I tried not to think about it as makeup and wardrobe poked and prodded, spraying stray hairs into place and coating my face with powder. But twenty minutes later, when I walked back into the shop, I felt a fresh burst of nervousness. This time it had nothing to do with set design, but everything to do with Cabe. His eyes found me the second I stepped through the door. I told myself I had to be imagining it, but as Jillian set us up for the scene, I kept feeling his glance. The second I looked his direction, though, his eyes would shift.
Finally, Jillian signaled that we were ready to begin filming, and we took our designated spots. The cameras began rolling, and I managed to get out my first line: “So, are you ready for the dance tomorrow night? Tia’s excited.”
“Absolutely!” Cabe said, exuding confidence in his Prince Dalton character. “Any princ—I mean, any person can dance.” I nearly laughed at the cheesiness of that line from the script, but caught myself in time. “What, you think I’m bluffing?” Cabe asked teasingly, then took my mop and leaned it against the wall. “Here. I’ll show you.”
Cabe bowed formally. My job was to keep a straight face for at least a few seconds, which was difficult when he took my hand and began waltzing stiffly around the room with me in that old-fashioned way I’d seen people do in Jane Austen movies. Our outstretched arms formed a square of space between us, and our backs and heads were rigid. We bumped into two tables, then knocked over one of the chairs. That was my cue to break away from him, laughing.
“That’s perfect,” I said between giggles, “if you’re attending a ball in Buckingham Palace.”
Cabe looked indignant. “I thought that was how everyone danced?”
“Not quite.” I smiled at him, but already my heart was racing at what the script said I had to do next. “Here. Let me show you.”
I took his hands and placed them on my waist, then put my hands on his shoulders. “When you dance with Tia, you dance closer,” I said softly, barely able to eke out the words over my roaring pulse. “Like this.”
Simeon’s iPhone began playing a ballad, and I led Cabe in a slow dance, swaying in time to the music. I knew that background music would be dropped into the film later on, but for now the phone was how we kept the beat. We moved in a small circle, navigating to avoid knocking into booths or chairs.
I took a breath, hardly believing I had to say the next line. “And you don’t look at the ground when you dance with her. You look right into her eyes so that she knows that you’re only thinking of her.”
“Like this?” Cabe asked.
My heart bounded as he locked his eyes on mine. I nodded weakly. I could get lost in those eyes; staring into them was like swimming through a warm blue ocean. The rest of the room fell away, until it was just the two of us.
“This is … nice,” he whispered.
His arms tightened around me, pulling me closer. His chin grazed my forehead. My eyes instinctively began to close, and for one breathless second, I thought he was leaning toward me, and my face lifted to meet his …
“Cut!” Jillian’s voice was a wall rising up between us, and instantly we pulled apart, dropping our hands, clearing our throats, and looking everywhere but at each other. A few curious whispers flitted around the room, and a couple of the assistants giggled behind their hands. Were they whispering about me and Cabe, about what had just happened? I blushed. What had just happened? Nothing. Of course nothing.
“That was great,” Jillian said briskly as she swept by with her laptop and a slew of assistants.
“It was,” Simeon seconded. “You two are a regular Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers.” He leaned toward Cabe, adding, “Easy on the charm, though, Prince Dalton. You’ve got to save some for Tia.”
My blush deepened, and the color rose in Cabe’s face, too.
“Simeon’s right,” a familiar voice said, and I turned to see Kiri at my shoulder. “Tia’s the love interest,” she added to me. “You’re the friend.” Her smile was thin, wavering. She looked from me to Cabe and back again. “Sheyda, did you tell Cabe that he’s the first guy you’ve ever danced with?”
I avoided Cabe’s eyes. “School dances make me—”
“So nervous!” Kiri finished for me. “I’ve caught her hiding in the bathroom a few times.”
“Kiri …” It might’ve been true, but she didn’t have to overshare. Irritation burbled inside me. Not once in the entire time we’d been friends had Kiri ever truly ridiculed my shyness. I blurted, “Maybe I just want to do things in my own time, on my own terms.”
