“It’s not dirty,” I scoff.
“But it’s fan fiction? Lemme see. I’ll be your best friend.”
I snort. Darby takes the notebook and quickly reads what I’ve written as I try to make myself be still despite the nervous energy zinging through my limbs.
When she’s done reading, she sets my notebook on her lap and runs her fingers around the edges. “This is really good.”
“But.”
She smiles. “But nothing. It’s just really good.” She hands me my notebook.
Below, in the theater, we hear a door open. Owens appears in the booth window as he walks to his makeshift desk on the fourth row and shuffles through papers there. He gathers a few sheets and then proceeds to the stage, sitting himself in one of the banquet chairs. That’s when we notice he’s on his phone. Darby flips a switch and we can hear him over the hanging mics.
“No, no,” he’s saying, glancing down at the paper in his hand. “That shouldn’t be a problem. I can start anytime, anytime at all. I thought you understood that when we spoke last week.” He nods into the phone, listening. Darby and I exchange a look, careful to keep our heads barely visible in the window of the booth. “The school will be fine. This play has been plagued since the beginning. They’ll understand why I’m leaving.”
“Leaving?” Darby mouths.
“Plagued?” I ask.
“Wonderful,” Owens says, throwing his arm out like he’s accepting some silent applause. “I’ll be in to sign the contract today.”
Darby’s fist tightens. “That bastard is leaving?”
“But we’re in the middle of the play. And there’s a scout coming.”
“Ass,” Darby hisses. She stands, and I try to pull her back down, but there’s no stopping her. She slams the button to turn on the spotlight, blinding Owens. “You conniving sneak,” she shouts, but not until she’s flipped the public address system on so that her voice thunders through the theater like an angry god.
Owens clutches his phone to his chest while using the papers in his hands to shield his eyes from the spotlight. “What’s going on? Who’s up there?”
“Were you even going to tell us? Or were you just going to disappear?”
You can see the moment Owens figures out who is speaking. A ripple of fear washes over his face.
Darby doesn’t wait for an answer. “You know what? Fine. Good riddance. I hope you’re happy making other actors miserable, because I’m done with you.” With that she flicks off the spot. The little emergency lamps along the aisles are the only pinpricks of light in a black galaxy.
Darby deflates in the darkness beside me. It’s like watching her shed a costume. “What are we going to do?” One of her soft dreads has broken away from the band at the nape of her neck, and it falls across her cheek as her head slumps forward. “The school will cancel the play. Without the play, I’m stuck.”
I look down at the notebook in my lap, fingering the edges of the pages. Something inside me breaks open, and not in a sad, terrible kind of way. This feels new. Like a rift opening, toppling the old and allowing possibility to take root and grow. I toss my stuff in my bag.
We don’t need Owens to make this play a success. If anything, his leaving is a blessing. He’ll take his ego and melodrama with him, and we’ll be left with a theater full of talented actors and techies with nothing to lose.
“Let’s go,” I say, grabbing her bag, too. It’s time to defy fate. Time to make our own reality. “I’ve got a plan.”
“You do?” She asks as we breach the doors of the theater into the gray corridor.
I pull her along behind me, heading back to Mrs. Jonah’s room. “Well, an idea. You’ll help with the plan part, right?”
“Right,” she says, sounding a bit like a cheerleader. “So we’re going to come up with a plan.”
“Together. But we’ll need Max, too.”
She rolls her eyes, but her smile takes up most of her face. “Of course.”
Act Fourth
Scene One
[Max’s room]
Practice is cancelled after school today (shocking, right?), so Darby and I head straight to Max’s. He’s been getting steadily better each day. I mean, he’s not about to win an arm wrestling contest any time soon, but he can stay awake now for hours at a time.
I’ve been here every day since I showed up Sunday night. Max has forgiven me. Victor can almost look at me. Everyone else is somewhere in between. It’s those ripples again. By hurting Max, I hurt them, too.
