Maybe I Will Read online

  MAYBE I WILL

  LAURIE GRAY

  LUMINIS BOOKS

  Published by Luminis Books

  1950 East Greyhound Pass, #18, PMB 280,

  Carmel, Indiana, 46033, U.S.A.

  Copyright © Socratic Parenting LLC, 2013

  PUBLISHER’S NOTICE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Grateful acknowledgment is made to Hal Leonard Corporation for permission to quote from the songs “I’ve Gotta Crow” © 1954 (Renewed) Carolyn Leigh and Mark Charlap and “Ugg-AWugg” © 1954 (Renewed) Betty Comden, Adolph Green, and Jule Styne from PETER PAN, All Rights Controlled by Edwin H. Morris and Company, a Division of MPL Music Publishing, Inc. All rights reserved. Used by permission.

  Chapter 9 reference: Shakespeare: The Complete Works. Ed. G. B. Harrison. New York: Harcourt, 1968.

  The author is grateful to the American Taekwondo Association for its empowering programs and for granting permission to use the ATA pledge in this work.

  Hardcover: 978-1-935462-71-2

  Paperback: 978-1-935462-70-5

  Printed in the United States of America

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Advance praise for Maybe I Will:

  In Maybe I Will, author Laurie Gray deals with a difficult topic in a thoughtful, nuanced, and realistic way. A pinch of humor and a dash of Shakespeare add flavor to what otherwise might be an overly heavy stew.

  Maybe I Will belongs on teens’ reading lists and bookshelves alongside classics of its type such as Laurie Halse Anderson’s Speak and Cheryl Rainfield’s Scars.

  —Mike Mullin, award-winning author of Ashfall and Ashen Winter

  When a young person changes, suddenly and dramatically, there may be a reason that is not immediately apparent. In Maybe I Will, Laurie Gray insightfully explores such a situation. You will want to read this story twice.

  —Helen Frost, Printz Honor Award-winning author of Keesha’s House

  Maybe I Will is an essential purchase for libraries with young adults requesting books like 13 Reasons Why by Jay Asher, The Rules of Survival by Nancy Werlin, and Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson.

  We never know for sure if the victim is a boy or a girl. Pulling that perspective off was a dramatic success. By having the character almost gender neutral, this title will be easier to put in both male and female reader’s hands.

  Maybe I Will may be the title that helps a teen open up and tell someone, rather than continue to suffer in silence.

  —Practically Paradise — Diane R. Kelly

  This book is dedicated to Michelle Ditton

  and all of the Sexual Assault Nurse Examiners

  who helped me understand that

  it’s not about sex.

  MAYBE I WILL

  Prologue

  What’s in a name? That which we call a rose

  By any other name would smell as sweet.

  —Romeo and Juliet, Act II, Scene ii, Lines 43-44

  MY PARENTS STARTED calling me Sandy the night they conceived me. I’ve heard the story hundreds of times. It’s their fifth anniversary, and they’re on the beach under a billion stars. Mom just made partner at her law firm, and Dad just finished his doctoral thesis on Shakespeare.

  Mom asks, “What would you like for our anniversary?”

  So Dad says, “Let’s make a baby.”

  (Fast forward through the rolling in sand part.)

  Mom sighs and says, “I think we did it.”

  “A little sandy, don’t you think?”

  Mom nods. “Sanford or Sandra?”

  And Dad says, “Yes.”

  He pops the cork on a bottle of champagne, and they toast, “To Sandy Peareson.”

  1

  All the world’s a stage,

  And all the men and women merely players.

  They all have their exits and their entrances,

  And one man in his time plays many parts…

  —As You Like It, Act II, Scene vii, Lines 139-142

  MY FOURTH BIRTHDAY fell on a Friday during my sophomore year of high school. If I looked four, maybe I could have passed for a child prodigy. Only my birthday was February 29th, so really it took me 16 years to get to my fourth birthday. It used to make me crazy—how the whole world could just skip my birthday three years in a row. No one else I knew was born on Leap Year.

