Authors: Gail Nall
After a twenty-minute conversation in which I have to convince my mother to drive me to the mall, she finally agrees. But not after asking me how I’m shopping after I spent all my money on “roller skating and basket weaving,” demanding to know if Trevor and I were getting “serious” (shudder), making me call my dad because I’ve been too wrapped up in the disaster that is my life to talk to him lately, and then threatening to accidentally take me to the Bureau of Motor Vehicles instead of to the mall, never mind that they aren’t even open on Sunday.
I would’ve been better off walking.
I get there five minutes late, but at least I’ve beat Trevor. I grab a seat on a bench by the door, and almost immediately, someone sits next to me. Like,
right
next to me.
Oliver.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. He is, literally, the last person I expected to see at the mall.
“Waiting for Harrison. You?”
“Waiting for Trevor.”
“And how’s that going?” By his tone, I can tell he means the relationship, not the waiting.
“That would be none of your business,” I say evenly.
“Yeah, you made that pretty clear the other day. Too bad I’m not so good at following directions.” He gives me that half smile.
I should move away, but I don’t. I could blame it on how small the bench is, but really, it’s nice having him this close to me again.
Except I’m meeting Trevor.
Oliver clicks on his phone. “When was he supposed to be here?”
“Five,” I answer.
“He’s late.”
“I know. I was too. And I don’t really want to sit here and listen to you pick on him.”
“All right. Then how’s your quest for a new identity going?” He rests his elbows on the back of the bench. One hand grazes my shoulder, and it takes everything I have not to lean into that one little touch.
“Um . . . not so great. We’ve run through The List and now I have to convince Harrison to add something new.”
“Then maybe that’s a sign.”
I pull one leg under me so I can turn around and face him. “What do you mean?”
“Your search didn’t work, so maybe that’s a sign that you’ve already found what you’re looking for.”
“I don’t get it.”
“How do you feel when you’re onstage?”
I blink at him.
“Humor me, okay?” He runs a hand through his hair and then lets it fall so that it’s resting on my knee.
I should move, but I don’t. Instead, I close my eyes, try to ignore the heat radiating from his hand, and picture myself onstage, singing to a sold-out crowd. “Powerful. Excited. Drained, but in a good way. Scared to death, but good, again.”
“So, there’s your answer.”
I open my eyes. “I don’t understand. Just because I love theater doesn’t mean theater loves me anymore. Or that I have a future in it.”
“Are you sure of all that?”
“Of course I’m sure. Ms. Sharp just about told me so when she cast me as Mother Abbess. I’m obviously not going to NYCPA. And I don’t have the grades to get into another theater school. I’m done, whether I want to be or not.”
“I don’t think it’s that cut-and-dry.”
He moves his hand just slightly, so now it’s covering more of my leg than it was before. I don’t move it. I try not to think about why. Instead I look at his face. He’s absolutely sincere. But wrong.
“What about you?” I ask, attempting to get the focus off me. “What are your plans, anyway?”
He chews on his lip as if I’ve asked him a really tough question. “I don’t know yet. College, definitely. But not sure where. Somewhere cheap, since it looks like I’ll be working my way through.” He says
that last part with a slight edge to his voice, and I know he’s thinking of his dad.
“But what would you major in?”
He shrugs. “Theater? Music? I don’t know. Maybe I’ll surprise myself and do psych. Or accounting.” He smiles just a little, and I try not to laugh, picturing him slaving over rows of numbers.
“How do you
not know
? I’ve known what I was going to do since I was in elementary school. Or, I did, anyway.”
“This might come as a surprise to you, Case, but a lot of people start college undeclared and figure things out as they go.”
I think I actually shudder.
A burst of giggles sounds off to my left. I turn, involuntarily, and spot Danielle and a pack of freshman girls. And Trevor.
“What the hell?” I say under my breath. Has he been here the whole time and only now bothers to come see if I’m here? And what’s he doing with
Danielle
?
Trevor spots me and heads toward us, Danielle and friends following. I shake my knee a little, and Oliver pulls his hand away. But he stays put, right next to me.
“Hey, you got here,” Trevor says. “Oliver,” he adds with a nod. If he notices there is absolutely no space between my leg and Oliver’s, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he braces himself on the back of the bench and leans forward to give me a quick kiss.
It’s super awkward with Oliver right there, never mind the horde of chatty freshmen behind him. And, of course, my general annoyance at him showing up like this.