When Darby and I arrive, Dezi is bustling about making the strong black coffee he drinks. I introduce them and leave Darby in the kitchen while I check on Max. When I peek in Max’s room, he’s awake. He’s got a pad propped up on his cast and is sketching with his good hand. I’m suddenly overcome with gratitude that it wasn’t his right arm that was broken.
“Whatcha working on?” I ask as I steal across the room and crawl up beside him. His face opens with a wide smile as he wraps an arm around me.
“I missed you,” he says, nodding at the sketch in front of him.
I reach out to trace the lines of my own face mirrored back at me. He’s drawn me with my mouth open, laughing. I look happy. He’s made me happy. I tilt my head and pepper his jaw with kisses. He turns and catches my lips with his, and his kiss is so sweet it makes my heart feel like it’s swelling, too big for my ribcage.
“This is adorable, but do you think you could wrap it up?”
I pull away from Max too quickly, rattling the bed and disturbing his bruised leg. He winces, gritting his teeth. “We cannot get a break, can we?” He kisses my nose before greeting Darby. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, um,” I begin, and when he looks at me incredulously, I bite my lip to keep from laughing.
“You’re kidding me,” he says, studying my face. “You guys are friends now? How long was I asleep?”
“Well, not friends, but—” I peek at Darby. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and she’s got one purple booted foot jutted out, but suddenly she’s not so scary anymore. “Allies?”
“I wouldn’t put up with your whiny shit if we weren’t friends, Becca.” She steps into Max’s room, pulls out his desk chair, and sits, getting down to business. “Now about this plan.”
“What plan?” Max asks.
I explain about Darby and I overhearing Owens and the idea we had about revamping the play.
“We’re thinking Mrs. Jonah would step in as our faculty advisor. Owens never saw any merit in modernizing the play, but with him gone, we can do whatever we want. We don’t need to change the language, that speaks for itself, but let’s change the tone.”
“If we bomb, at least it’ll be because of us, not anything Owens did,” Darby finishes.
“So what do you need from me?” Max asks. I notice his eyes cut to his bandaged side.
I point to the sketches over his desk. “I want to build them.”
“You?”
“Well, me and the gang.” I take Max’s right hand in mine. “I know I can do it. Most of the hard work is done, really. We’ve already built the most important piece together.” I point a finger out his window at the barn, where the catwalk we made has been waiting for its destiny to arrive. “I’ll only need to repaint flats and make a few adjustments.”
Darby stands to look over the set sketches. “You’re going to be a little busy, Becca. If we’re changing the play, you’ll need to relearn the blocking as Juliet. The tempo is going to change, the mood, everything. That’s going to take some work. I don’t see how you’ll have time to do the tech work and the acting work.”
“You’re right,” I say, standing and meeting her. “I wouldn’t have time. But since I signed up to be a techie”—I point at the sketches—“that’s what I’m going to do. You’ll be Juliet.”
“What?” Both Darby and Max ask.
I lay a hand on her shoulder. “That scout is going to be in the audience, which means you need to be onst
age.”
“But I will be onstage. There are no small parts, only small actors, Becca. If I can make an impression on that scout as Tybalt, that’ll be a real testament to my skill.”
My hands fist on my hips. I know what I want. I want to work backstage. I want Darby to play Juliet. And for once—I peek at Max—okay twice—I will get what I want. “Yes, that’s all very noble, but I’m not playing Juliet. The show must go on. What are you going to do about it?”
Darby studies me. My confidence wanes under her acute glare. My hands fall from my hips, and I push my hair behind my shoulders, giving one lock a quick twirl. I try not to look away, but my eyes keep slipping like hers are made of ice. Finally, her wicked grin flickers into place.
“I’m going to make Owens beg to take us back. And then I’m going to laugh in his face.”
…
Victor and the rest of the gang show up at Max’s. We explain the situation, Darby and I. With a nod from Max, everyone jumps into action. Kelli pulls out her costume sketches, and with Victor and Darby helping, she sketches the period costumes to look more modern. Miles, Greg, and I help Max. We sketch out plans for reworking the sets he’s built, adding new modern pieces to the old ones. What we’ll end up with is an almost steampunk Romeo and Juliet, a blending of old and new, then and now. Everything about it feels perfect.
