Liam laughs and taps my tea with his mocha. “To our fearless stage manager.”
Fearless?
If only he knew.
***
Jasmine is in the kitchen when I get home, and my heart leaps up into my throat, because what if she recognized Liam’s jalopy and realizes I was with him?
Not that she told me I’m not allowed.
But instead, she’s hunched over her iPad, looking at internships in Denver.
I always kind of figured Jasmine wouldn’t stick around after graduation. After all, I’m not either.
But going to live with Mom... I don’t know.
It’s like she wants to get away from me.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey.” I drop my shmoodie bottles in the sink to wash them, but Jasmine waves at me. I turn the water back off. “Huh?”
“You have Liam’s list on you?”
“Right now? Really?”
I don’t want to read it off. Not after spending the afternoon with him.
At least I remembered—barely—to return his sweatshirt to him before getting out of the car.
“Please? It’s been a rough day.” She sighs dramatically. “I need you.”
“Fine.” I finish washing, haul my notebook out of my backpack, and flip to Liam’s list.
I wish I’d never made this thing.
“Liam Coquyt’s Breakup List...”
29
Monday brings our first read-through. While Dr. Lochley continues her Shakespeare unit in Theatre IV, showing clips of the David Tennant and Patrick StewartHamlet,I sit on the stage, wrangling scripts.
SinceTwelfth Nightis in the public domain, Dr. L printed copies herself—but she forgot to collate them. So I spend the whole class sorting the still-warm pages like some frenzied card shark, dealing out acts and scenes for thirty-three players, until my hands are covered in paper cuts and smell like toner.
The bell rings, bringing its usual mad dash for snacks or the restroom before rehearsals start and the rest of the cast arrives. Paige is quick to show up; she gives me a wave before getting drawn into conversation with Jamilah.
Philip and Cam aren’t far behind, but something weird is going on with them. They spent the last hour sitting upright, with a couple inches between their shoulders, instead of intertwined like usual. I wonder if it’s because Philip got a bit part. Or because Cameron is still stewing over being rejected by NYU. I feel bad for him, but maybe it’s healthy for him to experiencebeing the rejectee, rather than the rejecter, every once in a while.
When Liam shows up, he doesn’t even ask if I need help; he just tucks in my tag, grabs a stack of folding chairs, and gets to work. I stare at him, following the flexing cords in his forearms as he unfolds the chairs. My heart tries to switch places with my lungs.
He catches me looking, and for once I’m thankful for the abysmal work lights in the Little Theatre, because the ghoulish downlight will make it hard to see my blush.
He gives me a toothy grin and keeps working. I pick up the pile of scripts and follow behind, saving one of the nicer ones for him.
When read-through is finally done, I turn my hearing aids off as I clean up. Trying to keep up with all thatold-timey languageiambic pentameter while the cast mumbled their way through the first reading has my brain feeling like a bruised persimmon.
“What can I do?” Liam signs as I sweep the stage.
