It’s a standing ovation. Of course it is.
I watch from backstage right, next to Paige, bits of paper towel stuffed up my nostrils.
The cast joins hands and bows, gestures to the pit, then bows again one final time. They wave goodbye as the grand drape closes. There’s a tiny hitch about a third of the way along, but Paige recovers before I even blink.
The gold curtains close for the last time, wobble for a second, and still.
“Great job,” I tell Paige.
She shrugs, says something I can’t make out, but gestures to my nose.
“I think it’s stopped.” I pull out the paper towels, sniff experimentally, but things seem dry. Dry and crusty. The cast is breaking up, heading to their dressing rooms. Liam spots me as I hang back against the flyrail. He’s breathing hard, chest heaving, fake blood smeared everywhere. There’s a smile on his face, a genuine one, but it’s still a little fragile.
“Hey,” he signs.
“Hey.”
“Thanks. I’m sorry.”
I wave him off. “It’s fine.”
He shakes his head.
“Talk later?”
“Yeah. You better go change.”
He reaches for me, ready to tuck in my tag, but his hand is covered in fake blood. I lean away. “Ew!”
He blushes and pulls back.
“Go get cleaned up. I’ve got to close the booth.”
Dr. L is already gone when I get back, the door wide-open. I pack away my binder (making sure Dr. Lochley didn’t notice disturb any of my lists), then triple-check for food. I didn’t bring anything myself, but last year a GSA member someone left a half-eaten bag of Doritos in the booth, and no one found it for days.
There were mouse poops everywhere.
The lobby is full of cast members, still in costume and makeup, greeting friends or family. A few people hold handfuls of roses. River, a senior in the chorus (she’s way more of an actor than a singer), holds a bouquet that’s got to be at least two dozen.
A shriek distorts in my hearing aids, and I spin to find Tori, hugging her mother and surrounded by her siblings. She’s beaming, bouncing on her toes, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her happier in all the years I’ve known her. Senior year and a lead in the musical.
I spot Bowie’s brown hand waving over the crowd and make my way through. They’re holding a small bouquet of yellow roses.
I’m not a plant gay, and I will no doubt kill these flowers the same way I did all the other ones Bowie’s gotten me, but I smile as I take them. Bowie got me a bouquet for the first show I stage managed, after they saw all the actors get them and me with nothing, and the tradition kind of stuck.
“These are beautiful. Thanks.”
“Sure thing, Jacks. You did great.”
I shrug, my ears warming. “You couldn’t even tell.”
“Yeah. That’s how I know you were awesome.”
They give me a side hug, and we hang against the wall, watching everyone else milling around. It’s so loud, Bowie switches to sign to ask, “Where’s your dad and Amy?”
“Coming to the matinee.”
“Oh. I saw Jasmine earlier.”
“Probably waiting for Liam.”
Bowie must see something in my face, because they give me the most sympathetic look. I can’t stand it.
But then: “What’d you do to your nose?”
“Ugh.”
They hold their compact mirror for me while I clean the last bits of blood off. My nose doesn’t look crooked or anything, just a little too big for my face, like always.
“Thanks.”
“Sure.”
There’s a commotion in the lobby as more actors emerge to greet their families and friends. I spot Cam and Philip, talking to Cam’s parents. I only met them a couple times, and they seemed nice. Maybe even a little bland. Not like the kind of people who’d raise an egotistical monster an actor, but I guess you never know.
Liam finally emerges, Jasmine already hanging off his arm, smiling and laughing. He’s got a dozen red roses in his free hand, and it’s hard to tell which is redder, the flowers or his cheeks. But the color drains from his face when Dr. L swoops in.
At first I’m not sure if she’s going to congratulate him or castigate him.
“What’s she saying?” I ask Bowie. “Can you tell?”
“ ‘You were spectacular. Your best performance yet. Could you feel it?’ ”
I’m so proud of him.
“Now she’s talking about how the whole house was moved to tears.” Bowie laughs. “She’s laying it on a little thick. Was it supposed to have that long dramatic pause, though?”
“No, he was . . .” I shake my head. I know he and Bowie are friends, but he was so upset, so vulnerable, and I can’t just tell his business. I don’t even know what happened. “I dunno. But I better go finish up. Perkins after?”
“You know it.”
I bump into Cam as I head backstage.
“Oh. Sorry, Jackson.”
I’m so stunned I nearly drop my roses. In all the time I’ve known Cameron I’m not sure he’s ever apologized to me—not even after a fight while we were dating.