When Max’s eyes start to drift and close, I shoo everyone out of his room. I can hear them in the kitchen where Dezi has made what smells like the most delicious pot of stew ever. But I don’t want to leave Max yet. I only have a few quiet moments with him before he’ll drift off to sleep.
“I still owe you a date,” he says, his voice thick with exhaustion. I finish putting the new set plans in my bag before turning to him. He pats the bed next to him, and I nestle into my place there. “We were supposed to go out, just the two of us. I haven’t forgotten.” His eyes close, and the half smile drifts away from his face.
I push his hair back from his face, tracing the lines of his cheekbone and jaw. “I’m looking forward to it. I seem to remember a promise of ice cream?”
He nods, and I think he’s fallen asleep, but then he asks, “Why did you come back?”
I frown, thinking of how stupid I was to have thought I could walk away from him. “There are many choices I need to make about my life, Max. But you aren’t one of them.”
“I’m not a choice?”
“This feeling, the one I get when I’m with you, it isn’t a choice. It just is. It’s part of me, and I can’t walk away from it any more than I can try to escape from myself.” He tries to open his eyes, but I press small kisses to them. “And I don’t want to. Not anymore.”
“Becca?” Max says, his breathing slow and steady beside me.
“Hmm?”
“Tell me a story about Charlotte.”
I cradle his head on my shoulder and run my fingers through his shaggy black hair, settling in next to him to tell my story. “Charlotte taught me to drive. I mean, I took driver’s ed and all, but I never did the practice hours.”
Keeping his eyes closed, Max turns his face, snuggling into the crook of my neck. I kiss his temple before continuing. “Charlotte thought it was nuts that I didn’t care about getting my license. She just couldn’t understand why I’d forfeit such a freedom. Freedom meant a lot more to her than to me.”
It is the best gift he could ever give me—the willingness to share my memories. It makes me feel less lost. It makes Charlotte feel more real. It makes her a part of my present—a piece of my old life that will always be part of my new one, too.
Scene Two
[The theater]
I climb the stairs to the stage, my whole body threatening to mutiny, stomach feeling weak, and legs like overcooked noodles. The stage is dimly lit, Max’s beautiful traditional sets pushed to the sides. The house lights are also dim, so that when I stand at the edge of the stage and look out, I’m not blinded by the event horizon, but by faces. Mrs. Jonah sits grading essays in the back of the theater. Everyone else is in the front, center section, but there is an unspoken boundary between the techies and the drammies. Max is in the booth. Esperanza brought him just for this announcement.
Mr. Owens was wrong about one thing. The school administration most certainly did care that he was leaving. Especially since they found out about it from us. Darby and I met before school and marched into Mrs. Jonah’s room to propose our plan. None of us thought Owens wouldn’t have already resigned. Actually, maybe Darby did.
Mrs. Jonah went to the administration to confirm everything, and that’s when the clichéd shit hit the fan. Once it was all cleaned and disinfected, we had a new advisor, an extra two weeks until production, and permission to create the performance our way.
Now we just have to get everyone else to join us.
“The stage is yours, Bec,” Max says, his voice like a warm river flowing through my earpiece, smoothing all the jagged edges of my thoughts that are threatening to tear me apart.
I let go of the lock of hair I’ve wound up to my third knuckle and clasp my hands behind my back until my fingertips tingle. I glance to my right and left; I’m flanked by Darby and Victor, but they both nod at me to start things off.
“Right,” I say before I exhale what feels like hurricane-force winds. “We’re going to do the play without Owens, and it’s going to be brilliant, but only if we work together.” In a rush, hoping to get all the words out before they start throwing rotten tomatoes or stones or calculus books, I outline the plan, telling them about the new vision for the play. Everything will be set in a theater. Romeo and Juliet are from warring acting troupes.
