“Oh. Yeah. Let me look through and see. It’s funny, you know, sometimes the costumes get mislabeled or just organized wrong. I guess I need to do a proper sorting, but that’ll have to wait until we’re through with the show. Maybe that’ll be my winter project, especially going into the spring play, you know, just to make sure everything’s in good shape.” I realize I’m rambling and clamp my mouth shut, digging until I find a better pair of jeans.
“Try these.” My mouth tastes like I’ve licked a fire curtain.
“Thanks.”
He takes them with one hand, and reaches behind me to tuck in my tag with the other, and I stifle a squeak, because I hate it when he does that.
Except I don’t hate it. No matter how much I lie to myself, the truth is, I like it. I like him.
I like Liam.
“You okay?” he fingerspells. It’s still weird, seeing him do it. I guess he and Bowie had a few more lessons this past week, though, because he’s a little more fluid and confident with it.
But it snaps me out of my panic.
“I’m fine.” Even I can tell my voice sounds weird. “I’m thirsty. You need any water?”
He already drank the shmoodie I brought him. Frozen blueberries and vanilla Greek yogurt. There was no more fresh fruit: Dad wasn’t back from City Market by the time Amy had to drop me off for our Saturday work day.
“I’m good,” he says. Then he signs, “Thanks,” and disappears behind the door.
***
Once we finally find the right jeans for Liam, I label them. He’s the last fitting for today, so I go find Denise, who’s closing up the scene shop.
“Good work today,” she tells me. “You get Liam squared away?”
“Yup. Labeled and everything.”
“Great. Hey, do you know Paige?” She gestures, and a girl comes over, white with brown hair and striking green eyes that are only enhanced by an epic application of eyeliner.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey. I’m Jackson.” I shake her hand; it’s got a few calluses on it, like mine. “Thanks for all your hard work today.”
“Sure.”
Denise says something to her; she nods and goes to collect her backpack, while Denise turns back to me.
“I was thinking somethingsomething.”
“Say again?”
“Sorry. What do you think of her being your assistant stage manager?”
“Really?”
“Yeah. She’s interested. Hard worker. I think she’d be good at it.”
I’ve never had an ASM before. But maybe I could mentor her, like Caprice mentored me.
“Yeah. That’d be great.”
Denise grins. “Good.”
Me. With an assistant. I’m still kind of floating as I head backto the dressing room to grab my backpack, but Liam opens the door before I can. He’s dressed again, in a worn RHS Swim & Dive T-shirt and black sweats. I back up before I bump into him.
“Oh. Sorry.”
