by Jen Klein
“Ella-bella?”
She purses her lips, considering. “Your monologue was good. It was really good, don’t get me wrong…but I liked the one you did in class better. It felt more authentic.”
I wish I felt “more authentic,” because I’m not really sure how to contribute to this conversation. Instead, I give my hemline another tiny tug. It gets Tuck’s attention, and those eyes turn back to me. “Sorry, this is Rainie,” he tells Milo. “She goes to our school.”
Milo and I exchange “heys” and head bobs before I focus on Tuck again. “You guys had to write the monologues yourselves, right?”
“I mean…yeah.” Tuck looks embarrassed. “Was it too much? Was it over the top?”
Before I can answer, Milo clears his throat. “I’m gonna grab a drink. Anyone want anything?”
“I’m good,” Tuck and I say at the same time. I take it as a sign that we have indeed been brought together by fate. Ella apparently takes it as a sign that no one else wants a beer.
“I’ll get my own,” she says, and heads away with Milo. She’s being my wingwoman without even knowing it.
It leaves Tuck and me standing in the middle of the party while an R&B song I don’t know blares from the speakers. Nearby, several people start dancing. Thank God, Tuck isn’t one of them. He gazes down at me. “It’s hard, you know?” It takes me a second to remember he’s still talking about his monologue. “To expose yourself like that.”
I understand. I understand so hard I want to kiss him or cry or scream into a pillow. I never expose myself. Not in a real way. I don’t want to be seen. Not as raw truth. It’s way easier to skitter over the surface of everything like a light, flat stone on water. Never sinking, but never ending up anywhere important. “It’s the hardest thing I can imagine.”
“Hey, Rain.” He looks at me like he’s trying to decipher something. Like he’s trying to decipher me. “How come we’ve never hung out?”
“Because you do all the things and I…don’t.” I guess I’m going with awkward honesty, then.
“You’ve always been here, though. I’ve seen you around, but I’ve never…seen you.” He cocks his head, still trying to figure me out. “I don’t know why I’ve never seen you.”
“You saw me today.” Unless I was hallucinating, that is.
“Yeah.” Tuck takes a step closer. “I walked onto the stage and looked out, and everything was a blur except you. You came into focus and…I don’t know. You were like an anchor.”
I frown. Anchors are big and heavy and, I assume, rusted from all the salt water. They’re hardly sexy.
“Senior year,” Tuck says. “We are going to hang out.”
But that’s forever away.
He reaches out and runs a fingertip down my arm, so lightly it tickles. I keep looking at him while people dance around us, and the music shifts to a pop song from the eighties, and the smell of cloves wafts in from the front porch.
“What are you doing this summer?” It comes out of my mouth in a whisper.
“Olympus.”
My heart sinks. That’s a university town in the Appalachian Mountains, a couple hours north of Dobbs. My grandparents took me once to look at the autumn leaves (yes, looking at leaves is a thing in North Carolina), and Ella’s older sister, Annette, goes to school there. That’s the sum total of the information I possess about Olympus. “Why?”
“I’m playing Paris.”
“The city?” It pops out of my mouth before I really think it through, and Tuck laughs.
“The Greek prince who carried off Helen and started the Trojan War.”
And now I remember: Olympus is home to a theater of the same name. A musical about Greek mythology plays there every summer. “Are you the lead?”
“Yeah, and it’s not an easy role. I’m kinda freaked out about it.” I wish I remembered more of the myths I’d read as a child. “It’s a risk, you know?” Again, I nod along. Again, I pretend. “The whole summer will be a risk.”
“I get it.” Not a total lie, but not the truth either. I flash back to his monologue, parroting back his own words. “You have to take a chance.”
“Exactly.” Tuck sets his hands on my shoulders. They’re warm through the thin fabric of my dress. “Thank you for being there today. For listening to it.” His eyes are pleading, but I don’t understand what he’s asking for. “You did listen to all of it, right?”
“Yes,” I assure him. “I listened to the whole thing.”
