The next day, I send Evelyn about one million freak-out texts, most of them including that Kermit gif where he’s waving his arms frantically. She repeatedly tells me to chill out about the musical, but that’s much easier said than done. When we’re all running around backstage doing last-minute makeup and costume fixes, things are a lot more stressful. I fight the urge to peek through the curtains, but I can hear the murmuring of the audience and know it’s a full house.
I’m pacing back and forth nervously when Peter steps on my dress.
“No!” I shout as I hear a loud, horrifying rip.
“Emergency!” Peter yells. “Dress emergency!”
“Peter,” Mrs. Mulaney says calmly. “We’ve talked about this. You’re not allowed to use the word ‘emergency’ unless there’s blood, okay?”
He points silently at my dress, which is torn right up the side.
“On it!” says Evelyn through the pins in her mouth. She pushes in between us and gets to work.
“Thanks, Evelyn,” Mrs. Mulaney says as she walks away, presumably to manage another crisis Peter’s started.
“Thank you,” I exhale. “I can’t believe that happened right before the show starts!”
“I can,” Evelyn says, pins still sticking out of her mouth like she’s a villain in a horror movie that would be great for Terrible Movie Night. “Something always happens right before stage time. Just be glad it’s only a rip; last year, Marla’s dress got dog poop on it, and we had to create a completely new one in like half an hour.”
“How did she—” I start.
“Don’t ask,” Evelyn cuts me off. “Strange things happen backstage.”
I sigh. “I guess I should consider myself lucky.”
Finishing her work, Evelyn pulls the pins out of her mouth and stands up. “Hey, did Derek tell you he broke up with Melody?”
It’s like someone reached out and turned down the volume. I can’t hear the murmuring of the crowd, Peter’s frantic yelling, or the general hubbub of backstage. I can’t hear anything except the echoing of Evelyn’s words and the roar of my own blood rushing through my body.
“What?” is the only word I can formulate.
“Yeah, I don’t know what happened. I just saw him, and he said it happened earlier today.”
“He—they—wait—” I stammer.
Evelyn looks at me quizzically. “Are you sure there’s nothing going on between you guys?”
I shake my head, but I must not look very convincing, because she just widens her eyes and says, “Oooookay,” sort of sarcastically.
“Places, everyone!” Mrs. Mulaney yells, and the volume is turned back up. Now I can hear everything—the squeak of every shoe, every whispered word, every nervous cough. I clear my throat a few times.
Derek broke up with Melody. I don’t know what it means or how to feel, but I can’t think about it right now, because Noah’s squeezing my hand and we have literally seconds before the curtain opens and I have to be Prudie.
“You ready?” he whispers, catching my eye.
I look at him and feel myself smiling as I squeeze his hand back. No matter what happens tonight, and whether or not I ever end up kissing him in a situation that doesn’t involve a stage or his thumb, I’m glad we became friends.
“Yeah.” I exhale, pushing out all the stress and worry and doubt. “I am.”
* * *
When Noah says the last line of the play while staring dramatically off into the distance, the curtain drops, and I hold my breath.
And then, applause.
I can’t believe it. It happened. I didn’t trip or barf or faint or forget my lines. I sang on key, I delivered a monologue convincingly, I kissed Noah’s thumb like it was my job. The musical is over and I did it.
Noah grabs my hand and pulls me out onstage to take our bows. The audience, which has been applauding this entire time for the rest of the cast, stands up. My heart beats overtime as I bow, but for once it’s not because I’m afraid of people looking at me; this time, it’s because I’m actually proud of what I just did. A standing ovation for me, Jolie Peterson, the girl who’s spent basically her entire life hiding from the spotlight. I think about everything I would’ve missed if I’d backed out of the musical when I got scared: new friendships, a tiny bit of confidence in my own abilities, and this. There’s an entire room of people staring at me, and I’m shocked to realize that I don’t feel like hiding or wilting; in fact, I could stay out here for a few more minutes to take in the adoration, but eventually the curtain goes down for the last time.
Euphoric relief hangs in the air. We’re all running around, hugging each other, yelling congratulations. I can’t wipe the cheesy, oversized grin off my face, and for once I don’t want to.
“I’m so proud of you, Jolie,” Noah says as he gives me a huge hug. “Everyone loved you.”