My voice was hard, and Kiri’s eyebrows shot up, but I kept going. “Maybe I’ve never wanted to dance with anybody before.” Oh no. No, no, no! Had I actually said that? In front of Cabe? I snuck a glance at him. He looked surprised, but there was an amused smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
“I mean,” I stammered, trying to backpedal. “Of course our dance was acting. And you’re nice to dance with, but I wasn’t saying … I didn’t mean—”
“Breathe, Sheyda,” Kiri interrupted. “We got what you meant. You’re only a wallflower when you choose to be.”
I stared at her. This was mean-girl talk; not at all like the Kiri I knew and loved. My anger boiled fresh.
Cabe’s cell rang. Glancing at its screen, he said, “My manager’s calling. I’ll be back in a sec.”
As soon as he was out of earshot, I turned to Kiri. “What’s going on?”
She shrugged, focusing on her toes. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean the way you’re talking about me.”
She stared at me, and then her pursed lips sagged. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.” She frowned. “Yes. I do. Donuts! I’m so sick of them! I spent all morning passing out donuts and coffee in the freezing cold, and you were in here …” She lowered her voice. “Dancing with the guy of my dreams!”
Ohhhhhhh. “It was just a dance, Kiri. Part of the script.”
“Yeah? Well. It looked like more.”
In a flash, I remembered the way Cabe’s hands had felt around my waist, how being so close to him had swept my breath away. As I stood there debating what, if anything, to tell Kiri, Cabe walked back over to us. Kiri turned her attention to him, and I felt a tangible relief at being let off the hook.
“Let me guess.” Kiri gave him a killer smile. “Your manager landed you a lead in a new movie. This one about macarons.”
Cabe laughed. “No, but there’s a Broadway producer that’s considering me for a role in his new musical. He’s given me tickets and VIP backstage passes to Wicked for tomorrow night. Have either of you seen it?”
We both shook our heads. “It’s supposed to be fantastic,” Kiri said longingly.
“Why don’t you come with me to the show?” he suggested.
He’d barely gotten the words out before Kiri was gushing, “I’d love to!”
I smiled, even though my stomach dipped in disappointment. “You just made her day,” I said to Cabe. “She’s been dying to see Wicked for years.”
He grinned at me. “I meant both of you. I’ve got three tickets.”
“Oh,” Kiri and I said together. There was a beat of silence.
“I’ll check with my parents,” I said, “but I’m sure they’ll say yes.” My heart hummed happily.
“After the show’s over, we’ll get to meet the cast and tour the set.” Cabe looked directly at me when he said the last part. “I thought you’d like seeing it. It might help you with your model.”
“I’d love to see it,” I said. “Thanks.” How sweet was it that he’d thought of that! But then I checked myself, trying not to read anything into it. He was just being friendly. That was all.
“Omigod, wait until I tweet this …” Kiri was already pulling out her phone.
“Actually,” Cabe said, “I’d love it if you didn’t. We’ll have private balcony seats, and my manager’s working with the theater’s security so that I can keep a low profile. I’d like to see the
show without a media storm. If that’s okay.”
Disappointment flashed over Kiri’s face. “Sure!” she said, a little too cheerily. “I completely get that. Mum’s the word.” She pocketed her cell, then glanced toward the window, groaning. “Mom’s back. I better go.” She gave Cabe one lingering smile before she blew out the door.
We stood together, looking after her.
“Does she always do that to you?” Cabe asked quietly.
“What?”
“What she did before, talking about the school dances. It was like she was trying to make you feel small.”
“No!” I protested. “She’s never like that.” I shifted my feet uneasily. “You have to know her the way I do. She’s just having an off day.”
He nodded. “Well, for the record, you’re a great dancer.” He blushed and smiled. This smile didn’t exude celebrity confidence. It wasn’t suave or centerfold-worthy. It was goofy, honest, and shy, and I loved every inch of it.
I couldn’t help but smile back. “Thanks.” In that second I knew for certain what my heart had been hinting at with its every racing beat. Forget common sense, forget my stubborn denial and my nonexistent chances. I was falling for Cabe, and that was a big problem.