  Since it would really, truly be my birthday that Friday, and I hadn’t had an honest-to-god birthday since I was 12, I felt like all the gods were smiling on me, and I could have anything I really wanted. What I really wanted was to go to Juilliard, but it was still a little early for that. I’d have to settle for the lead in our school spring musical. Tryouts were scheduled for Friday, February 29. The musical was Peter Pan, so there were three major roles—Peter Pan, Wendy, and Captain Hook—and I’d been thinking that with all the makeup and costumes and stuff, I could play any one of them.

  That’s why I called a “Meeting of the Minds” with Cassie and Troy when they picked me up for school that Thursday morning. I wanted them to give me the latest on who was trying out for what parts and all. The great thing about our friendship was that we each had our own things we did best. We hadn’t competed for anything since we were potty trained. No kidding. Cassie’s mom babysat me and Troy every day and ended up potty training all three of us. That’s probably why Cassie won. Consistency, 24-7.

  Cassie’s mom used to put us in one of those strollers that hold three kids with Cassie in front (even then Cassie needed a little distance from her mom), me in the middle, and Troy in the back closest to her because Troy didn’t have a mom and wanted to be close to any mom whenever he could.

  So every day Cassie’s mom would push us like that all over the university campus. It didn’t matter how hot it was or how cold it was, as long as there wasn’t some sort of blizzard or lightning storm or tornado, she pushed us around the dorms, through the student union and past the English department where my dad taught.

  Cassie was the first one to ditch the stroller. Dad says he was teaching The Tempest, Act V, Scene i:

  A devil, a born devil, on whose nature

  Nurture can never stick, on whom my pains,

  Humanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost.

  He looked out the window and saw Cassie standing in the front seat of the stroller looking like Washington crossing the Delaware. I guess Troy and I still hadn’t figured out how to unbuckle the seatbelts. Anyway, Cassie’s mom freaked out and ran around to the front of the stroller to hook Cassie back in. Only she forgot to set the brake on the stroller and when she ran forward, we rolled backward with Cassie’s mom chasing after us, arms outstretched yelling, “Cassie! Stop! Cassie!” Cassie swore she never trusted her mom since and that her mom would forever blame Troy and me for pulling Cassie away from her. The lady doth protest too much. That’s Hamlet, Act III, Scene ii.

  So, back to that Thursday morning. When Cassie leaned her head out of the passenger side of Troy’s white Monte Carlo and called to me on my front steps. “Hey, Sandy! What’s Shakin’?” I replied, “When shall we three meet again? In thunder, lightning or in rain?” Those are the opening lines of Macbeth . Troy and Cassie always asked me “What’s Shakin’?” They thought I was obsessed with all things related to the Bard. At first, they were just ribbing me, but now it’s sort of our thing. I try to answer them with a quote from Shakespeare. “When shall we three meet again...” meant I was calling a Meeting of the Minds.

  Nobody had called a Meeting of the Minds since Troy’s birthday last summer. Cassie and Troy had this pact s
ince sixth grade that Cassie would have sex with Troy on his 16th birthday if he was still a virgin. Troy always had this huge crush on Cassie. And Cassie… well, everybody but Troy knew that he just was not Cassie’s type. But Troy saved himself for Cassie, and she kept her word.

  Afterward Troy kept telling Cassie how much he loved her and begging her to go with him, which just totally freaked Cassie out. That wasn’t part of the deal. And then when her pigskin prince went off to college and ditched her, Cassie had this thing about sex just being sex. So Troy was all depressed and kind of laid low through the holidays, but he came back after Christmas with his driver’s license and a new love: Monte. His Monte Carlo, that is.

  Anyway, when I called the Meeting I was real clear that this was about the spring musical and NOT about sex. I wasn’t saving myself for anyone in particular, but I wasn’t planning on having sex just because I was turning 16 either. For one thing, if I ended up all depressed, I was pretty sure my parents weren’t going to buy me a hot new car just to make me feel better. In fact, I already knew I wasn’t getting a car until that summer.

