Little Red Riding Hoodie: A Modern Fairy Tale Read online

  Alison elbowed Sally. She gave her a look that said, “See?” Sally scowled back.

  “I’m going to call you each up to have you read a piece of a soliloquy. That’ll give me an indication of how strong a speaker you are. Then I’ll probably put you together, having a couple of you reading scenes with each other, so I can see how you interact.

  “Don’t worry about the language. I know it’s tough. Just do the best you can.”

  Sally glared at Alison. Now it was her turn to throw a look that said, “See?” Alison rolled her eyes.

  “Okay,” Mr. Pipich said. “Would anyone like to volunteer to go first?”

  Molly stood up like her seat was on fire. She faced Mr. Pipich, aimed her chest at him, and raised her hand. Alison shook her head. Sally stared at the floor.

  “Very well, Molly,” Mr. Pipich said. “Go ahead.”

  Sally couldn’t help but watch. She knew her dreams were about to die. It didn’t matter how badly Molly read. She was too beautiful, too perfect. Even Mr. Pipich would be ensorcelled by her. There was nothing Sally could do, and it sucked that she wasn’t even going to get a chance to try before Molly destroyed her. But she couldn’t look away.

  Molly practically bounced up the steps and onto the stage. She grabbed a script from a table set up stage-right and strutted to center. She turned and faced Mr. Pipich, flipping her hair, and looking at him expectantly.

  “Okay, Molly,” Mr. Pipich said. “Let’s try Juliet’s soliloquy at the beginning of Act III, Scene ii. You’re waiting for Romeo to come to you. Night is about to fall, and it can’t get here fast enough. Go ahead whenever you’re ready.”

  Molly paged through the script until she found the scene. Then she made a big show of clearing her throat before tossing her head back to flip her hair again as she raised the script in her right hand.

  “Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, / Toward . . . Foe-bus’s lodging.” She paused and stared at the page, grimacing. “Such a . . . wuh-goan-er / As . . . fay-e-ton . . . would whip you to the west, / And bring in cloudy night immediately.”

  It was painful listening to her. Sally almost felt sorry for Molly. She hated to see anyone make a fool of herself, and Molly had no idea what she was doing. Mr. Pipich stopped her after only ten lines.

  “Can’t I read something else,” she asked. “I memorized the scene in the garden.”

  “You did fine, Molly,” Mr. Pipich said. “Everyone knows the garden scene. I’m looking for one of the tougher parts to see who really knows the part of Juliet.”

  “O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou / Romeo?” Molly began. “Deny thy father—”

  “That’s enough, Molly,” Mr. Pipich said. “Thank you.”

  He scanned the auditorium, looking for someone to follow Molly. Sally shrank down in her seat.

  “Sally, would you like to give it a try?” he said.

  Sally’s heart stopped.

  No, she thought. I absolutely would not like to give it a try. Not right after Molly.

  Alison smiled broadly at her.

  “Go on,” she whispered and nudged her.

  Sally swallowed hard. She didn’t have any choice. There was no backing down now.

  Slowly, she rose. She left the safety of the seats and started down the aisle. Like a woman on her way to execution, Sally walked towards the stage. She stared numbly at the faded green carpeting that was worn out and badly in need of replacement. She saw the red, velvet curtains along the walls go by. She faced the scuffed wood of the stairs leading up to the stage like the thirteen steps of a gallows.

  Molly Richards stood atop them with a hateful scowl on her face. She walked down the middle, forcing Sally to squeeze by between her and the wall.

  “Juliet has boobs,” Molly hissed as she went by.

  Sally blushed. Her cheeks turned hot with shame as she mounted the stairs. She could feel her temples pounding, and just for a moment, she thought she was going to cry.

  Numbly, she picked up a script from the table and wandered to center-stage. She looked out into the auditorium. Mr. Pipich sat in the middle smiling at her.

