Riven - Jerry B. Jenkins [66]
23
Friday | Forest View High School
Brady was worthless all day Friday. Three midterms, none of them easy, and all he had done during the week was rehearse, work, and have his suit cleaned. After the audition, three dress rehearsals, and an hour of cast photos, he wanted it as crisp and dramatic as the first time he had appeared in it.
The night before, he had spent half an hour shining his shoes, and he had carried them to school, wearing sneakers. Now there was a look. He flipped off more than a half dozen friends and strangers—anyone who made a comment about him in tennies. They’d see who deserved jeers and who deserved cheers after tonight. If he was big now, imagine then.
All he could think of all day was his first real appearance onstage. Everybody was talking about it, and most seemed as familiar with the musical as he was. All he had to do was stand and deliver. The exams were afterthoughts, and he was already long past dreading their outcomes and feeling awful for being utterly unprepared. Like an idiot, he knew, he hoped his talent would somehow miraculously spare him. If one—just one—of the people in charge had an ounce of mercy, maybe . . .
Most exciting about tonight was that Alejandro and his girlfriend were coming. Brady had tried to shame his mother into coming too. “You’ve got a car. The ticket’s free. You could bring Petey instead of me having to get my old boss to do it. And now even Alejandro is coming and is excited for me. You don’t think people are gonna wonder where my ma is?”
“They don’t care about me any more’n you do. Anyway, we always have a party Friday after work.”
“And that’s more important than your own son. Someday, when I’m a star and you see me on some talk show talking about my career, you’re gonna wish you had a story about the first time you saw me onstage.”
“Yeah, and that I knew you were going to be big.”
“It could happen.”
“And this trailer could grow white pillars.”
Brady sat back and studied his mother. She looked way older than her years, though she had been a teenager when he was born. “Seriously, you’re not gonna feel funny if everybody’s talking about me and wants to know what you thought?”
“Who’s going to ask me that?”
“Anybody could. Everybody else’s parents are coming. Can’t wait. And if you had any idea how popular I am at school, I swear you’d be amazed.”
“You got that right. Well, if Petey’s going with the Laundromat guy, he can tell me all about it.”
At school Brady found a sassiness creeping over him. After each midterm, on his way out of class he shook hands with the teacher and smiled and told him or her that he hoped to see them at the musical that night.
Each looked surprised at this new, gregarious personality and asked how he felt about the exam.
“Oh, I have no doubt about that,” he said. “I bombed royally, flying colors. Not a prayer. Hardly recognized any of it, and what I recognized I couldn’t remember. And the one time I could’ve got a good look at my neighbor’s paper, you were watching.”
He laughed loudly, but somehow not one of them seemed to find that in the least amusing. Each said they were indeed looking forward to seeing him onstage but hoped he hadn’t irreparably damaged himself academically.
“Well, I’m sure I have,” he said. “But it’s been fun.”
Adamsville
“You sure you’re feeling better?” Thomas said.
“I’ve never lied to you,” Grace said. “I’m afraid these discolorations on my arms are a sign of age, though. I use creams and everything, but it just seems my blood vessels are closer to the surface, my skin thinning, or something.”
Thomas studied the fresh marks that looked like bruises. “And you don’t recall banging into something or putting pressure on them by pushing anything?”
She shook her head, apparently eager to change the subject. “It’ll happen to you too, as you age.”
“Grace, we’re not that old, despite that everybody thinks we are. Those aren’t age spots, and I don’t think your skin is thinning. It worries me.”
“Well, I feel fine, and I’m done talking about it, all