“Heidi’s ‘intuition’”—he rolled his eyes—“woke her up. She checked your bed, and you weren’t there, and she freaked out.”
“My carefully constructed pillow person didn’t fool her?”
“Cass. Please tell me you didn’t stuff pillows under your blanket to make it look like you were still in there.”
“Did. Got into bed fully dressed, waited until she fell asleep, built my pillow decoy, and headed out.”
“This isn’t a sitcom, you know.” He rolled his eyes. “Anyway, I was in the lounge, reading … couldn’t sleep … and she forced me into my car to go look for you. Well, after I refused to let her drive my car. I don’t let anyone with such disregard for material possessions get behind the wheel. Anyway, she marched me downstairs and into the car, and here I am.”
“I’m glad you are here,” I said quietly, thankful he was driving so I didn’t have to meet his eyes.
“Me, too,” he said softly. After a small pause, he joked, “I guess it’s a good thing I can’t sleep anymore.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Actually … ” I swallowed noisily, my throat suddenly dry. “It kind of is.”
“How could that possibly be your fault?” He laughed.
“I’m the reason you can’t sleep,” I confessed. “And why your eyes got all red and itchy. Why your room is full of strange noises.”
“Cass, what are you talking about?”
“I decided to … shrew you.”
“What do you mean, ‘shrew me’?” he asked, his brow furrowed.
“Like … in the play. Like Petruchio does to Kate. Taming the shrew,” I swallowed again, uncomfortable.
“Wait a minute.” The tires squealed as Drew came to an abrupt stop, pulled over to the side of the road, put the car in park, and turned to face me. “So all the shitty stuff that’s happened to me this summer, you’re saying you did that? On purpose?”
“Um, yeah. Pretty much.”
“The itchy eyes?”
“Me.”
“The crazy crying baby horns?”
“That’s a vuvuzela, and yeah, me.”
“All my clothes turning pink and tiny?”
“Me.”
“The mouse who ate my food?” His eyebrows marched further and further toward his hairline, rising with incredulity.
“Wasn’t a mouse,” I squeaked in a mouse-like voice. “That was me.”
He stared at me with murderous intent, glowering with rage, for about a full minute, until suddenly, unexpectedly, he burst out laughing.
“You’re not mad?” I asked apprehensively.
“I’m furious,” he said, but he couldn’t stop laughing. He bent over the steering wheel, shaking with mirth. “Furious,” he giggled. “What the hell was that?” He sat up straight, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “Some kind of crazy meta-theater experiment?”
“Well … um … sort of.” I squirmed uncomfortably. The actual road to shrewing Drew seemed even stranger and more implausible than an acting exercise.
“You absolute lunatic.” He shook his head, still smiling. “You beautiful lunatic.”
“You think I’m beautiful?” I breathed. I don’t think a boy had ever called me beautiful before. I had been called a lunatic before, on several occasions, but that didn’t seem nearly as important as being called beautiful.
“Unfortunately for me, I do.”
He tried to pull me in for a kiss, but I placed my hands on his chest, stopping him.
“What do you mean, ‘unfortunately’?”
He grinned.
“I have a feeling you’re gonna spend the rest of your life driving me crazy. And for some reason, I’m looking forward to it.”
“The rest of my life?” Shakespeare’s characters constantly spoke in terms of always and forever, but real teenage boys, in my admittedly limited experience, did not. But the way Drew said it, so casually and confidently, sent this swoop of joy right through me as a huge grin broke out on my face. I couldn’t think of anything I’d rather do than drive him crazy for as long as humanly possible. “If we keep spending time together, that probably won’t be very long. I assume we’ll end up killing each other.”
“It’d be worth it,” he said simply. “I’d rather have a scene with you than five acts with anyone else.”
“Cheesy,” I teased. I didn’t really think it was cheesy. It was so nice I had a sudden urge to write it down so I’d never forget. But it was like my mouth refused to agree with my melting, mushy feelings and continued to soldier on sarcastically without me.
