Exit Stage Left (23 page)

“So you meant it this time,” Oliver says quietly.

“Yeah. I guess you can say I finally found my self-respect. And now he and Danielle can be together or whatever. Although it’s not like he’ll stop flirting with every other girl in school. I kind of feel bad
for Danielle. Now that’s really screwed up.” I put my hands flat on the ground against the rough, cold concrete.

“No, it isn’t. It means you have a heart,” Oliver says.

“At least he can’t get at Amanda anymore.”

“I had no idea, Casey. If I did, I would’ve said something.”

“It’s okay. I don’t think anyone did. Amanda was hiding it pretty well.”

He pauses. “Trevor doesn’t know what he could’ve had with you.”

I turn to look at him. The almost-hole at his knee is now a real hole.

“Um, thanks.” I’m not sure what else I’m supposed to say to that. I study his face for a moment. I wonder what he’d do if I kissed him right now. But I can’t. And I won’t. It’s not right after what I’ve done. Which I need to own up to.

“Well, I’m sorry you had to see that. And I’m really sorry that I led you on. That wasn’t right.”

He stops pulling one of the loose strings at his knee. “You didn’t lead me on. I thought you knew that.”

“I did, though.”

He rubs a hand through his flattened hair, making it stick up every which way. “You told me all about you and Trevor, remember? It wasn’t hard to figure out that you still had feelings for him. And yeah, I could’ve done without a few of those . . . moments . . . between you and him.”

I can’t even look at him as I think of how he found us in Trevor’s car.

“But Casey? I knew exactly what I was getting into. If I got hurt, it was my own fault.”

I shake my head. “That doesn’t change the fact that it was wrong. I was being selfish. I’m a little more like Trevor in that way than I’d like to admit. But I’m going to change. Starting now.” The very definition of selfish is grabbing Oliver now, right after I’ve ended things with Trevor.

Oliver sighs. “You need a ride home?”

It’s not exactly what I was hoping for, but it’s something. “Sure, that’d be great. Thanks.”

He holds out a hand to help me up. I take it. His hand is warm and I don’t want to let go. But he does, and it’s okay. I need to go home and sort out my feelings. And he needs time to figure out if he still wants me after all this. He’s quiet on the way home, but it’s not awkward. It’s exactly what I need.

And somehow, he seems to know that.

I sit in the empty desk in front of Amanda and wait for her to look up.

“You okay?” she asks.

It’s weird hearing her ask
me
that, since that’s pretty much all I’ve been asking her for the last few weeks.

I pull at a pill in my sweater. “I’m fine. Weird, but good, if that makes any sense. Kind of like I’m free but I don’t know what to do with myself.”

She smiles—a real, actual smile that I haven’t seen in a long time. “I’m really happy for you, Casey. Everything is going to work out fine for you now. You’ll see.”

“Maybe.” There’s still the pesky I-don’t-know-what-to-do-about-my-future issue, but without Trevor taking up so much space in my head, I feel a little more optimistic that I can find something out there I’m good at. And while Oliver hasn’t really made any moves, at least we’re talking the way we used to. I missed that almost as much as I missed having my best friend to talk to.

The pencil in Amanda’s hand twitches, and I look down to see she’s just starting on last night’s pre-calc homework. I told her all about how I confronted Trevor, and about how I figured out why he was being so horrible to her. But something definitely still isn’t right with her.

“How about you?” I ask.

“Oh, I’m good.” Amanda starts writing equations on the piece of paper in front of her.

“He hasn’t bothered you?”

She shakes her head. Before I can press for more information, the PA system crackles to life.

“Don’t forget
The Sound of Music
, Holland’s fall musical, will debut Friday night at seven o’clock! Tickets will be available at both lunch periods.” I roll my eyes at the announcement. Just what I need. Everyone in the school coming to see me in my nun outfit, singing my one whole solo.

The few times I spot Trevor in the hallway, he doesn’t even look my way. But Danielle’s always there, right by his side. I wonder if he’s already looking past her at anyone else. I spend my more boring classes trying to come up with more ideas for The List. But I’m at a loss. I need to consult with Harrison.

“We need to add to The List,” I whisper to him during Expressions of Art. “Like tai chi or scuba diving. I refuse to give up.”

Harrison is arranging his colored pencils on the table in front of us. He shakes his head. “No, I think we did enough.”

“But we didn’t find anything to replace acting.”

