by Dani Jansen
My phone wasn’t just buzzing with texts anymore. Someone had to be calling me because it was creeping its way to the edge of my bedside table. I picked it up, trying to ignore the messages and missed call notifications. But when I saw Charlotte’s name, I couldn’t stop myself taking a quick peek.
r we facetiming tonight?
where r u?
everything ok?
2 missed calls from Charlotte Russell.
I dropped the phone on my quilt and rubbed my eyes with the palms of my hands, trying to contain the tears that wanted to escape. Here was another thing I was messing up. I’d forgotten that I told Charlotte we could FaceTime. How was I going to cancel on her? I was grounded, so it wasn’t like I could make up for it with a nice date later. But creating a study schedule had made something very clear: I had time for schoolwork, the play, and minimal sleep. Nothing else. Was I supposed to give up everything I’d worked so hard to accomplish for a girl I’d only just started dating? Hadn’t I made fun of those girls, the ones who fawned over their boyfriends instead of pursuing their own goals?
How did Charlotte have so much free time anyway? Didn’t she have lines to memorize? Didn’t she ever do homework? I knew she wasn’t applying for scholarships, but she was applying to universities. She couldn’t get by on cool hair alone.
I grabbed my phone and angrily punched in a terse message: I can’t talk tonight. Sorry. Work to do.
In seconds, Charlotte called. I should have ignored her call, should have left things alone until the irrational anger had passed. But I didn’t. Instead, I answered the phone. “Hi.” My tone was frosty. I wanted her to know the call was unwanted.
“Hi,” Charlotte didn’t seem to notice the tone. Or maybe she chose to ignore it. “You need to take a break at some point. Take it with me. I’ll help you unwind.” She was flirting! It was like nothing was ever serious to her.
“I can’t take a break. I failed a math quiz, and I have to rewrite an essay.” I could feel the tension in my jaw radiating down my neck.
“It’s just a quiz,” Charlotte said. She was so dismissive, so nonchalant about it.
“Failing the quiz means I’m not prepared for the unit test, which is next week. Plus, there’s the essay!”
“Sorry. I just meant, it’s not as if you failed some major assignment. You can catch up.” I knew Charlotte was just trying to reassure me, but part of me felt like she was judging me. Here was the cool girl trying to get her nerdy girlfriend to chill.
“I know I can catch up!” I snapped. “But that takes time. I can’t hang out with you all the time.”
“We don’t hang out all the time! What’s your deal?” Charlotte wasn’t trying to reassure me any longer. Good.
I started pacing my room. “I need to focus, okay?”
“Fine.”
“What does that mean?” I knew I was picking a fight, and I didn’t even want to stop myself.
“It means I don’t appreciate you making it sound like it’s my fault that you failed some stupid quiz.”
“I didn’t say it was your fault.”
“You sure as hell implied it was.”
“I don’t have time for this!”
“Well, neither do I.”
For the first time since our first date, the silence between us was awkward. No, not awkward. It was uncomfortable. We were holding back, but we could both guess at the things left unsaid.
Finally, Charlotte broke the silence. “I’d better go. Princess Sunshine needs his walk.”
I wanted to feel bad for starting the fight, but I didn’t. “Bye.” We hung up, both obviously angry. I threw my phone on my bed and stared at it. As I calmed down, I wondered what had come over me. Why had I taken my anger out on Charlotte? I was angry with myself, not her. I sat on the edge of my bed, head in hands. Had I just ruined my first real relationship? Had we broken up?
I picked up my phone, but I couldn’t think of a single thing to say or text. I knew how much acting meant to her. Why couldn’t she see how much school meant to me? Was it because liking school was so uncool that she couldn’t empathize? Could I be with someone who didn’t respect how hard I worked? She didn’t understand how much being valedictorian meant to me. She was cool and confident and beautiful and talented. She didn’t know what it was like to feel like you were never enough, that you had to constantly prove yourself to people.
I picked up my copy of King Lear, intending to read it, but instead I found myself throwing the paperback across the room. It thudded against the wall in a satisfying way. Screw you, Shakespeare! I thought. Why do you have to keep ruining my life?
