“It’s fine.” I go to the sink to wash myself off.
He’s not a jerk. I’m a jerk. All he wanted was to tease me, like friends do. But every time he touches me I want to fall apart.
I never want him to stop touching me.
I’m a terrible brother.
When I turn back, drying my face with a paper towel, he’s a few steps away. Giving me space.
“Sorry,” he signs. “Sorry sorry.”
I shake my head. “It’s fine.”
I summon up a smile that would make Dr. Lochley proud.
Maybe I’m a decent actor after all.
“Let’s get back to work.”
17
If I have to murder an actor during dress rehearsal, does that count as first or second degree?
The last week of techs were fine: Paige wrangled the stage crew for scene changes; Denise and I worked out all the lighting cues; Dr. L and Mr. Cartwright and Miss Benayoun, the conductor, argued about sound cues and how many bars of music to give each scene change.
The show came together. Became something more than the sum of its parts.
But now that everyone’s in costume, it’s like they’ve forgotten how to do a show. Actors run from one side of backstage to the other, like they haven’t been making the exact same entrances for weeks. Asher accidentally sings the same verse three times in a row. Poor Liam nearly falls into the pit at one point, but in a surprising display of moral fortitude, Cam yanks him back.
I never thought I’d actually be grateful to Cameron for anything.
I’m seated at the tech table, hemmed in with Dr. Lochley to my right, Denise to my left, with a huge bag offorbiddenmini candy canes in front of her.
I’ve got an iPad mirroring the screen of the lighting console back in the booth; its glow lights up my stage manager notebook.
“Light cue 158 go,” I say over my headset. It’s a special in-ear one Denise found online, that I can wear instead of my right hearing aid. It’s not perfect (then again, neither are my hearing aids), but it’s enough to get by—as long as Dr. L or Denise is on comm too, to catch what I miss.
“Spot Jesus, go.”
Liam stands at center stage, in his costume of ripped black jeans and a clean white T-shirt, except it’s not so clean anymore, as his makeup has stained the collar beige and there’s a black streak of eyeliner on one shoulder. His hair has been gelled and styled into an angular, aggressive rock star look. Heavy eyeliner frames his blue eyes. They shine when the lights catch them, like someone stole a bit of the summer sky to make them.
“Light cue 159 go.” The stage goes darker, leaving Liam bathed in blue backlight, with only the followspots lighting his face.
He’s a glowing sun.
If I weren’t sucha heathenan atheist I would probably appreciate the symbolism.
The soldiers appear in the wings as he’s singing the last notes of the song, and he looks right at the tech table, right at me, and I lose my breath. I know he’s doing it because I’m a friendly face, a familiar presence in the audience, but I wish he’d look away. Look at Dr. L, who isobsessed withproud of him; look at Denise, who he’s spent every work day learning tech from; even at Cam, who’s waiting in the wings to kiss him.
He doesn’t know the ache he kindles every time he looks at me. He doesn’t know what it’s like to watch him onstage, a blazingstar, and want him to shine on me instead of on my sister.
And then he does that thing some people can do where he lets a single tear roll down his cheek. And it’s gentle, not a squint-and-squeeze-it-out type tear but a true oh-I-didn’t-realize-I-was-crying tear, and it feels like he’s reached into my chest and ripped my still-beating heart out.
I forget to breathe. Denise elbows me.
Time for Judas tokissbetray him.
“Light cue 160 go.”