  Troy parked Monte in the back of the student parking lot. We all put on our hats and gloves and headed into school. “Any word on who’s trying out for what parts?” I asked. I kicked a smooth gray stone up the sidewalk.

  “You know Sarah Hensley will want the lead,” Troy said, scooting the stone back my way.

  “And Dustin Fairbanks,” added Cassie. She intercepted the stone and kicked it 10 yards forward and off of a fire hydrant. CLANG! It disappeared in the dirty snow.

  I nodded, scanning the sidewalk for another rock to kick. “Hamilton always gives seniors all the breaks.”

  “Well, there’s no way Sarah can play Peter Pan,” Troy said. “Her boobs’ll get in the way.”

  “Definitely,” Cassie agreed. “And Fairbanks’ voice is too low. He looks like a grown man with a five-o’clock shadow. He’s out.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “You know he’ll want to be the father and Captain Hook.”

  “Sarah will be Wendy,” said Troy. “You can count on it.”

  “I guess that means Sandy will have to be Peter Pan,” Cassie mused.

  “What about Alex Parker?” I asked. “Hamilton might give the part to him since he’s a junior. Or Katie Henry.”

  “I heard Katie’s running track this spring,” Troy offered.

  “Alex’s voice is changing,” said Cassie. “I’m pretty sure he’d rather play baseball than sing.”

  I nodded. “I believe I’ve found my place. ‘Second star to the right and straight on till morning.’”

  Cassie and Troy looked at each other and rolled their eyes.

  “What?” I said. “That’s Peter Pan, not Shakespeare.”

  2

  There was a star danced,

  and under that was I born.

  —Much Ado About Nothing, Act II, Scene i, Lines 349-350

  I ALWAYS LOVED my real birthday when it finally arrived. It was my day, and I never wanted anything to ruin it.

  On my last real birthday when I was 12, my mom scheduled a dentist appointment for me to get a filling. My parents said I was being overly dramatic, but I said what kind of a mom schedules pain on her child’s birthday on purpose? Then Mom ended up stuck in court, so Dad had to take me. “Really, Sandy,” he said, “don’t you think you’re over-reacting?”

  “No thir,” I said. My tongue was still numb. “Thith totally thuckth! Birthdayth aren’t thuppothed to be painful!”

  Dad laughed. “This is nothing compared to the pain your mom had 12 years ago on your birthday! Trust me, the older you get, the more painful birthdays become.”

  But my 16th birthday started out perfectly. Mom made my favorite “ABC” breakfast. “A” was for applesauce; “B” was for bacon; “C” was for cheese. She put a slice of American cheese on a piece of toast, topped that with four slices of crispy bacon and then smothered the whole thing in hot applesauce so that the cheese got all melty. Delicious! It was one of the benefits of being an only child. If my mom wanted to make my favorite breakfast for my birthday, then who was I to argue?

  I swallowed and washed down my last bite with a gulp of cold milk. “Tryouts are after school.”

  Dad looked up from his newspaper at me. “Which part did you decide on?”

  “Peter Pan, of course,” I replied. I let out a crow and broke into my audition song. “I’m just the cleverest fellow ’twas ever my fortune to know.” Mom clapped a couple times to encourage me, so I continued singing. “I taught a trick to my shadow to stick to the tip of my toe.” Mom and Dad both jumped in at the end: “I gotta crow!” Dad dropped down to bass and Mom hit alto on the last note. They were smiling like they thought we might win an Emmy or something. I just laughed. My parents are so cheesy. If they think I’m overly dramatic, they should at least admit I get it from them.

  Mom came over and gave me a big hug. “You’ll do great!”

  Dad nodded. “Break a leg.”

  “We’ll celebrate your birthday and your audition at dinner tonight,” added Mom.

  “What time should I pick you up?” asked Dad.

  “5:00 outside the auditorium,” I replied.

  We heard the loud roar of a motor and the thumping bass of a stereo in the driveway. “They’re here. Gotta go!” I grabbed my coat and book bag and ran out the door.

  I heard Dad call after me, “Wear your coat! Don’t just carry it!”

