Dramatically Ever After

by Isabel Bandeira

  I didn’t even look back at Kris, instead putting a Dorothy-like bounce in my steps. “It was fun. I so needed that.”

  Arizona nodded, his green eyes bright. “Hell, yes. Maybe we should plan a flash mob at Faneuil Hall during the awards ceremony. Break up the tension?”

  Red chose that moment to pass us, pausing mid-cell call to our bus driver to say, “Don’t even try, Garrett,” before hurrying ahead without another look at us.

  I winked dramatic stage-winks at the boys on either side of me. “Sounds like fun.”

  It was nice to just forget about focus and Kris and live in the moment again.

  EmmieBear: Sang on stage for the first time in ages tonight and I’m on such a music high. Love ya, Boston!

  EmmieBear: I could sing all night, I could sing all night! (but I have a roommate)

  KLambert: @Emmiebear Focus! Competition soon!

  EmmieBear: @KLambert Whatever. Really creative screen-name, btw.

  KLambert: @EmmieBear I was going to go with “Not that actor from Highlander” but it took up too many characters

  EmmieBear: @KLambert How did you find me, anyway? Are you Internet stalking me?

  KLambert: @EmmieBear What? No.

  KLambert: @EmmieBear I saw you chatting with @BookishArcher on her feed.

  EmmieBear: @KLambert Are you Internet stalking my bff? @BookishArcher

  KLambert: @EmmieBear No. Go to sleep. We’ve got one more day of conference to get through tomorrow. No yawning!

  EmmieBear: @KLambert I’ll have you know I look my most adorable when yawning.

  KLambert: @EmmieBear Not when a diplomat is talking

  EmmieBear: @KLambert Poo, she didn’t notice. She was too busy messing with the laser pointer.

  KLambert: @EmmieBear I can’t believe *you’re* representing our state

  EmmieBear: @KLambert Admit it, I’m fun. Wanna sneak down to the lobby and sing stuff from classic musicals?

  KLambert: @EmmieBear Logging off now. Good night.

  EmmieBear: @KLambert Don’t forget my latte tomorrow. I’ll need it AFTER SINGING ALL NIGHT

  KLambert: @EmmieBear *puts in earplugs* Good. Night.

  “Focus, Em.” Lauren tapped the table with her pen, stopping me mid-speech. “I know you can read better than that.” I took a deep breath and tried to keep from balling up the speech and throwing it at her head. I’d read my poor, butchered speech aloud three times already in our session, and each time, she stopped me part of the way through. I closed my eyes and started again, the speech already burned into my memory. “I am a vital component in the fight to ‘make the world better.’ I—”

  “Stop.” Lauren pulled my speech from my hands and lay it face down on the table. “Do you really believe what you’re saying?” I blinked at her and was about to answer when she continued, “Because, right now you don’t sound like you do.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, hoping I looked tired enough that she’d just let me go. Not even Mr. Landry, who was pretty tough for a theatre advisor, ever pushed me this hard over five minutes of dialogue. Lauren, though, was relentless.

  “Did Katie—Ms. Shawnee—tell you I actually requested you?” That caught my attention and she seemed to know it. “When I heard your speech, I was impressed by the passion in your delivery, and I loved how you wove Pierre- Saint Ruffin’s—”

  “Josephine Saint Pierre Ruffin,” I corrected her, adding, “Only an amazing civil rights leader and social worker from Boston, that’s all.”

  Maybe the sarcasm was lost on her, because Lauren just kept barreling on. “Weaving stories from her history throughout your speech as examples really bound your speech together with a common narrative, which made it incredibly powerful. I wanted to work with you because I knew I could make your passion shine.”

  “Thank you?” Fear mixed with doubt in my veins. She was probably about to tell me I sucked and should give up. Or maybe she’d suggest I needed another four hours of reading my speech until my delivery became less automatic and more human.