Thomas stands, and I stutter in my explanation. Suddenly the only word in my vocabulary is “uh.” Those sitting close to Thomas volley between watching him and turning their attentions back to me. I stop talking altogether, trying not to gnaw off the inside of my lip in a flurry of nerves.
“What if this plan of yours doesn’t work?” There are murmurs all around the theater. “You’ve never done this before, Becca. Why should we listen to you?”
“Because I’m the only one with a foot in both camps.” I take a step closer to the edge of the stage. “And it’s going to take all of you, techies and drammies, to make this play happen. Owens played you against one another, encouraged the tension. But this way you’ll get your chance to prove how amazing you are to that School of the Arts scout—together.”
There’s silence in the theater. The only sound on the stage is that of my own excited breathing.
Darby steps forward to stand beside me again. Victor joins us. “Sounds good to me,” she says.
The queen has spoken.
“Max,” Darby shouts, turning to face the booth. “Get your ass down here and tell us what to do.”
Max’s chuckle over the speakers sounds like the distant rolling of thunder, the kind that lingers as a storm moves farther away. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Screw that,” Darby says. She pantomimes taking an invisible crown from her head and tossing it up toward the booth. “This thing always gave me a headache.”
I catch Max’s shocked expression as he leans close to the window in the booth, and it makes me smile. But it’s a short-lived smile that slips away when I notice Thomas. He’s standing with his shoulders set crookedly, like half of him is ready to join and the other half is holding him back. When everyone else moves to meet Max at the back of the theater, I jog down the stairs from the stage and grab Thomas by the elbow.
“What’re you thinking?”
“Does it matter?” he asks, his voice as flat as the polished floors of the stage. “I’m just a pawn, remember?”
“You matter, Thomas.” My fingers are still perched at his elbow. His blue eyes gaze down at them, and I itch to remove them, but I don’t. “Owens is an idiot, but he was smart to cast you as Romeo. Don’t walk out on us now. The play needs you.”
“What about you?”
“I can’t do this w
ithout you.”
Thomas puts his hand over my fingers, his callused fingertips tapping a rhythm I can’t understand. “Yes, you can.”
I sigh. “You’re right. I can”—I grin up at him—“but I don’t want to. And that’s not all you’re right about. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
He chuckles and rolls his eyes (almost as impressively as Darby herself). “Don’t worry, Becca. I’m not going anywhere. I need this play. I need this chance. At least I still get to make out with you onstage.”
I smack him in the chest with my free hand, and he squeezes my fingers at his elbow before we take a step apart.
“Actually, about that.” I glance at Darby.
He raises an amber brow. “She took your role?”
I shake my head. “It was never really mine. I was just playing a part. In the end, I think I look better in black.”
“You were good out there.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Maybe, but I’ll be happier back there.” I point up at the booth.
Scene Three
[The J & R Salvage Yard]
The gravel crunches under the wheels of my car as I pull slowly down the winding drive that cuts through the salvage yard where Max’s truck was towed after the accident. The hollow, crumpled bodies of vehicles and machines surround us as we make our way to the office where the owner’s son, Reid, has agreed to meet Max.
We’ve got one week left before we open the play. Things have been progressing—maybe not smoothly, but in a generally forward-ish manner. It’s like Dr. Wallace said, sometimes we take a step forward only to stumble back a few. This, I’ve learned, is true both of grieving and living.
As we get closer to the small office building, the smell of rust and rubber tickles my nose. The beat-up cars and junk are packed tighter together the closer we get, like a maze of ruins. The overwhelming volume of wreckage is making me feel like all the goodness in my life is leaching away. The terrifying realization of what might have been threatens to spill from the safe place I’d locked it away and flood my car, washing Max and me out the doors, setting us adrift in different directions.
I park outside the shabby office. Max leans closer, kissing my shoulder. “Breathe, Bec,” he whispers. When I look at him, he smiles and it chases the Dementors away. “I’m right here. I’m okay.”
Life After Juliet Page 23