“I meant it,” he tells me. “I meant all of it.”
I hearken back to the assembly, to the look on Tuck Brady’s face as he stared right into my eyes. And to the last sentence he said.
“If we’re not alone, maybe it won’t be so scary.” Even though the sentence floats out of my mouth in a whisper, it echoes loud in my ears. Tuck smiles at me in a way that is maybe grateful, maybe relieved.
“Good.” Tuck’s thumbs caress my shoulders. “You heard me.”
“I did,” I breathe, and this time I’m not lying.
Tuck leans forward and brushes my cheek with his lips. “Take a risk,” he says into my ear, and then he swings away into the party.
I watch him go, beaming. Because—for the first time in my life—I have a road map. I know what I need to do. At this moment, I would follow Tuck Brady to the moon and back, but I don’t have to.
The only place I have to go…is Olympus.
Given my track record, I suppose my parents’ reaction shouldn’t have surprised me. Still, as we glare at one another over a platter of my dad’s famous slow-cooked pork ribs and my mom’s much-less-famous canned corn and pre-baked rolls, I feel blindsided. “But you’re on the board of the state arts council,” I say to my father. “You have to know someone at the theater.”
“Not happening,” he replies between bites.
“Mom.” I turn to my mother, who has been known to cave more easily. “You have friends at the university. You can do something.”
Mom and Dad exchange glances. Actually, what they exchange is more like the parental version of an eye roll.
“Remind me.” My mother sets down her fork. “When you joined Science Olympiad, how much of the periodic table did you memorize?”
“I was in eighth grade.” Defensiveness creeps into my voice. “How am I supposed to remember that?”
She turns to my father. “Barry?”
“Zirconium rings a bell.” He glances at me. “Riddle me this, Rainster: Why’d you stop running track?”
“Because I hated sweating!” I fling my hands into the air. “And we had record humidity last year!”
“Except you’d already dropped soccer for the sweating thing the year before that,” Mom reminds me.
“Ooh, remember sculpting class?” Dad looks almost gleeful. “Done in two lessons.”
I protest—“That teacher was a jerk”—but no one seems to care…or even hear me.
“Ballet,” says Mom.
“Journalism,” says Dad.
“Fencing!”
“Photography!”
“Buddhism!”
They say the last one together and then burst into gales of laughter. It’s just rude. I shove my chair back from the table and storm toward my room. I can’t win here.
“We love you,” Mom calls from her seat.
“A lot,” calls Dad.
“Sure,” I mumble under my breath.
Whatever.
•••
The Olympus website is easy to find but difficult to navigate. It’s mostly cluttered with photos from past performances of the summer musical, which is called Zeus!
Yes, the exclamation point is part of the title.
After several minutes of poking around, I find a section on auditions and job interviews, but they were done months ago. I scroll through photos of last summer’s show and quickly find one of Tuck. He’s dressed in a toga, standing with one foot propped up on a rock. He appears to be staring off into the sunset, and he’s holdin
g a spear in one hand.
It’s pretty hot.
Tuck is in a whole bunch of pictures, and so are two other familiar faces. There’s Milo Cabrera—Ella’s ex-boyfriend from Wendell’s party—and Ella herself. I find her name in a digital image of last year’s program. Apparently she was an “intern.” When I scroll down the list, I notice there’s another Reynolds in the program: Robert Reynolds, the company manager. Now that I see it in writing, I do remember something about Ella having a relative who works at the show.
Ella and I might not be true friends anymore, but we aren’t enemies either. At least, I don’t think so.
There’s only one way to find out.
•••
Monday morning, I start stalking Ella online. Monday afternoon, my diligence is rewarded when she checks into the public library. Luckily, Dobbs is small, and I make it to the library in eight minutes flat.
Ella is in the back, behind a row of Victorian romances, making out with Bradley Ruiz. At my arrival, they spring apart.
“Do you mind?” says Bradley.
“Not cool.” It takes me a second to realize Ella is talking to Bradley, not to me. “It’s a public arena. Literature is for everyone.” She waves her hand at the books. “Have at, Rainie.”