CHAPTER 38
To say things were awkward at the next rehearsal would be an understatement. Because Mr. Evans now saw himself as part of the cast, he insisted I had to lead the warm-up. I stared at him open-mouthed, imagining this must be some kind of joke. But his light-brown eyes looked just as sincere as ever. He was serious.
“Um, Mr. Evans, I don’t know any warm-ups,” I half-whispered to him, hoping not to draw any attention to myself.
“Sure you do!” Mr. Evans saw no reason to keep his voice down. Of course, nothing ever seemed to embarrass him, so I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. I blushed as the actors standing nearest to us looked over. “You know all the warm-ups we’ve done so far!”
“I guess so.”
“Then it’s settled.” Mr. Evans grinned and addressed the group. “Everyone in a circle! Alison will lead us through our warm-ups today.” The usually spacious room suddenly felt claustrophobic. The ceiling seemed to be pressing down on me. My breathing grew shallow.
When they all looked at me, I stopped breathing altogether. And then I noticed one person wasn’t looking at me. Charlotte was staring out the window, nonchalant as ever. I couldn’t let her see how freaked out I was.
I cleared my throat. “Everyone spread out?” A few people hesitated, reading the question in my tone. But once Mr. Evans moved, the others followed.
I racked my brain for a warm-up. I looked at the floor, noticing, not for the first time, the mysterious brown stains. I couldn’t make people play worms again. What other warm-up could I remember? They were all staring at me. Even Charlotte cocked her head my way. I couldn’t tell if she was looking sympathetic or amused. Why did her eyebrows have to be so perfectly arched all the time? It made it damn near impossible to read her.
I suddenly remembered the moment I’d first touched Charlotte. Everyone’s eyes were boring into me. Though I was in the center of the room, I felt like I was being backed into a corner. I didn’t want to remember that warm-up. I didn’t want to think about what it had been like to feel that electric moment between us.
“Alison?” Mr. Evans prompted.
I looked up at the ceiling and said, “Pair up.” The actors looked at each other, a bit confused, but followed my instructions. I noticed that Ben was forced to pair up with Mr. Evans. Even watching Ben’s rat eyes dart around searching for another partner didn’t buoy my spirits. I pressed on. “We’re going to play the mirror game. So, uh, choose who will go first and start.”
I watched as people mirrored their partners waking up, dancing, and even picking their noses. I carefully avoided looking directly at Charlotte and her partner, a pretty little sophomore with strawberry blonde hair and freckles. Instead, I observed the pairs close to them, keeping Charlotte in my peripheral vision. She had eyes only for her partner. Her movements, as always, were languid and graceful. I tried to remember my anger from the night before, but it had fizzled out. I couldn’t hate Charlotte, but I could remind myself that being valedictorian was more important than some high-school fling. I squared my shoulders.
Eventually, people started looking my way. I considered reprimanding them for losing focus, but I guessed they were waiting for more instructions. I hurried to tell the pairs to switch roles and f
orced myself to turn my back on the corner of the room where Charlotte was set up. I could still sense her, a tugging feeling at the base of my neck, but I fought against her gravitational pull.
After just a few more minutes, I decided we’d all suffered through the game long enough. I released the group with a quick, “That seems good.”
I thought Ben would be relieved to no longer have to imitate Mr. Evans’s exaggerated stretches and weird contortions, but he seemed nervous. He kept licking his lips. His rat eyes were darting around again. I wondered if he was going to cry. I did not have it in me to comfort him today. But then Ben stood a little taller and addressed the room. “Before we start, I was hoping I could say something to the group, Mr. Evans.” Mr. Evans nodded, maybe because Ben seemed so serious or perhaps because he sensed drama in the air and he could not resist its sickly sweet smell. Ben looked down, then up. “You’ve all become like a family to me, and I wanted to tell you something very important.” Now I worried that Ben was about to quit the play. I tried not to panic, though the room was feeling small again. Mr. Evans couldn’t take on another role. And the only other person who knew the role was…me. Ben took a breath, then rushed on, “I’m gay.”
I gaped at Ben. I was flooded with equal parts surprise, respect, and relief. After a moment, I scanned the room. I needed to know how everyone was reacting to Ben’s announcement.