  “So, where is that passion?” At my blank look, she pushed some more. “Why did you choose to write your speech this way? A lot of the other speeches are about things your competitors are doing right now. Why did you decide to talk about who you want to grow into?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged, trying to remember the minute the idea for the speech came into my head. “When I told my friend, Alec, about the competition and how the nationals were here in Boston, he pulled up all these trivia facts about Boston, because he’s weird that way. When he told me about this person, I just felt like she was someone worth learning from.” Lauren nodded at me to go on, and it was like a giant river of words filled with all the feelings from that first burst of speechwriting just came flying out. “I loved how, even with everything going against her because of her race and her gender, she still believed she was—and we are—an important part of fighting for equal rights for everyone. And she did that while editing a newspaper, serving on boards, and doing social work. She did a lot of little things, too, that became big things. I just think if she was able to do so much even though black women back then didn’t have a lot of rights, what’s my excuse now for not trying to make the world a better place?” For some reason I couldn’t explain, the back of my throat tightened and my eyes teared up. I wasn’t like Phoebe, who cried at puppies in toilet paper commercials. It had to be because of exhaustion from the roller coaster of emotions I’d been feeling all week.

  Lauren handed me a tissue and tapped the table with her pen, her expression smug. “That’s the passion I was talking about.”

  “Are you a speechwriter or a psychotherapist in disguise?” I pushed back the teary feeling and tilted my head to regard her. “And do you beat up the governor to get her to sound more passionate in her speeches, too? Or give her patches?”

  That smug expression turned even more annoyingly smug with a bunch of amusement thrown in. “Not exactly, but she’s had years of practice. Plus, I think you just needed to reconnect with the you who wrote the original speech.” She flipped my speech back over and shoved it in front of me. “Now, hold on to that feeling and try again.”

  “I am a …” My voice curved around the words, speeding, slowing, stretching, flying. Crescendoing and decrescen-doing at just the right moments, like playing my flute or when I’d sing. For five minutes, I lived my speech, the tiniest vibrations from my voice resonating throughout my entire body. I became a character, but the character was actually me. I’d been so busy pigeonholing myself into characters everyone else believed I was this week that I almost let go of full, three-dimensional Em who had dreams and potential. The Em who could be pretty amazing, in her own way.

  I finished, then inhaled and exhaled once before slowly looking back up at Lauren, who just nodded. “I think you’re going to do great tomorrow.”

  EmmyBear: Direct Message @WilOfHyrule Hey, can we talk?

  EmmyBear: Direct Message @WilOfHyrule Nothing about us, promise, just really nervous about tomorrow and it’s so important

  EmmyBear: Direct Message @WilOfHyrule I just need a friend.

  EmmyBear: Direct Message @WilOfHyrule Call me, please? I could use one of your pep talks right now.

  “I’m not looking forward to tomorrow,” Ann said, her heels clicking on the shiny inlaid wood floor. She was wearing a floor-length gown made out of white-blue lace layered over white-green satin, and had pinned tiny blue-green flowers in her loose hair. It was like she had taken her usual elven princess look and amped it up on steroids. I was amazed she hadn’t started glowing like Galadriel.

  I followed, trying to keep my balance in Grace’s mom’s shoes. Considering how super-expensive the designer heels were, I would have expected them to be easier to walk in. Still, they looked awesome with my black dress, the lace inset running from my toes to my ankle coming pretty close to matching the lace on my dress’ neckline. “Forget about the speech and at least have some fun tonight.” My own stomach
played Twister with itself, but I tried not to let it show in my face. I really had to take my own advice. Just because my entire future depended on me doing great in a five minute speech tomorrow morning didn’t mean I had to go into freak-out mode. “Missing out on a chance to wear a gown and eat fancy food won’t help your speech tomorrow.”

  I tried a little twirl straight out of a forties musical and, even though I wasn’t a dancer like Grace, my short skirt flared out delicately in cute layers of lace, satin, and tulle and my straightened hair fluttered around my face. I liked my curls—they were wild and unpredictable sometimes, just like me. Tonight, though, I’d straightened my hair so it sat a little below my shoulders. It was fun to have a serious whoosh instead of a bounce.

  “Still, I think I’m cutting out early tonight.” Ann looked back at me before opening the dining room door. “I wish I was as good at not worrying as you.”