  He was young – too young to be a teacher, she thought. Weren’t teachers supposed to be, like, older than your parents? She’d heard he’d only been at Roosevelt for three years. He had short brown hair and a brown mustache and glasses. He wore a green sweater that didn’t quite match the blue slacks he had on. He reminded Sally of Ned Flanders from The Simpsons.

  “Okay, Sally,” he said, “why don’t you read the same soliloquy?”

  “Okay,” she squeaked.

  Kylie and Moira tittered at her. She glared back. Then she swallowed and looked at the back wall of the auditorium.

  “Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,” she began. She had to pause to swallow again. Her mouth was dry. “Toward Phoebus’ lodging. Such a wagoner / As Phaëton would whip you to the west, / And bring in cloudy night immediately.”

  All at once, she relaxed. She loved this play. She loved Shakespeare. She loved the way the language sounded. She picked up the pace and infused the soliloquy with passion. As Juliet yearned for Romeo, Sally yearned to do well, to be vindicated.

  Mr. Pipich did not stop her after only ten lines. He allowed her to continue. Her voice gathered strength as she plunged towards the soliloquy’s conclusion.

  “Give me my Romeo. And when I shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of Heaven so fine, That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun. Oh, I have bought the mansion of a love, But not possessed it, and though I am sold, Not yet enjoyed. So tedious is this day As is the night before some festival To an impatient child that hath new robes And may not wear them.”

  She fell silent. Mr. Pipich had a look of wonder on his face. Sally held her breath. What did it mean? She couldn’t bear to breathe until he had given his opinion.

  “Thank you, Sally,” he said quietly. “That was wonderful.”

  Two

  Sally breezed into the driveway at 5:30. The audition had taken longer than she expected, and the sun was getting low in the sky. She wheeled her bike into the garage, closed the door and went into the house.

  Tommy sat on the floor, playing a game on his tablet. His mousy brown hair – the same color as his father’s, was getting a little long. Sally thought he needed a haircut. His bangs fell into his eyes, but he didn’t seem to care. She supposed that made him a pretty typical seven-year-old.

  Her father was flopped on the couch, watching TV with a cocktail in his hand. Sally remembered a time when she thought he was handsome, but his face was a mask of worry and defeat now. His blue eyes, which used to shine, were dull, and his cheeks were flaccid.

  The house was filthy. She was too tired to even think about cleaning it tonight.

  “Hey, there you are,” her father said. “I was starting to get worried about you.”

  “Sorry,” she said. “I had a thing after school. It ran later than I thought it would.”

  “As long as—” He was interrupted by a hiccup. It took a moment for him to get his words straightened out again. “As long as you’re okay.”

  Sally examined him. He was already drunk.

  “Starting a little early today, aren’t you, Dad?” she said as she walked past him into the kitchen.

  “It’s been a hell of a day,” he said, slurring his speech.

  “Sure it has, Dad. They all are, right?”

  She checked the oven and the microwave. Nothing was cooking. She sighed.

  She went to the freezer, opened it, looked inside, and then pulled out a box of fish sticks and a bag of tater tots. She put them on the countertop and set the oven to preheat to four hundred fifty degrees.

  “Do you want dinner, Dad, or is booze gonna be enough for you tonight?” she called into the living room.

  “Hey, don’t sass me, Missy,” he said. “I can still . . . I can still put you . . . across my knee.”

&nbs
p; “Sure, Dad,” she said. “As soon as you sober up.”

  She went to the laundry room before he could respond. She opened the washer and found Tommy’s sheets were still inside. She was disappointed but unsurprised. With another sigh, she started pulling them out and putting them in the dryer. There was probably enough time to get them finished before bedtime.

  As she was loading them in, her phone chimed. She had a text from Alison. Sally smiled; that took longer than she’d expected. She’d thought Alison would text her before she made it home.

  She tossed in a dryer sheet, shut the door, and set the machine for automatic so she wouldn’t have to monitor it. Then she checked her phone.

  OMG u were amazing!

  Sally smiled broadly. She’d had a lot of fun. Once she got over her initial nerves, she’d enjoyed both reading and watching others. She liked Shakespeare, and it was even better reading it on a stage instead of in her classroom or at home.