Mr. Evans gave Ben an awkward pat on the back.
Jack shook Ben’s hand. Because he was Jack, it seemed totally normal and not at all forced. This was why Becca had a crush on him.
A number of cast members said things like “That’s cool,” and “You’re so brave.” Ben nodded, and I wondered if he didn’t know what to say to that. I never did.
A couple of the freshman girls playing fairies looked disappointed, though they said all the right things. Basically, they were all supportive.
Finally, I turned to Charlotte. She was already looking at me, and when we locked eyes, she raised her eyebrows. Nothing else. Her face remained impassive except for the raised eyebrows. Yet again, I cursed them. What was she trying to communicate? Surprise? Humor? Pride? I didn’t know how to respond, so I looked at Ben, who was damn near grinning. When I glanced back at Charlotte, she was smiling at Ben. The moment between us was over. Instead of feeling pulled by her gravity, I felt like I might float away. My throat was tight. To keep myself from crying, I sorted through papers, even pretending to look for something in the Red Binder. As usual, it taunted me as I opened it to a random page: Rehearsal Warm-ups. Much good that did me now.
The rest of the rehearsal was uneventful, though awkward. Mr. Evans knew his lines and played his role with enthusiasm, but those were the only improvements over the last rehearsal’s ass. His love scenes with Charlotte elicited muffled giggles from the cast. Mr. Evans seemed to think this was a tribute to his comedic timing, because his performance became even more over-the-top. Charlotte remained regal and cool. I admired her for staying in character as everyone around her broke, but I also felt like this was emblematic of our problem. I could never tell what Charlotte was thinking or feeling unless she told me. And I was an open book. I blushed and stuttered and tripped over my own feet whenever I got emotional. We would never have made it together.
Would we?
By the end of rehearsal, I’d decided that I had to talk to Charlotte. I needed to know if we had broken up. I stood up from my lonely desk and started walking toward her, but then someone stepped in my way. I tried to step around, but the someone grabbed my arm. It was Ben, and he was staring at me intensely. “Can you tell Zach I came out? He won’t talk to me, and I need him to know.” Ben’s eyes bored into me. He was desperate.
“I don’t know, Ben.” I hesitated. I wasn’t exactly friends with Zach or Ben, and I did not want to get involved in someone else’s relationship. Look how my only relationship had turned out.
But then Ben managed to make his rat eyes look almost human. I caught a glimpse of Charlotte leaving, and I could feel my own hollowness echoed in Ben’s desperate, pleading gaze.
“Okay. I’ll try to mention it. But that’s it.” Ben was so happy that he caught me up in a tight hug. He let me go almost at once. Maybe it was because he felt me tensing up as he touched me, or maybe it was because he remembered our many years of rivalry. This new, vulnerable, honest, and less pervy Ben would take getting used to. I patted his arm awkwardly, and we parted ways.
I had to get home to work on that essay for Ms. Merriam.
CHAPTER 39
I was late for our last production meeting because I had to hand in my rewrite to Ms. Merriam. I’d spent most of my weekend hunkered down with ol’ Willy Shakespeare, paging through the aged paperback for inspiration. Annie rolled her eyes at me when I refused to check SparkNotes for quotations. She thought I was being stubborn, but I wanted this paper to be mine. It had cost me so much that I needed to feel proud of it. It was satisfying to place the paper on Ms. Merriam’s desk.
The room was silent when I walked in. Becca, Annie, and Zach were on their phones. Annie and Zach seemed to be scrolling through Instagram, but Becca had that faraway look that made me think she was texting her math tutee. Jenny was doodling in a textbook with a Sharpie. I briefly felt annoyed that they couldn’t get things started without me, but there was enough leftover glow from the essay that the feeling soon passed.
I set myself up at Mr. Evans’s desk. There was work to be done. “Our last production meeting before the tech rehearsal!” Becca, Annie, and Zach put their phones away in pockets and bags. Jenny continued to doodle. “Let’s look over the schedule.” I handed each of them a copy of the schedule I’d drawn up at lunch. (For once, the Red Binder had given a helpful suggestion: “Create schedules for tech and dress rehearsals, as well as show week, so everyone knows where and when they’re expected.”) Becca and Annie looked at each other and smirked. Here was bossy Alison back from her detour in a high-school rom-com. Well, it felt good to be in familiar territory again.
