Beatless (18 page)

“Maybe we both are? I don’t know. He thinks what happened with Landon is his fault. I know I hurt him. So, I can do this. It’s just a few more weeks, right?”

“I don’t think so. This isn’t . . . this thing between the two of you? It’s not right. But I don’t know your side of the story.”

It was hard to put into words. Aunt Sam was the only one I’d told everything to and the disappointment on her face was enough to make me want to hide it away forever. Gathering my resolve, I struggled to find the right words – the true ones that weren’t twisted into some excuse.

“Have you ever had a friend that just brought out the absolute worst in you? Like, no matter what you did, it wasn’t good enough? And when you’re around them, they make you feel so small and insignificant that you can’t find your voice. You can’t even be yourself because you’re not even really there to begin with? That’s what it was like with Lassiter. And I didn’t realize it until I met you guys. I couldn’t even see the difference between friendship and . . . I don’t know what to call it. It’s like she owned me. Like I was a pet she took for walks and talked at, but not to.” It seemed so crazy to think about how low I’d been in her presence. “She never cared about me as much as I thought she did. She never said that I was good at anything. There was always someone else she was attached to - and I was just a background player.”

Sara nodded, transfixed as I spoke.

“Anyway, I was – God, this is so embarrassing. I was a wreck when she went away and I should have known she would disappear once she got to school, but I think a piece of me hoped that maybe we actually were best friends. That I wasn’t just a set piece or a prop.”

“Please stop using stage speak.” Sara sighed. “I get it. And yes, I had a friend like that but I kicked her ass to the curb because I am
fabulous
.”

I smiled. “You are. It’s true. I can’t deny your fabulosity.”

“So, we’ve established the shit about Lassie. Move along.”

Lassie
made me laugh and I relaxed a little. “I’m in love with him, Sara. I couldn’t tell him at the time because I was afraid of everything. I was afraid to be onstage. Of the crap with my family. But I was more afraid that the thing between us wasn’t going to go beyond . . .” My cheeks reddened.

“You gave it up, right?”

“Yeah. I did. And he was my first, but that’s not why I freaked out. It was because I asked him, before it, what was going to happen next. But he didn’t have an answer. And I get it now. Everything changes so fast – there are no set plans, right? It’s just what it is today and we have to take it that way. But like I said, I used to be really scared of that. So, when Lassiter actually called me for the first time in months, I was sitting there alone in my room, confused about what it meant that I’d given that to a guy who had never even called me his girlfriend. And when she asked to meet – I went, because it’s what I always did.”

She sipped and waited.

“Ugh. This makes me feel so awful, you have no idea.”

“I might. Try me.”

“She was going on and on about how great her life was and mine was pretty much sinking at the same time. And, right there in that seat, I reverted to the invisible girl. So when she asked about Tucker, I started to tell her one thing but what came out was my insecurity about all of it. That we’d never formalized it. That she was so grossed out by the thought of him. That she was looking at me like she pitied me in every way possible. I just said it. But I swear to God I didn’t mean it, Sara. And I had no idea that he was sitting there. With his sister . . .” I groaned and dropped my forehead into my hands.

“Damn, girl. That’s brutal. And you’ve got it bad.”

“I know.”

“He believes you were ashamed of him. Still are. It’s his biggest fear in life.”

“I’m not, though. I just don’t know what he needs from me in order to prove it. Like, do I need to buy a billboard on the side of the road and profess my undying love for him? Because that’s a little . . .”

She smirked. “Overdramatic.”

“Yeah. I’m working on that.”

“I think I might have a way to help you. But you’ve got to trust me. And be patient.”

I lifted my hands in defeat. “At this point, I literally have nothing to lose.”

Mal,

You are your own worst enemy. You’re your own worst critic. Let it go.

I wonder how much good you could do if you spent more time looking outside your bubble. If you stopped judging yourself for the things you’ve done, and lived life without wondering what’s around the corner.

In the next year your world will explode, your heart will break, and everything will change. But every shattered piece will grow into something new and exciting, if you’ll just let it. All of the lessons you’ve learned so far will keep you grounded. You won’t know it until it hits you – and you put it to use.

Chase the happy days and look for the good in everything, because dwelling in darkness only serves to make you weak and brittle. You are meant to be in the light.

Be tenacious. Don’t settle for anything that doesn’t grant you merit. Love someone until it hurts, but always, above everything, love Mallory more.

Walk away when it’s time.

Stand firm when it’s needed.

And remember that voice in the back of your head cheering you on – It will be mine.

Sam

~*~17~*~

There were four people in the theater, and two of us were under a very intense spotlight. Dressed in our costumes, he led me across the stage, our fingers intertwined. I concentrated on every step and turn, paying special attention to the bottom of my dress as Elise had requested. It rippled around my feet, splayed out beautifully during the turns, and curled around Tucker’s legs when we swayed.

“Okay, that’s good. We can take five for a water break.” Elise was already headed toward Sara before she even finished her sentence.

We broke apart, clearing the stage to grab some money to get water from the vending machine. I made it there before Tucker and fisted my bottle once it was dispensed. It was so warm under the lights, and I fanned my face while I drank greedily. I was lost in the moment, my eyes closed and shoulders leaning against the machine, when I heard him clear his throat.

It wasn’t an excuse me but it certainly wasn’t a move your ass either so I’d take it as a win.

“Sorry.” I moved out of his way and stared across the room at the exit sign.

“You don’t have to apologize for everything.” He twisted the cap off his bottle and took a quick sip.

“Well, maybe I feel like I do.” Because I was walking on eggshells around him.

“You don’t. You’re going to step on my feet. And you’re going flub a line. Its fine – even expected. We’re not going to be perfect.”

“No. We’re not.” I drank some more and started for the theater again.