  She sent Alison a smiley-face emoji and returned to the kitchen. She got out a pair of cookie sheets and started loading fish sticks onto one and tots on the other. She made sure there were enough for her father too. While he did sometimes skip dinner and just drink himself into a stupor, she hadn’t meant it when she’d asked if he wanted her to feed him. With Mom gone, someone had to take care of him. Someone had to take of everyone.

  Before she could start feeling bitter, her phone chimed again. She finished loading the cookie sheets and checked it.

  Ur so totally gonna get it!

  Sally winced when she read that. She wished Alison would stop. It was fun to talk about the auditions, but she didn’t want to jinx anything. She’d been good, but she didn’t want to believe it could really happen. She couldn’t bear the disappointment if she got her hopes dashed. She texted back:

  idk. there were some pretty good ppl

  The oven beeped at her, telling it was hot enough. She put dinner in and set the timer for twenty minutes. Her phone chimed again.

  “Who are you texting with?” her father said.

  “Alison,” she replied.

  “Okay,” he said, grinning at her. “As long as it isn’t some boy making your heart go pit-a-pat.”

  “Daaad.”

  He chuckled and sipped some more of his drink. Alison texted again. She went to her room to check them.

  Liar! u were da best! :)

  OMG, Molly was awful!!! :D

  The second text made Sally laugh. Alison was right. As bad as Molly had been on the soliloquy, she was even worse when she read with Brian.

  Mr. Pipich had asked them to do Act III, Scene v, where Romeo and Juliet say their goodbyes before Romeo leaves for Mantua. Molly had butchered it like it was a cow in the slaughterhouse. Not only did she completely mispronounce the language, she overacted so badly that people actually giggled. Even Wendy Settler chuckled before the rest of The Set glared at her.

  But the best part had been when Molly attempted to swoon. She put her hand to her forehead and leaned back. But she was holding the script in that hand and poked herself in the eye as a result. Molly yelped and tumbled over backward. Brian tried to catch her, but he was out of position. He only got a hand on her, which caused her to spin and face-plant on the stage. Plus her skirt flipped up, revealing her underwear.

  Several people, including Alison, laughed out loud as Molly got up looking undignified and glaring at Brian. He was shocked. Sally felt sorry for him. Molly had ruined his audition too.

  However, Sally was secretly pleased. Molly needed to be reminded that everyone fell flat on their face from time to time, and it had been Molly’s own stupidity that made it happen, which was even better. Cosmic justice, her father might have said had he seen it.

  Better still, Sally had gotten to read the same scene. She’d been paired with Brad Wesley, who did a serviceable job as her Romeo. Brian looked jealous during her reading, as though he wished he’d gotten to read with Sally so that he would have a better chance at the part. That pleased Sally too.

  She texted Alison:

  Can’t believe she fell on her face like that.

  She got a reply very quickly:

  Lucky it wasn’t her ass! LOLOL!!!

  Sally laughed again – both at the thought of Molly falling on her butt and at Alison swearing. The memory of Molly accidentally showing her underwear with boys in the audience brought a smile to her face. Served her right for being so mean.

  The twenty minutes of cook-time flew by as they texted about Molly’s misfortunes and how cute Brian was. Alison teased Sally twice that they were going to be cast opposite each other, so Sally would get to kiss him. Sally put such thoughts out of her mind quickly. They were two wonderful to believe.

  When the timer went off, she said goodbye to Alison and returned to the kitchen.

  “Dinner’s ready,” she said as she passed the living room.

  She grabbed a hot pad, went to the oven, and shut off the timer. Then she got the meal out and served it up on three plates, bringing them to the table. She poured milk for Tommy and herself, and then called her father and brother in to dinner a second time. By the time she’d gotten the bottle of ketchup from the fridge, the males had finally arrived at the table.

