Exit Stage Left

by Nall, Gail

  How freaking cozy.

  I slide down against the siding and crouch against the ground. What I don’t get is why Amanda’s doing this. Whatever happened to that unspoken rule about not flirting with (or inviting over for one-on-one movie time) the one guy your best friend has a long and messy history with?

  Except she doesn’t deserve all the blame. Trevor’s just as guilty, if not more so. Where exactly does he get off, cornering me in the parking lot and doing that hand-on-the-back thing while trying to get with Amanda?

  I ignore the stabbing pain in my heart and check the window again. They’re laughing about something. What I wouldn’t give for Mrs. Reynolds to drive up right this second. Laughing would be all that would happen then, if she didn’t freak out about Amanda having a guy over when no one else is home.

  Amanda flicks her hair over her shoulder and Trevor stares at her. I sit back down on the mulch.

  The worst part is that this never should’ve happened. If I’d gotten the role of Maria, like I should have, Amanda wouldn’t even be on his radar. He would be staring at me during rehearsals, not Amanda. The only reason he’s even noticed her is because she’s starring opposite him in the play. And she’s nice and smart and funny and pretty. But I’m the one he knows.

  The sun starts to sink below the trees, and the late September wind picks up. I shiver, but I can’t leave before Trevor. I have to know what happens, even if it kills my soul. I check the window again.

  And fall backward into the bushes.

  They’re kissing! Full on, arms around each other, making out. I scramble to get out of the boxwoods, but the heel of my boot is stuck in some branches. I yank on it. The neighbor’s dog starts barking. Then Toby barks inside Amanda’s house. A porch light flicks on next door.

  “Who’s out there?” an elderly lady’s voice shrieks from next door.

  I grab handfuls of bush and haul myself out on my hands and knees.

  “If you’re a burglar, you’d better move your behind! I’m calling the police.”

  I jump up, and a plastic watering can flies over my head. It hits the side of Amanda’s house. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Amanda and Trevor walking toward the window.

  And I run.

  “You’d better run, you delinquent! And don’t come back!” A dog bone misses me by a few feet.

  I run until I get home, lungs bursting and gasping for air.

  And only one question is clear in my mind: Am I not over him?

  I spend Monday darting in and out of my classes so Amanda can’t catch up with me, but I’m out of luck when it comes time for rehearsal. During one of the few scenes she isn’t in, Amanda settles into the seat next to me. How does she have the nerve?

  “Hey, Case, what’s up? I feel like I haven’t talked to you in forever.”

  I grunt.

  “Is something wrong?”

  Yes. Your lips were all over Trevor. My Trevor. Well, not technically mine, but I have more claim than anyone.

  “No,” I say. I can’t exactly tell her that I watched everything through her family room window.

  “Hmm. I need to talk to you after rehearsal, though. Just for a few minutes.”

  “Okay.” I shrug, like it’s no big deal, when really, the jealousy coursing through me could float a boat clear over to Europe.

  “It’s . . . I really have to tell you something.”

  I raise my eyebrows. Is she going to confess her rendezvous with Trevor? God, I hope so. Although I have no idea what I’m going to say.

  “Amanda! Onstage. Now!” Ms. Sharp waves her hands. Amanda jumps up.

  As I stretch out, thinking I might be able to snag a nap if Ms. Sharp keeps her voice down, someone tugs my neat (and very equestrian) French braid.

  “‘Hey, Casey.” Oliver’s low voice rolls over my shoulder.

  I shift around in my seat. “Hey.”

  “Your friend looks like she’s hiding something.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I have my ways.” He waggles his eyebrows.

  “Should I call you James Bond?”

  “Sure. I’ve got the Aston parked out front.” He pretends to tighten a necktie.

  I nearly choke trying not to laugh. Oliver’s hair looks good, as usual, but there is absolutely nothing James Bond-ish about him. Unless Bond wears a Sex Pistols T-shirt and shabby jeans when he isn’t on the job.

  “So, what’s the big secret?” Oliver asks.