He jogged a little to keep up, knocking my shoulder with his water bottle, causing me to squeak. “Lighten up, Mal. It’s almost over.”

I wiped the cold water off my shoulder and pretended to glare. “Do that again and I’ll grab your knee.”

He faked shock and held up his hands playfully. “You went straight to violence – that’s messed up.”

“Shut up.” I laughed. And it felt good to do it.

He chuckled and stepped closer, putting his arm around my shoulders, squeezing once before letting go. It felt like we were getting back to normal.

And his arm felt like home.

***

Hell Week began with a bang.

Literally.

One of the stage lights exploded before rehearsal even began and Mr. Hanks almost collapsed onto the floor. I’m talking on his knees, cursing the sky, heart attack territory.

One of the techies assured him that it would be fine, but it didn’t seem to help him become less frazzled.

After a full day of classes, we were expected to be at the theater until well after eleven o’clock. The energy was high and the dressing room was filled to capacity with everyone changing and applying makeup - hairspray flying in all directions and the smell of slightly burnt hair lingering above twenty different curling irons.

It was the first time in a while that I felt a nervous buzz run through my veins.

Sara was waiting in the hall as I exited the dressing room, and she pulled me into a dark corner, just out of sight from where a bunch of people were standing by the vending machines, stocking up on snacks.

“Are you feeling confident?”

“Ummm . . .”

“No umms. Say it. Say you’re best thing ever.”

“I’m all right.”

She popped me on the arm and I flinched, rubbing the spot. “Okay, jeez. I’m freaking awesome, all right?”

“Damn straight.” She pulled me closer. “Is The Plan still in effect?”

The Plan. Those two words that suddenly made me feel like I needed to pee. Yes, the plan was still in effect. I just had to be courageous enough to do it.

“Yes. I think. Yes.”

“Oh my God. You have exactly one week to grow some lady balls and do this. What will happen if you don’t?”

“What will happen if I do?” Eyes wide, I grabbed her by her shoulders. “What if – and this is, like, the worst possible scenario - but what if it doesn’t work and I look like an idiot?”

“Then you’ll be even.”

It was true. And that would be okay, in the long run. At least I would have tried.

The theater was crawling with people; cast, crew, the backstage team setting up props, scenery being rolled out. The tech crew was running around with headsets, and there were two more in the booth where the lights were being cued. It was real, then. All our hard work had come down to this.

The best part about doing a complete run-through was that I wasn’t actually on stage until three-quarters of the way through the first act. I spent some time in the wings watching Mercy and Reagan, and then had the opportunity to hang out in the hallway just behind the backstage entrance. Those of us that were crowded into the small space could hear the play as it progressed, which allowed us to sit around and nervously joke about how things were going to go on opening night. We played card games, and drank water to prepare our voices. I paced the halls and flipped through my script for what could only have been the ten thousandth time.

“Mallory? You’re on soon.”

“Thanks, Trent.” I smiled timidly at the guy standing by the backstage door, holding it open enough for me to hear the final words of the scene that would transition into my character reuniting with Tucker’s for the first time since childhood.

I squared my shoulders and emerged from behind the curtain, one confident foot in front of the other.

To tell our story.

***

By Friday I was exhausted. I discovered the joys of coffee. I found out that Red Bull is disgusting. And I realized that both of those, coupled with adrenaline, could lead to a nasty bout of insomnia.

No matter, though. After my Friday classes were over, my adrenaline was at an all-time high and I was ready to conquer whatever lay ahead of me. Especially The Plan. Part I would commence that night and I was more nervous about that than being on stage.

By the time I was dressed in my first outfit, made up heavily with thick foundation and powder that Regina, head of the costume department, had insisted was necessary for stage makeup, and my hair sprayed with nearly an inch of lacquer – I was ready. There was no going back.

I took a minute to stand outside in the darkened hall just out of sight of the influx of audience members that were waiting for the doors to open. There was a whole section of the hall that had been dedicated to gifts for the actors, small post-it notes tacked to the wall with bouquets or bunches of flowers beneath them. There were some small boxes of candy and even a tiny bowl of water with a beta fish swimming aimlessly over an itty bitty castle. I bent to take a look at it while it’s pretty tail moved back and forth slowly. It was relaxing to watch.

Scanning the remaining names, I noticed that under the note with mine, there was nothing. But I didn’t dwell on it, even though it stung a little. It’s not like I expected anyone but Sam to show up for me anyway. And she was perpetually late, so I decided that the carnations she promised would be in that exact spot when I checked again during intermission.

After a bit of time, the audience filed into the theater and it was only a matter of minutes before the curtain would rise. I wandered back to the dressing room and peeked my head in to take a long look at all the girls that I’d gotten to know – even limitedly – throughout the months we’d been together. They were so happy and excited. I wanted to keep that mental picture forever.

As they were called out to take their places, I stood beside the door and smiled at them, wishing everyone good luck. To break a leg. That they’d be great. And it didn’t feel faked at all.

I followed and stood in the wings, listening as the tittering in the crowd faded to faint whispers. The theater lights went down and the spotlight came up as Reagan’s voice filled the auditorium.

“Let me tell you a story . . .”

It was there that I stood, taking in the beginning of the musical as the Boy and Girl danced around one another for a bit, the set reflecting rows of lockers where they exchanged glances, and then they were turned on wheels to reveal a grove of trees where they sat, staring up into the rafters and describing the clouds in the sky.

Their hands touched timidly, and Mercy ducked her head, nailing the look of a girl with her first crush.

That scene bled into another, Mercy staring out a bedroom window, telling her mom that the boy was leaving. The scenery changed once more and they were back by the trees, singing a duet about always keeping in touch. No matter what.

This is what it feels like

And I’ll never let this go

This beginning has no end

Now that I’ve found my closest friend