Hellcat

Chapter 13

Abraham Bennett

Monday morning I am up at half-past six. The work of my alarm clock. I do my usual morning routine. A prayer to begin the day, half a minute in front of my mirror to check my height. I've been trying to reach six feet three inches for the past several months. And I'm so close. Then, I go to the bathroom and brush my teeth.

I'm downstairs for breakfast. Dad sits at the dining table, coffee mug in one hand and a folded newspaper spread across his lap. He does not look up from The Times when he greets me.

Mom's standing behind the stove, phone glued to her ear while she transfers eggs from a frying pan to the players she has laid out on the island. 

I go over to where she is, and kiss her cheek in greeting then thank her as I grab a plate of scrambled eggs and toast. I'm pouring my grape juice into a glass when Josh walks into the kitchen. 

Everyone goes quiet. 

He ignores us all, going straight to the fridge and guzzling milk directly from the carton. 

"Didn't you find it appropriate to greet your family? It is too much to ask?" Dad asks with a sneer, folding the paper and placing it on the table. 

Josh drops the milk carton to the island with a loud thump, sighs as if he hasn't slept in hours and mumbles. "Morning folks."

"Did you sleep well last night honey?" Mom asks softly. 

Josh picks a plate. "Eh, " he shrugs a shoulder. 

He begins walking away with the plate and milk carton. Not a surprise at all. Milk comes second in Josh's favourites list only to ketchup. 

"You going to school dressed like that?" Dad inquiries. 

I have to wonder the same thing. 

Josh looks more like a wino than the son of his reverend. He's wearing a bathrobe and pink flip flops. Bunny slippers. They belong to our older sister Esther. His hair is messy. And not even in the attractive way girls like. His face is haggard with sleeplessness, eyes bloodshot with dark circles under them.

Josh looks like crap. 

That's not something you see every day. 

"I'm not going to school, " he says firefly. 

"No child of mine is a delinquent. You will go to school Josh, where or not you want to, " dad orders. Of course, dad has to exercise his male authority over Josh. That's the only way they communicate. Honestly, the relationship between them is even more strained than the one my father has with me. I wonder if Tim had the same problem. 

"Are you okay honey?" Mom asks kindly, taking her apron. "Sick?"

"Mentally, yes, " dad murmurs under his breath but it's loud enough for all of us to hear. 

Mom scolds him with a glare. 

"If you knew you'd hate me so much why did you make me?" Josh snaps. "I am sick of being the child you never wanted." Josh lowers his head in sadness. "I'm not sick, mom. I'll go to school if you want." 

He walks out his head hung down. He even leaves his plate.

Josh has never skipped breakfast in his life. Mom's eyes fall on his plate and settle on mine. She's thinking the same thing. 

"You said you'd talk to him yesterday, " she says quietly. "How did that go?"

I stare at dad hesitantly. He's all the way in the dining room which is across from the kitchen so he will be able to hear everything I have to say. 

Mom understands my look. "Drive him to school. Get him to talk to you. Use the older brother card if you have to. No matter how upset Josh maybe, I know he still loves you." 

"I know, " I've lost my appetite. But I don't want to hurt mom's feelings. So I drag a stool from under the island in the middle the kitchen to where I'm standing and sit on it. I eat quickly, it's more like I'm scarfing down the food. Because I still have early morning basketball practise to get to before seven forty-five. I can drove to school in ten minutes, that gives me only a few minutes to convince Josh to ride with me. 

So much for a peaceful morning.

I head to the garage, to dump my basketball gear in the back of my car and surprised to find Josh sitting on the bonnet of it. He has changed out of his homeless guy clothes into a grey shirt and red leather jacket. His hair is styled flawlessly and his eyes are clear with no more dark circles beneath. 

How?

"Are you wearing make-up, Josh?" I ask incredulously. 

He looks up from the screen of his phone. The animated noises filling the otherwise quiet garage inform me that he is once again trying and failing to beat my Tetris high score. My current high score is fifty hundred thousand, Josh is a struggling eleven k. 

"The Joker wears makeup, " he answered simply. 

