Johnny McElroy isn’t at our next practice, thank God, so there’s no one to point out the fact that I’m not Meryl Streep. When Mrs. Mulaney sees me walk in, she gives me a wink before going back to talking to Peter.
So, I guess I’m doing this for real.
And now that I’ve sort of become used to the idea that I’m going to be in the musical, I have to face the fact that I’ll be kissing Noah in front of everyone.
Okay, so it’s not a real kiss. Not a passionate, steamy, private kiss. No, this will be the most public kiss ever, because it’s in the script.
I quickly decide that this doesn’t count. A kiss isn’t a kiss if it’s onstage, if it’s in front of an audience, and if one of the kissers is wearing a space suit and there’s a live cow on the stage (oh yeah, have I mentioned that there’s a live cow?).
No, kissing Noah onstage doesn’t count as fulfilling my goal. My first real kiss has to be unscripted. However, that doesn’t change the fact that I’m going to have to figure out how to press my face against his under the harsh glare of the lights without passing out from shock.
Evelyn’s here working on costume stuff, and I’d love to ask her what the big kiss was like in last year’s musical, but she’s running around trying to get everyone’s measurements. Talking to Evelyn when she’s in the zone is basically pointless, and I don’t want to come between her and her tape measure. I decide to ask Peter because, well, desperate times call for desperate measures.
Once Peter is finished talking to Mrs. Mulaney, I get his attention.
“Yes, m’lady?” he asks.
“We’re not doing a Shakespeare play, Peter,” I say. “Also, you’re not even acting.”
“I may not be in the musical,” Peter corrects me, “but a true actor is always performing.”
I shake my head. “Okay. Listen, I need to ask you something. That kiss on the last page, between Bobby and Prudie?”
Peter holds up his hands. “I know what you’re asking.”
“You do?” Is it possible that Peter actually understands my feelings? Have I been too hard on him this entire time?
“I will not help you practice, as much as I would love to. I fear it would be crossing too many important theater boundaries.”
My shoulders slump as I let out a sigh. “That’s not what I was—never mind. I just wondered what stage kisses are like. I mean, are they … real kisses?”
Peter furrows his brow. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re asking me.”
I frown and start again. “I mean … like, do Noah and I actually kiss, or do we just make it look like we kiss? And if we do kiss, how realistic are we supposed to get? Am I supposed to use tongue? Put my hands on him? Don’t you have some sort of insight from Mrs. Mulaney?”
“Mrs. Mulaney and I haven’t yet discussed kissing techniques in depth,” Peter says, “but I’ll ask her.”
He looks over his shoulder and shouts, “Mrs. Mulaney!”
The full realization of what’s happening dawns on me. “Peter, no!” I hiss, ducking to the floor as if that will shield me from everyone’s view.
Mrs. Mulaney is way on the other side of the stage talking to one of the crew members. She looks up.
“JOLIE WANTS TO KNOW MORE ABOUT THE SCENE WHERE SHE KISSES NOAH!” he shouts.
Now I’m certain that everyone onstage is looking at us. There are a few scattered giggles. My eyes frantically scan the crowd, hoping Noah picked this exact moment to go to the bathroom and he missed this entire scene. But no, there he is, talking to—Marla. Of course. She gives me a smug smile, and I look at my shoes. I can’t even bring myself to look at Noah’s face.
Mrs. Mulaney, at least, understands that this is majorly embarrassing. “We’ll talk about it later, Peter,” she says before going back to her conversation.
“Daaaaaamn, Jolie,” Toby says from behind me. “Lookin’ to get a little lip friction. Ready for some tongue wrestling. Jonesing for some—”
“Shut up, Toby,” I growl.
“Well, I tried,” Peter says to me with a shrug.
“Yeah, okay, I’m gonna go curl up under a rock somewhere,” I say, heading backstage.
“The set designers haven’t made the fake rocks yet!” Peter calls, but I ignore him and keep walking.
I find a closet and slip inside, where I sit down on the floor next to some art supplies. It’s nothing like my fantasy where Noah Reed and I make out in here. For one thing, I didn’t imagine that the smell of paint fumes would be overwhelming. Plus, Noah would actually, you know, be here, instead of onstage wondering why I’m some hormonally crazed weirdo.
There’s a knock on the door and, startled, I look up. Noah pokes his head in. “Can I come in?” he asks.
“Uh—yeah—sure,” I stammer, quickly adjusting my bangs. “How did you find me back here?”
Noah sits down beside me, leaning up against the shelf. “Toby told me you came in here. Actually, he was like, ‘Jolie looked hella upset and she bounced.’”
I fight the urge to cry at how embarrassing this entire situation is. Here I am in the supply closet with Noah, and I can’t even appreciate it because all we’re talking about is how even Toby thinks I’m pathetic.
“It’s not a big deal, you know,” Noah says. “The kiss.”
I meet his eyes. “It’s not?”
He shakes his head. “I had to do one with Marla last year. We didn’t even actually kiss. I put my hands on her face, and the audience is so far away that they couldn’t tell I was just kissing my thumb.”
He puts his hand on my face to demonstrate and I think I might actually faint, and not even because of the paint fumes.
“Just like that,” he says, pulling his hand back.
I nod, knowing that I should be saying something but not able to form words. “That sounds … okay,” I say.
Noah smiles, and I can’t help but notice how kind his eyes are. He has the eyes of someone who helps old ladies cross the street, who spends Thanksgiving morning serving food at a soup kitchen, who walks shelter dogs in his spare time.
