by Emma Mills
I blink. The way she says “value” makes it sounds strikingly interchangeable with “love.”
“No,” I say. “Not … not when you put it like that.”
“Okay,” she says fiercely, and then nods. “Okay. So. If you don’t want to date Gideon because you don’t like him, then obviously don’t date him. But if you’re not with him because you think, like, you’re not worthy of love or some bullshit like that, then reevaluate the situation with that in mind, okay?”
I nod.
“Good.” She looks away, fussing with her straw again.
“Don’t think that just because you said a bunch of nice stuff about me, I won’t poke you for making that sound,” I say when I can speak again.
“I would expect nothing less,” Iris replies.
The door to the studio opens then, and Del comes out into the hall.
“You’re here,” she says.
“I am.”
“Everyone okay?”
I nod.
“Good,” she says. “We’ve got work to do.”
fifty-five
The costumes have all been moved upstairs to the dressing rooms, so that’s where Caris, Del, and I end up, running around and making sure everyone has everything they need. A junior named Alyssa Peters does makeup for the fairies; apparently she and Del worked together on creating distinct “looks” for each of them.
I’m helping Kaitlyn tie up the ribbons on her top—it’s sort of a deconstructed corset—while Iris is having her makeup done. I look up in the mirror as Alyssa applies a thick glitter under Iris’s eyes, running down onto her cheeks. Iris sticks her tongue out at me when she notices me looking.
Del comes by when Alyssa is finishing with Iris.
“Kaitlyn’s next,” she tells Alyssa as Iris gets up out of the chair. “What’s with your hair?” she says to Iris.
We’ve made a number of different hairpieces for the fairies. Mostly old jewelry—pins and brooches and parts of necklaces—attached to bobby pins and barrettes, but also random things attached to them as well, like plastic figures and Matchbox cars, halves of old compacts and fake flowers.
“What?” Iris says, touching her hair. She’s got one clip in, a gold-painted plastic army man attached.
“Iris. Seriously?”
“You said our hair was self-guided.”
Del gestures to the open chair next to Kaitlyn’s. “Sit.”
Iris sits, and Del begins threading ribbons through her hair and putting assorted clips in here and there. When she’s finished, Iris considers herself in the mirror.
“It looks nice,” she says finally. “Everything … looks good.”
Del gives a curt nod. “Thank you.”
Then she heads off to assist elsewhere.
“You look really pretty,” I say.
“Keep it in your pants,” Iris replies, but I catch her smile in the mirror as she turns away.
* * *
“Hey!” Lena catches me when I step out of the dressing room. She’s all done up as Helena, who looks positively bookish compared to Lena’s usual out-of-school look.
Lena’s holding her script, and for a second I panic—she’s got her lines down, she has to have them by now—but before I can say anything, she flips the script open and points to it emphatically.
“I figured it out,” she says, eyes bright.
“Figured what out?”
“The whole Demetrius thing. Remember when we talked about it? How it’s messed up that he’s still under a spell at the end? Well, I thought about it, and I was listening to Aimee and Gideon doing their scene yesterday, and I figured it out.”
“What?”
“They’re different spells. The one Oberon places on Titania, he says, the next thing then she, waking, looks upon … she shall pursue it with the soul of love. Then Puck charms Lysander, and it’s kind of like that, he says”—she flips through her script, finds the spot—“When thou wak’st, let love forbid sleep his seat on thy eyelid. You explained that one to Aimee, remember?”
I nod.
“But Oberon charms Demetrius.” She flips through the script again and then starts to read: “Flower of this purple dye, hit with Cupid’s archery, sink in apple of his eye, when his love he doth espy, let her shine as gloriously as the Venus of the sky. When thou wak’st, if she be by, beg of her for remedy.” She looks at me expectantly. “Different spells, right?” she says when I don’t speak. “The ones for Titania and Lysander are like, love whatever thing you happen to look at next. It could be legit anything. Lysander could’ve fallen in love with a … soda can or something, and it would have been fucking hilarious. But the one for Demetrius is specific—when his love he doth espy. When he sees the person he already loves. He loves Helena for real, he’s just … forgotten it. He even says it at the end … his feelings for Hermia, you know, just … melted away. With the spell, Oberon just … brought out what he already felt for her. Reminded him of it.” She looks up at me. “Did I figure it out? Did I do Shakespeare right?”
