as the weeks passed, Austin found himself uncharacteristically apprehensive about play practices and what they would mean for dealing with Gabriella. Casting had gone as he’d expected—he’d landed the role of Peter, and initially he’d been pleased about it, until he realized what it likely meant for the female lead. He ran back to the bulletin board outside Fickman’s room only to find his fears confirmed: Gabriella would be Wendy.
These days, he couldn’t even bring himself to look at her across the cafeteria table, and spent most of his last periods crafting mental pep talks about the valuable experience of acting alongside one’s ex—surely professional actors had to do it all the time. Occasionally, though, another self would pop in and suggest he drop out of the play completely to avoid the real-life drama. But each day after the last bell flashed he dutifully walked to the auditorium, and now he was standing in the wings staring at Gabriella, who was already in costume and center stage, holding court with the boys who would play John and Michael. Up in the catwalk, the tech crew fiddled with the gels, casting her in spots of different hues—first a ghostly blue wash over her nightgown, then a red that gave her hair a crimson halo.
She really was beautiful, and it bothered him that he still felt a bit of longing when he saw her. The accusation that he’d used her for sex niggled at him, even though he hoped she’d only said it to get under his skin. Gabriella had been his first, and there were rumors that she’d hooked up with a now-graduated swim team captain when they were still in the eighth grade. He rubbed his eyes, as if he could wipe away his attraction, then turned from the stage. It didn’t matter how hot she was; they were simply no good for one another. In the wings, he watched as the crew sorted through old props, pulling out ones that might be of use in a Peter Pan world. That’s where he noticed Charlie.
She had her back to him, but it was definitely her—her hair pulled up into a messy ponytail, revealing the tiny green, glowing indicator light of her processor. He went to her and took her wrist; she wheeled around and shouted what even Austin and his shoddy lipreading skills could tell was definitely “Fuck.”
Sorry.
You scared me.
Sorry, he said again, now to both her and Alisha—he could see he’d interrupted them.
Alisha waved them off as if to say go ahead, and he led Charlie into the back wing, where a floor lamp with a naked bulb was glowing orb-like. They were alone.
Wanted to say sorry for not answering you this weekend. Family drama.
Her expression, which had been flat, almost businesslike, softened under the apology.
All good.
S-o, you’re in the play?
Not really. Stage crew.
Did you do theater at your old school?
At this she laughed.
No way. True biz? Headmistress Waters is making me.
Like, as punishment?
What?
P-u-n-i-s-h-m-e-n-t.
Yeah. I called her a bitch in class the other day.
What?
Austin tried to imagine a scenario in which he might curse at Headmistress Waters, but couldn’t. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone do it, even another teacher, or in the off-hours at one of his parents’ parties.
It was an accident, she said.
She looked down at the floor. Austin took a step closer, fiddled with the zipper toggle on her hoodie. He was pretty sure he’d never seen Gabriella wear a sweatshirt. He wondered what it would be like to kiss Charlie; he wondered whether there was something wrong with him, his desire flitting from girl to girl in just a few seconds, as if it was completely outside his control. He wondered whether kissing her would be worth the inevitable social aftershocks.
In any case, Charlie didn’t give him the chance to find out—though she had leaned in ever so slightly as he toyed with her sweatshirt, he was nearly a head taller than her, and she was still looking down at her feet. And it was in this position—gazing absently over Charlie’s head onto the stage, the zip of her hoodie still between his fingers—that he locked eyes with Gabriella.
He hadn’t done it on purpose, but he knew Gabriella would see it as a challenge. Maybe, deep down, part of him did, too. As she marched toward them, he tried to warn Charlie, but she didn’t understand the sign for watch out, and soon Gabriella took hold of her ponytail and pulled.
What the fuck?
Charlie spun around, wrenching her hair from Gabriella’s grip.
Hope you know who you’re fucking with, Gabriella said.
A bitch in PJs? said Charlie.
Austin couldn’t help but smile at this. She was quick.
You don’t belong here.
What are you gonna do about it?
I’m warning you. Leave us alone.
She’d said “us,” but she was looking at Austin.
Hey—
You stay out of this, Gabriella said to Austin.
She turned back to Charlie.
Watch your back. Freak.
Gabriella stalked out of the wings, and Austin looked to Charlie, mortified.
Your e-x?
Yeah.
She seems fun.
I’m really sorry.
What was the last thing she said?
Austin shrugged, feigning forgetfulness, but Charlie made an approximation of the sign. He sighed.
F-r-e-a-k, he said.
Charlie said something with her mouth. She looked more pissed than wounded, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of wanting to comfort her. Even if she didn’t need his protection, he liked the way she needed him—sure, at the moment it was mostly as a walking ASL decoder ring, but wasn’t need close to desire?
Come with me? he said.
She nodded and Austin took her hand and led her to the emergency exit.
backstage was cavernous, bigger than she’d realized, and Charlie followed Austin deeper into the darkness until they came to an emergency exit. ALARM WILL SOUND was stamped on the door in orange and white but Austin opened it without flinching, laughed at her wide-eyed look.
Half of them don’t work, he said.
She followed him out, feeling foolish and a little impressed. It was one of the things Charlie was coming to like best about Austin—watching the comfort with which he moved around campus. He was perfectly attuned to the space, the way Charlie knew the loose floorboards and crooked hinges of the house she grew up in. He could show her each quirk and secret passageway River Valley had to offer.
This particular exit, though, released them only onto a concrete loading dock. They sat down on the edge of the platform and swung their legs over the lip. Beneath them was a ramp and a pair of parking spots, but beyond that there was only an open field, browning in that late October way. Fall in Colson was a wild, capricious thing—the weather shifted from muggy to cool without notice, and squalls often pushed in from the river. Charlie was struck by how much colder it was than it had been just that morning. Fat gray clouds hung above them now, and she pulled up the hood of her sweatshirt.
Sorry about her, he said.
Not your f-a-u-l-t.
Your fault, he said, demonstrating. Still, she shouldn’t have done that.
Charlie nodded and looked back out across the field, allowed Austin to put his arm around her. They didn’t say anything else for a long time.
She rested her head on his shoulder, again gripped by the feeling she’d had that first moment they met: an attraction not only to him but to the kind of person he was, the life that might have been hers if she had his stride and sureness and a hundred years of sign language coded right into her bones. When she nestled up closer against him, she undeniably felt desire—to be with him, sure, but also to sop up his knowledge, the confidence propelling his every sign, to absorb his good fortune and the flash in his eyes, swallow him whole.
time passes
Grammar note: In English, verb endings are conjugated to reflect tense. In ASL, markers of time are added as separate signs.