He straightens up and holds out a hand. “Come on. I owe you a dinner, right?”
I stand and turn back to say good-bye to Oliver. Except he’s already left.
“Bye, Trev!” Danielle shouts as we walk away.
When Trevor turns around to wave, I bristle and drop his hand.
“What now?” he asks.
“Do I have to lay it out?”
He just raises his eyebrows and keeps walking.
“Hello, you said five o’clock, so here I was. Just a little late, but you weren’t here waiting for me. Instead, you were off with
Danielle
.” I nearly spit the name at him.
“Like you said, you were late,” he says in an even tone. “I got bored waiting and the girls asked if I’d help pick out a gift for Danielle’s little brother. What’s the big deal?”
“It’s all a big deal. I thought you said you weren’t going to do this anymore.”
He takes my arm and steers me around an elderly woman in a power chair. I shrug him off.
“Quit being so defensive.” He pauses when we reach the little café at the end of the mall. “I could bring up the fact that you weren’t exactly waiting alone.”
My face shades red as I remember how not alone I was in the school stairwell a few days ago. So maybe I’m not exactly innocent, but that was a one-time thing, whether I wanted it to be or not. I was confused. Unlike Trevor’s long, not-even-remotely-confused history of doing
this to me.
There’s some kind of triumphant look in his eye, like he’s caught me. He softens and reaches for my arms. “Can’t we just go in and eat and maybe not argue?”
I nod, because I’m tired of fighting. He brings his mouth to mine, and I return the favor, a little more insistent with the intention of driving all thoughts of Danielle or anyone else out of his head.
“I don’t think I’m hungry anymore,” Trevor murmurs against my lips.
Mission accomplished. Except I’m starving. “Come on.” I pull him by the hand toward the door. We manage to have a civilized dinner, and then head toward Notes.
Where Harrison and Oliver are hanging around out front.
“Hey,” I say to Trevor. “I need to . . . make a call. Meet you inside in a few minutes?”
“Sure,” he says as he checks his own phone. As I turn to go, he reaches out and pulls me by my arm back to him. “Just don’t take too long, okay?” He disappears inside the store and I make a beeline for Oliver and Harrison.
“
What
are you doing here?” I demand.
“Nice to see you too, Case,” Harrison says.
“Right. Why are you here, outside this store?”
“I had to get a new string for my guitar. Is that allowed?” Oliver asks.
I’ve got to get a hold of myself. I’m acting like a crazy person.
“And . . . what are you doing here?” Harrison asks.
“Trevor’s getting prices on drum kits for Johnny.”
“Oh, right, for that so-called band.” Harrison smirks at Oliver like this is some kind of joke.
“It might actually happen, you know,” I inform him. I don’t say anything else. They don’t either, but they don’t go to move. “Don’t you need to do anything else?” I finally ask.
Harrison shrugs. “We’re just hanging out.”
Maybe I’m not as crazy as I thought. “I see right through you both. You can quit checking up on me now. I can handle myself.” I turn to head into the store.
“Casey, wait,” Harrison says from behind me.
I turn around. “What? What’s next? Is Eric going to jump out from behind a plastic cactus?”
“No . . . what?” Oliver says.
Harrison looks at Oliver. Then he looks back at me. “You want to get a cinnamon roll?”
I raise my eyebrows.
“The thing is . . .” Oliver starts to say, but ends up rubbing his hair again as he looks at the floor.
“Will you spit it out so I can get on with my life already?” I cross my arms.
Harrison pulls off his glasses and digs his palms into his eyes. “Christ, I’m not getting involved in this. It’s not like you’ll start listening to me now. Just say hi to Danielle, all right?”
“The jealousy is getting a little old,” I say in my coldest voice, even though I fear he’s exactly right. “Just because you can’t admit what
you want, you try to ruin my relationship.” I can’t even look at Oliver. I’m almost afraid that I’ll cut off the only part of my old life I still have if he just looks at me the right way.
Harrison’s face has gone hard as stone. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Do whatever you want.” And with that, he sets off back toward the café.
I can feel Oliver’s eyes on me but I don’t turn around. Instead, I steel my shoulders and head into the store.
And sure enough, there’s Danielle and that pack of girls, all giggling and with matching bouncy ponytails, standing next to a bunch of drums with Trevor. He couldn’t get away from her even if he wanted to. Although I’m doubting he even tried. I try not to imagine how many times I might’ve done the exact same thing with Amanda and Kelly a few years ago to some poor, unsuspecting guy, before I got together with Trevor. Not that Trevor is even remotely poor and unsuspecting.