“I don’t think I want to find anything to replace it,” he says. “I liked a lot of the stuff we tried, but not enough to do any of it all the time and give up theater. Even if I just get little roles from now on, I prefer it to anything else. Even if I can’t get into NYCPA and never end up on Broadway. I think it’s in my blood.”

“Traitor,” I whisper, even though that last bit reminds me of exactly what Oliver said. Except there’s no way I can devote all my time to theater anymore, especially if I can’t go to New York. I’m an all-or-nothing sort of person. And if I can’t find anything else, my future is going to look pathetically bleak. I just can’t settle for that—I need to find
something
to fill that hole.

“Oh my God! Oh my God! You guys! It’s almost time!” Danielle is hyperventilating backstage. I half want to find her a paper bag and half wish she’d just run out of air and collapse on the floor in a heap of blessed silence.

“The show doesn’t start for an hour and a half,” Amanda tells her. She’s putting on a brave act of trying to be her usual self, but I see through it.

“But it’s
so
close! Can’t you feel it?! Do you think anyone’s out there yet?!” Danielle rocks up and down on her toes and almost bounces right into one of the crew carrying a giant fake potted plant through the dressing room area.

I roll my eyes at Harrison, who’s sitting next to me and eating the remains of his lunch.

“There’s no one out there yet, because the show doesn’t start for an
hour and a half
,” Amanda says again.

“I don’t know why she’s even trying,” I say to Harrison.

He crunches on a chip and nods.

“People!” Ms. Sharp bursts into the room and claps her hands. “What are you doing? There’s no time to just
sit.
You need to be warming up. Putting on makeup. Checking your costumes. Visualizing your performances. Come on,
move it
!” She stomps out the other side of the room, probably to go harass the set crew or the girl in charge of the props.

Everyone immediately starts running around, even though—as Amanda said twice—the show doesn’t start for an hour and a half. And although I’ve washed my hands of theater, the chaos stirs something deep inside me that’s been asleep for a while. The powdered makeup floating like dust through the air, the nervous laughter from some freshman newbies, Jenna shouting orders to one of her assistants through her headset, the fast-food scent from someone’s quick dinner, and even the occasional blast or squeak from one of the instruments warming up in the orchestra pit. A million memories from plays here and plays in middle school and being a kid, sitting with Dad at one of twenty different theaters while he scribbles notes. These flash through my head in a jumble.

Home. In my blood.
I don’t want to give those ideas too much thought, so I grab Amanda and we move to start warming up with Kelly and some of the other girls.

After ten minutes of
ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah
s and
oh-ee-oh-ee-oh
s, I slip through the door and move backstage to peek past the curtain into the theater. No one’s out there except half the orchestra, who are all way too involved in tuning their instruments. It’s the perfect place
and time to run through my solo, away from the clashing sounds of everyone else’s warm-ups.

I find my spot onstage, sing a few test notes, and then let go with the song. I slip into character without even having to think about it, and my voice reaches past the lighting and sound booth, all the way up to the tip-top of the balcony without a mic. When I finish the song, I stand still, looking out into the empty seats. Something rustles. I squint into the nonexistent audience.

“Hey, Case?” It’s Harrison, standing in the wings.

“How’d I sound?”

“Good. Really good. Are you nervous?”

I shake my head. “Not really. It’s only one song, after all.” I can do one solo. I am—or was—a professional, after all. I can sing in my sleep.

I follow Harrison back to the dressing rooms, where I throw on my black sack and sit down to put on some makeup. I line my eyes in brown and pick up some cream and brown eye shadow. Then I put it down. Might as well use green and try to look at least a little good, nun habit and all. Ms. Sharp may lose her mind once she sees it, but maybe I can get away with it for at least one performance.

“Ready for the show?” Oliver perches on the table next to where Harrison sits with his eyes closed. He peers into Harrison’s face. “What are you doing? Napping?”

Harrison opens an eye. “Visualizing my performance, like Ms. Sharp said.”

“Shit, sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt.” He gives me a smile. “You
ready, Casey? Or are you visualizing, too?”

I look at Oliver through the mirror in front of me. He looks so un-Oliver-like in costume, but definitely still hot. I wonder if I blew it completely with him. I’m beginning to think I have, since he hasn’t said anything more about it. And now I’m staring at him instead of answering his question. “Ha. No. Ready as I’ll ever be. You?”

“I can’t wait till that curtain goes up. That’s when the energy kicks in.”

