Or maybe I want to kiss you again?
I almost miss my cue, and the stage manager has to yell at me before I spring into action and plug in my LEDs.
I get back to the room before Zoe after the show and curl up with a book to wait for her, but I’m not even seeing the words on the page. When I hear her key in the lock, I frantically rearrange myself on the bed so I look as casually cute as possible, propped on my elbow with my hair hanging over one shoulder just so and my tank top riding up my stomach the tiniest bit. I toy with the end of my ponytail and look down at the novel I’m supposedly reading; I want her to walk in and think, I can’t believe how adorable she is when she’s not even trying.
But when I look up and say, “Hey,” she doesn’t even meet my eyes.
“Hi,” she says.
“Did you have a good show?”
“Yeah, it was fine.” Zoe drops her bag onto her chair, scoops up a binder from her desk, and starts paging through it so fast, she can’t possibly be reading anything.
Is she trying to avoid me? I assumed that the worst possible scenario would be discovering that the kiss meant nothing; I never even considered the possibility that it would bring our entire friendship crashing down. Maybe Zoe confessed to Carlos and he told her to stay away from me. I have that bottom-dropping-out feeling I get when I go on the Cyclone at Coney Island, like my body has moved forward and left my stomach behind.
“How was the rest of your day?” I ask. I try to keep my voice bright and cheerful.
“I had my first Birdie rehearsal.” When Zoe finally looks up from the binder, there’s no embarrassment or anger in her eyes—there’s only panic. I’ve never seen her look vulnerable before, and the way she’s struggling to hide it makes her look heartbreakingly young and fragile. This obviously has nothing to do with me, and suddenly I can breathe again.
I sit up. “Was it bad? What happened?”
She sighs. “No, it was fine. I’m just…a little overwhelmed.”
“Of course you are. Kim’s a really big role, and it was your first day.”
“I know, and logically, I’m sure I can handle the part. The songs aren’t even that hard or anything. We started working on ‘One Boy’ this morning, and it went pretty well. But then I did ‘What Did I Ever See in Him?’ this afternoon with Julianna—she’s playing Rosie—and she’s…” Zoe sighs and drops her binder on the desk. “She’s so professional. I mean, she is a professional, obviously. But it reminded me how much I’m not, you know? I don’t even have any real training yet. How am I supposed to keep up with her?”
“Zoe, you’re insanely talented,” I say. “You’ll totally be able to keep up.”
“Thanks. I know it’ll probably be fine. But…this is going to sound terrible, but I’m used to it being easy. I’m used to being the best. It was never hard for me to get leads at my high school. And here I’m, like, so far from the best, and it’s going to be the same at Juilliard. What if I have to spend the entire rest of my life not being the best?”
A snotty little part of me wants to go, Welcome to the club, but I swallow down the words. Zoe has never really needed me before, and I want to show her how supportive I can be. Plus, listening to her spill her secret fears is making me feel close to her in a totally new way.
“You have tons of time to rehearse,” I say. “The show doesn’t open for six weeks. By then you’re going to be even better than Julianna.”
Zoe smiles at me. “You’re sweet,” she says. “I think maybe I’ll feel better if I go to the practice rooms for a little while and look over what we did today.”
“You can practice here. I don’t mind.”
“No, it’s late. I don’t want to bother anyone. I’ll be back soon, okay? I’ll try not to wake you up if you’re asleep.”
Of course I want Zoe to feel better, but I also don’t want her to leave me. Before I even have time to think about it, I’m asking, “Do you want an accompanist?”
“Well, yeah. I’d love that. But nobody’s going to be available this late.”
“I’m available.”
She looks up from gathering her things. “I didn’t know you could play.”
“Yeah. I’m pretty good, actually.”
“It’s really nice of you to offer. But I don’t have the piano part.”
“That’s okay,” I say. “I know it.”
“Seriously? You know all of Birdie by heart?”
I shrug. “I mean, I probably don’t know all of it. But I’m pretty sure I can do your songs.”