“Actually, I’m glad I ran into you. Do you have a second?” The surprise washes over Ella’s face and quickly disappears. I glance at Bradley. “In private.”
Ella gives Bradley a shrug, and he wipes a smudge of red lipstick from his chin. “See you.”
We watch him walk away before I turn back to Ella. “I didn’t know you guys were dating.”
“We’re not. I’m just taking him for a test drive to see if we have chemistry. I want a good scene partner for senior play auditions in the fall.” She plops onto the floor and—after a second of hesitation—I do the same. She turns her dark-lined gray eyes to me. “You’re not a summer library girl, so this isn’t a happy accident. What’s up?”
“We don’t hang out anymore.” Since I’m already busted, I might as well start with the obvious. “So I recognize this is going to be a big ask. A really big ask.”
“You want to tell your parents you’re staying at my house overnight or something? Fine.”
“No.” I look at Ella, so different from me with her thick fringe of brown bangs shot through with black streaks, with her deliberately ratty jeans and screen-printed T-shirt. “It’s bigger than that. And weirder than that.” I take a deep breath and plunge in. “I want to be at Zeus! this summer. I don’t know how to get in, and I’m not qualified to do anything, but I promise I will work really hard and—” I stop because Ella is staring at me like I’ve turned into a tomato. “I know it sounds crazy.”
“It does.”
She seems amused, not pissed, so I soldier on. “You have a relative at the theater.”
“Uncle Rob.”
“Right, Uncle Rob!” The words stream out of my mouth faster and faster, making less and less sense. “Maybe he needs someone to answer phones? Lead tours? Or pass out programs and walk people to their seats?”
Ella bursts out laughing. “Wait. Let me get this straight. You think you’re qualified to lead tours around a theater dedicated to Greek mythology?”
“No…” I shake my head, color rising to my cheeks. “But I can learn. I’ll do anything—I don’t care. I just have to be there. Please, Ella.”
At the sound of her name, Ella stops laughing. She sits back against the shelf, folding her arms over her chest, and stares at me long enough to make me feel uncomfortable. “What is this really about?”
I stare back at her—this girl who used to be my friend—and decide to throw myself on her mercy. “Don’t tell anyone.”
She holds up a pinkie finger. “Scout’s honor.”
I link pinkies with her, very certain that it is not at all the symbol of the Scouts, neither boys nor girls. “There’s a guy.” Ella opens her mouth, and I jerk my hand away from hers, covering my face. “Please don’t laugh again.”
“I’m not laughing.” I feel her hand on my arm, and I pull my fingers away from my face. She peers into my eyes. “Just…Tuck Brady? Really?”
The heat in my cheeks deepens enough that now she’d be justified in thinking I’d turned into a tomato. “How do you know it’s him?”
“He’s the only guy at our school who spends his summers there.” Ella makes a face. “It’s so predictable. He’s so…obvious.”
“I’m sorry.” And I am, but not for the reasons Ella probably thinks. I’m sorry because I’m obvious and I’m predictable. Because I’m not at all interesting or specific like the drama kids, like Marin, like Sarah.
Because I’m just mediocre me. Nothing special, no talent, no big plans.
No plans at all.
Except for Tuck.
“It’s fine.” Ella shakes her head. “I don’t get it—what you see in him—but whatever. I’m a sucker for a star-crossed love story.” She hops to her feet and juts a hand down. I take it hesitantly, and she pulls me to my feet. “I’ll see what I can do.”
With that, she spins and takes off, vanishing between the rows of books. I stand there, wondering what exactly Ella Reynolds can do.
•••
Dad plops a tub of ice cream onto the table and sits across from me, clattering two spoons between us. “Rocky Road,” he tells me. “For when your road is rocky.”
“That’s not a thing,” I inform him, but I grab a spoon anyway.
He peels off the lid and takes a scoop before shoving the tub toward me. “I bet you could get a summer job at the geology museum.”