“Oh, I know,” I say as I apply lipstick. “It’s like the Olympics and the Super Bowl and Christmas Day all rolled into one.” I look up and catch his gray eyes in the mirror. “People who aren’t in theater don’t get that at all.”

“And closing night is like quitting a bad habit cold turkey,” Oliver says. He’s got his hair flat against his head for the show again but it doesn’t stop him from running through it with his hand the way he usually does when it’s sticking up straight.

“I like the spikes better,” I say out of nowhere. And when I realize what I’ve said, I smash my lips together and busy myself with searching for clear gloss to layer over my lipstick.

“Oh, um. Thanks. I like it when you have hair better.”

I remember the hideous habit I’m wearing, and it makes me laugh. Really, truly laugh in a way I haven’t for a long time. My phone buzzes on the vanity, and I hit OK before the words on the screen even register in my brain.

London, UK
.

“Hey, honeybee!” Dad’s voice echoes through the phone.

I briefly contemplate mashing my finger down on END. It’s not our scheduled weekly call time, after all. But instead, I hold the phone up to my ear and try to find a quiet corner of the dressing room. Which is impossible.

“I just left work and wanted to tell you to break a leg tonight. I wish I could be there.” His voice is hugs and bedtime stories and theaters and ice cream sundaes. It pricks at my heart until tears blur my vision. I go to wipe them away, before remembering my makeup. I settle for patting at my eyes as I take a breath to steady myself.

“Thanks,” I say in a wobbly voice. I don’t like talking to him because this is what happens every single time. I forget how angry I am and just get all weepy. I eye one of the curtained-off changing stalls and slip inside.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier today. We were in tech rehearsals and the board operator didn’t show, and well, you know how that goes.”

I don’t expect him to shut down the rehearsal to a West End show to talk to me, but his timing seriously couldn’t be worse.

“Case?” His voice is slightly strained. “Say something.”

I don’t have anything to say. I’m glad he called, but it’s almost like I’ve removed the part of my heart that expects anything from him. I do think of one thing, though.

“I get it, Dad. Why you took this job.”

He’s silent.

“It doesn’t mean I think it’s okay, but I understand.” Theater’s in our blood. We can try to get away from it, but it’s always there, pulling us back to something bigger, more challenging, more exciting.

Dad clears his throat, thousands of miles away. “Maybe you can visit this summer. You and Eric.”

“Maybe.”

“Are you ready for the show tonight?”

“Yes.” I’m not sure where my life is headed, but I am 100 percent sure that I’m prepared for tonight.

“I wish I could be there,” he says again.

You could’ve been, I think. But at least I know why, now. Tears sting my eyes, again, and I squeeze them shut. Makeup, I think. If I cry now, I’ll be racing to scrub my face and reapply before curtain. “It’s not a big deal. I’m just a nun.”

“Anything you do is important to me. Even if you were playing a bug, I’d want to be there to see it,” he says.

One stupid tear leaks out. “It won’t turn into anything. There’s no way I’ll get an audition at NYCPA with this role.”

“I think you underestimate your part in this show. Besides,” Dad continues, “you make any role shine. Remember your stellar performance as an apple?”

I laugh, even through the hurt. “Thanks, Dad. I’ll send you the video and you can see me in all my nunly glory.”

“I’ll have popcorn ready. See you soon, honeybee.” He pauses. “Thank you for talking to me.”

“Any time,” I say. And weirdly enough, I think I mean it.

The phone clicks off. I flip around and check my face in the mirror. My eyes have that reddish, watery look, but otherwise, my makeup is still intact. I take a deep breath and feel . . . lighter.

And now I’m almost—just a little—excited about stepping onto the stage tonight. Everyone else’s energy must be getting to me. I square my shoulders and head back through the singing freshmen and a clump of my fellow nuns toward the back wall of the dressing room.

“Your dad?” Oliver asks when I emerge. He’s sitting on the vanity table next to all the bottles and compacts I have strewn everywhere. “I saw the caller ID,” he admits when I give him a questioning look.

“Um, yeah.” I pick up a brush and add more powder that I don’t really need. Then, out of nowhere, I say, “I think I get it now. I’m still mad, but I understand a little better.”

Oliver doesn’t ask how or why. He just puts a hand on my shoulder for a second, and I don’t know why I ever chose Trevor over him. Everything could’ve been different.

“Hey, thanks, by the way,” I say, searching for my mascara.

