Misfit Theater Company 2

8. Cones

"Janie! Wake up," Mom yells up the stairs to me. I'm basically awake, just shifting around the bed trying not to let my thoughts fall back into nightmarish visions of Thatcher and Paige together, so I roll out of bed, rub the sleepies from my eyes, and stand at my doorway.

"I'm up," I call back.

"Come down here right now," she scolds.

By the sound of it, I'm in big trouble, but I have no idea why. As I step down the stairs, I mentally comb through everything I've done in the past week, searching for some reason she might be furious with me on a Saturday morning, but nothing comes to mind. I followed the rules, I let her know where I was going to be and when, I didn't bomb any tests. Why am I getting the tone?

I turn down the steps and find my mom standing in the front doorway, looking outside at our stoop. Did I leave something there?

"What's wrong?" I ask.

Mom turns to face me and crosses her arms. "Take a look for yourself."

She steps out of the way, allowing me to walk onto the stoop and see what she's so upset about.

Traffic cones.

Everywhere.

There are five right on the stoop, one on each step and two on either side of the door, and there are at least ten more on the sidewalk in a weird zig zag pattern that some of the neighbor kids are running through like it's an obstacle course. One of the neighbors across the street is standing in her doorway, her hand gently resting on her chest as she watches from afar.

Why are all of these here?

"I think you're being bullied," Mom says behind me. I hear her take a sip of coffee while I continue to examine the alleged scene of the bullying crime. "Why else would someone put cones all over the front of our house?"

"Who would do this, though?" I ask, my eyes beginning to well up.

"Gina? Who else? Are there any other people who dislike you?"

Paige maybe, I think, but just in case I'm wrong about her and she doesn't like Thatcher still, I don't want to give my mom any ammunition against the people in my theater classes. I don't want another course change incident.

"I don't think so. Mom, what do we do with all of these cones?"

My phone rings, and it's only now that I remember I'm holding it. I check the caller ID and see it's Thatcher.

"Hey Thatcher, I can't talk right now. There's a thing happening outside my house."

"Let me guess: cones?" he asks.

"How'd you know?"

"They're outside my house too. Like, twenty of them," he says with a laugh.

I turn to my mom and breathe a sigh of relief. "Thatcher has cones outside of his house too."

"Why?" Mom asks. She is clearly not relieved yet.

I shrug. "Why do you think we both have cones outside our houses?" I ask Thatcher.

"I don't know, but my brothers are already taking them out back to do something with them, who knows."

"Ugh, they can take mine too."

I hear a beep and check my screen. Patti is calling.

"Hold on," I tell him, "Patti is calling."

"OK, call me back. Love you."

I turn back to make sure my mom is a safe distance away and whisper into the phone, "Love you too," before accepting Patti's call.

"Hey Patti," I answer.