Danielle’s giggling uncontrollably at something Trevor’s just said when I move in next to him.
“I’m back,” I say to Trevor, sliding my arm around his.
He starts. “Casey.” He glances down at me, smiles, and then turns his attention back to Danielle.
“Hi, Danielle,” I say, like it’s no big deal that she’s cornered my boyfriend in the middle of Notes like a tiger stalking its prey.
“Hi, Casey! Oh my God! You
so
need to see this hilarious poster I found in the place next door! It’s so funny! It has this dragon and a hamster, and the hamster—”
“Yeah, sounds great,” I say with false enthusiasm. I’m not really digging the way she’s looking at Trevor. Desperation creeps in, and I shove it down. I slip around in front of him and turn my back to Danielle. “So are these the drums Johnny’s getting? Want to go tell the clerk to put them on hold?”
“He can’t get them yet. Not till after Christmas anyway.”
“Oh . . .” Yeah, good thing I didn’t still have my heart set on joining a band that’ll probably never happen. “Then let’s go. I have to . . . look for some . . . um . . . earrings. So, bye, Danielle.” I practically drag Trevor to the door.
As we walk out of the store, Trevor says, “I wish you’d quit imagining things.”
“I didn’t imagine anything. I just wanted to leave, is all.” I tamp down the anger to avoid a repeat of the argument we already had an hour ago.
Danielle’s gone from just annoying to something more. She’s got her eye on Trevor. I know this, speaking as someone who almost did the exact same thing to Simon Humphreys in the Gap the summer before freshman year. Of course Simon was way more interested in his college girlfriend than in me. But still—I know it when I see it. And I know that Trevor has no resistance at all to that kind of thing.
“She’s harmless,” he says. “And you need to trust me.” He snakes an arm around my waist. “What do you want to do after you get those earrings?”
I shrug away from him. I feel like . . . I don’t know. Weird. Like I need to be by myself for a bit. “My ride’s coming in a few. I’ll see you
tomorrow, okay?” I stand on my tiptoes, give him a kiss, and then beeline it for the door to text Mom.
I wasn’t overreacting, I know it. Maybe I just need an evening away from him. Or I need to figure out what the hell I’m doing with my life. Or it could be that I should try to check on Amanda again. If I can fix all that stuff, then everything will be the way it should be and I can actually enjoy being with Trevor and he won’t get distracted by Danielle or anyone else.
And I won’t get distracted by Oliver.
“Peanut butter sandwich, anyone?” Chris untwists an entire loaf of bread and starts scooping peanut butter out of a jumbo-sized jar.
“Um, no,” Kelly says, wrinkling her nose.
“I’ll take one,” Oliver says.
Chris slathers peanut butter on three slices of bread, tops them, and hands Oliver three sandwiches.
“Or three.” Oliver eyes the stack on his tray. “Sure you don’t want one, Casey?” After yesterday, that look he’s giving me should make me question my entire relationship with Trevor—again. But right now I’m too worried about Amanda.
I still haven’t talked to her. No one even answered the door at her house last night. She didn’t text me all weekend. She got to school late this morning, so at least I know she’s alive. But something is really, really wrong. When I finally caught her between classes to ask what was up, she just shrugged and said, “You know, the play. I’m really stressed.” And then she clammed up. She’s putting on a fake smile as
she sits at the far end of the table from me, watching Chris.
Trevor arrives and takes the empty seat next to me. A chair scrapes backward from down the table. I glance up, and Amanda’s gone. I let out the breath I’m holding until I realize she may have gone off to cry somewhere.
This is such a disaster, and I don’t know how to fix it.
As Chris crafts a stack of sandwiches for Trevor, I distract myself by asking Trevor if he’s ready to brave rehearsal. We’re headed toward crunch time, and Ms. Sharp gets a little crazier as the days dwindle.
“I hope so. It’s going to be a damn nightmare this week and next,” he says as he unscrews a water bottle. I always admired him for staying away from the tempting stuff in the Alcove of Sin. Water’s so much better for your voice. “And it’s tech, and you know how Ms. Sharp wants to control everything.”