  “What?”

  “Amanda.”

  “Right. It’s a long story.”

  “I see.” Oliver’s looking right at Amanda and Trevor, onstage. I feel like, somehow, he’s already guessed everything that’s going on.

  Which means that it’s time to change the subject. “So, what was up with the whole not-talking thing? Because you’re sure talking a lot now.”

  He shrugs. “I guess I only talk when I have something to say.”

  Huh. I always have something to say. Sometimes I say too much.

  “Or someone worth talking to.” Oliver smiles.

  I’m about to ask him what he means by that when Harrison shows up.

  “Hey, did you guys know the Alcove of Sin has salt-and-vinegar chips now? I think they’re made of soy or something, but still.” Harrison slips into the seat next to Oliver. He waves a bag of chips at me, like this is the most fascinating news of the century.

  “Ugh, no. How can you eat those?” I ask.

  “These are high-class chips, Casey. Even if they are the weird healthy kind. Unlike that sour-cream-and-onion stuff you like.”

  “How can a chip be high-class? It’s still a chip. It’s not a steak.”

  “Salt and vinegar are kind of hard to find, especially in a school vending machine,” Oliver chimes in. “That’s what makes them classier than plain old sour cream and onion or barbecue.”

  If only Trevor could see I’m a salt-and-vinegar chip. Even thinking that makes me mad at myself, all over again.

  Ms. Sharp claps her hands. “That’s it for today, ladies and gentlemen. Tonight we all need to go home and work on projecting. There’s no point in speaking onstage if the audience can’t hear you. Tomorrow, I expect everyone to project!”

  “Thanks . . .” Hannah says halfheartedly, her copy of the script hanging limply at her side. Before this show is over, she’s going to wish she’d just joined the stage crew instead.

  “PRO-JECT!” Trevor’s voice booms from somewhere behind me as people filter into the school lobby. He doesn’t need any work on projecting. What he does need to work on is restraining himself when it comes to flirting—and more—with friends of mine. But then again, it’s not like he’s ever restrained himself from flirting, period. He walks right past me, joking with the Grimaldi twins, who must’ve been hanging around—somewhere—this whole time.

  “Hi, Casey,” Johnny Grimaldi practically whispers as he walks by.

  “Hey,” I manage to say as I look past him at Trevor’s back. Seriously? He’s going to stroll right by me without even acknowledging my existence?

  Then he turns and winks at me. Winks! And yet somehow doesn’t look like some kind of middle-aged creeper doing it. I reward him with a glare.

  “Casey.” Amanda touches my shoulder. “Come on.” She grabs my hand and pulls me down an empty hallway. Her adorable new ankle boots make a loud clacking sound on the tiled floor. Then she stops and turns around. I stand in front of her, waiting to hear what I know I’m going to hear, but don’t actually want to hear all the same.

  “So . . .” Amanda tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

  I just cross my arms and wait. I’m not about to make this easy for her.

  But she doesn’t say anything.

  I can’t stand it. “This is about Friday night, isn’t it?” I say through gritted teeth.

  I can almost hear the wheels in Amanda’s head turning. Her eyes widen and she takes a deep breath. Then she clamps her lips shut and quickly closes her eyes. “It’s
. . . how do you know?”

  Like I’m going to tell her I was peeking in her window. Instead, I go for the obvious. “Trevor wasn’t sick on Friday. He was perfectly fine in Choral Ensemble.”

  “But how—”

  I hold up a hand. “It doesn’t matter. I know he came over Friday night and you lied to me about it.”

  Amanda bites her lip. “Oh my God, I’m sorry, Casey. It just . . . it got completely out of hand. I didn’t mean for anything to happen, I swear.”

  “You didn’t mean to purposely uninvite me so you could be alone with him? Because that’s sure how it looked.”

  “No, I mean, yes. I did.” She covers her face with her hands, as if hiding from what she’s done will make it all go away.

