“Eric’s not very social with people here,” Anthony says, and I can hear him struggling to suppress the excitement in his voice. “I don’t think he invited anyone else.”
“This sounds good,” I offer.
Anthony’s excitement finally breaks through. “Good like, I should wear the navy blazer?”
“Whoa.” I put a hand on his arm. “I think it’s a bit early for the navy blazer.”
“I wore it on our second date,” Anthony fires back. “Remember? I cooked us carne asada—I seem to recall it going pretty well.”
It did, I remember. It was the first time I really made out with a guy, and the last time Anthony made out with a girl. His cooking is legendary. It might be literally impossible for a guy Anthony’s interested in—or girl, in the case of yours truly—to have his homemade carne asada and not fall for him. “You’re right,” I say. “That was an excellent date.”
I notice Owen’s startled expression. He’s looking between Anthony and me, slowly putting the pieces together. He squints skeptically. “Wait, you . . . you guys dated?”
“It was years ago,” I explain, watching Anthony, who looks lightly amused. “It was before Anthony admitted his love for sausage pizza.” Anthony bursts out laughing, collapsing onto the salad counter.
“Wow.” Owen’s watching me intently again, like he did in the woods. There’s endless depth to his dark eyes. “What you were telling me earlier, it’s real.”
“Oh, it’s real,” I say.
“We agree, then,” Anthony announces, ignoring Owen and me. He pushes himself off the counter. “Blazer it is.” The lady sitting in the booth behind him coughs pointedly, looking in our direction. “Shit,” Anthony mutters, glancing over his shoulder. “I have, like, three tables I should be waiting on.” He darts off, pulling out his ballpoint quill.
I walk with Owen back to the booth and sit down, taking out my phone to confirm the interview. Just reopening the email brings on a new wave of anxiety. I’m not the greatest student—I don’t have a 4.0 and a résumé full of extracurriculars. I’m not like Madeleine, with her AP tests and her volunteer work, or Tyler, who’s had recruiting scouts at his baseball games since sophomore year.
The only thing I really care about at school is directing, and when I think about college or the future, SOTI is pretty much everything. I wouldn’t be doing Romeo and Juliet if it weren’t. I know my directing credits put me up there with the best of applicants, but the interview is something else entirely—I’m not the most polished or poised conversationalist.
“Who’re you texting?” Cate Dawson’s voice interrupts my typing, and she winks when I look up.
“I bet it’s Tyler.” Courtney smiles suggestively.
“It’s definitely Sexy Stagehand Will,” Jenna chimes in.
“I’m not always texting a guy. I have real shit, too,” I snap before I can stop myself. The table goes quiet, and I immediately feel bad. It’s not like they said anything mean, and I do talk about guys constantly. I just wish they hadn’t assumed.
I feel like everyone’s waiting for me to elaborate, but I’ve never been one to talk about real-life things like college or the future. It’s easier to be the Megan they expect me to be, to bear my disappointments in private. “I’ll be texting Will later,” I say, putting on a grin.
I watch them exchange glances, still too uncomfortable to laugh. I drop my eyes to my phone and try to pretend I don’t notice their silence.
“What if I organize a group FaceTime with Cosima? Will you believe me then?” Owen interjects. The group’s eyes light up. I release a relieved breath, glad the conversation’s moved on. Not unaware Owen’s brought back up a topic he dislikes in order to spare me, I gratefully give him a quick smile, then hit SEND on the email.
FIVE
JULIET: It is an honor that I dream not of.
I.iii.71
STILLMONT HIGH IS NOT A BIG PLACE. There’s one main building, a gym in the back—one of my favorite places because PE’s practically a flirting free-for-all—and an Arts Center that houses the drama room and a much cleaner orchestra room. Pines dot the quads in between the buildings, which aren’t large. There’s not a lot of ground to cover.