"A yes would have sufficed, " I say. "And I'm sorry you think dad hates you. He may not know how to say it or show it but I'm sure somewhere under that military-grade armour he has built around his heart, is a man who loves his children. All of them."

"I'm okay with it."

"You didn't seem okay with it when you came into the kitchen this morning. And anyway, what the fudge happened last night to cause you to look like such a mess this morning?"

"Fudge, really? Do you have to remind me that I skipped breakfast this morning, Abe? My stomach hasn't stopped telling me and now you too?" 

"It was your choice, " I answer without remorse. "Can you get off my car so I can get to school? I want to be late for practice again."

"Can I watch you guys practice?" Josh asks. 

I eye him warily. "Why?"

"I want to let out my inner puck bunny, " he answers with a playful smirk. 

I deadpan. "Puck bunnies are interested in ice hockey. Not basketball."

"Whatever, just let me come."

"Okay fine. I sigh. Get in the car."

"I call shotgun!" He cries childishly, jumping off the bonnet speed that would make the producers of The Flash question how good of a job they did making Barry Allen fast. 

"It's just the two of us, " I say drily. "You don't need to book a seat."

"Yes I do, " Josh argues, probably unaware of how childish he sounds. "It's the law of having someone else drive you."

I roll my eyes then turn on the ignition, with Josh in the car already messing with the stereo, I just know it is going to be a long twenty minutes.

When we get to school, I head straight to the gym. I'm surprised when Josh says he has to make a detour to his art class. Considering he practically begged me to let him watch our team training. Though I'm not sure why. But his absence is something I love to live without. 

"Good morning Coach Flores, " I pop into the coach's office after changing into my basketball garb to greet him. I'm surprised by what I see. 

Coach Flores is in the room alright. But he's drinking a beer, and watching an old WNBA game on the tiny box television in the ceiling of his hole-in-the-wall office. 

"Good morning, Abe. Is it time for training already?" He does not sound embarrassed that he has been caught drinking a beer so early in the morning. It sounds like Coach Flores does not even care about his life at all. His words are slurred and jumbled up but I manage to make sense of them. 

"Yes sir."

"Well, " he sighs, attempting to stand up but not finding the strength to do so. "Get the boys to starts some warm-ups. Tell them I'm not feeling too good. You're in charge."

"Okay, sir. Any specific routines you want us to run today?"

Coach frowns like a cranky grandmother who is trying to convince her over-concerned family members that she's not crazy and that thee concrete garden gnomes have been stealing the pies she bakes from her window sill and not in fact that she has not baked a single pie in years. "Do whatever you want, Bennett. Now get the hell out of my office."

I do so meekly.  

When I get out, the guys are gathered on the court, waiting for me. 

"What's going on man?" Cole asks. 

"Coach is sick."

"Coach is sick? How sad, " Keith's tone and smile show that he is not in fact morning the ailment our coach is suffering from. "What are we gonna do?"

"He said to do whatever I want, " I answer. 

"And what do you want?" Marcus questions. 

I smirk. "Eight laps around the court. Then fifteen fingertip push-ups. We have to work on our conditioning drills as well. I'm thinking the cone grab lay up? We can finish up with the partner pass and pivot drill. Now go, go go!"

"You serious?" Aspen asks incredulously. 

I glare at him fiercely. "Coach said I'm in charge. What I say, goes. Now get your butts on the track!" 

Keith saunters up to me. "You and I are no longer best friends."

"Love you too, " I wink.

"You're worse than Coach Flores, " a blonde guy says, coming up to me while we are getting changed in the locker room. 

"That's considered a compliment, " I say with a cheeky grin. 

He doesn't smile at me. "The boys are considering voting you out of power."

"Too bad this isn't a democracy, " 

The boy glares at me one last time and walks away. So I focus on getting changed. Everyone in the locker room has been giving me the stink eye. Who knew being the captain of the team would one day turn against me? The guys just don't get that coach is tough on us for a reason. If we slack off whenever he falls sick, it won't be long before we lose our position as one of the best high school basketball teams. But explaining this to them is pointless. I'm the tough love guy, I can take the hate. 

