17
Ollie and I make our way into the studio at eight in the morning and I inhale a sharp, startled breath and nearly splatter my coffee all over myself when I find Roshni lounging on my bed, reading a script. She looks like a goddess, but even goddesses can be scary when unannounced.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Ms. Dirty-Stay-Out,” she teases as she closes the script and sits up, swinging her legs down to dangle off the side of the bed. “Or am I mistaken, and are you and Ollie simply returning home from a refreshing morning walk?”
“Why, yes, it was a refreshing morning walk,” I answer innocently. “It was highly, highly refreshing, actually.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet. Too bad my morning strolls don’t help me emit that same healthy, thoroughly debauched afterglow.”
“Your time will come,” I tell her. “So, did you have a good time with Christine yesterday?”
“I had a ball. I had no idea so much work went into costume design. It was super informative, and Christine is awesome.” I make a face, and Roshni catches it. “Why are you scowling?”
“No reason,” I say. “It’s just that your talk about other friends significantly reduces my will to live.”
“Nonsense. You’ll always be my favorite.”
“Same here.” I sit down then in the tiny armchair, taking a sip of my coffee as Ollie snuggles up against Roshni’s legs. “Do you know if Juliette is up yet? Did she say what she wants us to do today? I figured we could go to the pop-up location and look for any potential problem areas, or we could help the interns pass out flyers.”
“As a matter of fact, we are doing none of that, because Juliette is giving us the day off again! Don’t go off the deep end, but Christine offered to show me her favorite spots around the city. Want to come with?”
I practically choke on my coffee. “Another day off? There’s nothing Juliette wants us to do? Like, nothing, nothing?”
“Nothing, nothing. She’s going to spend the day writing, and you should do the same, no? Isn’t your contest deadline, like, tonight?”
“Yes, it is, plus I have a call with the executive director at West End tonight, too, so this day off couldn’t come at a better time.”
“Fabulous,” Roshni says. “And before I forget, I have some news regarding our Paul Davenport spy mission.”
I inhale sharply at that, inching forward in my chair. “Do tell.”
“Well, I called the university she and Paul went to and said I was Juliette’s assistant and was trying to organize an alumni event. They wouldn’t give me his address, but the woman I spoke to told me that she knows him because he’s a benefactor to the school and is now an English professor at the University of Surrey. So, then I called the university and said I was a journalist for theCentral London Art Journal, which I made up, and that I wanted to do a piece on him and the university. They mentioned he was teaching summer classes and lived semi-nearby. I casually guessed some random village like I already knew where he lived, and they corrected me and said they thought he lived in Abinger. I looked it up, and it’s an hour and a half drive from London.”
My jaw is hanging open, and my heart is pounding. “This is more than a lead, Roshni. You found him!”
“Not entirely. All I know is his village.” I immediately type Abinger into my phone for directions as Roshni goes on. “Are you sure about tracking him down all the way, though? I know I’m on a need-to-know basis, but if it’s bad enough that you don’t want to tell me about it, it must be risky. And I’m aware that you’re trying to go above and beyond since you’ll probably be quitting soon, but even so, maybe you should rethink this.”
“I’m just going to feel things out. If it ends up being a bust, Juliette will be none the wiser, and if things look positive, it could end up making her extremely happy.”
“Wait, you’re going to go looking for him right now?” Roshni asks, her voice suddenly troubled.
“I have to,” I answer. “This could be my only shot.”
“But what about the contest? You should spend the day working on your play. That’s way more important than whatever Nancy Drew cosplay you’re about to get all wrapped up in.”
I know she’s right, and I get a sinking feeling when I think of all the hours I squandered while being here, especially last night. I was so distracted and rushing to spend time with Liam that I in no way finished what I needed to get done.
I should have tried harder. I should have worked longer. Then another debilitating, guilty feeling starts to spread when I think maybe I intentionally didn’t finish my play on time. If I refuse to give my writing to the world, then they won’t be able to tear me apart. Again.
To them, all they’re doing is writing a clever tweet. A harmless, entertaining little jab. I’m aware people are fully entitled to their opinion and that art is subjective, but to me, it’s years of my life shot down in an instant. Sleepless nights and days of effort with burning eyes and sore muscles as I sit and stare at a screen for hours on end. I push my mental and emotional health to the limit to write a play, only to find out that it’s not enough. That I’m not enough.
If I stayed home and worked today, I could get it done. It’s a miracle that I have the day off when I need it most.Death of a Prom Kingwon’t be exactly where I wanted it to be as far as a finished product, but it would be passable. But that also means giving up on my one chance to find Paul. I could always enter the contest next year, but an opportunity to do this for Juliette will never come again. It’s Paul or the play. Juliette or me.
I think for several agonizing seconds until I make my decision, committing to my choice even if I’m not sure of it.
“I’m not going to submit my play,” I tell Roshni. “It isn’t ready, and there’s no point in me entering if I know I won’t win. Juliette’s going to help me with edits and put me in touch with a producer when we get back to New York anyways, so me skipping the contest isn’t the end of the world.”
My friend looks back at me with saddened eyes. “But you’ve worked so hard to finish. Even if it’s not perfect, you should submit, anyways. At least then you can say you tried.”
