I follow her in. My hand is wet, a combination of sweaty, nervous palms and a perspiring shmoodie bottle. Maybe I could drown myself in it. Or drink it so fast I get brain freeze bad enough to render me unconscious.
Dr. Lochley scoots her tray of breakfast tater tots out of the way and sits at her desk. I stay standing. I think my legs are going numb.
She stares down at the lists, then finally looks up at me.
A couple tears escape my traitorous eyes, but I don’t sniffle.
“Jackson,” she says. Her mouth hangs open, like she doesn’t know what to say.
“I don’t know how they got there,” I blurt out. “Jasmine must’ve—”
Must’ve taken them from my binder. Gotten to school early and put them up.
Must’ve really been hurting.
“But this is your handwriting.”
I nod.
“Well, clearly you’re upset with me.”
I wipe at my cheeks. “I was just—”
“But it’s neither appropriate nor acceptable for you to be airing your dirty laundry like this.”
“Jasmine—”
“If your sister posted them, well, I’ll need to have a conversation with her as well.” She eyes me. “Though perhaps that’s a family matter. Still, they’re yours. You wrote them.”
I nod.
“Under the circumstances, I don’t think it would be appropriate for you to stay on as stage manager. The cast needs to be focused on the show, not on whether you’re filling your notebook with criticisms.”
“What? But what will happen to the show?”
“We’ll figure something out.” Dr. L stands, gathers up my lists, and drops them in her recycle bin. “You’re not who I thought you were, Jackson. I hope you’ll take some time to reflect on who you want to be in the future.”
I don’t know if she heard what Liam said to me, or if she just happened to twist the knife by accident.
Hot anger leaps up my throat and out my mouth before I can stop it. “Yeah, well, you’re not who I thought you were, either. I thought you cared about me. But all you care about is Cam and Liam and the other actors.”
She stares at me.
“I do care about you, Jackson, but you’re not my only student. I have a department to run.”
“Well, good luck running it without me then.”
I spin on my heel and leave.
***
I didn’t know I had it in me to do that. Storm out of Dr. Lochley’s office. Maybe I’m dramatic enough to be an actor after all.
But once I’m at my locker, the anger leaks away, and tears replace it. I wish Bowie was here, but they’ve already gone to class; the halls are empty. The bell’s already rung. Maybe I should’ve gotten a pass from Dr. L, but no. I can’t go to class like this.
One of the advantages to being me is, if I tell Mr. Denton, my APUSH teacher, that I was dealing with a Theatre Emergency, he won’t question it. I’m trustworthy.
Except I’m not. Not when it really counts.