“For what?”

“Everything. Being there when I didn’t even think I needed someone to be there. Listening. Putting up with all my indecision.”

He’s about to say something else when Ms. Sharp bursts into the room.

“People! People! PEOPLE!” Ms. Sharp moves like a wave, parting nuns and von Trapp children, and clapping her hands over and over. Hannah and Jenna trail after her.

The vocal warm-ups and chatter slide to a stop. I give up the search for my mascara.

“This is it,” she says quietly. “This is what we’ve been working toward for the past few months. You go out there and bring down
the house! Show them how talented Holland is. I believe in each one of you, or you wouldn’t be in my show. Curtain’s up in ten minutes. Don’t prove me wrong. Be dynamite.” She inclines her head as if she’s praying and then scuttles off to pep-talk the crew.

“Want to check the audience?” Oliver says. I hear the unsaid words—
for the Chicago theater people
.

“Let’s do it.” I jump up from my chair. I can’t wait to see how filled the house is, even if those Chicago professionals won’t be watching me tonight. But first I have to check on Amanda.

I find her sitting near the end of the room, staring at herself in the mirror.

I grab the seat next to her. “Hey, everything good? Do you need a pep talk?” I mean the last part as a joke, but when I look closer, I’m kind of wondering if she really does need one.

“I’m good.” She picks up some powder, even though it looks like she’s completely made-up already.

“Want to go out and peek at the audience with me and Oliver?”

She shakes her head. “I need to stay here and . . . get ready.”

“Okay.” I cross my heart and give her jazz hands. “You’re going to be amazing, trust me. The nerves will go away once you’re out there.”

“Thanks.” She grabs my hand gives it a squeeze. “I’ll be ready.”

“You coming?” I ask Harrison as I walk past to join Oliver.

“No.” Harrison’s eyes are still closed. He looks a little green.

“Is he sick?” Oliver whispers.

“I hope not.” I put a hand on Harrison’s shoulder. “Harrison?”

“I’m fine. Leave me alone.”

I shrug and follow Oliver toward the wings.

“Are you guys going to look for . . .
them
?” Kelly says as we pass her. “I want to see.”

I motion to her to follow. She jumps up, her mid-calf-length dress swinging as she walks.

Oliver lifts the very edge of the curtain. “It’s packed,” he whispers. “Is it always like this? My old school practically had to bribe people to show up at plays.”

“Let me see.” I push myself into the space between Oliver and a stack of scenery before I realize this means I’m standing as close to him as I was that day in the stairwell. I try not to think about this as I peer around the curtain and see exactly what I knew I would.

It’s like everyone in school is out there, plus parents and siblings and grandparents and cousins and long-lost uncles. Even the Bohemian Brigade takes up half a row near the front. I’m surprised most of them even bothered to look at a clock to be here on time. It doesn’t look as if a single seat is free. I can’t see Mom and Eric, but I know they’re out there—somewhere. Along with the former Broadway director and Ms. Sharp’s other Very Important Theater Friends. I hug my elbows as a shiver runs through my body. I’m not sure if I’m nervous or excited. Or maybe it’s just because I’m this close to Oliver.

“It’s always a full house,” I finally say to him.

“My mom’s in the first row,” he says as he pulls his tie away from his neck. “This damn thing is choking me.”

“It is not. It’s just because you’re nervous,” Kelly says.

“I’m not nervous,” I say for no reason. Especially since I’m not
sure it’s even true anymore.

“That’s because you’re crazy,” Kelly says with a smile. “You’re going to do fine,” she says to Oliver before she walks back to the dressing rooms.

I take a step back, because I don’t know if I can keep standing this close without throwing myself at him. We’re hardly alone back here. The stage crew is rushing around, and Jenna’s freaking out at someone over her headset, but somehow it feels like it’s just me and Oliver.

“Kelly’s right,” I finally say. “You’re going to be great.”

He gives me that half smile before he reaches for my hand. “Thanks.” He doesn’t let go.

“
What
are you doing?”

Ms. Sharp appears from nowhere. I yank my hand back and jump a mile, stumbling into a statue that decorates the von Trapp house.

“Dressing rooms, both of you, now!” she says as she points.

I grab hold of the nun hat that’s falling off my head, and we race away. I collapse into laughter as soon as we round the corner. The whole cast is staring at us, but I don’t care.

“Did you see her face?” Oliver says when he catches his breath. “It was like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”