Paradoxically, the school gives us seven minutes to get from class to class. Seven minutes. That’s enough time to hook up in the band closet, or to hit up the vending machine, eat your snack, then hit up the vending machine again and still make it to class. I spend most passing periods consoling Madeleine about her AP workload or, recently, hearing about the latest chapter in the ongoing romance of her and Tyler.
Today, we’ve taken a leisurely stroll to the second-floor bathroom. The only other girl in here leaves, and from outside the stall I hear Madeleine clear her throat. “Can I talk to you about something?” she asks, her voice unusually shy.
I’m mid-pee. “Uh.” I fumble for the toilet paper. “Yeah.”
“It’s about Tyler and . . . sex,” she says haltingly.
“I . . .” I can hardly restrain my laughter. “I might need a moment, Madeleine. To pull my pants up.”
“Right. Of course.” I practically hear her blush.
Once I’ve opened the stall door and stepped up to the sink, I turn to her. “Okay, hit me.”
Her face grows brighter. “Tyler’s planning something for this weekend. He wouldn’t tell me what. But I’m getting, you know, that vibe from him.” Her freckles have disappeared under the red in her cheeks.
I nod sagely. “The vibe.” I wait for Madeleine to elaborate, but when she doesn’t, I search her uncertain expression. “You’ve gotten the vibe before, though, right?”
“That’s kind of the problem,” she says quietly.
“Wait.” I turn off the faucet as it dawns on me. “You two haven’t had sex yet?”
“We’ve done other things,” Madeleine rushes to say, like I’ve accused her of a crime. “And there’s been a couple times when it seemed like he wanted more, but no, we haven’t done it yet. I wanted to . . .”
She looks at me expectantly. I wait blankly for her to continue before I realize what she’s saying.
“You haven’t had sex because of me?” I splutter. She’s just staring at me, growing redder. “You know,” I continue more gently, “you don’t need my permission to have sex with your own boyfriend.”
“But it’s a little weird. The last person Tyler had sex with is you,” she points out.
“Don’t think about that.” I lay a hand on her arm. “Really, it doesn’t bother me.”
“I’m glad, but it’s not that. . . . Well, it’s not only that.” She looks into the mirror, avoiding my eyes. “I just sometimes feel a little intimidated.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Intimidated? Tyler can get the job done, but he’s nothing to be intimidated by.”
Madeleine gives me half a smile. “Watch it, that’s my boyfriend you’re talking about.” But her voice drops when she continues. “No, it’s not Tyler I’m intimidated by . . .”
I wait, uncomprehending. What she’s suggesting—it’s, well, it’s crazy. “By me?” I get out. The idea that Madeleine, with her striking auburn hair and green eyes and her fairy-tale romance, could ever be intimidated by someone like me is laughable. It’s not like the times Tyler and I did it were anything but a couple of virgins figuring things out together. It’s a proven law of the universe that I’m not the girl who guys remember.
“Well, yeah,” she says with a shrug. “What you and Tyler had, it was spontaneous, exciting, romantic. You were the kind of couple everyone watched. You burned bright—”
“And burned out,” I interject.
“When you were together, what you had was passionate,” Madeleine argues, sounding a little desperate. “I’m just afraid that after you, I won’t be enough.”
“Madeleine.” I grab her hand and force her to look
at me. “Tyler’s into you now. You’re just building this up.”
“I hope.” She still looks unconvinced. “But you and Tyler were each other’s firsts. I can’t compete with that.”
“Firsts? What does that matter?” It’s not like I chose Tyler to be my first because I thought he’d be “the one.” I just knew I felt something with him I hadn’t with boyfriends before. I liked Tyler, and I guess I knew I could fall in love with him. I wanted to be closer to him. I’d hardly believed I’d found my soulmate—at Stillmont High, no less—but I wanted the physical aspects of the relationship. There’s something about having that emotional connection made physical, the romantic rendered real, that’s unique and impossibly enticing. Even though I knew the relationship would end, I felt in those moments of togetherness I could finally step out of the wings and into the center of our stage.
But none of that has to do with Tyler’s position in the line of boyfriends with whom I’ll one day have sex. He was my first because he was special—not special because he was my first.