“I don’t see him anywhere!” Kiri said, leaning over the edge of the balcony and scanning the theater seats below us for any sign of Cabe.
I grabbed the waist of her skirt, just in case she leaned too far. “Kiri, he’s coming. He told us he wouldn’t get here until just before the show started. He doesn’t want to draw anyone’s attention, remember?”
I’d reminded Kiri of this at least ten times throughout the day, but she’d still insisted on having Mrs. Seng drop us off at the theater a whole forty minutes before curtain. I didn’t mind leaving early for the theater, though. It meant forty minutes to live inside my head with Cabe. What I hadn’t mentioned to Kiri was that Cabe and I had been texting since yesterday. He’d spent today exploring the city with his parents and had been giving me play-by-plays, complete with pics:
Cabe: In Battery Park looking at Lady Liberty. BTW, why didn’t you ever mention the glory that is a Sabrett’s hot dog?
Me: It’s the element of surprise that I love best about NYC. Now try a hot pretzel w/ mustard.
Cabe: Just did. Mind blown.
Then, an hour later:
Cabe: There’s a Marvel movie costume exhibit at the Met. I could totally pull off Iron Man.
Me: Really? I had you pegged for a Captain America type.
Cabe: Ouch. He’s a wimp w/ a shield.
Me: LOL. Ok, Tony Stark. Didn’t mean to bruise ur superhero ego.
Cabe: Where should I go next?
Me: Central Park. Check out the Delacorte Theater. There’s free Shakespeare there every summer.
Cabe: Sounds cool.
Me: Outdoor stage. Starlight. To be or not to be. Need I say more?
Cabe: Nerd.
Me: Thank you.
And so it went, until I felt like I’d spent the day with him (virtually, at least) in my city. It was fun, but not only that, the playful tone of his texts and his smiles in his silly selfies made me think he was having fun, too. Which meant that maybe he was starting to give Manhattan a real chance. And that meant maybe he would move here, and that meant I’d see him all the time, and that meant … putty. My heart was absolute putty at the thought.
“Sheyda?” Kiri’s nudge broke through my daydreaming.
“Oh. Sorry.” I blinked as I refocused on our spacious balcony seats in the Gershwin Theater. Once we’d handed an usher our VIP tickets, we’d been led up a back stairwell usually reserved as a fire exit. Then the usher had stocked us with snacks and drinks.
Now Kiri was eyeing me over her Milk Duds. “Where were you just now?” she asked, grinning. “Dreaming about your Romeo?”
I gulped. “Who? What Romeo?” Did she mean Cabe?
She shook her head, laughing. “Romeo and Juliet? Your set model?”
“Oh.” Relief swept through me. “I guess so.”
“Well, give your brain a break tonight. Okay? You deserve it.” She said it so sincerely that I wanted to hug her. We’d been off lately, but maybe this was a sign we were back on track.
“Thanks,” I said, then felt a stab of guilt. If only she knew who I’d really been thinking about.
“I could get used to this,” she said, taking a sip from her Shirley Temple. “First-class treatment all the way.” She fluffed her skirt, fidgeting nervously in a way that was completely out of character for her. “Are you sure I look okay?”
This was the hundredth time she’d asked. “You look gorgeous.”
She did, too. She’d used every last cent of her allowance to buy a new outfit—a pastel pink chiffon skirt and cream sleeveless cowl-neck top. It made her look older and more sophisticated. I had to give her that. She could pull off glam as well as any celeb.
The outfit I’d originally chosen for myself had been more like camouflage. I’d gone with all black—every New Yorker’s fail-safe ensemble. Kiri, though, had taken one look at me when I’d arrived at her house and whisked me into her bedroom, shaking her head. “I can’t let you hang with Cabe Sadler in funeral garb.”
