She’s alone, crouched over a heavy textbook. Her cheekbones are sharp, her skin wan next to a dark sheaf of hair. Her scuffed purple Keds are the only colorful part about her—otherwise she wears cheap jeans, a black tank top. For a moment I second-guess myself. It can’t actually be her. The night of the accident, it was too dark to make much out, and my brain had just been through a blender. For all I know, my savior was a seven-foot-tall dude in a bunny suit and I’m just remembering wrong.
I watch for a moment, take in the way her toe taps slightly along with whatever she’s listening to on her headphones. Then she looks up from her book and meets my eyes, and all doubts are gone. Her eyes widen, and her whole body seems to recoil in a short, sharp gasp.
She looks away again quickly, but I’m already sure of it. It’s her.
Slowly, half-afraid I’ll startle her like some woodland creature, I step toward her table. “Uh . . . hi,” I say. Suddenly I’m not sure how to start. What’s the proper icebreaker for meeting a person who saved your life?
She pulls one earbud out, but leaves the other in. I sit down across from her, giving a smile I hope is charming. “I think . . . I think you might be the girl who helped me after my accident a few weeks back. It was over on Briarcliff—a hit-and-run?”
“Sorry. Wrong person.” She shoves the earbud back in, looks determinedly down at her book. But she’s lying. I can tell. Her mouth is a straight line, but her eyes are wide and almost frightened. I reach across the table and touch her hand to get her attention.
She jerks her hand away like she’s been burned. Her pencil falls to the ground.
“Sorry . . .”
“No, it’s okay, just . . .”
“Here, I . . .”
We talk over each other for an awkward moment, both leaning down at the same time. I get to it first, and she snatches it out of my hand.
“Look, I just wanted to thank you,” I say.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, clearly annoyed. “And I’ve got a lot of homework, so . . .”
A shadow falls across the table. I look up to see Sasha, outline dark against the sun. A few feet behind her, the Sallys are standing in a tight group, glaring at me.
“Uh . . .” I say, stupidly. My heart drops.
“Hey! I was just coming to tell you we’re going to the Springs. But I see you might have other plans.”
Her voice is as bright as a blade, sharp with false cheer, her lips a blood-red slash on her pale face.
“Hey. Sorry, I was just . . .”
“Don’t I know you?” Sasha’s talking to the girl, not to me. “You’re in third-period computer lab, aren’t you?”
I’m almost afraid to look at the girl. I don’t want to incite more of Sasha’s wrath than I have to. But out of the periphery of my vision I see her nod.
“Yeah, you’re the girl that keeps throwing the curve.” If I didn’t know Sasha, I’d think she sounded impressed, but her eyes gleam dangerously. “What’s your name again?”
The girl pauses for a long moment before she answers. “Catherine,” she says.
“Yeah, that’s right.” Sasha turns back to me, smiling. “This one keeps getting perfect scores on the quizzes. We all want to kill her.” She says it almost playfully, like it’s all friendly teasing, but I know better.
If they didn’t before, they will now, I think. But her words give me an idea. “Yeah, I’m in English with her. I was just asking about the homework.”
It’s risky. She could fact-check pretty easily, catch me in the lie. But her eyes soften a little.
“Like you’ll even do the reading,” she says. She brushes her hair back over her shoulder. “Where’s my drink?”
“Oh . . . yeah.” I jump to my feet. The barista long since called my order, and the drink is sitting there on the counter, the ice half-melted. “Here.”
Sasha eyes it distastefully, then heaves a sigh. She plunges the straw in like an ice pick and swirls the cup gently. “So, are we going to the Springs or what?”
I swallow hard. “The thing is, Vivi’s got a recital. I totally forgot about it, but . . . I have to go to it.” I hold up my phone quickly, hoping the tutu picture will derail her a little. “How cute is this?”
Her eyes soften a little. I feel some of the tightness go out of my back as she takes the phone from me. “Oh my God, that’s out of control. Look, she put a little tiara on the dog!” She shows the picture around to her friends, and they all coo and croon in appreciation.
“You should come with me,” I say hopefully, edging away from the girl at the table. “It’ll only be an hour or so, and then we can go to Kerbey Lane after.”
Her gaze snaps up. “I’m not eating pancakes on our date night,” she says, her voice frosty again.
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “Okay, then, Asti Trattoria or whatever.” Never mind that a meal at Asti will clear out the last of my birthday money. “Whatever you want.”
She sighs patiently, like I’m a little kid. “Of course we’ll go to Vivi’s recital. God, I’m not a monster.” She hands the phone back to me and turns to her friends. “You guys have fun at the Springs. We’ve got to get going.”
I finally exhale. Crisis averted. Barely.
“Thanks, Catherine. See you in class.” I give the girl a wave and turn to follow Sasha.
Halfway to the parking lot I risk a glance behind me. She’s hunched over her notebook again, her hair spilling down over her shoulders to hide her face. But I catch a glimpse of her eyes, wide and wary, as she watches us go.
FOUR
Elyse
I’ve barely gotten through the doors on Monday morning when Brynn grabs me, sliding her arm through mine.
“The casting list’s up,” she whispers.
I lick my chapped lips. “Have you looked yet?”
She shakes her head. “Not yet. I was waiting for you.”
It’s officially my first test as a lead actor: pretending I don’t already know that I’ve been cast.
I could hardly sit still this weekend. One minute I felt like I could fly. The next, I felt like I might puke. I kept picturing what Brynn’s face would look like when she found out she wasn’t Juliet. When she found out I was Juliet. I’ve been dreading this moment for two days straight.
Now I steel myself, letting my best friend lead me to the ticket office. There’s already a crowd. I see Nessa craning her neck to see over someone’s shoulder. The basketball player grins widely and nudges a boy standing next to him. One girl is crying.
“You ready for this?” Brynn asks, squeezing my arm.
No. “As ready as I’m going to be,” I say, my mouth dry as sand.
Brynn’s eyes are bright, hopeful as she stands on her tiptoes to see over the crowd. My heart wrenches in my chest, so sharp for a moment I forget to be happy for myself. I know how much this means to her.
But before I have a chance to say anything, Frankie catches sight of me.
“I knew you’d get it,” he says loudly, pulling me into an excited hug. “Your reading was unbelievable!”
I can’t see Brynn for a moment, her face disappearing behind Frankie’s shoulder while he pulls me close. Other people are looking our way now.
“Congratulations!” Nessa says, grinning. Laura Egan grabs my hands and jumps up and down. I can’t help it; a smile blooms across my face at the sight of theirs. I’ve never been the center of attention before.
“Thanks,” I say. “Thanks, everyone.”
And then I see Brynn, standing stock-still in front of the casting list. She’s facing away from me so all I can see is the back of her head. Over her shoulder I can see my name, hand-written in neat marker.
Juliet. . . . . . . . . . Elyse McCormick
I scan the rest of the list. Frankie’s Romeo; Nessa is Lady Montague; and Laura, Lady Capulet. The basketball player, Trajan Holland, is Tybalt. Brynn’s name is halfway down the list.
She’s the nurse.
I feel queasy. It’s not fair. Brynn works so hard—she rehearses more than anyone I know. She’s gone to every drama camp, every theater workshop, every master class she could. I don’t understand why Mr. Hunter picked me over her.
I step closer to her, and the people around us get a little quiet. In the time-honored tradition of high school theater club, they are all eager for a whiff of drama. She doesn’t turn to look at me; I’ve never seen her face so still, her expression so blank.
“Brynn . . .” I start. Then I realize I don’t know what to say.