  “We’re alphabetically in the middle. That will give us plenty of time to freak out tomorrow morning.” The room where we normally ate our meals had been transformed by twinkling lights and crystals the staff had hung from the normally bare chandeliers. Little bowls of floating flowers and candles sat in the middle of each table. Combined with all the mirrors in antique frames that normally lined the walls, they didn’t need the big overhead lights. “Besides, look at all the pretty,” I added, my stomach untwisting just the tiniest bit. I studied the room and found Mr. Louisiana hanging with a bunch of other guys by the appetizers. Grabbing Ann by the shoulders, I pointed her in his direction. “Speaking of, that’s what you are, especially right now. Go show off your gorgeous self.”

  “Are you always this pushy?”

  “This is nothing. You should see what she did to her best friend,” Kris’ voice came from behind us and I waited a count before turning around with a tolerant smile plastered on my face. I had to work to keep that smile in place and to keep from gaping, because he looked better than I expected. The last time I saw Kris dressed up was at the junior prom, and even though his ultra-conservative suit jacket and slacks were pretty much the same style, this time they looked really good on him instead of stuffy.

  Like, “force my brain cells to work enough to come up with a snarky response” good. “Says the guy who hit on her.”

  Ann’s voice pulled my attention away from Kris and back to the rest of the room. “Wow.” Her eyes had widened just enough to give her a Lucille Ball-comedic look. “I don’t like drama, so I’m going to go…” she waved her hand vaguely towards Louisiana and the other guys, “… over there.” She moved so fast, some of her hair whacked me in the arm.

  I looked over my shoulder to smile wryly at Kris. “See, you scared my roommate away.”

  “I think that was just an excuse,” he pointed his thumb to where she was already tapping Geoff on the shoulder. When I turned back to Kris, his gaze was drifting slowly down my body, taking in my outfit, and fire traced its way across my skin down the same path. After what felt like a lifetime, he focused on my shoes. “Those are really high heels.”

  With the five-inch heel, I was eye-to-eye with him. Forcing myself to be as bold as I normally was even though my skin was still burning, I stepped closer so he had to look back up at my face again. “Grace lent them to me. They’re Jimmy Shoos.” His brow wrinkled and I laughed, even though laughter felt so alien at that moment. “What, you don’t keep up with fashion? I’m surprised. Don’t you try to know everything?”

  He ignored my dig and poked at my shoulder, just where the illusion lace that travelled up from my dress’ sweetheart neckline ended. “Aren’t you afraid you’re going to fall over?”

  “If you keep poking at me like that, I might.” The fact that his hand lingered on my shoulder wasn’t lost on me, and I reached out to grab his arm, pretending to catch my balance. Two could play this game.

  “Then maybe we should sit down. That way, you won’t fall over, die of embarrassment, and just hand first place to me.”

  “That’s really altruistic of you,” Ooh, look, an SAT word. I preened. “But ‘we?’ You keep hanging with the competition, don’t you?”

  “Maybe I’m trying to psych you out.” At that, my skin chilled, even though I already knew this was Kris’ strategy. His one comment completely killed any possibility that lurked in the back of my mind he was actually being human and nice and not-Kris-like. He sat at the nearest table and I followed robotically. “Or maybe for some crazy reason I’m actually starting to enjoy hanging out with Pine Central’s drama queen.”

  “They didn’t give us much choice here, did they?” I put on my perkiest voice. “We’re going to be such bffs when we get back home.” I clapped my hands together and made a face with a saccharine smile and starry eyes, tilting my head towards him.

  Kris draped an arm around the back of my chair. “Yeah, we’ll make friendship bracelets and have sleepovers.” He stopped, blinked, and realized what he said, red creeping up his neck and tinging his ears and cheeks. “Um…”

  I couldn’t help but laugh, and couldn’t help how warmth replaced the chill on that comment. “I know what you meant.” I pushed back any memory of our museum sort-of kiss, but my whole body felt overheated.

  “Smooth, Jersey.” Saved by Louisiana. Geoff and Ann dropped into the empty chairs next to me, the guy and girl from Florida following them.

  Kris seemed to have recovered quickly. “I guess you mean Em, right? Because I never say anything stupid.”

  Geoff laughed. “Whatever makes you feel better.”

  “Just don’t have the sleepover in our room, okay?” Ann added, and I threw her a dirty look. Perfect timing for her to get a sense of humor.