“There’s nothing extraordinary about Tyler being my first. Trust me,” I tell Madeleine.
“Not to you, maybe,” she says, looking at the floor.
But to Tyler? I’m caught off guard. If it had meant that much to him, we wouldn’t have broken up. But I’m not going to tell Madeleine that. Still, some smaller voice in me wonders why Madeleine would believe otherwise unless Tyler said something.
The bell rings, and it takes me a second to realize we’ve somehow used up the entire passing period. Madeleine looks panicked—I’m certain she’s never been late to class ever. I’d have to laugh if I weren’t still reeling from what she just said.
But I don’t want her to leave worried about my history with Tyler. “You and Tyler are perfect for each other, and you’re going to have a perfect first time,” I manage as Madeleine hurries to pick up her bag. “Speaking as the former authority on Tyler Dunning’s sex life,” I go on jokingly, “I have all the confidence in the world that you’ll blow his mind.”
“Thanks, Megan, really,” she breathlessly says over her shoulder, and runs toward class. I follow her out, my mind lingering on what she said before.
It’s not like I still have feelings for Tyler or even want him back. It’s just unexpectedly nice to know what he and I had hasn’t been entirely forgotten, even if he’ll be giving a night of tender, fumbling, teenage love to my best friend this weekend.
* * *
Yet unfortunately, I’m the one in bed with Tyler after school.
In a prop bed, specifically. With the entire cast watching us. We’re in the drama room, the plastic chairs arranged in rows in front of the open space we’re using for a stage.
The bed’s not even Juliet’s, either. It’s a leftover from the spring musical, Rent, and it’s completely period-inappropriate —black and wrought-iron and unmistakably ’90s. Will hasn’t finished any of the set pieces, although I’ve taken every opportunity to admire his after-school shirtless construction process.
We’re rehearsing Act III Scene v, the one where Romeo and Juliet wake up together after their own night of tender, (probably) fumbling, teenage love. We’re both lying on our sides, Tyler behind me, pressed a little too tightly to my hips. The closeness combined with his Romeo eyes isn’t helping me forget Madeleine’s words from earlier. Not in a good way—it’s just uncomfortable.
“Whenever you’re ready,” Jody tells us from the front row of seats.
Before I can start the scene, I feel Tyler brush my hair behind my ear. Then he kisses me on the temple. I jerk and nearly bust him in the lip.
“Good, Tyler,” Jody calls. “I liked that.”
I rush through my lines, knowing the sooner I finish the scene, the sooner I can get out of this bed. “Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day. It was the nightingale, and not the lark, that pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear. Nightly she sings on yond pomegranate tree—”
Jody interrupts me. “Juliet’s trying to get Romeo to come back to bed. You sound like he couldn’t leave fast enough.” She’s pursing her lips in a bit of a smile, like she knows just how true her appraisal is. Some of the cast laughs in the audience, and I catch Alyssa rolling her eyes in frustration.
“Well, I . . .” I start, searching for some interpretive explanation to defend my discomfort. “I’d like to play Juliet feistier. You know, modernize her.” Honestly, if I were directing, I’d be into the approach.
Jody nods, considering. “Okay, but you still have to make the scene work,” she says. “Go from the top.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to find my inner Juliet. When I open them, Tyler’s gazing down at me with a teasingly longing look. “Wilt thou be gone!” I snap, knowing I’m throwing the scene out the window. But I just can’t handle Tyler. His expression changes, and the amorous Romeo fades from his features. He’s just Tyler, irritated with his ex-girlfriend.
I sit up and face Jody. “Okay, I know that was too much, but—”
“Megan,” she cuts me off. “Feisty Juliet works well for when she meets Romeo. It doesn’t work here. We have to believe Juliet is so in love with Romeo she would die for him.” I notice Alyssa watching me from the audience, smug. “You need to spend some time with the play,” Jody continues. “Really learn how to get into Juliet’s head.”