  “You’re supposed to be my best friend. Why would you do that to me?” My throat tightens. Not only did she take my part and pretty much end my future as an actor, but now she’s taking Trevor too.

  “I knew you still had feelings for him, but you said you didn’t, and I convinced myself that you were telling the truth about that and, God, this is such a mess.”

  I thought I was telling the truth. But it was probably more like what Amanda said—if I said it enough, and thought it enough, it would become true. Except it’s not. I still want him, and I don’t know if it’s because we’re meant to be together or because I’m not over him yet or what. Maybe it’s because he’s familiar and part of my old, normal life—the one that existed before my dreams went toppling over. I don’t know.

  “Do you like him?” I ask Amanda in a voice I hope is dripping with ice. “It would be nice if you were honest this time.”

  Amanda takes a deep breath. And then she talks so fast, the words run together. “Yes, okay? I do. Or I did, but not anymore. It’s just that he was being so nice to me, and I think he was flirting. And this probably makes me the worst friend in the history of the world, but he’s just so that boy. That’s awful, I know. And I never liked how he was when he was with you, but he was actually paying attention to me. That’s so screwed up.”

  “So you like the attention,” I say flatly.

  Amanda closes her eyes for a second. “It’s not that. It’s just . . . you’re just . . . you’re Casey.” She waves an arm at me like I’m supposed to know what she’s talking about. “It’s hard to compete with that.”

  “With what, exactly?”

  “You! Everything about your personality. You always know what to say, how to make the right joke. People flock to you. You command the spotlight. And I know you don’t do it on purpose—it just happens.” She smooths her jeans, which is so obnoxious and so very Amanda, because who ever heard of jeans wrinkling?

  I’m pretty much stunned into silence, which is rare. Yeah, I talk a lot more than Amanda, but I never thought that meant I got more attention or anything. And . . . she’s pulled the whole topic of conversation away from what happened between her and Trevor. “So, what, getting Trevor is part of your grand scheme to take everything away from me?”

  She shakes her head. “What? No, that’s not what I meant. Just that finally I get to be the star . . .” She trails off, like she knows she’s about to say something she wishes she didn’t.

  “Right. So that entitles you to get with him. Nice. That’s really considerate of you, knowing exactly how messed up I am over him.” I cross my arms and wait for her to say something that will make any sense out of all this.

  “No. I don’t know what I thought would happen, but it wasn’t intentional, I swear. It’s just . . . something came over me—like Evil Amanda or something—on Friday and I lied. I just wanted to spend time alone with him to see if he really was interested in me. So he came over, and we watched the movie. And . . . you know. And someone tried to break into the house, which was weird and a little scary.” She pauses to catch her breath.

  “I don’t understand how you can do all of that and still call yourself my friend.” I spit the word at her, hoping it stings. I feel almost as if she’s trying to take my life, a piece at a time. Which is stupid, considering her own life is pretty damn good.

  Amanda laces her hands together. “I’m so, so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, you have to believe me. I should’ve brushed him off. I should’ve done everything I could to keep distance from him.” She takes another deep breath. “What happened doesn’t mean anything, I promise. And nothing else is going to happen.”

  I casually raise my eyebrows in what I hope is a disdainful look. “Good. Because we’re getting back together.” I don’t know where that came from. The second the words are out of my mouth, I’m not sure about them. But I want my old life back, or as much of it as I can get anyway, and that means Trevor.

  Amanda’s hands stop smoothing her shirt. “Are you sure?”

  “What do you mean? Of course I’m sure. We’ve been off and on for two years. This is what we do.” It’s our normal. And being with Trevor would be so . . . normal.

  “I don’t know, Case . . . you were so positive that things were over. That you needed to move on.”

  I cross my arms again. “Are you saying that because you want him for yourself?”

  “No! Absolutely not.” She twists the chain on her silver necklace. “I just don’t want to see you get used again,” she says in a small voice.

  “Used? Used! Wow. I’ll have you know that no one is using me. I’m in total control, with or without Trevor.”

