“I forgot about Tedi.” Logan’s voice is quiet and sounds far calmer than my racing heart.
I slam the diary shut. “I forgot about Annette.”
We stare at each other.
And then I stand up. “I have to go to dress rehearsal at the theater.”
“The play’s tomorrow night?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Great.” If I don’t get out of here right this second, I’m going to say something I shouldn’t. “Feel better. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
My mind won’t stop racing as I leave Logan’s bedroom.
Because that entry I just read…
I can’t believe I let Tedi into my bed. A man I never even cared about. A man I hardly even remember.
The only man I never let in was Logan. Because he’s the only one who could have…
Made me change my mind.
I rush out of the main house of Wild Ranch as fast as I can. But as I reach the edge of the front pasture, the glint of light off to the side catches my eye. I turn just in time to see Skip with his cell phone held up in my direction.
Did he just…
I shake my head and keep walking toward the theater.
81
When Mama proudly presents me with my Small Woman costume at our final dress rehearsal, I gasp when I glimpse the neon yellow top and the bright red bottom.
She screams back that it’s a beautiful dress. I tell her I’m going to look like a small bug in it, and she tells me not to speak so rudely.
“I did not raise you to talk that way, young lady,” she says with a pointed stare. “Now put on the dress and let’s take a look.”
It’s just as I suspected. I look like a cross between an ant and a bumblebee.
“That is not true,” Mama says.
“Billowy red skirt, skimpy black and gold striped top. Ant and bumblebee, Mama.”
After a few alterations, it’s no better. Mama skulks away, muttering something about Small Woman being beautiful, and I sigh.
When I get up on the stage to rehearse, I forget my lines. Millie, the director, admonishes me that tomorrow is opening night, there will be a full house, and I better not forget then. I apologize as Mama brings out the script to me with a glare.
“I told you,” I say to the leper now-turned beauty. “I told you he’d love you anyway. He always has, and it’s not the looks. It’s what’s inside you.”
Right, it’s not the looks. Why would the whole play be based around how she’s improved her external appearance if it doesn’t matter?
Mama frowns at me when I tell her this. She tells me to go home and get some sleep, saying I clearly need it.
So I drive home, feeling lonely, feeling sad, and cursing Queen Austen and the fact that I agreed to be in it.
My phone rings as I’m pulling into my driveway.
