Enthusiasm

by Polly Shulman

  After the excitement of the dress rehearsal, opening night seemed almost tame. I relaxed into my old role of Headmistress Lytle with a calm and control that surprised me, and I handed over Tanya’s part to Yvette with relief. Yolanda had agreed that after all her sister’s hard work and risky pretending, it was only fair for Yvette to go first.

  Our parents came to opening night—the Rossis sat in the front row, clapping wildly at pretty much everything—but mostly the audience was a sea of boys in blazers. Ravi missed the line he always missed; he smiled his beguiling smile, and the audience forgave him with a laugh. Ashleigh sang loud and clear, Alcott sweet and true. We all hit our high notes and our low notes. The ensemble numbers went smoothly, nobody tripping or crashing. Numb with adrenaline, I watched from the wings as Parr kissed Yvette. I even enjoyed my bow and the applause that came with it. How far I had come from the terror of the audition so many months ago!

  The cast party afterward didn’t last very long, since the performance was only a small part of the packed Founder’s Day schedule. Chris had managed to smuggle in a fifth of vodka, but Mr. Barnaby found it in the prop room and confiscated it with grim warnings before Chris could use it to spike the hot chocolate, punch, and other virtuous beverages provided by the school. Mr. Barnaby, Ms. Wilson, Benjo, and Ned all made speeches. Everyone hugged or hit one another on the back.

  I saw Parr across the room. He looked away quickly. Was he not going to say anything, even tonight? I felt I couldn’t bear it. Everyone was happy, everyone was hugging. Even if he was Ashleigh’s crush, even if he didn’t seem to want to talk to me anymore, at least this one night nobody would think it was strange if I . . . I walked across the room and put my arms around him.

  “Congratulations, Grandison, you were great,” I said, managing to keep my voice steady.

  He hugged me back, hard. “Julia!” he said. “You too—last night, especially.” He looked at me at last, his eyes close enough to burn me with their gas-blue flames, and I thought . . . But then the twins and Emma came over to deliver their own hugs, and he let me go. The party ended soon afterward.

  The second and final performance the next day was much the same as the first, but with Yolanda’s sunnier Tanya and an older audience, Old Boys (alumni) instead of current students.

  After our curtain calls, Dean Hanson and the headmaster took over to make what amounted to a fund-raising pitch. Ned stayed onstage as the Live Performance Scholar, an example of the great things that resulted when Old Boys opened their checkbooks. But Parr slipped away and found me backstage where I was waiting for Ashleigh. “Here—these are for you,” he said. He handed me a bunch of flowers wrapped in blank newsprint.

  Ashleigh came up, carrying an armload of bundled costumes and props. “There you are,” she said. “I don’t think we can wait for Ned—he said it would take another hour. We better get going. Your mom’ll be waiting.”

  “I’ll walk you,” said Parr.

  On the way out of the theater, a woman in the audience stopped him. They had the same eyes. “Snip, that was wonderful,” she said.

  “Thanks, Mom. But not in public, remember?”

  “Oh—right—sorry, Snip, I forgot.”

  “Mother! Matricide!”

  “Sorry, sorry, I mean Grandison.”

  “That’s better. Mom, this is Ashleigh Rossi and Julia Lefkowitz. My mother, Susan Parr. I’ll be right back, Mom, I’m just going to see Julia and Ashleigh out.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, girls. Don’t be too long, Sn—Grandison, your father’s trapped in there with the headmaster.”

  “ ‘Snip’?” I asked as we walked down the drive.

  “It’s short for Parsnip, I’m sorry to say. She’s not supposed to call me that in public. I wish she hadn’t. I love her, and it’ll pain me to kill her.”

  “Snip is better than Junior,” said Ashleigh.

  “It’s better than Parsley or Parboiled. Or Sley or Boiled,” I suggested.

  “Don’t,” said Parr. “It would pain me even more to kill you.”

  “Tridge,” I said. “Terre. Ticipation. Kinglot. Liament.”

  “Enough! Mercy!”

  “All right, Typooper.” I was giddy with relief that we seemed to be on speaking terms again. We approached the end of the drive.