  My phone beeped and I dove for an excuse to pull myself out of the conversation and check it, dropping my pink feather covered clutch onto the table. I felt my brows starting to furrow together as I stared at the screen and my Photogram notification icon. WilOfHyrule tagged you in a photopost. What was Wil doing up this late?

  “Is that a bag or did you kill a flamingo?” Kris poked at the clutch tentatively with one finger, like he was afraid the pink awesomeness was going to bite him.

  Florida craned his neck to look around the way-too-high centerpiece. “I vote dead flamingo.”

  “Cute, guys.” I swiped at my screen and cursed the spotty reception in this room. “I’m going over there—” I gestured towards the wall of window seats, where there had to be better reception, “—so don’t do anything to my purse that you’d regret.”

  As I walked closer to the window, I watched the little hourglass on my phone flip over until it finally disappeared and Wil’s latest Photogram of him kissing a drop-dead gorgeous girl appeared on my screen. An ivy-covered stone house by a sparkling canal framed them, the girl’s light-blonde hair and white dress picked up the colors of the sunset as it blew in the wind, and Wil… Wil was dipping her slim form in a perfect curve. The kind of picture I’d always said I wanted to take with him whenever he showed me pictures of his city. With his photography skills, it looked like something straight out of a magazine, perfect and obviously planned—probably with his stupid tripod and remote. As I read over the English translation he’d put under the German text, “One month with my one true love,” the blood rushed away from my face and the room suddenly grew cold.

  I looked up, saw Kris and Ann watching me from our table, and forced a deep breath. I needed to get out of there and to somewhere I could call Wil without giving a room full of people a show. Taking the deepest breath in the world, I drew my back straight and glided out of the room as fast as my Jimmy Shoos could carry me. I was Audrey Hepburn as Eliza Doolittle, confronting Henry Higgins at his mother’s house, not letting the hurt or anger show on my face. Only when I got out the door did I realize my purse, with my room keycard, was still back on the table.

  I couldn’t go outside and I didn’t want to be the cliché girl chewing out her ex in the bathroom, so the sitting room was my only choice. Luckily, it was empty and I grabb
ed the closest chair to the fireplace so I could blame my reddened face on the heat.

  I looked at my phone again and the stupid Photogram was still there—it hadn’t been a hallucination or a mistake. I started typing in his number, but then Grace’s practical voice popped into my head—why would I want any guy who didn’t want me one hundred percent?

  Because I love—loved—maybe loved him? I dropped my phone into my lap and wrapped my hands under the edge of the chair, my fingernails digging into the soft wood. Without even wanting to, the images popped into my head from our first kiss at the Harvest Fling to our last kiss in the airport, him murmuring “Ich libe dich” in my ear on our last hug.

  The world shattered around me, like the time I dropped mom’s favorite vase onto the kitchen floor. Except this time, the pain was much worse than getting hit by broken glass and radiated from deep in my lungs instead of from outside cuts zigzagging my skin. “Crap,” I whispered, swallowing back the real curses threatening to come out.

  “Em? Is everything okay?”

  My eyes shot open. Kris was right in front of me, a concerned look on his face. I waved him away, wishing my nose hadn’t already started to fill and that my eyes didn’t feel wet. “I’m fine,” I said, mentally cursing how my stuffed nose totally contradicted my words. “You don’t have to worry about me, I’ll be right back. I just need to finish this.” I pointed at my phone.

  Instead of leaving, Kris dragged over one of the other armchairs and put it facing me so that, when he sat down, our knees touched. “Don’t pull that ‘I’m fine’ stuff with me. We’ve known each other too long. Seriously, what’s wrong?” He wasn’t wearing his jacket and I couldn’t help but notice how his shirt color combined with the firelight brought out the gold in his eyes.

  I shook my head, partly to focus, partly to contradict him. “Well, first, you don’t know me that well.” At his patient look, I blew air through my lips. “You don’t.” When he still didn’t move, I shook my head. “What the hell, you’re going to find out the second you get online, anyway.” I pulled the Photogram post back up and handed Kris the phone, my hand shaking as much as my voice. “I texted Wil this morning saying I wanted to talk because I was nervous about the competition tomorrow and how I missed talking to him and he tagged me in this, instead.”