“That was an extremely well-constructed theatrical metaphor, and your objection is, quite frankly, offensive. Come on, Cass.” The way Drew said my name it sounded almost like a caress. “Cheesy can be nice. It can’t be all banter, all the time.”
“Banter is underrated.”
“God.” He ran his thumb along the side of my jaw, sending a tingly shiver straight up my spine. “I really must be crazy.”
“I’ve said it from the beginning. You’re insane.”
“Peace,” he said firmly. “I will stop your mouth.”
He pulled me in to kiss him, and this time, I didn’t resist.
CHAPTER 21
Eventually we had to drive back to the boathouse. We were now mere hours away from the sun rising and the show opening. So much for Nevin’s exhortations to get lots of sleep. I leaned my head contentedly against the window of the car, watching Drew’s cute frown of concentration as he drove. I knew there was a big, stupid, goofy smile on my face, and I didn’t even care.
“Crap,” he muttered, frown deepening. “I think someone’s up.”
“Are you serious?” I sat bolt upright, straining against my seatbelt as I peered into the darkness, trying to discern whatever—or whomever—Drew had seen in the gloomy darkness.
“Yeah. There’s someone there. I can see who through the screen door.
“Oh, shit.”
“Oh, shit is right. If that’s Langley we are seriously screwed.”
“You really think she’d kick us out? Right before the show?” My voice was getting all high and panicky. I knew I deserved nothing less for how recklessly I’d acted, but I really, really didn’t want to ruin the show. And now I’d taken the leading man down with me. Please have it not be Langley, I prayed silently. Please not Langley. Hopefully it was just a raccoon or something. I wasn’t sure why a raccoon would be clinging to our screen door, but this was Vermont. Practically the wilderness. Stranger things had happened.
“Why not? She’d have every reason to. We’re in violation of about fifteen different rules right now.” Drew pulled the car into the driveway and parked. “Well, if we’re going down, there’s no one I’d rather go down with.”
I smiled. “We’ll always have Vermont.”
He tilted my chin up with his hand. “Here’s looking at you, kid.” He kissed me once—quickly, fiercely—and then we prepared to meet our doom.
But as I got out of the car, I saw that the face in the screen door wasn’t Langley’s. It was worse, a thousand times worse. That bright blond hair was easily distinguishable, even in the unlit stairwell. Amy. Oh, Amy. What had I done?
Drew tried to grab my hand, but I ran ahead of him to push open the door. Amy stepped back to let me in.
“Amy!” I whispered urgently. Drew walked in behind me and carefully closed the door, minimizing any creaking sounds. “What are you doing up?”
“I heard a car start. It woke me up.” Drew and I exchanged glances. Could that have woken Langley, too? Our window happened to overlook the parking lot, but the walls in the boathouse were awfully thin. “Heidi was awake, and you were gone. I decided to stay up because I was worried about you. Clearly, I shouldn’t have been,” she said coldly, her eyes flicking back and forth between me and Drew.
“This is not what it looks like. At all.”
“Really? Because it looks like you
were kissing.”
“Okay, well, that part is what it looks like. But—”
“I’m sorry, is it a problem that we were kissing?” Drew interrupted. “I’m confused.”
“How long has this been going on?” Amy demanded.
“All summer, really,” Drew answered.
“All summer?” she gasped.
“No!” I shouted. “No,” I repeated more quietly, conscious of waking up the house. “This only happened this one time. Just once. And it was an accident!”
“An accident?” Drew sounded like he’d been punched in the stomach.
“It was like some kind of post-traumatic stress reflex,” I said desperately. “There were knives! Knives flying everywhere! And blood. So much blood. And a bear!”
“What, were you held captive in an Elizabethan circus?” Amy asked sarcastically. If anything she looked more hurt than before. “At least respect me enough to come up with a convincing lie.”
I’d seen Amy cry before, but this stiff coldness was infinitely more awful than tears could ever be.
“I’m not lying! And I never meant for anything to happen. It was a mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake,” I said desperately.