  “When will I see you again?” asked Parr. “You’re coming to the Spring Frolic, aren’t you? I’ll send you tickets. But it’s not until April.”

  “Didn’t Ned tell you?” said Ashleigh. “We’re collaborating on a song cycle. Ms. Wilson said we could—it counts as community outreach. We meet on Thursday afternoons, when the music studio is free.”

  “Oh, Ash! You didn’t say it was Thursdays! I can’t make it then,” I said. “That’s when Sailing meets.”

  “I didn’t know you sailed,” said Parr. “So do I—my father’s obsessed with sailing. Maybe I’ll go out for it in the spring. We could meet on the river.”

  “Not sailing boats—Sailing to Byzantium, our literary magazine,” I explained.

  Parr stiffened. “Oh, I see,” he said.

  Oh, no! He was clearly thinking of Seth. Had I ruined everything? Was there anything I could say? “I wish I could quit—I would, but Dad would kill me, especially now that Insomnia’s over and I don’t have any other extracurriculars,” I said.

  Parr relaxed slightly. “Well, I’m sure I’ll think of something,” he said. “Ski break isn’t that far off, anyway.”

  “Ski break? What’s that?” said Ashleigh.

  “You know—mid-February vacation—Presidents’ Day and all that. Don’t you get off for it?” We shook our heads. “Well, we do,” said Parr. “My parents like to go to Vermont, but I think this would be a good year to stay at our place in Steeplecliff instead.”

  We reached the gate and my mother’s car and said our good-byes.

  When Ashleigh deposited her armload of props and costumes in the backseat, I saw she was also carrying a bunch of flowers in newsprint. Hers were tulips; she looked at mine, which were something tall and lilylike. “Oh, Ned gave you flowers too!” she said.

  “These are from Parr.”

  “Yeah, Ned told me he stole them from the Conservatory. Turkeyface almost caught him,” she said proudly. “It’s just like him to share them with Parr.”

  As we drove away, I saw Parr standing by the gate, looking after us until we turned the corner of the drive.

  Chapter 21

  A Nonstatic Screen Wipe ~ Ashleigh’s new Craze.

  And that was it. No more Midwinter Insomnia. No more Parr. The weeks stretched out before me, blank and numb.

  Ashleigh, lucky thing, began her musical collaboration at Forefield that Thursday, while I stayed at school for the Sailing meeting.

  “Slim pickings here,” said our editor, Eleanor, waving a few pages, the only submissions so far. “Come on, guys, beat the bushes. Pound the pavement—pester the talent. Get your ear in gear. What’s the matter, doesn’t anyone have a masterpiece in a drawer somewhere? Maggie? Andrew? Julie? What’s wrong with you! Come on, Julie, I know you have something squirreled away. Of course you do, you always have ink up and down your arms.”

  “Don’t be shy, Julie,” said Seth. “What about that sonnet you said you were writing?”

  I denied it. Any expression I might have given to my feelings was too private, too sacred for those eyes.

  Since my mother was still at work, Seth drove me home after the meeting. “Don’t you want to show me your sonnet?” he coaxed, parking in front of my house. He was clearly angling to be invited in. “I could help you make the rhyme and meter work before you submit it to the board, if that’s what you’re nervous about. I bet it won’t be too hard to fix it.”

  “There is no sonnet! Leave it alone, okay?” I said irritably, getting out of the car.

  “All right! Sorry. I didn’t realize you’d be so touchy,” said Seth. “You don’t have to be, you know—you’re really a pretty good writer.”

&nb
sp; “Yeah, thanks, see you tomorrow,” I said, shutting the door hard and going into the house quickly.

  I went upstairs and e-mailed Parr. I tried not to, but I couldn’t help it.

  Thanks again for the beautiful flowers. They’ve just finished opening. I have them on my desk, where I can see them whenever I look up. Did Ned really steal them from the conservatory, like Ashleigh says?

  Parr wrote back at once:

  Dear Julia,

  Do you think I would let someone else commit my crimes for me? I stole every one of those amaryllises with my own hands.

  I miss you.

