“Where’s Roth?” I asked, ignoring them, scanning the plaza. You two kept “coincidentally” missing each other, swapping places like you were pulling some kind of Clark Kent outfit change.
“I think he might have Career Management,” you said, examining your tray of deli sushi. Career Management was the Janus version of a guidance counselor. Seeing as it was a private appointment instead of a class, I found it hard to believe you would know he was there if you two weren’t at least talking.
“Well, we need to go over the schedule,” I said. “I haven’t been able to get in touch with either of you.”
“Uh, you see me every day,” you laughed.
And you don’t see me at all, I thought, seething. You think you can just humiliate me and I’ll lie down and take it.
“Showing up is half the battle,” Joy said, looking pointedly at you.
“Shouldn’t you be in a better mood, man?” Diego asked, popping open a bag of Cheetos. “I mean, your part is basically done, right?”
I glared at him. Performers always thought it was all about them—they were the ones onstage, they were getting the attention (and, most importantly, the applause, which they needed like oxygen). They never seemed to think about the fact that someone else was really doing all the work. They were like puppets, deluded into thinking they were moving and talking on their own.
“Hardly,” I said. “It’s tech week, which means endless sound and lighting fixes, sets and costumes, the cue-to-cue, and then a dress rehearsal. I’ll be living and breathing this thing until curtain.”
“I hear you,” Joy said. “I feel like a broken wind-up toy, just going and going and going.” She turned to Diego and frowned. “Adair put me through hell this morning. I basically got a full physical.” They exchanged a few concerned whispers.
“Secrets, secrets are no fun,” you started to sing, but then Joy shot you a death stare and you shut up.
“Your schedule is cleared this week, right?” I asked. You nodded, tapping on your phone.
“Because I need your full . . . commitment,” I said, savoring the irony of the last word.
“What else would I be doing?” you asked, still not really paying attention. I don’t know what bothered me more, the fact that you were hiding something, or the fact that you were such a shitty actress that you couldn’t even be bothered to do a good job of it.
“I don’t know, you seem pretty busy lately,” Joy said. The words were acid-tinged and made me reconsider Joy’s potential value. You sniffed and rubbed your nose with your wrist. I was about to make a loaded comment about seasonal allergies when Roth finally showed up.
“Hey, sorry I’m late.” He walked over with his thumbs hooked into his pockets, hunching his shoulders, his eyes darting from your face to mine. “I was in Career Management.” I raised my eyebrows; you two were syncing your alibis.
“Cool story, bro,” I said. “What did Ms. Lopez have to say?”
“Just that I have no career,” Roth said with a self-deprecating smile. “It was a short meeting.”
“The casting directors will be knocking down your door come Monday,” Diego said. “Right, E?”
“We’ll see,” I said, frowning out at the sea of tourists with their selfie sticks. “We still have a lot of work to do.”
“It’ll come together,” you said, looking at either me or Dave—with your sunglasses on, it was impossible to tell where your eyes were. “It always does.”
“That’s a pretty confident statement coming from someone who can barely make it to school,” I snapped.
Everyone fell silent for a minute or two, but I had the distinct, paranoid feeling of messages being exchanged silently across the transom, beyond my peripheral vision.
“Trouble in paradise?” Diego finally laughed, but no one joined him. Anyone could see what a joke we were. Everyone had seen it, months ago—except for me.
“All right,” you sighed. “I think that’s my cue to go to the ladies’ room.” You picked up your bag and sauntered off, and Roth took your seat, fidgeting with the straps on his messenger bag.
“You know, I think she’s actually trying pretty hard,” he said. “I mean, it’s getting better, right?”
I looked at him and frowned. “Depends on where you’re sitting,” I said.
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Except for the obvious, I think we’ve got it down.”
“The obvious?”
“Yeah, I mean, the part we’re leaving to performance. The, uh, spur-of-the-moment choice.” He laughed uncomfortably, and I realized he meant the kiss. We’d skipped over it so many times I didn’t even read the stage directions anymore. I’d forgotten it was even there. Sitting right in front of me.
I’d tried everything to get you to crack . . . except for the obvious.
? ? ?