“I mean … yeah.” I never thought of it like that. “That’s good.”
She beams at me. “You’re a really good tutor.”
“No, that was … all you.”
“I know, right? But still.” Before I can react, she throws her arms around me in a crushing hug. “This is gonna be so fun!” And then she’s off.
Iris appears at my side. “What was that about?”
“Lena gets Shakespeare,” I say.
Before Iris can reply, Sudha emerges from one of the smaller dressing rooms for the leads. When she spots us, she heads over, a look of concern on her face. “Hey, so, no big deal, but Paige is kind of freaking out a little—”
“What?” Iris says.
“And she won’t talk to anyone, but maybe … maybe she’d talk to you.”
* * *
We find Paige in the dressing room, sitting slumped in a chair, full Titania outfit on. Her hair is flowing down her back, shot through with gold and silver ribbons. Several strands of pearls have been twisted together into a circlet atop her head.
She looks up when we enter, eyes red, hands knotted in her lap. “I can’t do it,” she says miserably when she sees Iris. “I can’t.”
I don’t know what to say, but Iris just crosses over and kneels in front of Paige’s chair. “You can,” she says calmly.
“I can’t,” Paige repeats.
“But you have to. Literally everyone is counting on you.”
This is not the tactic I would’ve employed. I probably would’ve gone with something more like “you’re going to do great!” or “don’t worry, you’ve got this!” But Iris just rests her hands on Paige’s knees.
“Look at me. Look.”
Paige looks up, blinking glittery eyelids. Her mascara is still holding, even as tears stream down her face. Alyssa Peters really is a makeup wizard.
“I know it seems scary,” Iris says calmly. “And I know that Claudia has just been waiting for the chance for you to screw up so she can throw on a tutu and go out there and make out with Gideon in front of Mr. Palmer and everyone’s parents and Jesus.”
“I don’t—” I start, but Paige just gives a watery laugh, and Iris goes on.
“But she can’t do what you can do. Nobody can. So we all need you to go out there and do it. You are … so good at this. You’re … fucking … incandescent up there. Okay? And you know me, you know I won’t lie to make someone feel better. So you know this is the absolute truth.”
Paige nods. And then reaches to cup Iris’s face, pulls her in, and kisses her.
I grin.
“I’m sorry,” Paige says, pulling away a fraction of an inch. “For what I said when we broke up. I’m sorry.”
Iris shakes her head. “You were right.”
“No.”
“You were. I’m selfish, and I need to be better. I do. And I want to be better. I want to be someone that you could love.”
“You are someone
that I love.”
“But I want to be someone worthy of that,” Iris says, and there’s a fierceness to it that pricks unexpected tears in my eyes.
“You are,” Paige says so softly, and then kisses her again.
I turn toward the mirrors and pick up a tube of lipstick on the counter just to have something to do.
“You are very unnecessary right now, Claudia,” Iris says when they break apart again.
I smile. “I’ll just be outside.”
fifty-six
Paige goes on.
I watch parts of the show that are broadcast on TV in the greenroom and sneak backstage to watch other parts from the wings. I wait with the donkey head and manage to get it on Noah in record time before his big reveal.
It’s raucous backstage at intermission. Crowded and hectic and wonderful.
I linger in the wings for the start of the second half.
The lights go up on Gideon onstage, wondering what creature it is that Titania has fallen in love with. And then Aimee runs on and declares, “My mistress with a monster is in love!” and the show is back in action.
Someone steps up next to me. It’s Iris. She smiles. Grabs my hand, leans her head against my shoulder. We stand like that and watch the show.
* * *
It’s chaos backstage after the curtain call, but chaos of the best sort. Everyone’s hugging and congratulating and celebrating. I spot Gideon cutting through the crowd, heading toward me.