  After the meal, she put the dishes in the dishwasher and then went to her room to do her homework. She sat at her tidy, little desk, switched on her Disney Princess lamp, and got out her math. Mrs. Lamay had assigned thirty problems tonight. Sally didn’t think the woman understood that sixth-graders had better things to do with their evenings than puzzle over math. She always assigned a lot of homework. Fortunately, Sally had gotten half of them done at school, so the evening’s task wasn’t quite as daunting.

  As if on cue, Alison texted.

  OMG, can u believe how much math we have?

  Yes, Sally could believe it. She didn’t understand why Alison always seemed shocked by Mrs. Lamay’s assignments. She replied:

  Shoulda done em in school

  She hadn’t finished the next problem, when Alison texted back.

  Who has time for that?

  Sally told her she had gotten half of hers done at lunchtime, while they were talking, and she told Alison she’d never get them done if she didn’t get on it. The texts came in less frequently after that.

  When she finished her math, she got up and went to the dryer, got out Tommy’s sheets, and made his bed. With that done, she went out into the living room. Her father was watching SportsCenter, but his eyes were only half-open. Tommy was again engrossed in a game.

  “Time for bed, Tommy,” she said.

  “I don’t hafta ’til Dad says,” he replied without looking up.

  Sally looked over at her father. She doubted he would be saying anything more tonight.

  “Don’t mess with me, Tommy,” she said. “You know your bedtime is 8:30.”

  “Aww.”

  “Come on,” she said. “The game will be there tomorrow.”

  He got up and shut off the tablet, leaving it on the floor as he headed towards his bedroom. She sighed and picked it up, so her father wouldn’t accidentally step on it if he somehow managed to get off the couch and into bed.

  “Tommy, don’t forget to go to the bathroom,” she called after him. “We don’t want a repeat of last night.”

  Ten minutes later, he was in bed, and she tucked him in.

  “Sleep well, Little Man,” she said as she turned off the light.

  Then she went back to her own room. She still had to do the reading for Mr. Frank’s Social Studies class, which she’d been dreading. She really should have done it first, but she thought it would be easier than the math, and besides, she hated Mr. Frank and Social Studies.

  She was only a page into the path of a bill through Congress, when her eyelids grew heavy. It had been a very big day. Try as she might, she couldn’t keep them open. Moments later, she was fast asleep.

  ***

  Sally heard a clinking in the hallway. She couldn’t say for cert
ain what it was. She scanned the hall of the school, examining the smoke-swirl pattern in the grey tile floors, looking for the source of the sound between the gun-metal grey lockers. After a moment, she saw it. A gold coin rolled down the hall and then, as though possessed of a mind of its own, turned a corner and continued out of sight down the adjoining hallway.

  Then she heard something else. It sounded like a whisper – a deep and ominous whisper. She could not make out what was being said, but it sounded as though someone was chanting over and over again. It came from behind her.

  She turned around. Up the stairs came a pack of the most frightening dogs she had ever seen. They were large – bigger than she – with strong, wide legs and thick, white hair and wolfish faces. Their eyes were the most malevolent red she had ever seen, and their jaws dripped with hungry drool. They growled excitedly and charged straight towards her.

  She ran. She ran as best as she could. She could hear their claws skittering on the tile floor, struggling to find purchase. She could feel their breath hot on the backs of her legs.

  She turned the corner, hoping to delay them. It worked a little. The first two dogs had trouble cornering on the slick surface, and the remainder crashed into them, sending the whole pack tumbling down the hallway. But the dogs at the back recovered quickly and renewed the chase.

  Panting desperately, she ran from door to door looking for shelter. Every one was locked. She struggled briefly and then moved on. The dogs were gaining ground.

  At last, she found one unlocked. She opened it and rushed inside. She slammed the door shut just as the lead dog crashed into it. The force of the blow knocked her backward. Terrified, she returned quickly to the door and locked it. The rest of the pack arrived and barked and growled angrily at the glass window on the top half of the door. Some of them left their saliva on it as they clawed and bit at it in their desire to sate their hunger for her.