Liam stiffens next to me. My own shoulders tense.
When I was little I had a bit of a lisp. Well. More than a bit.
And I still do, sometimes, despite the speech therapy. Especially when I’m tired, which I always am by the end of the day.
Cameron used to think it was cute. Now he’s just beinga dickcruel.
I close the door behind me and go see what Dr. L needs next.
4
Once callbacks are over, Dr. Lochley and Mr. Cartwright retreat to the Theatre Office tofight aboutdiscuss the cast list, leaving me to clean up the theatre: Collect all Mr. Cartwright’s Mike & Ike boxes, fold up the table they were using, and put away the chairs. Gather all the discarded sides for recycling. Sweep the stage. Set out the ghost light—this big bulb attached to a tall, wheeled stand.
Dr. Lochley doesn’t care either way, but Denise (Dr. L’s wife, who helps out with tech) has made it clear that every theatre should always, always, always leave a ghost light for when no one’s inside, especially overnight. Denise says that theatres and hotels are the two most vulnerable buildings to hauntings.
I’m pretty sure that’s not true, and I’m also pretty sure I don’t believe in ghosts, or curses, or anything, but Denise is very superstitious. One time she thought I’d named the Scottish Play, akaMacbeth, in the Little Theatre. (I saidmagnetsbut apparently they sound similar enough.) She didn’t let me explain, just made me leave the theatre, spin around three times, spit, then knock and ask to be let back in.
I might not be superstitious, but lots of other people are, so: I leave out the ghost light.
I click it on, right as I feel something on my back.
I scream and spin around, nearly falling over, but strong hands catch me. Liam’s standing there, eyes wide likeIstartledhimand not the other way around.
“Sorry!” I think he says.
“What? Wait.” I straighten out, breathing hard, take a step back because suddenly I’m warm all over. Liam radiates body heat, like, all the time. Bowie does too. Something about swimmers and thermogenesis or something.
I pull out my phone and turn my hearing aids back on.
“What?”
“Sorry.” He nods at my phone. “What’s that for?”
I bite my lip. Most people don’t get it—sometimes even my family forgets, which really stings—but Liam’s looking at me like he really wants to know. The ghost light reflects in his big blue eyes.
“I turned my hearing aids off,” I say. “Listening all day is exhausting.”
“Really?”
“Reading lips, concentrating, trying to infer whatever I miss...” I point to my hearing aids. “These don’t magically make me hear like you.”
“I didn’t think so.” He bites his lip. “I’m sorry for startling you. Your tag was sticking up.”
“Oh.” I reach behind me, but he managed to tuck it in before I screamed.
“Do you want some help? We don’t have to talk.”
“I’m done now.”
“Oh.” He scratches the back of his neck, which makes his bicep flex. I get a whiff of his deodorant too, eucalyptus and something else, something that makes my nose tingle, but in a good way. “I’m sorry. You can go ahead and...” He gestures at his own ears. “I don’t mind.”
I try not to with people around. “You sure?”
But he slides his phone out of his pocket and types for a second, then shows it to me. His Notes app is open.
Positive.
We can just chill.
