Zoe settles into a more comfortable position on the floor. “Probably this student-written musical in tenth grade. The girl who wrote it was in love with our acting teacher, and the whole show was basically about him secretly being into her, too. I played her, and my then-boyfriend played the acting teacher, and then we broke up in the middle of the rehearsal process. And the actual acting teacher was the director, so it was basically this giant hurricane of awkward.”
“Oh God,” I say. “That might be even worse than Se?or Hidalgo.”
“Fortunately, my friend Brian was in it with me. I wouldn’t have made it through without him.”
“I’ve got an ally, too,” I say. “Do you know Russell, that supertall guy from scenic? He’s doing our set, and he’s really cool. We talked a little bit after rehearsal.”
“Oooh.” Zoe sits up straighter. “No, I don’t know him. Is he cute?”
I picture Russell’s warm brown eyes and curls and strong arms. “Yeah, really cute. But also gay.”
“Damn. Are you sure? I thought Carlos was gay when I first met him, and…um…he is definitely not.” Her face turns a little pinker, and even though I’m the only other person here, I suddenly feel excluded from the conversation.
“I’m pretty sure about Russell. He knows about hair products, and he’s totally into that guy who’s doing the set for Midsummer. Olivier something?”
“Really?” Zoe wrinkles her nose. “Isn’t that guy, like, fifty?”
“He’s pretty attractive, though. Russell showed me a picture on his phone.”
“Russell has a picture of him on his phone?”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “I know, right?”
“Yeah, definitely gay. That sucks.”
“Why’d you think Carlos was?”
“This is going to sound awful, but he seemed too respectful to be straight. He looked me in the eyes when we talked, instead of trying to peek down my shirt. My last couple of boyfriends before him basically wanted a set of boobs to hang out with.”
“Can I see a picture?” I ask.
“Of my boobs?”
I laugh. “Of your boyfriend.”
“I know. I’m just messing with you.” Zoe pulls out her phone and opens a picture. Carlos has a stubbly beard, squarish black glasses, and those deep parentheses around his smile that are almost dimples but not quite. His teeth look incredibly white against the tan of his skin. Zoe’s in the picture, too, wearing heart-shaped sunglasses and pressing her cheek against his. They look totally at ease with each other, and I’m flooded with an irrational wave of jealousy that there are people in the world who know Zoe so much better than I do. I want to skip ahead to a time when we’ve known each other for years, when we meet new people and they marvel at the depth of our friendship.
“He’s adorable,” I manage to say.
“Isn’t he?” Even though she must’ve seen the picture a million times, Zoe’s still practically glowing as she looks at it.
“How long have you guys been together?”
“About ten months. Are you dating anyone?”
I shake my head. “I was with this guy Jason for, like, five months this past year, but we broke up in April. He was really cute and sweet and everything, but we weren’t into any of the same stuff. We kind of ran out of things to talk about.”
Zoe nods. “That sucks. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine; it was my decision. Plus, now I don’t have to listen to my mom complain every single day about how he’s not right for me.”
“She didn’t like him?”
“She thought he was nice. But he wasn’t a theater person, and my parents kind of have this thing about how only theater people can really understand other theater people. My uncle’s dating this financial analyst, and my mom will not leave him alone about it.”
“Wait, everyone in your family’s a theater person?”
“Pretty much.”
“Wow, that’s crazy. Are they all actors?”
Zoe’s getting uncomfortably close to the truth. I wish I didn’t have to be secretive with her when she’s making such an effort with me, but I can’t tell her about my mom right now, not when our friendship is progressing so well. Maybe I’ll never have to tell her.
“They do lots of different stuff,” I say. “Some of them sing opera or dance or direct or whatever, but pretty much everyone is an insanely talented performer. They all came to Allerdale, and they were all really successful, so that’s why it sucks so much that I’ve basically failed here.”
“You haven’t failed, Brooklyn. You’re being way too hard on yourself.”
“We don’t have to talk about it anymore,” I say, hoping she’ll take the hint and drop it.