ISA
I’m back in the dressing room, the one all the girls from Second Intermediate share. Lipstick and wands of mascara wave around heads angled inches from mirrors. Exclamations of “Did you see Mia’s grande jeté?” and “Even Thibault was smiling!” peal like bells. A knock interrupts it all.
“Is everyone decent? Males entering.” Kevin’s question is met with shrieking.
Chrissy grabs me. “Come on!” she squeals. “He said males—plural!”
I shake free so I can secure my headpiece. I dash into the hallway after her. My semisolo is done and the director seemed pleased. I should be relaxed. But my gut is still quaking like I’m about to run on stage for a piece I haven’t rehearsed.
Chrissy’s holding Kevin at arm’s length. She doesn’t want him to mess up her skirt or her makeup. They’re smiling like they’re in a toothpaste commercial. There’s no one else in the hallway who’s not in tulle or dance tights. A salty taste fills my mouth. I’ve chewed my lip too hard. Is Alex still out there, cornered by my mom? What is she saying to him?
A figure steps into the light.
Alex!
I reach for him. The palm that meets mine is cool and clammy.
He studies our joined hands. His thumb strokes a slow line down my finger.
“Well? What did you think?”
“Amazing.” Alex’s voice is rough. Like he’s been shouting at a game.
“Really?”
He only nods. He’s still looking at our hands.
“Did you like your seat?” I wonder if he knows he had the best one. I wonder if he knows what I’m really asking.
His eyes find mine. He’s still partly in shadow so the brilliance of them doesn’t show. “They left. Your parents. Before the show even started.”
I take a step back. “What?”
His hand squeezes mine. “I think it was because of me.”
I shake my head. That can’t be right. Dad promised he’d make everything OK. “Hold on.” I leave Alex standing in the hallway. I go back into the dressing room. I pull my bag out of my locker, my phone out of my bag. There’s a message from Dad.
Merrit’s school called. He’s fine but something’s happened. We have to pick him up. Don’t know more. Sorry.
Merrit’s supposed to be studying for finals. It’s why he couldn’t come for the performance.
I make myself take a breath. And another. And another. Dad wrote that Merrit was OK. But this can’t be good.
I put on my smile like I’m about to go back on stage.
Alex stands where I left him.
“Something came up. They had to go get my brother from school.” It’s not a lie. I’m just not burdening him with the whole truth. “It had nothing to do with you.” I take his hand to prove it.
Alex’s head is bowed, his chin resting on his chest. “Did you tell them what I look like? Before? Did you tell them I’m Dominican?”
“No! I would never do that. Why would that matter?” I mean what I say. He’s got to know that.
Alex’s eyes are fixed on me now. I can see the fire in them. But also, I see hurt and disappointment.
“Alex . . .” I try to thread our fingers. He doesn’t let me. He removes his hand from mine.
He reaches in his jacket and passes me an envelope. My name is written on it.
“For after.” His words are so curt, they feel like a slap.
I look back up at him. I bite my cheek again to hold back tears. “You’re not staying? For the second act?”
He shakes his head. “Something came up.” He doesn’t look at me as he walks away.