  CGP

  He missed me! The words made my inky arms tingle, and I confess I kissed the screen where they appeared. Did he mean it? Did he miss me as much as I missed him? But what good would all the missing in the world do, when he was there and I was here and Ashleigh lay between us? Almost screaming with frustration, I got a nonstatic wipe out of my desk drawer and cleaned the mark of my lips off the screen.

  When Seth drove me home again a week later, Ashleigh was waiting for me on her porch, wrapped in the big down throw from the Rossis’ couch. “There you are, Julie,” she said, hurrying down the steps. The corner of the throw trailed in the dry grass. “I need to talk to you.”

  Seth set his jaw sourly. By now he must hate Ashleigh as much as my stepmother did, but I was grateful to have a chaperone for the dangerous end of the drive, the most likely moment for a guy to lunge. I knew he wouldn’t do anything with Ashleigh hovering over us. He let me out and drove off at once.

  “Thanks, Ash,” I said after he was gone. “I keep being afraid he’s going to kiss me good-bye. What’s up?”

  She looked grave and uncomfortable. “It’s cold out here. Let’s go up to my room,” she said.

  I followed her upstairs and sat down on her bed. She sat on her desk chair, fidgeting, weirdly quiet.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Why are you acting all weird?”

  “Jules, I . . .” She stopped, took a deep breath, and started again. “Julie, is it really true . . .” She trailed off.

  “What? Is what really true?”

  “Is it true that—is it true what you’re always saying about Ned?”

  “What? Ash, tell me what’s wrong. I don’t understand what you’re talking about. What am I always saying about Ned?” She opened and closed her mouth a few times, but didn’t manage to answer. “What do you mean?” I said. “I’m not the one who talks about Ned all the time—you are. I don’t know why you want to believe I like him, but I don’t. I mean, he’s a nice guy and everything, but I just don’t like him.”

  “That! That’s what I mean,” said Ashleigh. “Is it really true? You’re not just saying that?”

  “What, that I don’t like him? Yes, it’s really true. Why would I be just saying that? I keep telling you it’s true! I keep telling you over and over! Why don’t you want to believe it?”

  “You’re sure?”

  “YES, I’M SURE! Why are you going on about this?”

  “Because—” Ashleigh took a deep breath. “I . . . He . . . We . . .”

  My heart began to pound before I knew why. Then I knew why. “Ash! You like him! Is that it?”

  She gave a strangled nod.

  I had never before seen her speechless like this. I felt like whooping. I threw my arms around her. “Ash! You’re perfect for each other!”

  “You don’t mind, then?”

  “Mind? Why would I mind? That my best friend likes a really nice guy? And he likes you too, right? It’s so obvious! The flowers! The music! Why didn’t I see it? He does, doesn’t he?”

  She nodded. “I think so,” she said. “At least—he kissed me.”

  “He kissed you? What? When? Tell me!”

  It had happened in the soundproofed rehearsal room. “When you spend a lot of time with someone, and you realize all the things you have in common, like music and liking to do fun things like playing little tricks on people and trying out different instruments and really talking about stuff, and there we were sitting on the same piano bench in complete privacy because nobody could hear us, and oh, Julie! He’s so wonderful! He has the most beautiful voice! And his hands are so strong from playing the piano and his left hand has these wonderful calluses from the cello. Don’t you love the cello? It has that soulful, sexy sound—just like Ned’s voice. Kissing him is absolutely nothing like kissing Ravi. He was a little shy, so I kissed him first, but he said afterward that he was about to kiss me a split second later.”

  Once they realized how they felt, said Ashleigh, the only thing that stood in their way was Ashleigh’s loyal determination not to destroy what she thought, generous girl, was my happiness. She still had trouble believing that I was telling the truth—she had trouble believing that anyone could know Ned and not love him as she did. I had to reassure her over and over.

  I considered admitting that there was Someone Else for me too, but I held off. I knew how much trouble she would have turning her focus from the subject that engrossed her—but once she did, there would be no holding her back. My tender feelings weren’t yet ready for the full force of Ashleigh. Besides, I didn’t want to spoil her moment.