“You were so good,” I say when he reaches me. “Really, really good.”
His cheeks are flushed, like he’s been exercising, which I guess he kind of has—running around with Aimee, wreaking magical havoc all evening. “I have something for you,” he says. “And also thank you. And also I have something for you. Wait here. Or in the hall? No, wait here, I’ll be right back.”
And he takes off.
I congratulate a few people, and Caris comes and gives me a hug, and then Gideon returns.
“Maybe out here?” he says, and then promptly turns and heads away, out the side door and into the hallway, which is deserted.
He turns to me when we get out there. He looks in disarray, his necklaces askew, his hair wild.
“Here,” he says, and extends a hand toward me.
Resting on his palm is the lime-green daisy barrette.
I don’t take it. I’m frozen on the spot. Frozen at the sight of Gideon Prewitt, space prince, standing in front of me, looking bright and disheveled and tentatively proud.
“It was so crazy before the show, I didn’t get to see you, and I didn’t want to—like, in front of everyone, but we went looking through the Grove, we found it—Noah found it, I’m sorry, I can’t lie. He said I should say I found it but really it was him, and it seemed…” He falters, his hand still extended. “Seemed important to you, and … I mean, this is it, right?”
This is it.
I nod. Take the barrette and put it in my pocket. And then I take his hand, rest it against my cheek, and turn my head to press my lips against his palm.
He just stares.
“What are you doing?” he says.
I loosen my grip, embarrassed suddenly. “Is it—do you not want—”
“No, I want,” he says quickly, moving closer. “I want.”
Me too is what I should say. Me too, ME TOO, but words don’t come out, I just look up at Gideon’s face, at the smile blooming there, with his unfathomable dimples and his eyes that you need GoogleMaps to find your way out of, warm and bright and shining.
You were so silly, denying yourself this, I think. You were so foolish. Thank God you know better now.
His smile dims momentarily. “But I thought … you said that you didn’t…”
I shake my head.
“I do.”
His brow wrinkles the slightest bit, the softest concern. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” And I fight the urge to sway even closer, because I want him to see my face, I want him to know, for certain, when I say this: “Before, I was just … I didn’t mean what I said at Homecoming. I’m so sorry. That I said it. That I let you think that. I was just scared.”
“Of what?”
“I guess, just…” I shake my head. “Sometimes it’s hard to know if something’s for real? It’s hard to believe it, even if you want it to be real. Even if you want it so badly. Sometimes it seems … safer, you know. Not to risk it.”
He nods, and I’m not sure if he understands, I’m not sure I’m making any sense at all, but he looks at me and there’s barely any space between us now. “So you do … like me like that?”
“Yes.”
“So if I kissed you…”
“Yes.”
One corner of his mouth ticks up, the dimple reappearing. “I should probably … do that, then.”
“Or we could keep talking about it.”
He grins full-out now, and then we kiss.
Just once, soft and light. His lips part just the slightest bit, and when we break apart, he lets out a breath. I think for a second he’s going to say something, but then he brings one hand to my waist and kisses me again, fuller, deeper, longer. I thread my fingers through his hair, and I can hear a faint buzzing from inside the auditorium, the muted sounds of many voices talking at once, but I can’t hardly remember what they’re all doing there, can’t hardly think of anything but this.
Awesome sells it short. Any positive adjective I can possibly think of is not good enough, not potent enough, not worthy to describe it. It’s just … something else.
When we finally separate again, I rest my forehead against Gideon’s.
“You know what?”
“Hm?” He sounds a little dazed.
“That had everything on my must-have list,” I say, and then drop down to a whisper: “Luxury. Affordable. Industry standard.”
Gideon lets out an unholy snort, and I dissolve into giggles. I bury my face in the crook of his neck, and we both laugh, holding each other tight.
fifty-seven
“Thanks for coming to the show,” I say. It’s late, and Zoe and I are in bed. My back is resting against the headboard, my knees pulled up to my chest. I feel wide-awake, like I just got a hundred hours’ sleep.
