I’m staring blankly at my desk when my pathetic note is slid back toward me, the neat, square nails of Max’s fingers tapping the corner where he’s written Turn me over.
I peek up at him, noticing the way his sharp cheekbones angle upward when he smiles.
I hope he doesn’t notice that my hand is shaking as I turn the folded technical crew form over and read his note, written in tiny capital letters that lean toward the right.
Welcome to the crew.
I bite back my smile and feel my cheeks flush warm, embarrassed that I kind of feel like crying.
He licks his lips. “So, not to be pushy, but do you think you could help me after school? We got new mics, and I want to hook them up and test them.”
No. This is just too much. I begin to shake my head, but Max hurries to continue, “We can watch auditions from the booth. It’ll be fun. And I’ll give you a ride home. Please?” He punctuates his plea with another smile.
Not fair. How am I supposed to say no to a please like that?
I touch his written words and nod as an answer.
When I look up at him, he’s beaming. Characters like to beam in books. I’ve read that expression so many times, but you rarely get to see it in real life. It makes my face feel deliciously warm, like when you close your eyes and tilt your face up to the sun on the first warm day of spring. His smile feels like spring.
Scene Five
[The theater at Sandstone High]
The technical booth hums with electricity. A panel in front of us blinks like a distant constellation. Below us, the theater stretches out. Rows of darkened seats with garnet cushions radiate outward from the stage. The house lights are down, and a single spot illuminates the black painted wood of the stage floor. There’s one small pool of light in the audience where the director and his student aide are sitting with small lights clipped to their notebooks.
Max explained that the whole backstage crew wasn’t needed today since the theater arts teacher, Mr. Owens, prefers to do individual auditions without mics and by lighting the stage with only the giant spotlight. Max is all the crew he needs for auditions. Which means it’s just Max and me in the booth, floating up here in what feels a little like a space capsule.
Onstage now, Darby stands in the spotlight. She’s the last to audition. She’s not wearing her purple boots and shorts. Instead, she’s swapped them for a simple pair of black ballet flats and dark skinny jeans.
“Why’d she change?”
“Because she’s smart,” Max explains. “She’s showing Owens that she can be a blank canvas. Darby’s the Queen of Hearts of the drama club. She gets the roles she wants or it’s—”
“Off with their heads.”
Max nods. “Except, she and Owens haven’t been seeing eye to eye lately. And since we lost the one-act competition last spring, things have been even rockier between them. She may be the Queen, but he can be a petty tyrant.”
We listen to Darby’s monologue. She’s good.
“I can’t find her tell.”
Max leans closer. “It’s because she never stops playing a role.”
I think back to our exchange in class this afternoon. Was she just pretending to want lobster claws and medium-rare steaks? Perhaps she would prefer beaver teeth and pancakes? Even if that was part of an act, she was dead serious about her future.
She finishes her monologue and Owens’s aide joins her onstage to read lines. In the ten seconds between playing one character and another, she slips back into Darby Jones mode—impatient toes tapping out a staccato rhythm on the wooden stage floor—and I realize that the girl we see every day in classes, domineering the drama club, wearing her purple boots, is an act. I have to admire her dedication.
“She’s one hell of an actress,” I whisper and Max nods. “It must be exhausting to be onstage all the time.”
“Drammies live for that stuff, though.”
“Drammies?”
Max grins. “That’s what we call them.” He nods toward the stage. “Those who live for the light and spectacle.”
“Actors?”
“Yep. Egotists, all of them.” Owens interrupts Darby and says something to her while gesturing wildly with his arms like a maestro conducting a full symphony. “And there’s the biggest ego in the bunch,” Max mutters as he fiddles with a dial on the panel in front of us.
Darby’s audition wraps up, and I can tell the student aide is talking to Max through his headset in the way he tilts his head to the left and presses his lips together.