My brow furrows on its own. “We have a geology museum?”
“On Main Street, between the Christian bookstore and the Reiki studio.”
“I don’t want to work there.”
“It’s easier to get the job you want when you already have a job.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“It’s the way the world works. When a potential employer sees that you already have a job, you suddenly look more interesting because someone else already wanted you.” Dad shrugs. “Human nature.”
We take several bites of ice cream in silence. When the home phone rings, it startles us both.
“We still have that?” Dad says.
It’s Ella. She skips the pleasantries. “Can you hold a rake?”
“Yes.” I don’t know what that has to do with a job, but I don’t care. I just need to get to Olympus.
“Are you allergic to latex?”
“No.” Where is this going?
“Are you comfortable in front of people?” This time I pause, and Ella clears her throat. “I’ll rephrase. Can you handle standing around onstage as part of a crowd six nights a week?”
Actually, that sounds mildly horrifying. “Is there maybe something I can do behind the scenes?”
“Look, I went to bat for you.” Ella’s voice hardens. “Either you want the job, or I have to tell my uncle you got hit by a bus.”
I definitely don’t want to get hit by a bus, even if it’s a fictional bus. And I do want the job. Or at least I want proximity to Tuck, even if the thought of being in front of an audience fills me with dread.
There are no other options.
So I say yes.
“Great,” says Ella. “Rehearsals start next week.”
The next day, I get mixed reactions from my best friends. Sarah says it’s awesome, but Marin thinks I’m insane. In fact, she takes me to our local coffee shop to voice her concerns.
“Explain your job,” she demands over the rim of her chai latte.
“It’s called an actor-technician. I’ll wear a costume and stand around in crowd scenes. I might move a prop or two.”
Marin thunks her cup down and casts a glance around as if looking for other patrons to share her shock. Sometimes Marin is more dramatic than the drama kids. “But you don’t act,” she says. “You don’t…is there a verb associated with ‘technic
ian’?”
“Ella says it’s easy.”
“No offense to Ella—I know you used to be friends and all—but she’s hardly a shining beacon of normalcy. What’s easy to her is going to be craziness to you.”
I stir my cappuccino, starting to feel defensive. “It’s not Cirque du Soleil. It’s an outdoor drama. It’s mythological.”
Marin gives a huff that sends her red bangs dancing from her forehead. “Have you ever seen it?”
“I’ve heard about it,” I tell Marin. “It’s supposed to be amazing. It’s like Broadway in the mountains.”
“You mean a freak show in the sticks.” Marin picks up her cup again. “Have you thought about working at that geology museum downtown?”
•••
Six days later, one of my suitcases is scrunched between Ella and me in the rear bench seat of her parents’ minivan. The other suitcases are in the trunk of my own convertible, which is behind us and being driven by my father, with my mother riding shotgun. All the parents thought it would be fun for “the kids to ride together.”
Clearly, none of the parents asked the “kids.”
We’re halfway to Olympus and my legs are starting to feel cramped when Ella finally takes off her headphones and turns to me. “I didn’t think you’d go through with it.” I can’t tell if she’s impressed or disappointed, so I just nod. “What did your friends think?”
“Sarah thinks it’s cool.”
Ella’s eyes narrow. “What about Marin?”
“Marin thinks it’s cool too.” Not exactly the truth, but Ella doesn’t need to know that.
“Wonders never cease,” says Ella.
Or maybe Ella does know I’m lying…
We drive for another hour up through the Appalachians, winding beneath the canopies of red maple, and alongside the white-flowering dogwoods, and over bridges across mountain lakes scattered with lily pads. Even though every mile is prettier than the last, each one tightens the knot in my stomach. I’m second-guessing every decision that led me to this point, especially the one about not giving Tuck a heads-up. On that, Sarah and Marin were in agreement, but for different reasons. Sarah didn’t want it to seem like I was asking his permission. Marin thought it would make me look like a stalker. “Better to just show up and let him ask why you’re there,” she said.
