented costumes, makeup and excitement and lights. I can feel the warmth being chilled as the ancient AC unit grumbles away under the lines the actors are reading. Behind me the tech director is hanging lights.

It all fits. Even me.

I smile and Tess glances over and smiles back. She thinks I'm pleased because David's just done a very funny bit. She has no clue that Wise Magic Girl is sitting next to her, bathed in an aura of love for every single person in this theater—yeah, even Stacey.

FIFTEEN

“Tell me about Daddy.” In our newfound sibling tolerance, I'm lounging with Michael on the balcony of his bedroom. It's a chilly and beautiful February evening; the wind has sent most of the smog scurrying out over the ocean. No doubt the dolphins are gearing up for a protest.

I'm pretending to do homework.

Michael's feeding his face.

“That's random,” he says, stuffing in a meatball. My brother does not subscribe to holistic living practices.

“Well, I can't exactly ask Mom, can I?”

“Why do you have to ask at all? You knew him.”

“Hardly.”

“Skates, you were his favorite.”

“Yeah, right, Mister I-do-everything-with-my-dad.”

“Uh-huh. Which dad was that?”

“Come on. You were always together.”

“Oh yeah, right. You must mean my fantasy father. The one I didn't have.”

“How can you say I was his favorite?”

“‘It wasn't me.'” He sings it.

“I barely remember him.”

He sighs. “Trust me, Skates, you were
it
. He loved the hell outa you.”

I have to sit with that for a second. He offers me a hunk of sourdough and asks, “Why is this coming up now?”

“Well, David was talking about reincarnation and—”

“Shit. You believe that crap?”

“It could be true.”

“Mm-hmm, and I'm Jack Black.”

“All right, so what do you believe?”

“You're born, you fuck up, you die, and the worms have a party. End of story.”

“I like David's theory better.”

“You just like David.”

“Yeah, I do.” I start grinning and can't stop.

Michael gets up and closes his bedroom door, then rejoins me on the balcony.

“So do you guys want to come up to San Francisco with me and Casey over break?”

“Excuse me?”

“I'm meeting Steve and his girlfriend in the city.You and David could come too, if you want to.”

“Right. Like Mom will let me.”

“She will if she thinks it's just you and me, going to see our old friends.”

“I don't have any old friends.”

“Okay, this is too hard. You don't want to go, just say it.”

“I want to go.”

“Then stop arguing so much.”

“Fine. What do I do?”

“Let me handle it. I'm gonna make it so
Mom
suggests you go, to keep an eye on me.”

“And you think that'll work?”

“You have way too much to learn about parents.”

SIXTEEN

Closing night we prove the theory that the brains of fifteen-to-eighteen- year-olds exercise
no
judgment at all. Props materialize in the wrong scenes. Doorknobs disappear. The sound of the first act gunshot goes two beats
after
the actor “fires” the gun. David's “dinner” onstage has been laced with peanut butter, so he plays the entire scene with his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. The girl who unzips Stacey's costume for her speed change doesn't show. And pasted into the book the two romantic leads ponder at the end of the first act is a full frontal of a hot guy from
Playgirl
.

It sucks. You should never sabotage a show and Tess will no doubt maim whoever's behind it. But—I have never laughed so hard in my entire life.

After curtain call and flowers, the migration begins. The cast party is in the “Pope-head Room” at Buca di Beppo's, and Stacey's parents are footing the bill. This appeals to me about as much as dental surgery—but I can't think of any excuse that doesn't carry Extreme Negative Social Ramification. A brief reprieve occurs when Tess blocks the theater door.

“Closing night cleanup, babies. When it's
all
done, you can
all
go,” she announces.

“My part's clean,” says Gabe.

“Then strike the chairs.” Tess holds up her hand to the next protest. “What part of ‘all done' do I need to explain?”

“The restaurant won't hold the tables past eleven fifteen,” Stacey protests.

“Work faster.”