“I peed my pants once onstage,” he says, and my head jerks up at this non sequitur.
“Yep.” He nods, taking in my shocked expression. “I mean, it was when I was ten years old, so … not exactly last week or anything. But do you remember when we did that Disney medley concert in elementary school?”
I nod. “I was a mop.”
“And I’m sure you were the best mop Brentley has ever seen. I was one of the dwarves from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs; I don’t even remember which one. Anyway, I was so excited about singing ‘Heigh-Ho’ that I sang it constantly for weeks. But then when I got up in front of everyone … I blanked. I just freaked out. And then—”
“You peed,” I say slowly. “Wait, I kind of remember this. But I didn’t know that was you!”
“Well, since then I’ve managed to stop peeing on stage. Hold your applause,” he says with a smile. “But my parents were recording the whole show, and they thought it was so funny that they make us all watch it every year at Christmas.”
“Oh, geez,” I say, trying not to laugh.
“Yeah, I need a new family. But that’s not the point. All I’m saying is, you’ve got this. I know you’re nervous, but no matter what you do, it can’t possibly be as bad as peeing onstage while dressed as one of Snow White’s dwarfs.”
I laugh. “No promises. Johnny McElroy might do some rewrites.”
“We’ll handle the kiss, and it won’t be weird,” he says, standing up. “Or maybe it’ll be a little weird. It’s always sort of strange kissing someone when you don’t really want to kiss them, but we’ll make it as bearable as possible.”
Wait. He thinks I’m so upset because I don’t want to kiss him? That couldn’t be further from the truth. But I can’t exactly tell him that—what would I say? I’m actually so concerned because I want to kiss you for real, in private, not onstage. Maybe somewhere like in this supply closet.
Instead I just say, “Thanks, Noah,” with a closed-lips smile as he leaves.
I lean my head back against the shelf. Ugh. Honestly, it was sweet of Noah to tell me that story about peeing onstage (now there’s a sentence I never thought I’d say), but it wasn’t exactly the precursor to a steamy make-out. I mean, my knowledge of these things is limited, but I’m assuming most kisses don’t begin with discussions about bodily functions.
The door creaks open, and I look up eagerly, thinking Noah might have come back. Maybe he was like, Whoa, that sexual tension was through the roof … I definitely need to go back in there and kiss her right now.
Instead, Derek steps in.
“I’m not hiding!” I say quickly.
He jumps back, nearly knocking over a shelf. “Good God, Jolie! What are you doing in here?”
“Taking a breather.”
“I just came in here to get some paint. Wait.” Derek points at me, like he’s accusing me of something. “Did I just see Noah Reed walk out of here?”
I nod, then realize what he’s saying. “No! I mean, yes, he was in here. But no, we weren’t making out, if that’s what you’re asking me.”
“Good,” Derek says, pushing some paint cans around on the shelf.
“Why is that good?” I ask, watching him.
“Because I’d be pissed if you accomplished your goal and didn’t even tell me,” he says, grabbing what he needs.
Right. Because Derek doesn’t care who I kiss. Why would he? He has perfect Melody.
“I promise to tell you when I kiss Noah Reed,” I say sarcastically.
“That’s all I ask,” Derek says. “He’s not so bad, you know.”
I pause. “Wait, could you repeat that?”
Derek turns around and sighs. “You heard me. Noah. He’s … not awful.”
I smile. “What brought this on?”
He shrugs. “I know he’s been helping you out, and … well, he seems nice. Ish. I guess I kind of get why you want to kiss him.”
“So, I guess I was right,” I say as my smile gets bigger. “And you were wrong. You finally get the Noah Reed appeal.”
“I wasn’t wrong.” Derek groans. “I was just … looking out for you. And anyway, aren’t you supposed to be onstage?”
“I’m getting into character.”
Derek reaches toward me and puts a hand on the side of my face. This is so like what Noah just did, the way he told me that stage kisses happen, that I instinctively lean toward him.
“You have paint in your hair,” Derek says softly, his fingers brushing my scalp.
“Oh,” I say, and swallow hard. “I was leaning against the shelf, and I guess there was paint on it, and it was wet?” I clamp my mouth shut to stop babbling. Since when do I have this problem around Derek?
“Well, get back out there,” he says. “Knock ’em dead.”
I give him a thumbs-up and watch him leave. Then I lean against the shelf in—what? Relief? Despair? Confusion? My feelings right now are like the knotted pile of necklaces in my jewelry box. I could spend all afternoon trying to untangle them, but I’d just end up more frustrated.
I can’t totally ignore the way my heart was just racing. Derek said he was looking out for me, which sounds like something a brother would say. And that’s fine, because that’s exactly what he’s like to me. A brother.
I feel something wet on my back and leap forward. I reach my hand around and realize that I just leaned on more paint and now my black cardigan is streaked with blue. I groan loudly as the door squeaks open again.
“Hey, are you running some sort of kissing booth?” Evelyn asks. “There’s a steady stream of dudes coming out of here, and Peter keeps telling everyone you’re freaking out over your lack of, and I quote, ‘onstage amorous experience.’”
I cover my face with my hands. “Can you just go tell him to shut up, please?”
“Gladly,” Evelyn says with a smile as she shuts the door.
Great. I embarrassed myself in front of the entire cast and crew, Noah Reed thinks I don’t want to kiss him, I’m covered in paint, and Peter is telling everyone I’m an inexperienced kisser. Could this day get any worse?