I give Jody a look saying, you knew this would happen. “Okay,” I reply even though I know it’s impossible. The best I can hope for is faking it. But it doesn’t matter if I pull this off, I remind myself. I’m not an actress, I’m not meant for the spotlight. I just have to get my acting credit and get through this play.
SIX
ROMEO: Can I go forward when my heart is here?
Turn back, dull earth, and find thy center out.
II.i.1–2
THE HOUSE IS A MESS WHEN I get home.
With rehearsal over, I can finally push Juliet out of my mind and focus on something important. I rush up to my room, where I throw on the most professional outfit I own—a tan dress I never wear in my daily life and a blazer I borrowed from Rose’s closet. Trying to quell my nerves, I bound back downstairs.
I have to leave in ten minutes for my SOTI interview. But first, I search under piles of Dad’s paperwork and Erin’s sticky toys in the kitchen. I printed my arts résumé before school, and I know I left it on the kitchen counter, which I guess experienced a natural disaster in the last eight hours. I push aside one of Erin’s arts and crafts projects and clumsily stick my hand into a glob of glitter glue. Even though it’d definitely make my application stand out, I’m going to have to have some stern words with my baby sister if she’s turned my résumé into her latest sparkly impressionistic work.
My eyes fall on what’s underneath Erin’s finger-painting, and I stop.
It’s a real estate magazine. But not one of the Oregon ones I’ve seen in some of my friends’ houses—it’s full of listings in New York.
I pick it up, dazed. Why would my dad and Rose have a magazine of homes in New York? But the moment the question forms in my head, I know the answer, and suddenly my worries about the interview feel distant.
“If you’re looking for your résumé, I moved it to the table by the door.” I hardly hear Rose’s voice from the couch. She’s taken to lying down for quick naps in the middle of the day.
I don’t bother to thank her because I’m already climbing the stairs, magazine in hand. I check Dad’s bedroom first. His desk is empty except for the stack of budgets for the middle school where he’s vice principal. The obvious next stop is just down the hall. I hear his hushed voice reading Runaway Bunny as I push open the door to Erin’s room.
“Dad.” I try to pack urgency into my low whisper, noticing Erin nodding off in her crib.
Dad gives me an admonishing look and tiptoes out of the room. Only after he’s quietly closed the do
or does he turn to me, still holding Runaway Bunny. “I just got her down, Megan. This better be important.”
“We’re moving to New York?” I hold up the magazine. “When were you going to tell me?”
The guilt that flashes in his eyes confirms what some part of me was still hoping wasn’t true. “Nothing is final yet,” he says after a moment. It doesn’t matter how gentle and even his tone is, I can barely meet his eyes. He hid a life-changing family decision from me.
I try very hard to control the volume of my voice. “But you’re looking at houses.”
“With the baby coming and Erin growing up, we’re going to need more space.” He’s speaking with the patience I’ve heard him use on overwrought seventh graders.
“So you’re looking in New York?”
“Rose wants to be closer to her parents while the kids are young.” I hear irritation creep into his tone.
“You weren’t going to tell me we’re moving to New York in—I don’t know when?” I realize I’ve crumpled the magazine in my hand. “You expect me to just pack up my bags and move across the country with no warning whatsoever?”
His expressions shifts. Suddenly, he looks surprised, even a little apologetic. “Oh, no, Megan. None of this is happening until you’re done with high school and settled in college.”
Just like that it makes sense. It’s not about us moving to New York. It’s about them moving to New York.
In a way, it’s the natural progression of what’s been happening for the past three years. First my dad got remarried, then he had Erin and started a new family. Now they’re going to leave the town where he raised me and start over somewhere else, finally closing the book on the last remaining chapter of my dad’s former family.
I open my mouth to protest, and then I realize I just want out of this conversation. “I have to go to my interview,” I mutter. “You know, so I can get into college and have somewhere to go when the rest of you move.” I shove the crumpled magazine at him and fly down the stairs before he can call me back.
Always Never Yours Page 5