Jenny was forced to stop doodling in order to hold the paper I’d handed her. She glanced down, then frowned, the black eyeliner and shadow blending together to make her look almost eyeless. “Why do I have to be around for rehearsals?” She flapped the offending schedule at me.
“In case there are any changes, Jenny,” I explained, careful to keep my voice even.
“There’s no time or money for changes,” she countered. It was a fair point.
“There won’t be any major changes. But we may need some touch-ups once the backdrops are in place. It’s the same for costumes,” I added, hoping she’d be mollified that she wasn’t the only one expected to attend the tech and dress rehearsals. “Actually, with possible costume malfunctions, Zach is there every show night, not just for rehearsals.” In trying to placate Jenny, I could see I was upsetting Zach. His thin shoulders were hunched. His usual slim-fitting cardigan was hanging a bit loose, either because he’d recently lost weight or because he was dressing for comfort rather than style. Either possibility reminded me of my promise to Ben. I had to find a way to work Ben’s big coming out into our conversation.
Annie chose that moment to help me out. “The dress rehearsal is going to be hysterical. I heard some of the actors aren’t off-book yet. And Mr. Evans is playing the ass now that Corey quit the show!” Yes, my sister was using the draw of a possibly calamitous dress rehearsal to convince her fellow crew members to do their work. Sadder still, it seemed to be working. They looked intrigued.
I had to take every advantage I could. “There’s been a lot of drama at rehearsals lately. Annie’s right. Mr. Evans had to take over one of the leads when Corey quit in the middle of a rehearsal. Plus, some of the actors keep giggling whenever someone mentions ‘making love,’ no matter how many times Mr. Evans explains that in Shakespeare’s time that wasn’t a reference to sex.”
“I heard some dude came out at rehearsa
l,” Jenny added. We all stared at her, shocked that she had heard this gossip. Who could her source be? Who did she speak to? I never saw her with anyone. Maybe the spirits kept her informed.
“Seriously?” Annie asked.
The group turned to me to confirm or deny this bit of news. I felt torn. I didn’t want to spread gossip, but Ben had asked me to tell Zach about his grand gesture. I nodded my head once.
“Who was it?” Annie didn’t share my compunctions about gossiping.
I looked at Zach, willing him to understand what I was doing. He seemed confused by the intensity of my gaze. I spoke to him. “It was Ben. Ben came out at rehearsal.”
“You mean the creep with gelled hair?” Jenny asked. “But hasn’t he hit on basically every girl in the school?”
“I think that’s an exaggeration,” I responded, trying to spare Zach’s feelings. I chewed on the corner of my thumb.
Becca and Annie were silent. Becca kept opening her mouth as if about to say something, then closing it again. Annie shook her head, her faded blue hair flopping around like a puppy’s oversized ears. They were dumbfounded. I tried to remember what it had felt like to find out the macho dude-bro I’d known and hated for years was a closeted gay guy trying to throw people off by acting as straight as possible. To say it was a surprise would be an understatement.
Zach grabbed his messenger bag and stuffed the rehearsal schedule in an open front pocket. “I have to go,” he said as he lurched toward the door. Before I could think of something to say, he was gone.
“That was weird.” Jenny was as sensitive as ever. “If he’s leaving early, so am I. I’ll see you at the stupid tech rehearsal.” She folded her schedule into quarters and stashed it inside the textbook she’d been defacing. I didn’t try to stop her.
Once Jenny left the room, I slumped into Mr. Evans’s chair and plopped my forehead on his desk, breathing in the waxy smell of the old wood. Annie and Becca still hadn’t moved. I let them absorb the news as I reflected on what I’d just done. Ben had asked me to tell Zach he’d come out, but did that mean I was supposed to tell the whole production team he was gay? Ben had come out pretty publicly at rehearsal, so it was probably okay. But I wasn’t sure I’d done the right thing outing him to the whole group. The image of Zach’s pale face as he left our meeting floated in front of my closed eyes. I banged my forehead on the desk.