  For the rest of the evening she poured out her joy. I soon realized that her new attachment represented not merely a change of love interest, but a full-out craze change. How had I missed it? The signs had all been there: her relenting about whether to expose the lower limbs, the intensity of her interest in Midwinter Insomnia. Her parents had noticed her new enthusiasm for Broadway long before I did—hence the tickets to Fascination! And our visit to Parr’s town house, I now realized, had been for Ned’s sake, not Parr’s.

  “What about Parr?” I asked at length, my heart beating hard.

  “What about him?”

  “You said you liked him back in October—remember? You seemed pretty serious about it.”

  “Oh—yes—well, I thought I did, but that was before I really understood what Love was. You were right after all when you thought Ned was Darcy! Nothing against Parr, he’s a really nice guy, but he’s no Ned. He just doesn’t have the same fire—the talent—the intensity—the inventive good humor—the life. You know what I mean?”

  Smiling to myself, I said I could see how she would think so.

  Chapter 22

  The B-word ~ Seth vanquished ~ a Ring ~ my Sixth Kiss ~ an Acrostic.

  I fell asleep that night in a dazzle of happiness. Honor no longer stood between me and my heart’s desire.

  I awoke the next day, however, to a gray, spitting drizzle and the realization that, although everything had changed, nothing had changed. True, I was free to love Parr. But I wasn’t free to see him.

  Also, I remembered, I had promised in a weak moment to hang out at the Java Jail with Seth that afternoon after school. When I made the promise, it had seemed like ages in the future, too far away to matter; but now the time had arrived. I saw myself sinking slowly into the swamp of Seth’s expectations, while the golden sail of my love twinkled out of sight over the horizon.

  rescue me ash, I text-messaged my friend. meeting seth @java j this aftnn. be there pls. pls pls pls. need you. jl

  you shd dump him already. quit messing around. its too imptnt. dont worry tho ill be there. ash, she TM’ed back.

  And she was. “Jules! Seth! Come sit over here,” she shrieked from the back, patting two seats at her table. I headed stubbornly in her direction, with Seth dragging behind and trying to draw me off to other tables.

  Once we had sat down, Ashleigh pounced on Seth. “As a literary person, what qualities would you say it’s important to look for in poetry if you want to set it to music?” she asked him.

  It was the perfect question, at once flattering and absorbing, and even useful (at least to Ashleigh). After a few increasingly feeble attempts to get away, Seth warmed to the subject. He almost seemed to forget his irritation at Ashleigh and his resentful yearning for me. He turned his face and should
ers toward her, leaving me behind at his elbow. I was never more grateful to Ash.

  Their conversation left my mind free to wander. It headed off in the usual direction—toward Parr.

  And then, as if I had summoned him, there he was. He was weaving his way through the crowded coffee bar in front of Zach Liu.

  “Here you go, Stringbean, a late birthday present,” said Zach with a smirk, pushing Parr forward.

  “Zach! Parr! Hey, have a seat,” cried Ashleigh, pushing out a chair. Zach sat down next to her. “Seth, you know Zach Liu, don’t you?” said Ashleigh. She gave Parr a wink and a kick as she continued with the shocking words, “And have you met Grandison Parr, Julie’s boyfriend?”

  “Your boyfriend!” exclaimed Seth.

  I felt the blood drain to my feet. I looked at Parr with terrified inquiry. He smiled back, a sweet, wicked smile, full of mischief and hope. I took a breath and decided to go with it. “Yes,” I said, “my boyfriend, Grandison. I think you guys met before, right?”

  “Hello, sweetie,” said Parr, coming over to sit next to me.

  “I didn’t realize you were going out,” said Seth stiffly.

  “Oh, we weren’t—then, I mean,” I said. “That is, we . . .”

  Zach looked as if he might burst out laughing at any moment.

  “We were just talking about what makes a poem a true lyric,” said Ashleigh quickly, drawing the attention to a safer corner of the table. “Seth says it’s the meter and the quality of the assonance and alliteration, but what do you think, Parr? Parr wrote all the lyrics for Insomnia. He’s amazing. That’s what brought him and Julie together. She’s really sensitive to poetry,” she babbled.

  I felt the old sensation, familiar from years of Ashleigh: mortal embarrassment. I turned my face away. Parr put his arm around my shoulder. “Are you all right, sweetie?” he said.