  “I don’t know if this is the best idea—”

  “And I don’t know if I want your opinion right now. All I want is for you to promise me that you’re not interested in him.” I feel really in control right now. More so than I have since before auditions. Maybe things are finally going to start going my way again. I’ll get back together with Trevor, and then I’ll become some insanely talented horsewoman who gets a full ride to a school with a pre-vet program that doesn’t care about grades, just about how well I can connect with horses. I’ll be back on top.

  “I’m not.”

  “Good. Because as of this minute, my life is going back to the way it was. At least as close as it can get.” I let a forced smile crack through my stony expression. “And that means I need you to be my friend—the one who has my back and isn’t trying to sabotage my life.”

  Amanda closes her eyes for a moment and sighs. “Right,” she says. “Everything back to normal.”

  I could swear that she sounds a little sad when she says that.

  Chapter Fifteen

  As I’m chewing on a peanut butter cracker at lunch, Amanda swooshes into a chair next to me and drops a chocolate chip cookie onto my tray. The guilt must be eating away at her. “Soooo . . . Trevor wants to go out Friday night.”

  I nearly choke on my cracker crumbs. “With you?”

  Amanda rubs her thumb over an old ketchup stain on the table. “I told him I already had plans with you and some other people. Then he said he’d come along.

  “It’ll be me and you, Harrison, and then he invited the Grimaldi twins and the Grimaldis’ cousin Rosalita or something, who’s in town visiting.” She counts off the names on her fingers. “Kelly’s going to her little sister’s ballet recital, and Chris bailed on me.”

  “Band thing. Sorry.” Chris shrugs.

  “So I’m the last one to find out?” The truth of that stings.

  “I wanted to make sure I had a bunch of people who could go. That way I’ll have someone to talk to so that Trevor can’t talk to me. And well . . . you guys can be kind of alone if you want.” Amanda widens her blue eyes at me and smiles like she’s come up with the best idea ever.

  She’s trying, I have to give her that. But, God, it’s like there’s a giant Trevor-sized hole in my heart, hearing that he basically asked her out. And I wonder why she didn’t say anything to me about it right away, instead of running around and asking pretty much everyone we know to come along. It makes me think that she was considering saying yes, at least for a little while.

  “So,” I say to Ama
nda, “this is like some kind of group date thing?”

  Her face goes red. “It’s not a group date. It’s just friends hanging out. Except for you and Trevor, of course,” Amanda says. “Come on, you have to go, Case. Let me try to make this right.”

  I should just stop talking and say yes already. But then I’ve always had a problem with keeping my mouth shut. “If it’s a group date, and Trevor thinks you’re going with him, then who am I supposed to be with? Harrison or both of the Grimaldi twins?”

  Harrison chokes on his grilled cheese.

  I glare at him. “Obviously, I’d be with the Grimaldis. Fantastic.”

  Chris thumps Harrison on the back. “I can’t believe the hair gel and the fake accents don’t turn you on, Casey.”

  “I think those accents are real,” I say. “They moved here in the fourth grade.”

  “What do they do?” Kelly asks. She points across the cafeteria to where the Grimaldis occupy a Trevor-less table. “It’s not theater.”

  “Or band,” Chris adds. “You think they forged their applications?”

  “But you need some proof of your talent to get in here,” Harrison argues. “How do you forge that?”

  They’re quiet as they contemplate the Great Grimaldi Mystery. Even after unintentionally spending a lot of time with them by being with Trevor, I have no idea why they’re at this school. I’m pretty sure Steve-o cuts more days than he even shows up for, anyway.

  “I don’t care if the Grimaldis are the next great artistic whatever,” I say to Amanda. “I’ll go on your group date thing. It’ll be weird, but I’ll be there.” Partly because I need the opportunity to make Trevor fall for me again, and partly because I wonder whether Amanda would cancel if I didn’t come. I don’t really want to know the answer to the last one.

  “It’s not a group date,” Amanda says, but I’m already checking my phone. I need some time away from her, which means it’s time for The List.