And so after getting changed, without Keith at my side which feels both strange and uncomfortable, I head to my first class. 

However, there's no one in the classroom. Well except Mr Dulaine. And he appears to be in a passionate conversation with someone on his phone. 

I clear my throat. 

He looks up at me impatiently. 

"Good morning sir, " I greet with a forced smile, thinking about how he threatened me only a few days ago. What a git. 

"I'll call you back," he not so discreetly whispers into the phone before glaring at me. "Is there a problem Mr Bennett?" 

"I was just wondering why I'm the only student in the class right now."

"Didn't you get the memo? You're meeting in the auditorium for rehearsals."

Oh. I forgot about that. I also forgot to read the scripts of the plays they sent us. How am I going to audition if I don't know the name of the main character? Maybe that is exactly the excuse I need to get out being looped into this musical. It sounds like a really big deal and I've already got enough big deals in my life. 

"Well run along now, " Mr Dulaine waves dismissively. 

"Thank you for the information sir, " I say because no matter how much his countenance displeases me it does not afford me an excuse to disregard the forty years of age and wisdom he has on me.

When I get to the auditorium, the lights have been dimmed and everyone is quiet. I can feel the sizzle of excitement in the air. I wonder why. 

Darkness sweeps over the auditorium. The atmosphere is electric with feverish excitement and hushed gossip. 

"Hello, students!" A disembodied voice drawls. 

I'd know that voice from anywhere. 

Josh. 

"As you all know, we are gathered here to begin auditions and subsequently rehearsals for our eponymous play, Jaya."

That's the title of the play. And Fabian is her unrequited love interest. I think. 

"And now I must introduce to you, the mastermind play right who penned down this drama, the brains behind the entire operation, the amazing, splendiferous, all-knowing Ms Sutherland!" The voice bellows. "A round of applause please."

We are clapping and we don't know why. 

Because the teacher has not shown up yet.

A spotlight falls on a woman in the middle of the stage. 

Ms Sutherland. 

I've never actually been in her class but gawking at her now, I can understand why the students say she is a little unorthodox in her teaching methods. But no one ever fails her class so there have been zero complaints against her. 

Ms Sutherland catches everyone's attention. Although a lot of people dress to impress in high school, she stood out with her outfit. 

She looks like bloody Lady Gaga. 

Last I checked, she was a strawberry-blonde but today her hair is full blonde, and the front pieces have been curled. She's wearing oversized cat-eye sunglasses. She's wearing a striped pantsuit and her lips are coated in blood-red lipstick. She's carrying an ebony black walking stick with a giant amber orb on the top. She taps the sick against the ground twice and spins around once. 

But isn't just her outfit that grabs our attention. It is her overall attitude like she's the queen and we are- I don't know- peasants or something. 

"Well, what do you think?" She asks into the microphone. Her voice sounds really deep like my older sister Esther did when she had a chest infection a few months ago but a lot more commanding. 

Ms Sutherland is one of the weirdest people I have ever seen, except that weird isn't quite the right word. She's bizarre, which is essentially the same as bat flap crazy but for some reason, everyone pretends that it is fine. 

The crowd bursts into laughter. And I laugh with them. I'm not even sure why.

"Is it too much?" She asks, holding her stick to her chin with a thoughtful look on her face. "Nah, I'm just kidding."

"So Ms Sutherland, are you gonna tell these young children what we're going to do today or should I?" 

I take it disembodied voice Josh is a part of the 'show'. I can finally understand why everyone passes her class. This woman is wacky. And she's got my brother to help so this definitely gonna be quite the show. 

"Oh, Josh, " she laughs with an airy wave. "I'll do the honours." She refocuses her attention to as. "So, as you all now know, I wrote the play we are going to perform in Spain this December. It's titled Jaya. I asked my assistant director to send you all copies of the plot I would love to give you a summary because I'm sure some of you don't bother to check your e-mail. But unfortunately, time is of the essence. We will begin the auctions in a few minutes that's as soon as I can get the other judges." Tapping her on the floor, she fixes us with a piercing glare. "I expect your best performance for the judges. All of you will be expected to audition for a part but the ultimate decision will be made by a panel of judges who you can't see and thus can't influence with your feminine wiles or jock charms."