“I would really appreciate it if you stayed out of our room tonight.” She flicked her eyes back over to Drew. “I’m sure you’ve got somewhere else to stay.”
And with that she turned, shoulders perfectly straight, and walked back up the stairs. I dropped my head into my hands. Amy hated me. And I couldn’t even blame her. I’d completely betrayed her, in the worst way possible.
“A mistake,” Drew said softly. “A terrible, terrible mistake.”
Oh, God. What had I said? I turned to face Drew. The hurt swimming in his eyes was almost more than I could bear.
“Drew!” I cried softly. “That’s not what I meant, I—”
“I think you’ve said more than enough.”
“I was wrong.” I grabbed his hand. “Please, I—”
“No. You were right.” He shook me off. “This was absolutely a mistake.”
Just as Amy had, Drew turned and walked stiffly up the stairs.
I sank down, collapsing onto the bottom stair. In a span of mere minutes I’d ruined everything. I’d betrayed Amy, hurt Drew, and annihilated my relationships with both of them.
CHAPTER 22
Respecting Amy’s wishes, I spent the few remaining hours left in the night in the actor lounge, on the sagging floral couch, redolent with the ghosts of a thousand ramen noodle cups. There was one couch spring in particular that kept stabbing me right in the area of my liver. Needless to say, I wasn’t in the best of moods as I made my way to the theater before the show opened. I was exhausted, and I felt horrible. Probably because I was a horrible person who deserved to be stabbed by a sagging floral couch.
I should have been excited about the show, but I dreaded facing Amy and Drew. They had every right to hate me, but that didn’t mean I wanted them to. I wished more than anything that I could just go back in time and erase parts of last night. Even though there was nothing about kissing Drew I wanted to erase. As I made my way, alone, through the field to the dressing room, I sighed. I’d really screwed things up this time.
“Cassiopeia!”
I cringed at the sound of my completely ridiculous full name, then realized there was only one person who would call me that. There was only one person who ever called me that.
I turned and saw my mom waving, burnished metal bangles jangling on her arms. Her hair was still just as red as mine, and even though it may have had a bit of help from Garnier, I would never tell. She was wearing a classic Mom ensemble, something strange and flowing topped off with a paisley scarf and giant earrings. She might have been kind of weird, but she was my mom, and I had never been happier to see her.
“Mom!” I cried as I dove into her arms, and she hugged me tightly. The smell of the ylang-ylang perfume she blended herself enveloped me.
“Glad to see you’re alive after all these weeks,” she said wryly, patting my back.
“Sorry.” I reddened, grateful my face was hidden. “About the lack of communication. That wasn’t my best work.”
“None of the current or former Mackays have been at their best recently.” She held me at arm’s length to look at me, searching in my eyes. “So you’re not mad at me anymore?”
“No,” I mumbled. “Not mad.”
“I am sorry, Cass. Which you would know, if you’d bothered to answer my calls or read any of my emails.” Her mouth quirked into a funny kind of half smile. “We shouldn’t have put you in the middle of everything.”
“It’s okay. Really. Love makes you crazy.”
It was such a simple, common phrase, but I’d never really gotten it before. Beyoncé may have figured it out back in 2008, but I was no Beyoncé. Hell, Shakespeare had gotten it right back in 1600 when he wrote that “love is merely a madness.” Love was for sure madness—but there was nothing merely about it. Look at me. I had acted like a certifiable nutball all summer. I guess, in this case, the apple didn’t fall far from the staple-gunning tree.
“Love makes you crazy, hmmm?” I did not like the tone of that hmmm. “Is there a special boy I should meet? Or girl,” she added quickly. “No judgment.”
“Mo-om!” I rolled my eyes. “Let’s just drop that, shall we? Before you being here turns from good surprise into bad surprise.”
“Surprise? Why wouldn’t I be here?” She actually looked shocked, her brow furrowing in confusion. But I hadn’t talked to her in forever. If she hadn’t shown up, I wouldn’t have blamed her. I hadn’t exactly been ideal daughter material recently. “Don’t be silly. There’s no way I would have missed this.”
