Julian

III. March, Ch. 35

     Shelley held the most important peanut butter and jelly sandwich she ever prepared in her hands.

     In order to get Bruce to help her make Douglas' life miserable, she needed to be on his good side. She didn't know how to go about bribing Bruce, however, since he owned everything an eighteen-year-old could ask for.

     But she prepared him a lunch nonetheless, with the intent to make conversation and get to know him.

     The play's anonymous benefactor made the right phone calls to have the students perform at the Francesca Theater, which hosted national tours coming from Los Angeles and San Francisco.

     It was the students' first time rehearsing outside the classroom, as well as their last rehearsal before spring break.

     Shelley didn't even know The Francesca existed. She and her father rarely dwelled around downtown San Kolbe.

     With her father unable to drop her off with enough time to get to work, Shelley took the public bus. She was only too grateful to take a break from his nagging questions.

     She got off the bus at the Condor Street stop and arrived at The Francesca. It was an old building with significant upgrades, a standing contradiction.

     The entrance was open with a sign taped to the door that read Julian Students and an arrow pointing to the lobby.

     Shelley stepped in and followed the sound of hammering and talking coming from the proscenium.

     As she walked between the rows of seats in the auditorium and her lungs took in their first breath of theater air, her nerves finally set in. She was to play a main character for San Kolbe's first co-ed high school play. How was she going to pull that off?

     The sound of pounding on wood came from Bruce, who was on stage with Roger, hammering a frame into place.

     Seeing Bruce working with power tools, wearing a loaded tool belt and a white t-shirt with the short sleeves rolled up, made him appear more dangerous than normal. Shelley's conscience challenged her with second thoughts.

     Roger was the first to notice her arrival. "Shelley," he said, "you're here early."

     "Hello, Mr. Stuart. Hello, Bruce."

     Bruce turned to her, said nothing, then looked away.

     Roger smacked the back of his head. "Be nice and say hello."

     "Watch it," said Bruce, "I've got a hammer in my hands."

     He sighed and turned to her again. He couldn't have sounded less enthusiastic. "Hey."

     Shelley tried to smile, but his cold attitude stung. She changed the subject. "Where's Ms. Conway?"

     "Backstage. She's doing inventory on the costumes we have. That reminds me, I ought to be helping her."

     He turned to Bruce. "You going to be alright over here?"

     Bruce nodded.

     Roger patted his shoulder, then disappeared backstage, leaving Shelley alone with Bruce for the first time.

     Shelley didn't have the first clue where to begin. Compliments are a good start. "You're doing a great job with the set."

     Bruce stopped hammering, then continued.

     "Are you hungry? I made you lunch."

     He replaced the measuring tape on his tool belt with the hammer. "Get to the point, Hepburn."

     His tone confused and insulted her. She looked at him in silent disbelief. It's not too late to change your mind.

     "Look," said Bruce, "I don't live with my parents right now, so I can't pull any strings for you."

     "Pull strings?"

     "I can't get your relative pardoned or rehired or free of debt. You have to find another way."

     His rant finally made sense, and it made her sick. "You think I want money?"

     Bruce took a knee in front of a 2x4 and stretched the measuring tape over it. He grabbed a pencil from behind his ear and drew a careful line on the wood. "Money. Influence. Connections. Either way, my answer is no."

     She didn't have a problem being seen as vengeful, but appearing desperate for money was a low blow. "I just thought we could talk, maybe be friends."

     He chuckled. His eyes still didn't look at her. "We have nothing in common."

     She stepped up to the front of the stage and watched him from below. "Sure we do. We both love theater, don't we?"

     Bruce turned his head to face her. Something in his kind eyes went missing. They weren't kind anymore. "Who told you I love theater?"

     Shelley shuttered. "You're here helping. It must mean—"

     "This means nothing. You hear me? I'm here righting my wrongs for throwing eggs at Roger's car."

     It was her first encounter with the dark, angry Bruce, and it nearly made her run away. "I... I thought you got in trouble for making a rude gesture at him?"

     Bruce's mouth opened slightly as he realized his mistake. He pressed his mouth closed again and took a step towards her. "Don't you be telling people lies about me and this girly stuff. You don't know me at all."

     Shelley shrunk down. She didn't want to take up so much space in his presence.

     Perhaps all the Cassles boys are rude and nasty. Her throat ached, but she didn't want to cry in front of him. "Why are you so mean? I just wanted to be your friend."

     He flinched a little at the sound of her broken voice. "I don't need more friends."

     She looked down at the sack lunch she prepared for him. For the first time, her plot against Douglas didn't appear feasible.

     What was I thinking? I'm in over my head here.

     Bruce returned to his work.

     Defeated, she dropped the sack lunch over the stage.

     He looked at it. His eyes were kind once more.

     Shelley didn't catch it. She walked backstage and waited there until rehearsals began.

     Fine, but this is the last time you shed a tear for a Cassles boy.