Don’t do that!!!!
He takes my phone and types:
Sorry. Are you ok?
How long do we stay here
I answer:
Until Dr L gives the all clear
It can cause feedback
I text Dr. L to let her know we’re trapped. In the dim blue glow of my phone, I can make out Liam’s face a little. His mouth is pinched, and his blue eyes are wide. He looks... frazzled.
You okay?
I hand him back the phone. His hand shakes slightly.
I’m a little bit claustrophobic
Sorry
He’s shaking next to me. If he doesn’t stop, he’ll give us away, and that would be terrible.
Not only for the trouble we’d get in with Mrs. Bashir, and possibly messing up the fire marshal inspection, but because of the rumors. Two guys caught hiding in the catwalk? No one ever comes up here except for shows or—legend has it—to hook up.
Would people thinkwehooked up? My armpits sweat. Jasmine would kill me if people thought that.
Liam drums his fingers against his knees. I put my hand over his, give it a squeeze, and he lets me take his hand to calm him.
Holding Liam’s hand is a mistake.
His hands are big. The one I’m holding is clammy, but smooth, soft enough to make me self-conscious of my own calloused palms and fingers. I wonder if swimming did it for him or if his hands are just naturally perfectlike the rest of him.
As I squeeze his hand, he relaxes, his whole body softening against my side, and I can’t breathe.
The floor shifts beneath us slightly. The heavy stomp of boots reverberates in my butt. I lock my phone to make sure no light spills out from the hidey-hole. But now I’m alone in the dark. With Liam.
Last year I was plugging in an old PAR and got electrocuted. That might be too strong a word: It was a tiny zap, and it didn’t hurt me, but it made my skin buzz and my tongue feel fuzzy.
I’ve got that buzzing again, but it’s not electricity.
It’s Liam. Liam’s hand in mine. Liam’s shoulders pressed up against me. Liam, who likes to tuck in my tags, and beg for shmoodies, who offered to help just because I looked like I needed it.
Liam, who worries no one sees him, but who sees me just fine.
And I wonder if I’ve been wrong this whole time, and maybe he’s not so straight, and maybe he could like someone like me. Even though he’s him and I’m basically a background character.
What if every time he touches me, every time he waits around after rehearsal, every time he haltingly fingerspells a word because he knows how tired I get listening and guessing and reading lips all day, he’s trying to tell me something? Something more than just “we’re friends.”
My armpits are sweating so hard I worry the fire marshal will notice a puddle. Should I say something?
What if I’ve read him all wrong?
What if he does like me, and it goes bad anyway? What if I’m just like Jasmine and we break up because I’m too much? What if we’re just like Mom and Dad and we break up because we can’t stop fightingand making our kids miserable?
Worse, what if it’s good, but then he goes off to college and leaves me anyway?