“I’m just really glad you’re here.” And then, to my horror, a sniffle escaped.
“Cassiopeia?” Now she seemed really surprised. I wasn’t normally a sniffler. “Are you okay?”
“Not really.” I sniffled. Again.
“What happened?”
“I messed up. Big time.”
“How big time are we talking here?”
“Really super big time. Mega big time.”
“Is anyone dead?”
“What? No, Mom! Of course not!” I scoffed. “Please. Give me a little credit here.”
“And unlike some of us, you managed to stay out of jail.”
“I learned a thing or two about resisting arrest this spring.”
“No dead bodies, no jail time?” She shook her head. “Hardly qualifies as a problem. It’s fixable.” She smiled. “Whatever it is that went wrong.”
“It might take a miracle.”
“You want proof of miracles?” she chuckled, tucking a piece of hair behind her ears. “Guess who’s here.”
“Dad?”
“Your father brought the Energizer bunny.” Mom sighed. Usually she preferred to refer to Heather by nickname. This, at least, was one of the more polite ones. “But he came.”
She pointed and sure enough, standing under a tree at the edge of stage left, there was Dad, barking into his omnipresent cell phone. Of course, Dad would be the only person in Vermont to have cell service. I wouldn’t put it past him to have invested in some kind of portable cell tower or something. Heather, clad head-to-toe in Lululemon, bounced around, blond ponytail flying as she yammered away at him. I still wasn’t sure I wanted to talk to him—but he was here, and that was something. In the crowd of people setting up their lawn chairs—wow, there were more people here than I’d expected—my eyes drifted over to a gaggle of blonds who must have been Amy’s family and an extremely tall couple who were undoubtedly Heidi’s parents. I wondered if Drew’s dad had come.
“And look at this! We’re in the same space, being totally civil. No staple guns in sight. See? Miracles happen.” Mom squeezed my shoulder. “You can make it right, Cassiopeia. It’s okay to admit you were wrong. It’s not fun, trust me.” She sighed. “But it’s okay.”
“Easier said than done,�
�� I muttered.
“Good thing you’re so brave.” She smiled warmly. I hugged her tightly, one last time. “Now, go break a leg, and kick some butt.”
“I will. Promise.”
CHAPTER 23
Resolved to make things right, I ran off toward the big red barn. By the time I got to the dressing/storage room, it was deserted. I must have been running late. I hastily shimmied into my costume, slathered on some makeup, and ran a brush through my hair a few times. Well, it would do. No one ever said Kate was a fashion plate.
I sprinted backstage, trying to avoid the audience as I crossed the field. There were even more people out there than before. Families lounged on picnic blankets while older couples set up folding camp chairs. I immediately spotted Amy peeking through one of the curtains. I approached her cautiously.
“Amy.” She stiffened. “Please listen. Just for five minutes.” She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t walk away, either. That was something. “I am so, so sorry about what happened with me and Drew. I swear to you, I never intended for anything to happen. I certainly never wanted anything to happen. It just, well, did. But just that one night. I swear. And if you’ll be my friend again, I promise I’ll never even talk to him again. Or look at him. Offstage, I mean. I can’t re-block the show.”
“It’s too late for that.”
“It is?” My heart sank. I had so hoped we could rebuild things.
“I mean it’s too late for you to start ignoring Drew or whatever. It wouldn’t change anything. I see the way he looks at you.”
“Looks at me?”
“Yes, looks at you. He’s been staring at you since you got here. He’s staring at you right now, as a matter of fact. Like he can’t decide if he wants to kiss you or kill you.”
“Sounds about right,” I muttered.
“That’s kind of the way he’s looked at you all summer. And he’s never looked at me like that. The best I’ve gotten is a slightly pleased indifference. Come to think of it, no one’s ever looked at me like that,” she added wistfully.
“You want someone to look at you with murderous intent?”
The Taming of the Drew Page 21