I hug him back as I smile, even though I know it means he can see my braces and just how much my lower jaw sticks out.
“You were amazing,” I say as I pull back to look at him.
He runs a hand through his hair, and it magically flops back into place. “No barf, no pee, no fainting. That means it’s a success, right?”
I laugh and give him a double thumbs-up. He smiles back at me and then turns around to be congratulated by a long line of people. I see Derek across the room, wearing his black stage crew T-shirt. I open my mouth like I’m about to say something, but of course he wouldn’t be able to hear me from across the crowd—and anyway, what would I say?
“AMAZING!”
Evelyn grabs me in a hug and spins me around.
I laugh. “Your costumes were amazing!”
I look over to see if Derek’s still there—he’s not. My heart slumps a little.
“You’re going to Toby’s, right?”
I nod. “Yeah, of course. Isn’t everyone?”
Apparently, after every musical there’s an after-party at someone’s house. This year, since Toby’s parents are spending all weekend getting some sort of lamp appraised on a taping of Antiques Roadshow in Cleveland, the party’s at his place.
“Anyone who’s anyone, darling,” Evelyn drawls, before adding, “But yeah, seriously, even the freshmen are invited.”
“Do you need a ride?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Marla’s picking me up.”
“Oh,” I say. “Okay.”
I’m slightly fonder of Marla now that she apologized to me, but I still don’t get why Evelyn’s hanging out with her. But I know that right now, in the crush of excitement, it isn’t really the time to have a deep conversation about it.
“Why don’t you ask Derek if he needs a ride?” she asks pointedly, her eyebrows raised.
“Will do.” I give her a thumbs-up before she spins off to congratulate someone else. But I have no intention of doing that, because I don’t want to have this conversation with him right now. If he broke up with Melody, then he’s not always-there-yet-always-unavailable Derek. And if he’s not unavailable … well, I don’t want to think about it. Because the last thing in the world I want is for our relationship to change.
“It’s Jolie, right?”
I turn around and come face-to-face with Johnny McElroy himself. My smile slides off my face. I’m way too excited to get bummed out by listening to him tell me how I didn’t live up to his vision of Prudie.
“What do you want?” I snap, surprising even myself.
He takes a step back.
I sigh, then remind myself that Johnny McElroy has no power over me anymore. The musical’s done. What’s the worst thing he’s going to tell me?
“I get it, okay? You don’t think I was good enough. I’m not young Meryl Streep, or old Meryl Streep, or any Meryl Streep. But I’m not ever going to be Meryl Streep because I can only be Jolie Peterson.”
I pause to take a breath and realize that Johnny McElroy isn’t saying anything.
“I just wanted to tell you,” he says when he regains his composure, “that I greatly enjoyed your take on Prudie.”
Wait, what?
“And,” he continues, “if you’re ever in New York, I’m putting on a small production of my next play—”
I hold up my hand to stop him. “No offense, but no thanks, Johnny.”
And then I walk away. It feels good.
I head to the bathroom to change out of my costume (as great a job as Evelyn did, I’m not wearing a gingham dress to Toby’s party). As I’m fixing my now-faded mascara in the bathroom mirror, ignoring all the girls around me who are shrieking and laughing and full of giddy relief, I take a good look at myself.
I think about what Derek looks like—his lean muscles, those eyes that are deep and kind, the way his ears look cute even though I’ve never noticed another person’s ears before. And what do I look like? Not that bad if you focus on my hair, my expertly done eyeliner, my always-completely-covered-up zits, my cute but not flashy outfits. But when you take a good look at me? Well. That’s not a girl who should be with Derek, I think, staring at myself. I highly doubt that even my surgery is going to magically transform me into a girl who’s worthy of him. It hurts a little (or a lot) to think that he only started feeling this way about me when I’m just a few weeks away from being fixed, but I still don’t want that to ruin our friendship.
I swipe on some sticky lip gloss that smells like cinnamon rolls. I’m going to avoid him tonight, I decide. If we don’t even talk, then we can’t have any awkward conversations, and maybe the next time we get together this entire weird vibe between us will have blown over and we can go back to talking about lemurs and watching terrible movies.
Tonight’s about celebrating. Tonight’s about fun. Tonight’s about finally getting that kiss from Noah, getting my surgery in less than three weeks, putting this entire kiss-less life behind me, and starting over.