“Liam!” I whine, but then he’s back, holding a paper towel, and while I smear fake blood along his chest, he holds it to my nose, gently wiping at it. It doesn’t hurt much; hopefully it’s not broken.
Liam’s chest is firm and warm, his skin smooth. I can feel the way he’s put together, the muscles that pull him through the water so well it looks effortless.
He isJasmine’s boyfriendsupposed to be onstage right now.
I shake myself, try to pull away, but his free hand covers one of mine, warm and soft. I look up at him. He takes a deep breath, sets his jaw, and nods at me.
“Thanks. I’m good.”
“Right. Come on. The show must go on.”
I grab the paper towel from him, take him by the forearm, and lead him out of the scene shop. Give him a gentle nudge toward Paige, who’s standing there waiting with his cross. “You got this.”
19
It’s a standing ovation. Of course it is.
I watch from backstage right, next to Paige, bits of paper towel stuffed up my nostrils.
The cast joins hands and bows, gestures to the pit, then bows again one final time. They wave goodbye as the grand drape closes. There’s a tiny hitch about a third of the way along, but Paige recovers before I even blink.
The gold curtains close for the last time, wobble for a second, and still.
“Great job,” I tell Paige.
She shrugs, says something I can’t make out, but gestures to my nose.
“I think it’s stopped.” I pull out the paper towels, sniff experimentally, but things seem dry. Dry and crusty. The cast is breaking up, heading to their dressing rooms. Liam spots me as I hang back against the flyrail. He’s breathing hard, chest heaving, fake blood smeared everywhere. There’s a smile on his face, a genuine one, but it’s still a little fragile.
“Hey,” he signs.
“Hey.”
“Thanks. I’m sorry.”
I wave him off. “It’s fine.”
He shakes his head.
“Talk later?”
“Yeah. You better go change.”
He reaches for me, ready to tuck in my tag, but his hand is covered in fake blood. I lean away. “Ew!”
He blushes and pulls back.
“Go get cleaned up. I’ve got to close the booth.”
Dr. L is already gone when I get back, the door wide-open. I pack away my binder (making sure Dr. Lochley didn’tnoticedisturb any of my lists), then triple-check for food. I didn’t bring anything myself, but last yeara GSA membersomeone left a half-eaten bag of Doritos in the booth, and no one found it for days.
There were mouse poops everywhere.
The lobby is full of cast members, still in costume and makeup, greeting friends or family. A few people hold handfuls of roses. River, a senior in the chorus (she’s way more of an actor than a singer), holds a bouquet that’s got to be at least two dozen.
A shriek distorts in my hearing aids, and I spin to find Tori, hugging her mother and surrounded by her siblings. She’s beaming, bouncing on her toes, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her happier in all the years I’ve known her. Senior year and a lead in the musical.
I spot Bowie’s brown hand waving over the crowd and make my way through. They’re holding a small bouquet of yellow roses.