“I wouldn’t have missed it. A-plus costumes. Stupendous. And the show was good, too, I guess.” She cuddles Mr. English closer and then looks up at me. “But before we get into the whos and whats of the fancy school theater scene, I need to know what it was like to kiss the space prince. I need … a full-length analysis.”
I consider it for a moment. I could consider it for a lot of moments, if left unchecked. Not just the kiss in the hall outside the auditorium, but the ones in the parking lot afterward and at the cast party and on the street outside after the cast party. Gideon with his cheeks flushed and his eyes bright, close enough that he was blurry, saying I like you, you know. Like so much, so much, so much—each one punctuated by a kiss to a different place.
“Like going into an instance,” I say. “Like … existing apart from everything else.”
Zoe just looks at me for a second and then gets out of bed and begins circling the room.
“What?”
“That was so sappy, I have to walk it off.”
“It’s not sappy, you asked me to—you said I should—”
She’s hopping around now, flapping her hands. “Walking it off.”
I throw an arm over my eyes and laugh. “Sorry. Yeah. It’s silly. But—”
“It’s also sweet,” she says, crawling back on the bed. “Really sweet, Claude.”
It’s quiet for a bit, both of us just thinking. Until I finally turn back to Zoe and say, “I have to tell you something.”
“Oh shit. Are you and Gideon running away into the woods to get married? Because I just saw a play about the dangers of that.”
I grin. “No.”
“What is it then?”
“I really like TION. Like, I kind of love them.”
&nbs
p; Zoe smiles. “I sort of got that impression.”
“Like, not even a little bit ironically. I genuinely love them. If one of them needed a kidney and I was a match, I would genuinely give them my kidney.”
“Would you give me a kidney?”
“I’d give you both kidneys.”
She wraps an arm around me. Rests her head against mine for a moment.
Tomorrow, we’re going to see Julia and Mark, and I’ll meet Jack for the first time. The nurse will tell us that the tallest oaks were once the smallest acorns, and Julia will smile at her but make a face at me when the nurse leaves. My son the acorn, she’ll say, and laugh and wipe her eyes.
The show will go on again that night and be every bit as wonderful. And I’ll call Gideon when it’s over and talk to him long after everyone has fallen asleep, the phone growing warm against my ear. As we say good night, I will want to say I love you. I won’t say it. But just the thought of it will keep me awake long after. The best kind of awake, the purest caffeine pumping through your veins, where you never want to stop feeling what you’re feeling, can’t bear the thought of interrupting it, even with sleep.
But right now, it’s me and Zoe.
“Okay,” she says. “I know you have pictures of TION somewhere. Walk me through it. Give me a crash course.”
I smile, reaching for my phone. “Let’s start from the beginning.”
acknowledgments
Sincerest thanks to Kate Farrell and Bridget Smith, my editor and agent dream team, without whom this book would not exist. Thank you to the creative and dedicated people at Macmillan/Henry Holt, in particular Brittany Pearlman, the Ravenclaw you want for your publicity; Rachel Murray, who never fails to brighten my inbox; and the Fierce Reads team (wizards, all of them). Thank you to Liz Dresner for another amazing cover design, with special thanks to Maricor/Maricar for the beautiful work of art.
As always, thanks to Mama, Papa, Hannie, and Cap-Cap. To Rachel and Shawn, for Battle Quest, Viola Constantinople, and late-night boss battle discussions. To Becky, Sara, and Wintaye—the “both kidneys” friends of my childhood/teens/beyond. To Rochelle, the best beta reader, whose opinion I treasure in writing and science and life alike. To Danting, for naming the Huangs, and Andrew, for taking us climbing. To Jing, for the very thoughtful business name, and for putting up with me in lab. To Pei-Ciao and Jiyoon, for all the love and support (and snacks!). To Lakshmi, for being an incredible friend, and lending your last name! To Eshaani, who I love to chat music with. To Sean (TunafishTiger), for recalling the Lord of Wizard at just the right moment. To Lauren James, for delightful correspondence and the best fic recs. To Leigh Bardugo, who is as wise as she is kind, and as kind as she is talented (and she’s really flipping talented).
