“And I know you think a gap year is some kind of vacation,” I continued, working myself up, “but I kind of wish my parents cared more about what I do. Because if I don’t start getting auditions, I’ll just be the girl who lives at home and goes nowhere.” I pushed my fries around fussily on my plate. “I’ll be the girl who peaks in high school.”
“Uh-uh,” Joy said. “That won’t happen. Besides, I don’t think you can peak when you’re a hot mess, right?”
I laughed and launched a fry across the table. “Shut up.”
“Then again, Dave peaked early, too, so maybe you two are destined,” she said. I didn’t want to laugh—you were so insecure about that, and you’d confided in me—but Joy broke first and started giggling, and I was so relieved at the break in tension that I started too, loud enough to get a shush from an old lady in the next booth.
“Aaaaanyway,” Joy said, in an exaggerated whisper, “it’s not like I have time for anything besides rehearsals and homework right now. I’m glad I don’t have anyone making me crazy. Besides you, obviously.”
I smiled, but I wanted to tell Joy that she was wrong, and that she didn’t know what she was missing. I wanted to tell her that you were the only thing about the past few months of my life that felt real, and that I’d been spending every single day for two months chasing the electric feeling that had sparked when we first met. I wanted to tell her that someone like that makes everything easier, makes everything seem more possible, not less.
But I didn’t end up telling her any of that, because while I was staring off into space thinking about you, I looked up and saw the clock behind the counter.
The moment I first realized I was in love with you? That was also the moment I realized I’d stood you up.
Chapter Eighteen
Mid-April
Less than a month left
WHEN I GOT TO THE REHEARSAL ROOM, you were packing up your stuff. The sun was almost gone, and the sky through the windows was orange-gray like a coal on fire from the inside. You had your back to me, but I saw you flinch when I opened the door.
“I’m really sorry,” I said. The last pill bobbed bitterly in my throat; I’d panicked and swallowed it dry on the way over. I plunged my arm into my bag, hoping to find some half-empty bottle I could use to wash it down.
“You’re unbelievable,” you said, not moving.
“I said I’m sorry.” My fingers closed around a plastic cap and I pulled out a days-old water, gratefully chugging the last inch that was left. That felt better. “I ran into Joy,” I explained. “I lost track of time. I’m ready now.”
“The funny thing,” you said, finally turning to face me, “is that when you say you’ll be someplace you lose track of time, but when you’re not supposed to be there, you just magically appear. You’re never ready at the right time.” Your eyes flashed with anger. I could tell you wanted me to apologize, but not just for running late. Couldn’t you see how complicated it all was? You couldn’t own a person, Joy had said, and it was true. So why did you and Ethan both insist on acting like I had to belong to you?
“That’s not fair,” I said.
“This was a bad idea.” You picked up your coat. “I’m over it. I’m just gonna tell Ethan to find someone else.”
“Seriously?”
“Better than this.” You shrugged your bag onto your shoulder.
“Wow. Well, way to quit.” I tried to keep my voice steady, even though the prospect of facing rehearsals without you—of facing anything without you—made me feel like crying.
“I think it’s for the best,” you said.
“Really?” It was hard to hide my disappointment, but I didn’t care anymore. “For someone so worried about the future, you give up on good things pretty quickly.”
You laughed bitterly. “I don’t think I would describe this as a good thing.”
“It could be.”
“Look, what’s the best-case scenario?” you asked. “We do this, and it doesn’t suck, and then it’s over, right?”
“That’s better than not trying.” I tossed my bag against the wall, where it landed with a dull thud.
“So what?” you asked, shaking your head. “You just want to run lines now? For real?” I opened my mouth and then shut it again. I forgot we were talking, in theory at least, about the play.
The sky was dark; in the time it had taken us to fight, the sun had beat a hasty retreat below the Hudson. If you left, I knew I would have nowhere to go but uptown on the 1 to the top of the park, where I would meet Dante so I could lose track of time, on purpose. Just like that Sunday when I’d walked off the subway without meaning to, I felt a powerful pull to derail. Maybe, if I could just get you to stay for a little while, you would change your mind. Maybe then we could both change course.
“Yeah,” I said.
You let out a deep sigh but pulled off your bag and hung it on a chair. “Fine. Five minutes. Where should we start?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I guess . . . at the beginning.”
? ? ?