I have distinct memories of Ms. Sharp turning into the Wicked Witch of the West two years ago when Trevor uncharacteristically forgot the words in the middle of “Gary, Indiana” during a
Music Man
dress rehearsal. She ranted and raved and I think she even threw a script at him. It was scary. Although I’d never have to worry about that, since I don’t forget lines. Like I even have that many to remember in this show.
Trevor smiles and waves at someone. I turn around, expecting it to be one of the Grimaldi twins. Instead, I see Danielle. She grins and starts bouncing toward us. Honestly, she makes Steve-o and Johnny look like welcome lunch mates.
“What are you doing?” I ask through my teeth. “Now she’s going
to come over here, and we’ll never get rid of her!”
“What are you talking about?” he asks.
Right. Because he’s pretending nothing’s going on. Harrison frowns at me from across the table.
“Hi, guys! Aren’t you so excited for the tech rehearsal?!” Danielle slides her tray across the table and sits down. Actually, she doesn’t really sit. She kind of bounces into the chair and then jolts up and down every time she talks. Which is for the rest of lunch. Even Chris doesn’t get the chance to offer her a pile of sandwiches. Trevor keeps smiling and nodding at her, like a puppet.
My brain is turning to mush and I’m fighting the eye roll to end all eye rolls when the bell finally rings. I jump up from my seat. “I’ve got art now,” I announce to no one in particular. I wait for Trevor to get up before I leave, and I try really, really hard not to tap my foot as I stand there. Trevor’s still talking to Danielle—or really, it’s more like she’s talking and he’s just nodding and saying “yeah” every now and then.
Oliver picks up his backpack and catches my arm, which somehow makes me want to press myself up against him. I pull away and give him a look. “What?”
He leans forward and says in my ear, “You don’t have to stand for that.”
I reel backward, more to create distance between us than because of what he said.
He bites his lip, like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t. Instead, he heads for the tray deposit.
“What’s wrong? What’d he say to make you look like that?”
I turn, and Trevor’s next to me, glaring at Oliver’s back. Danielle’s bouncy ponytail bobs through the crowd ahead.
“Nothing,” I say in a short voice.
“Good. I don’t want to have to kick his California ass.” He takes my hand and I try not to laugh. The truth is, I can’t picture Trevor fighting anyone—unless it’s in a production of
West Side Story
.
“Please,” I say. “You’d pay Steve-o to do it for you.”
Now he laughs. “Not if I actually wanted it to happen. Grimaldi’s all talk, no action.” He drapes an arm over my shoulders, and something settles inside me. The worry doesn’t completely disappear, but it subsides, at least for now.
“Come on, I’ll walk you to class,” Trevor says.
I put my smile back on. I’m pretty sure this roller coaster of emotions isn’t healthy. I’m probably developing an ulcer. Maybe I should just head for Kansas and that diner now—solve all my problems at once. How emotional can serving eggs and bacon every day be? Definitely not as much as surviving a search for true meaning in my life, a Holland musical, a dad I don’t want to talk to, a best friend who’s having some kind of breakdown, a sort of boyfriend I’m not sure I trust, and three guys who think they know everything—one of whom I’m having a massively hard time not falling for.
“No. No, no, no, no,
no
! Casey.” Ms. Sharp pauses in her outburst to take a breath. I dig my fingernails into my palms as I wait for her criticism of my singing. She draws a deep breath and goes on about how I
need to put my whole self into it.
Honestly, I think I was pretty good. Even though I know acting isn’t my thing anymore, I sang “Climb Every Mountain” in perfect pitch, totally in character. I’d dare anyone else to do it better.
Despite what Ms. Sharp has to say, I’m in much better shape than Amanda. She’s not attacking her role the way she did before. If anything, it’s gotten worse. If she’d just talk to me, maybe I could help.
I put my hand to my forehead to shield my eyes from the blinding lights as Ms. Sharp goes on and on about every person in the house hearing every note. I blink and look toward the row directly in front of the stage, where Tim’s consulting with Hannah and Jenna, the stage manager, and periodically saying things like “forty at full” and “no, group seventy at fifty” through his headset to Joshua, who’s in the lighting booth. It’s got to make them crazy the way Ms. Sharp keeps interrupting the rehearsal when they’re the ones who should be doing the interrupting at this point. The whole scene in front of me gives me flashbacks to being a kid and thinking my dad had the coolest job in the world. I smile slightly, until I remember where all that has ended up. With a father I barely see and a theater I can’t escape.