  I waved at him without looking back. Like I would have frozen to death carrying my coat because I didn’t know enough to put it on when I got cold.

  Cassie was in the front passenger seat, so I jumped in back. She turned down the stereo, and then she and Troy greeted me with our traditional birthday dirge.

  “Happy birthday, happy birthday,” they sang. “Pain and sorrow and despair, people dying everywhere, happy birthday, happy birthday.” Their voices were meant for a dirge, and they sang it well.

  “Thanks, guys!” I said.

  “Better not give up your day job,” Cassie said to Troy. “You can tune a car, but you need some help carrying a tune.” Troy just laughed and turned the stereo back up. We jammed all the way to school.

  As soon as Troy had parked and turned off the car, Cassie turned around in her seat to face me. “Are you nervous about try-outs?” she asked.

  “Naaaah,” I replied. “It’s my birthday. I’m not going to waste the whole day stressing.”

  “Good for you,” said Cassie.

  Cassie and Troy exchanged a glance. Troy shrugged. I could tell they were thinking of last year when I was trying out for Seussical . I was totally freaking out all day.

  I really wanted to be the Cat in the Hat, but so did Kristin Kennedy. She was a senior and used to getting whatever part she wanted. She was so confident the part was hers for the asking that she didn’t even bother to show up at the right time. I nailed the audition and got the part. Kristin ended up being Mazy the Lazy Bird. Just thinking about it still makes me smile.

  “Maybe I am a little nervous,” I told them, “but not like last year, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  We climbed out of the car and headed into the school toward our lockers. As we went our separate ways, Troy slugged my arm. “You’ll do great,” he said with a grin. “Like always.”

  I nodded. “See you at lunch.”

  All morning I was thinking about tryouts. So much, that I almost forgot it was my birthday. I wasn’t worried about singing the song or saying the lines or anything like that. But I found myself looking around at all the kids in this school wondering if anyone else really even cared about auditions. No one else wanted to go to Juilliard. In the whole history of West Side High School no one had ever even applied to Juilliard.

  At lunch, Cassie and Troy got the West Side barbershop quartet to sing the real Happy Birthday song to me in four-part harmony and present me with a cupcake. Part of me felt embarrassed, but the whole key to acting is to free yourself from s
elf-consciousness and fear. Sometimes I was still in the “fake-it-until-you-make-it” stage.

  After lunch I started thinking about try-outs again. Last year after Seussical Hamilton told me he had never even considered giving such a major role to a freshman. “But you earned it,” he said. He furrowed his brow and frowned like he was still trying to convince himself. Then he peered out at me over the rims of his glasses. “You’ve got talent.” It sounded more like a curse than a compliment.

  “I appreciate the opportunity,” I said.

  Hamilton just blinked at me, like he wasn’t quite sure if I was mocking him. “Do you?” he inquired.

  I nodded. “I know I can’t sign up for drama class until I’m a junior, but I really want to go to Juilliard. The more experience I can get, the better.”

  Hamilton raised his eyebrows. “Juilliard?”

  I nodded again. I think I was hoping he would get me into the drama class as a sophomore, but that didn’t happen.

  “You’ve got a long way to go to get to Juilliard,” he replied. “That school attracts the most talented people in the world. And about 95% of them can’t get in.” He emphasized them as if I weren’t one of them. “What makes you think they’ll take you?”

  I smiled with a confidence I did not actually feel. “I’m willing to work hard, and I’ve got you to teach me,” I said.

  Hamilton roared. He laughed so long and so hard that tears came to his eyes, and I started thinking about seeing if I could switch schools or maybe get Mom and Dad to homeschool me.

  Finally, he took off his glasses and wiped his eyes on his corduroy jacket sleeve. “I’ll tell you what, Sandy,” he said. “If you work hard for the next three years—show up on time, every time, prepared—I’ll do everything I possibly can, too.”

  I never told anybody about that conversation, but in the back of my mind, I really believed Hamilton would help me if he could. There were times, though, I wondered if Hamilton would actually remember his promise. Like for tryouts that day. If he does, and I show up prepared, the part should be mine.