“We'll clean up,” David interrupts, indicating himself and me. My brilliant boy—why didn't I think of that? We get to be heroes; they get to leave. Tess heads for her office to finish up, and David and I begin by stacking the chairs.

“You know there's a ghost in here,” he stage-whispers.

“There is not.”

“Yeah, there is. This girl saw him a few years ago. Right there, behind you. Scared the shit out of her.”

“You're carrying this other world thing a bit too far, my friend,” I warn him, glancing over my shoulder.

“He was a cop. He murdered a migrant worker back when this was a police garage. That's why he has to stay around.” His voice is getting creepy.

“Stop it.” Chairs done, I start picking up props and the other random junk around the set.

“It's true. There's certain places a video camera won't work. That's one way you know for sure. Oh, and the security guy told me that when he hears music playing in here, like in the early early morning, there's never anyone inside. Even Tess says that—”

“Stop! You're freaking me out.” I grab the last thing I see—a backpack someone's shoved under the platform upstage left. He doesn't answer. I look around and I don't see him.

“David?”

Suddenly the fluorescents go out. I take a huge, fast, deep breath. “David. Quit playing around.” Still no answer. “I mean it—this isn't funny.” I start trying to find my way to the wall where the fluorescent switch is, and bump my shin on a platform. Hard.

“Shit!” I lose my balance and topple forward to my knees, onto the platform. The backpack I'm carrying goes flying; I can hear books sliding out. The fluorescent lights turn on.

“Are you okay?” David suppresses a chuckle.

“Perfect, thanks. I'm just bleeding here.” I sit down to examine my scratch.

“Poor baby.” He barely manages not to laugh as he sits down beside me.

“Asshole.”

“Oooh, ow. I was just playing.”

“You turned out the frickin' lights.”

“And you made a frickin' mess.”

I look at the junk that spilled over the platform. The sequined makeup bag is way too familiar. “Oh fine, it's Stacey's stuff.”

David clutches his hands and peers nervously around the theater. “Oh God. Not Stacey! We better run!”
I am totally in love
with this guy
. One by one he tosses her books, like basketballs, into the backpack.“Uh-oh.” He holds up a small, elegant journal, raises his eyebrows, and asks, “We can't, right?”

“Right.”

“Because
she
would never read something that didn't belong to her. ”With a wink, he drops it into the pocket of his jacket and we finish in silence, conspirators.

“Are you okay here alone?” David asks Tess when we're ready to go. He's doing his Nice Guy act.

“Yes, I am, thank you,” Tess says, no trace of teacher or director—just another person.

SEVENTEEN

We decide we'll only read the pages where we see our names. Then we'll tell Tess we forgot something and I'll pretend to look for it while David slips the journal into the backpack. Stacey'll find it Monday. No one gets hurt and it's no big deal, so why is my heart pounding?

“Jump to the middle?” David asks.“Or do you think we'll be on the very first page?”

“We will definitely
not
be on the first page.”

We settle in to the backseat of his car, cuddling, and scan the book for our names.

“God, she's got terrible handwriting,” I say. We run our eyes down each page and David flips to the next one every five seconds or so. She uses initials mostly, but no K's or D's show up.

“Wait a minute, hold on,”David says, and takes the book away from me. He reads by himself as I poke him with my finger.

“No fair, man,” I protest.

“No, no …shhh. Just a sec.”

“Come on, we're supposed to—”

“Katie, just a sec, okay?” His tone is just this side of Not Very Nice. He sighs and hands me the journal. It's all way too dramatic and I make a face at him before I start to read.

October 17—sometime around midnight
Yeah, well,
that
was fun—especially the part where I got
my stomach pumped—what a rush. I lost three pounds and
my mother is furious. I should do this more often.

“That was the party?” I ask.

“Yep. Keep reading.”

October 18
He says he's going to sue the school. Typical. If it's not
about
him, it's not about anything. L says I need to say
something. I say she needs to realize I can handle it.
Besides, I'm outa here in three more months and he has to
pay for my college. All of it.