Turning to me, he says, “Time to test the new mics.” He digs a handful of cords and gadgets out of one of the boxes pushed up against the back wall of the booth, and sets to work plugging things in and programming the computer and generally looking really competent around all this tech stuff.
By the time Max has set up everything, the theater is empty and dark, except the one spotlight still lighting the front of the stage. Max motions for me to follow him out of the booth. Mr. Owens and Darby are the last to leave. She eyes me as I follow Max but doesn’t say anything. Instead, she pushes past everyone in a burst of speed, reaching the exit first.
“I’m heading out, Maximo,” Owens calls. “I’ll be in my office for a bit, if you need me.” His voice is loud in the darkness, and I hurry to wait for Max at the bottom of the steps.
“Aye aye, captain.” Max salutes. The back door closes as Max climbs the stairs to the stage.
I falter at the bottom, peering over my shoulder to be sure the place is truly empty. The seats are full of shadows and no one else.
“Come on,” Max says, his voice buoyant like we’re next in line for the roller coaster, not just stepping onto an empty stage.
I meet Max at the center of the stage. Looking out into a wall of light, it’s like getting a glimpse of an event horizon. Charlie says that’s the edge of a black hole, the rim between all the light of the universe and the deepest darkness. I can’t see anything, and there’s no one in the empty seats to see me. It’s the safest place I’ve ever stood. Like I’m the only human who ever was.
Max stirs next to me, and the spell is broken. “Cool, huh?”
I nod, afraid the infinite depths of the black hole before me will swallow my voice if I speak.
“May I?” Max is holding the hands-free mic and earpiece toward me. His dark eyes reflect the light of the spotlight. I nod again.
He pushes a strand of hair away from my neck as he fits the earpiece in my left ear, and my skin prickles. His fingertips brush along my cheekbone as he straightens the small mic there. I focus on the event horizon, feeling weightless.
Max is wearing heavy black headphones with a mic. When he speaks, his voice is both solid and soft in my ear. “Test? Test? Can you hear me, Becca?”
I’m grounded again.
Max smiles. Not using his headset, he speaks to me. “I need you to say something.”
I don’t think I need to say anything. He has to be able to hear my heart pounding through the mic. But he’s determined, coaxing me, gesturing with his hand like he can waft the words his way.
“Hi.”
It’s a small word, but the mic throws it into the black hole around us; even the farthest shadows can hear me.
“Perfect,” Max says. “I’m going back to the booth to check the levels. You stay here and keep talking.”
“About what?”
“Lady’s choice.”
Within moments, the darkness swallows him. I watch the booth, waiting to see him appear in the window. I have to shield my eyes with one hand and squint. And then he’s there. He waves. I smile.
“Tell me a story.” His voice roots itself in my ear.
What to say? I grab a lock of my hair and whirl it around my index finger. “You remember that I had a friend, Charlotte,” I begin, letting go of my hair and clasping my elbows behind my back. “Remember her? From history?”
“Yes.”
His affirmation makes me stronger. “She had can
cer—brain tumors that metastasized. You probably remember that, too. Anyway, she had this tattoo.” I point to the spot where my neck meets my shoulder. “I loved that tattoo. I used to doodle it in my notebooks in class. Infinity and hope.”
I’m surprised at how comfortable I am. Sharing Charlotte with the darkened theater is easy. It feels like the heaviness is leaching away from me with every word. I squint into the light toward the booth, but I can’t make out Max’s expression. “I was just an outline of a girl when Charlotte arrived. She filled in all the lines with color and life and, I don’t know, good stuff.”
I’m standing at the edge of the stage. Below me the orchestra pit is a gaping mouth. The music stands glint in the spotlight like braces on crooked teeth. “Now that she’s gone, I feel unmade again.”
Max has gone silent in my ear, but I’ve got nothing else I’d like to say, so I just breathe and feel the warmth of the light. I feel a little like I’m floating. I haven’t felt this light in months, like telling the scary truth I’ve been holding has set it free.
“Becca?”
I look up. “Yes.”