Fifteen minutes later, I’d emerged from her bedroom in a crimson tunic, black leggings, and red booties. The whole outfit was bolder and brighter than anything in the realm of my comfort zone, but when I’d glanced in Kiri’s full-length mirror, I’d been surprised, and cautiously pleased, with the result. The red color gave my skin a nice bronze glow, and Kiri had swept my thick black hair back into a braided half-updo.
Now, as I smoothed the tunic over my legs, the lights in the theater flashed a warning to the audience to take their seats. Just as Kiri was giving me another worried he’s-not-showing look, a hand brushed my shoulder.
“Hey,” Cabe whispered to us, taking the seat in between me and Kiri.
“You made it!” Kiri whisper-shrieked.
“Barely,” he said. “We got stuck in Times Square traffic and I had to get out to make a run for it. I thought I saw someone snap a pic of me walking into the theater just now, but I won’t know for sure until after the show. If there’s a mob of reporters waiting for me outside the theater, that means the word got out.”
“Oh, maybe our picture will make it into the Times,” Kiri said excitedly, but when she noticed Cabe’s grim expression, she added, “but that’s probably just peanuts to someone as famous as you.”
Cabe nodded at her, but his eyes, I noticed, kept returning to me.
“You look amazing,” he whispered as the lights dimmed for good.
I heard Kiri respond with “thank you” before I could say anything, and I let it go. Still, I couldn’t help wondering if his words had been meant for me. My heart skipped a few beats in hopefulness as the curtain lifted.
The orchestra played its opening chords, the stage lights illuminated the imaginative set below us, and the performers took their spots and began to sing and dance. I leaned forward, drawn to the edge of my seat by the excitement of the show. But all the while, I was keenly aware of Cabe’s presence beside me. Every time he shifted in his seat, or rested his elbow on the arm of his chair, I longed to lean in closer to him.
By the time Elphaba and Glinda took their final bows, I was dizzy with adrenaline. We waited until the rest of the audience emptied the theater, and then a tour guide came to escort us backstage.
“Did you like the show?” Cabe asked me as we walked into the shadows of stage left. “I wasn’t sure. You seemed distracted.”
Ha. If he only knew. “I loved it,” I said, but I’d barely gotten the words out when Kiri stepped between us, slipping her arm through Cabe’s.
“My favorite part was when Elphie sang ‘Defying Gravity,’” she said. “But that green stage makeup! The poor girl must’ve felt like she was suffocating under it. I bet her skin still looks green even after she wipes it off.” She turned to the tour guide. “I’d love to know how
you lifted Elphaba up over the stage for that song.”
The tour guide smiled politely. “We use special wires and harnesses for that part of the show.” He motioned for us to follow him onto the stage. “I’ll show you how we do it.”
Kiri led the way behind our guide, holding tight to Cabe’s arm, and that was the beginning of half an hour of Kiri firing off question after question. As soon as the guide finished answering one, Kiri had another one ready. Two or three times, I tried to say something about the placement of the backdrops on the stage and about the construction of the cages for the flying monkeys. Kiri interrupted each time.
I fell into step a few feet behind the three others, figuring that I had a better chance of exploring the set myself than I did trying to get the attention of the tour guide.
“Excuse me,” Cabe said. “Everything you’ve told us so far is fascinating. But I think Sheyda would love to hear more about how the sets were designed and built. She’s a set designer herself.”
The tour guide glanced at me. “Is that so? A budding artist in our midst.”
Cabe grinned at me while I blushed. She’s a set designer. It was the first time in my life someone had ever called me that. Hearing Cabe speak it out loud had made it feel like less of a dream and more of a certainty.
“Well, most tourists only care about the chance to chat backstage with the performers,” the guide said, “so this will be a treat for me.” He walked us to center stage. “Eugene Lee, the set designer, used a clockwork theme.” He motioned toward the giant cogs and wheels hanging high above our heads. “When he was brainstorming the set, he threw an old clock down some stairs, breaking it so that he could look at all its pieces.”
I nodded. “I saw the picture of Eugene’s set model on YouTube,” I admitted sheepishly. “I’m kind of a set design geek.” I glanced up at the enormous silver dragon looming above the stage. “The clockwork dragon is my favorite part.”
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