Even Jasmine says we’ll be okay eventually.
But Liam still won’t talk to me. Won’t even look at me.
That’s his choice, though. I have to honor it.
Even so, I feel a little lighter as I head down the stairs to find Bowie.
Everything isn’t fixed. But a few things are on the mend. Maybe that’s enough for now.
48
“Are you done yet?” Bowie asks.
“Almost.”
We’re in the computer lab. Bowie’s finished fighting with their Excel spreadsheet, but I’m still working on a list of equipment we need for theMario Karttournament. I’m pretty sure we can borrow it from the Theatre Department, now that Dr. L and I are talking again.
“I need food before the show.”
“Okay, okay.” I save my work and pack up so we can make a DQ run. Bowie gets some chicken fingers while I get a little Oreo Blizzard; we’re still doing our usual post-show Perkins, even though I’m not in the show, so this is more a snack than anything else.
It’s the sort of spring day that feels like summer came early: sunny, in the seventies, though still cool in the shade. We drive with the windows down—and my hearing aids off—and the wind feels like freedom on my face. Like the sky is vast and boundless, and our futures even more so.
Bowie’s smirking as we hit a stoplight.
“What?”
“You’re smiling.”
“Am not.”
“It’s good to see.”
I roll my eyes. “I guess I’m doing a little better.”
“Good.”
It turns out, even if they’re a little on the weird side, the GSA crowd is pretty cool. Braden and I might actually become friends, despite his constantbroing. And it turns out Nadine’s parents own the little Middle Eastern Market in Gladstone that Dad’s always getting Persian groceries from.
I still miss Liam. Maybe I always will. But I’m doing okay.
We eat in the parking lot, and I’m careful to keep the soft serve off my button-up. It feels weird to be wearing normal clothes instead of show blacks on opening night. Weirder still to have tickets to the show, even if Dr. L gave them to me for free.
Still, maybe dairy wasn’t the best choice for a snack, because my stomach starts doing little flips when a familiar black Honda pulls up next to Bowie’s car.
Cam emerges from the driver’s side; Philip gets out the other, clutching a brown paper bag with the Big Burger logo on it. Cam sidles around the car and wraps his arm around Philip’s waist, as they both head in.
Bowie’s nostrils flare. “Those two are toxic.”
I shrug and open the door. “Come on. We’d better go before the good seats are all taken.”
Good seats being ones where I can see Liam the clearest. I hand over our tickets, take a couple programs, pick spots at the northeast corner.
“That’s pretty cool.” Bowie points at the set. It was only half-finished when I got fired, but now it’s done, and it’s phenomenal: the skyline of Illyria, with windows made of frosted gels twinkling like candlelight, courtesy of theflickering LEDs behind them. All built out of recycled flats.
“Yeah. It is.” Denise has outdone herself. I wonder who else helped. Did Liam keep showing up to work days without me?
I thumb through the program; to my surprise, Dr. L didn’t take me off the stage manager spot, though she did add Laken underneath.