“Do you know any lines from Romeo and Juliet?” I nod. I don’t tell him I read it last night. Don’t tell him it’s in my bag up in the booth right now. “Could you recite a few lines?”
“Um, yeah, I guess.” I take a few steps back away from the edge and close my eyes, calling up the words on the pages in my memory.
“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other word would smell as sweet. So Romeo would, were he not Romeo called, retain that dear perfection which he owes without that title. Romeo, doff thy name, and for thy name, which is no part of thee, take all myself.”
I open my eyes to the stillness around me. It’s not crushing me like the quiet at home. It cushions me.
A door closes at the back of the theater. I look toward the booth.
“Max?”
“I’m here, Becca.” He is leaning over the board, his hand pressed against the glass, and I can’t help but think of Juliet up in her window waiting for Romeo.
Scene Six
[The cafeteria]
I read 681 pages over the weekend. Two and one-quarter books I finished. Three different characters reminded me of Max.
I’m halfway to my normal seat in the cafeteria on Monday when I glance up from my book and freeze. Am I early? Late? Why are there people sitting at my table?
The boy Max pointed out the other day, Victor, is there, along with the girl, Kelli. I actually recognize her from history, too. She wears funky, purple cat-eyed glasses that make me think of the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland. There’s another guy I recognize from my biology class last year, with hair the color of wet sand. As I watch, a third guy slides onto the bench beside the biology boy, swiping Biology’s water bottle and taking a big swig from it.
I take a step backward, thinking of parallel universes and collapsing realities, and wonder if I somehow stepped through a wrinkle in time. Perhaps this is what lunch looks like for me in an alternate life?
Before I can retreat much farther, Max approaches the group carrying a tray from the lunch line. He sees me and waves me over. I notice my usual seat is still empty. Max slides into Charlotte’s seat, smiling at me, waiting for me.
I could go over there, or I could go to the library and read. I’m not really all that hungry.
You’re starving, Charlotte’s voice whispers in my head.
She’s right. As usual.
Max stands as I approach the table. “Everyone, this is Becca.” He takes my books and sets them on the windowsill behind us. “Becca, these are some of the techies.”
“The only ones worth knowing,” Victor says, reaching across the table to shake my hand. The guy holding the stolen water sighs. Victor nods toward him. “That’s Greg. You’ll have to excuse him. He’s in his angst phase.”
The guy from biology snorts into his chips.
Greg’s dark face flushes. “I’m not angst-y. I’m Victor-intolerant.” He smiles at me. I like the way his deep-set eyes crinkle when he smiles.
“Well, we all suffer from bouts of that,” Max says. “So Victor and Greg.” He points to each as he introduces them. “That’s Miles.” Miles from biology with the sandy hair, I repeat in my head. “And this is Kelli,” Max finishes, nodding to the girl from history who is sitting on his other side. She blushes right to her hairline where an abundance of curls cascade to her shoulders.
My insides feel like they’ve been run through a blender, but I smile and nod at them each in turn. “Nice to meet you all.”
Those are the first words I’ve said out loud today.
The gang, as Max called them, quickly fall into their routine, telling stories, talking over each other, and joking. No one pays much attention to me, which is nice. I drift along in their current without having to paddle.
That is, until Darby comes storming over, churning up waves like a hurricane.
She stops nearly on top of me and fists her hands on her hips. “What are you playing at?” she asks, her expression needling me like icicles.
I look up at her, my mouth flapping open and closed, no words, no comprehension, no idea how I got here.
Max leans forward on his elbows. “What’s the problem, Your Highness?”
A muscle in her jaw twitches before she unlocks it to answer him. “I just saw tomorrow’s callback list for Juliet.”
Max rolls a hand at her. “And?”
“And her name is on it.” She spits out the word her as she juts a purple-nailed finger toward me. “Which I think is strange since she didn’t even audition.”
Max’s face is a bit pale when I look at him. “Max?”