“This is a
big
song, Casey.” Ms. Sharp holds on to the piano as if she can’t bear the importance of her words. “You need to sing it big. Belt it out. Project more! Do you have a voice lesson this week?”
I nod.
“Get an extra lesson. Get two extra lessons. You need to work on this.” Ms. Sharp heaves herself away from the piano. “Next scene!” she bellows.
What’s the point when there’s no way I’m going to get the recommendation I need for my college audition? I shouldn’t even let it bother me anymore. I scurry past Amanda, who gives me a wavery smile, and leave the stage. I don’t dare say anything to her right now, unless we both want to face the wrath of Ms. Sharp.
Besides, I don’t know what Ms. Sharp’s talking about anyway. I can belt that song out so the whole town could hear. In fact, I’d like to see the piece I couldn’t shake the rafters with.
I sit next to Harrison. Oliver and Trevor join Amanda onstage, along with most of the rest of the cast.
First things first.
“Look, I’m sorry I almost outted you on Sunday,” I say to Harrison.
He turns toward me. “You what?”
Right. We’re still in denial. Okay, then. “I’m sorry I overreacted.”
“Water under the bridge,” he says, pushing his glasses up. “Just remember that I’m your friend.”
I can certainly use a friend right now. Even if said friend doesn’t like my sort-of-boyfriend. “Just do me one favor, okay? Quit saying stuff about Trevor.”
“Deal. I won’t say anything else about the jerkwad,” he says. I glare at him until he says, “Okay, fine. I mean it for real now.”
“So, did my song sound weak to you?” I ask him as I pull my legs up so that my feet are resting on the edge of my seat.
“Um . . . no,” he says, not looking at me.
I narrow my eyes. “You’re lying.”
He looks straight ahead.
“Tell me the truth. I can handle it.”
“Sure you can,” he says.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I lean forward in my seat and try to catch his eye. He finally turns and looks at me.
“We made a deal, so nothing. Look, the song doesn’t sound weak. It’s just . . . quiet. Ms. Sharp’s right. You just have to project more so everyone can hear it.”
“Huh.” I wrap my arms around my legs and rest my chin on my knees. “I think I’m just too distracted.”
“It sounds good, though,” Harrison adds, a little too late.
I fume some more. Amanda’s onstage, looking like she’d rather be anywhere else than here as the spot follows her across. Danielle’s up there too, doing her perky thing. Even her character is perky. And Trevor is staring at her. I wish I could un-notice it, but I can’t.
It about kills me to admit it, and I’d never say it to Harrison, but I’m starting to think I have a Trevor problem. One that no amount of craving my old life can fix.
I’m late getting to my locker after school the next day because I have to stay after Expressions of Art and convince Ms. Grayson that I really, truly did forget all about finishing my pointillism project because of the play. Luckily, I managed to get a two-day extension, which will save my grade in that class. I grab everything I need, shove it into my bag, and head toward rehearsal. The hallways have mostly emptied out by this late in the day.
I catch singing coming from the choir room. I can’t help but smile,
because no matter how sure I am that Trevor and I are definitely having problems, his voice is still the best one in school. I pause outside the room, debating whether to open the door. I know I’m going to have to confront him about Danielle at some point—again—but I don’t really want to do it right before rehearsal.
I’m about to step away when Amanda’s voice joins Trevor’s. I move backward and peek into the window. They’re standing in the middle of the room by themselves, I guess to get a little extra rehearsal in. Amanda’s voice sounds off—unsteady, and a little pitchy. Amanda, who’s studied piano her entire life, is the last person who would ever have pitch problems. I study her face. She looks completely lost.
“Stop, please,” Trevor says, before she’s even a third of the way through her part.
Amanda goes quiet. “Sorry, I don’t know why I’m having problems with that.”
“Because you can’t sing. That’s getting to be obvious.”
I think my mouth literally drops open.
“Look, you can’t hear pitch. You forget lines. You’re turning this entire show into a giant fucking disaster. I’m glad I’ve already got a college acceptance, because you’re screwing it up for everyone else.” And with that, Trevor shoves some papers into his bag while Amanda just stands there, biting her lip and tears welling up in her eyes.
Half of me wants to throttle him. The other half is in such disbelief I can’t even move. But I do, because Trevor’s headed right for the door. I race off and hide around the corner of the hallway until I hear his footsteps fade in the direction of the theater.
Then I sink to the floor and bury my face in my hands.