The day before Christmas Eve, I was at my parents’ house, scrolling through my email. I sat up straighter on the couch when I saw a message from Ganymede. My heart thumped in my chest.
A few weeks ago, I would have assumed this was a prank, not that anyone I knew would be so cruel. The people closest to me knew how depressed I had been after crashing out in LA and being forced to come back home. They would never kick a girl when she was down.
It was no prank, though, no matter how unreal it was to see her name in my inbox.
My thumb trembled over her email. I forced myself to breathe deeply, hold it, then let the air out slowly. Was she telling me never mind, now that I wasn’t with Luke? Thanks, but no thanks, we’ve reconsidered and we think your work is amateur-hour bullshit.
Waiting wouldn’t change what the message said. I tapped it open. Despite what my anxiety had suspected, Ganymede was not telling me to kick rocks and lose her number. Quite the opposite.
It seemed she wasn’t used to people not contacting her when she asked them to. She accused me of playing hard to get, and she said it was working, that she wouldn’t take no for an answer. She wanted me to work with her on her next big production.
She told me to set up a meeting with her and the producer for the show, capping the email off with a bunch of hearts and praying hands.
I almost smiled, feeling the woman’s wild vibe even through the screen. Working with her would change my entire life. I had a feeling she and I could be friends, although I would never admit that out loud to anyone.
So why was I so torn on how to respond?
Clearly, the opportunity was something I wanted, a literal dream come true. But going back to New York, living full time in the same city as Luke? My heart rejected the idea outright. It would be too painful, knowing he was so close. The idea of running into him on the street with another girl on his arm made me want to throw up.
Maybe the disaster in LA had scarred me deeper than I realized. New York now felt like LA to me, a place I never wanted to see again.
And it wasn’t just the chance of seeing Luke that put me off. The only reason I had met Ganymede was through Luke and his connections. Taking the job felt like I was using him, the same way he had used me for his stupid bet. It felt wrong.
It felt like, if I didn’t want to be with him, I shouldn’t take advantage of the generosity he’d shown me. Was it generosity, though, or a way to trick me into falling for him?
If that was the case, there was no way I could accept that job. I would show up at the theater every day feeling like a fraud, like I hadn’t earned it on my own. I would feel like I owed him and I didn’t want to feel indebted to anyone like that. Especially someone who lied to me.
When he left Texas again, maybe the storm of confused emotions would blow itself out and my reluctance would fade. Maybe I would be able to free my heart from his grip. Unfortunately, I was worried the only way that would ever happen was if I abandoned my New York dream and stayed right here in Texas. At least for the foreseeable future.
I didn’t reply yet. Let her think I was being mysterious and aloof. Broadway would have to wait. Today, I needed to be at the school to start preparing for the show tonight.
Refusing to let the world get me down, I threw on a festive sweater. Memories of a different Christmas sweater tried to haunt me, but I forced down the image of our faces on those elves. All it would do was make me sadder than I already was.
I drove over, playing holiday songs and looking at the lights on the houses. Things were tough at the moment, but life continued to go on all around me. People were celebrating, spreading cheer, falling in love. That might be me again someday, and I tried to keep hope alive.
And if nothing else, at least I had the high school Christmas play to make me feel useful.
Once I set foot in the auditorium, I saw Dixie right inside the doors, talking to Mrs. Fletcher and Mr. Cunningham, the assistant principal. My feet froze me in place, even though my instincts screamed at me to head for the hills and never look back. What on earth could this harpy be doing here?
I turned to leave but Dixie whirled to face me. “There she is!”
She didn’t say it the way you’d greet an old friend; she said it like she’d been hunting for me at the head of a pitchfork-waving mob and she’d finally found me.
Witty as ever in the face of uncertainty, my response was, “Huh?”
It was apparently not the right thing to say to calm Dixie down. Her face turned an ugly shade of red, visible even throughthe half inch of makeup she had spackled on herself. I imagined even circus clowns would think it was a bit much.
It did not make it any less scary when she marched toward me on her spiked heels. “Why on earth would you think it’s okay to help out here?”
“What do you mean?” I asked her, genuinely confused.
Dixie turned to look at Mr. Cunningham. “Why would you allow someone like Clara to help with the production? She couldn’t keep her own theater running, letting the building get rundown, making things unsafe.”
Some of my courage returned, fueled by anger. “Why areyouhere? I was asked to be here because of my experience in professional theater productions.”
“Didyouask her to be here?” Dixie asked Cunningham.
The portly man looked sweaty and nervous. He shook his head vigorously, as if Dixie was in charge somehow. “I certainly did not.”