“Don’t play stupid.” She slaps her palms down on the table, leaning over me to get in Max’s face. “Mr. Owens said he saw her when he stopped by the booth yesterday. He said you had her mic-ed, and she was blabbing about the cancer girl from last year. Said she looked perfectly vulnerable, just like he’d always envisioned Juliet might look.”
Beside me Max inhales sharply, swearing under his breath. This is why Max had me recite those lines? It had nothing to do with mic levels, whatever the hell those are.
Victor’s grinning so big I can barely see his eyes. “Owens wants you to play Juliet.” He holds up a hand for me to high-five across the table. “This is awesome.”
Darby curls her lip at Victor before turning her venom back to me. He pulls his waiting palm back, cradling it in his lap. “Watch yourself,” Darby says, moving so her face is now a foot from mine. Her voice is quiet in the small space between us.
She turns and tromps away, bulldozing an unsuspecting bystander with her shoulder on her way out.
My whole body trembles, so much I’m sure Max and Kelli can feel the bench we’re sitting on quake. I stand and face Max. “You lied?”
“What?” Max is on his feet beside me. “No.”
“You were just checking out the new mics?”
“Yes, and then—” Max paces in the small area between tables. “Shit, Becca, I’m sorry.” He stops pacing and starts wringing his hands. “Owens stopped by the booth on his way out. I didn’t—”
I grab my books to go. I should be in the library right now. I should be turning a page in a book, not turning away from a table of kind faces.
Max stops me, his hand light on my shoulder. “Look, it’s no big deal. Owens is probably trying to give Darby a scare. No one else even auditioned for Juliet. She could use the competition.”
Max runs a hand through his hair, tugging it away from his face. “It’s really no big deal. Just don’t go to the callback, then there’s no problem.”
“The problem isn’t whether I go to some callback or not.” I hug my books to my chest to keep my arms from shaking. “The problem is that the Queen of Hearts wants my head on a platter. And the boy I thought might be a friend is keeping secrets from me.”
“I wasn’t keeping a secret,” Max says, his voi
ce one part anger and two parts dejection. “I didn’t know there was anything to tell. Mr. Owens stopped in to remind me to lock up when we were done. I didn’t know what he was thinking. I thought he just wanted to hear some lines over the mic. I thought he was impressed by the sound quality.”
Victor snickers. “Dude, sound quality? No one gives a shit about sound quality but you.”
“Shut up, Vic.” Max rolls his shoulders, sloughing off the tension. “Look, I am sorry, Becca, but all I know is”—I can feel Max’s eyes on me and, against my will, I look into them—“you were a natural on that stage.”
His dark eyes are too intense, too easy to fall into, just like the comforting darkness of the theater. I look away, over at the table of faces watching us. Poor Kelli has gone white and stiff, like a starched sheet. Greg and Miles are sitting so close they could be getting ready to run a three-legged race. And Victor, well, Victor looks like he’s trying with all his will to bridle his Labrador-like enthusiasm.
People, the real ones, are complicated, much more so than the ones in stories. There’s no way to know them, all the bits of them. And it’s the things deep inside people, the cancers growing in secret places, that will hurt a girl if she’s not careful.
This boy is dangerous.
“I can’t do this,” I whisper. “Not again.”
Without looking back, I retreat from the cafeteria, taking the same path Darby blazed just a minute before me.
Scene Seven
[The library at Sandstone High]
I have Spanish after lunch, and I immediately ask Señor Alvarado for a library pass. Once in the library, I slump in my favorite chair, hidden at the end of the long, narrow rows of book stacks. I don’t want to deal with any more people today.
I know Max was trying to help by introducing me to his friends and making me feel comfortable. And he did honestly look as surprised as I felt when Darby told us—loudly—about my name on the callback list.
I pull my copy of Jane Eyre from my bag. But when I open it, the words all sort of swim on the page. I read the same sentence four times.
Life After Juliet Page 4