"The next ten weeks will be hard, " Ms Sutherland goes on, her eyes narrowing. "You will toil, you will weep, maybe even bleed, although we aim to forgo that last one for health and safety purposes. If you do not have an optimistic cognitive disposition, you will not survive this play. I don't have time for can't-dos. I am solely interested in prodigies."

The auditorium goes silent as we absorb everything she has just said. 

"Directing teenage actors is like juggling jars of nitro-glycerine: exhilarating and dangerous. Stephen King said. I heard he's got a functioning brain in his so it must be true. Now I don't know about you, but I am about to have my skin corroded because you guys are slackers. Unfortunately, you don't have the option to leave. My assistant director has locked all the access doors. I hope you already used the bathroom because you are trapped here. With me."

I glance around. Three or four people are shifting uncomfortably and a few look downright terrified making me wonder if they are thinking what I am thinking- whether we can make it do the door before that vicious looking cane trips us. 

Ms Sutherland's voice softens a bit. "I promise that we will not to laugh too hard at those of you with ogre voices." Muffled giggles break out around me and I find myself grinning in amusement. "But seriously, I will try to make this experience fun for you. And now I will hand over to my assistant director while I go gather the rest of the judges. Please, he's a ghost, don't try to find him."

There are a few sniggers.

The lights go off and turn on only a few seconds later but apparently, that was enough time for Ms Sutherland to escape the auditorium.

"Hey guy, " Josh says. "So you already met me, the assistant director. I'm sure a few of you already know who I am from my voice. But I love suspense and drama, so you will only see my face the day we perform in Spain. Now let me you how things are going to work around here. Because we still have the education to get, rehearsals will only take up the first four periods off your day. For this first weeks well be getting to know each other, learning how to unleash our inner performer and working through the music for the big musical production. From today till Wednesday it's auditioning. By Thursday, the role list will be up. And then it's non-stop rehearsals to whip your performances into shape ready for the one-night-only show."

"Being in the limelight is not for everyone, " Josh says. "For those of you who don't get a speaking, singing or dancing role, I will be looking for costume designers and prop managers as well as stagehands. So you see, there will be something for everyone. Please prepare your auditions, the judges will be here any minute now. And just because I am a nice guy I will give you a head's up. Principal Montenegro is one of the judges."

Everyone starts talking at once. A few people burst into applause and a popular song blasts from hidden speakers in the auditorium. 

Principal Montenegro is one of the judges. That scares me just a bit. I mean, she's sort of a legend around the school. Vice-Principal Fernsby does all the work and our actual school head is just the name. I heard of the grapevine that she used to be Las Vegas showgirl before she became the headteacher of Westreet Prep. Of course, those are just rumours but still, I need to play safe. 

Opening my phone, I begin reading the play again. This time paying attention to all the details. Because even if I do not want to be cast as Fabian, I don't want to be a stage management guy either. A minor role with like one or two lines would do.

When I read it, I realise that Jaya is actually quite a fascinating story. It's about an American child raised by her missionary parents in a small Indian village. Jaya later grew up to challenge the misogynistic culture of her people while being wooed by the chief's son and a hunter. She marries the chief's son to instil change in their village but in the end, she kills her husband and is banished from the village. She spends the rest of her life in a neighbouring town with the hunter. She changed her name to Jaya to show the people that even though their skin colour was different and they spoke differently they were all the same. 

The story truly is beautiful. The problem is, I can't seem to find any minor male role. Maybe I can play the role of her missionary father. He's only in two acts when he is asked for his daughter's hand by the chief's son and when he says goodbye to her the day she is banished. 

Her father is Clarence. He doesn't have many lines so he's the perfect character for me.

Suddenly, there's a loud banging noise. 

A few girls scream, but the auditorium is relatively quiet. We are slowly beginning to accept the melodramatic air this play is all about. 

Then there's loud clapping and laughter. The kind heard in a church after a pastor has said something both informative and amusing. 

I can picture Josh's smirk as he says the word. "Showtime. "