But he’s not looking at me. He’s focused on Dr. Lochley and Liam. He’s changed out of Judas’s red leather jacket, and his shirt is unbuttoned, and he’s sweaty and kind of smelly.
“Good show,” I tell him.
“Thanks.” He actually looks at me, and he’s doing the puppy-dog eye thing, all vulnerable, and for a second I feel kind of bad for him. He’s the one who had to cover for Liam. “You too.”
I nearly drop my roses again.
“Thanks.”
“You kind of saved the show, didn’t you?”
I shrug, but I’m blushing. “Yeah, well, you covered. It was a team effort.”
Cam gets this smile—this real, genuine smile—and I remember why I used to like him. He wasn’t always Cameron Haller, Senior Asshole Actor. He used to be just Cam, the first boy I ever kissed.
“Thanks.” He scratches the side of his nose. “It was definitely alarming when he didn’t show up.”
“I bet.”
He crosses his arms over his chest. That softness in his eyes sharpens. “Philip said he missed his cue because he and Tori were hooking up in the scene shop.”
“What? Ew. No,” I say automatically. Not that hooking up is gross (I definitely would like to try that someday), but in the scene shop? With all the sawdust and stuff?
Also, there’s no way. “Tori was backstage. He was alone back there.”
“You sure about that? He came out all flushed, like he’d just . . .” Cam makes a gesture that’s definitely not sign language.
“Don’t spread rumors just because you’re jealous of him.”
Cam’s face turns red at that. His eyes darken, like curtains closed behind them.
“Don’t you have a stage to go sweep, Jackthon?”
Ass.
But I do need to finish post-show.
I leave my flowers and backpack on the corner of the prop table and get to work.
DOUBLE-CHECK PROPS, NOTE ANY BROKENS
CHECK DRESSING ROOMS AND SCENE SHOP
LOCK ALL LINESETS
SWEEP STAGE
SET GHOST LIGHT
WORK LIGHTS OFF, DOORS LOCKED
“Good show tonight,” I tell Paige as I wheel out the ghost light. “See you tomorrow.”
“You’re not coming tonight?”
I shake my head. “You?”
She shrugs. “Thought I’d check it out.”
“Have fun.”
Paige heads out, letting Liam and Jasmine in. They’re holding hands.
“There you are,” Jasmine says.
“Hey,” Liam says. “You coming to the cast party?”
I snort. “Of course not.”
“Jackson never goes to those,” Jasmine says. “He somethingsomething.”
“I’m not really feeling it either,” Liam says.
“But we have to go! All the other couples will be there.”
Including Philip and Cam, no doubt. Another reason to avoid it.
Jasmine twines her arm through Liam’s and leans in to kiss his reddening cheek.
“All right,” he finally says. “Can you give me and Jackson a second before we go?”
“Sure. Meet you outside?”
“Thanks.”
Jasmine heads out, and then it’s just Liam and me and the awkwardness swimming between us.
He tucks his roses under his armpit to free up his hands. “You’re really not coming?” he signs. He’s up to full sentences now, which is pretty impressive, though he still uses English syntax sometimes.
“To the cast party? No way.” I say it aloud and sign it too.
“Why?”
“I wasn’t invited.”
It’s not that big a deal. It’s not like I wanted to go. It’ll just be a bunch of sweaty out-of-control actors goofing off hooking up making asses of themselves.
“But you’re the stage manager.”
“Bowie and I always go to Perkins.”
“Oh.” He presses his lips together into this weird half smile. “Did they get you the roses?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s sweet.”
“Don’t let them hear you say that.”
Liam laughs, but then the smile slides off his face again. He steps closer.
“Thank you. For earlier.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not. I . . .”
He stares at his hands, like he’s searching for the right signs.
“You can say it aloud if that’s easier,” I tell him.
But he shakes his head and pulls out his phone.
My dad took me out to dinner tonight before the show
But we got into a big fight. Like, really big.
He told me he’d been cheating on my mom. That’s why they got divorced.
I accidentally drop Liam’s phone.
“Shit! Sorry.”
He waves me off, reaches for the phone the same time as me. Our fingers brush and I pull back like he’s shocked me. But I can’t even imagine.
And I can’t stop this dread settling in my stomach.
During the second act . . . I don’t know. It really hit me and I started crying and I just couldn’t stop.
I’m sorry.
I messed everything up.
My heart is cracking in two. I hate seeing Liam hurt like this.
“You didn’t mess anything up. It was fine.” I look up from the phone; Liam’s tearing up again. “Do you . . . do you want a hug?”
I shouldn’t be hugging him. Shouldn’t be touching him at all. But he’s my friend, and he’s hurting, and I can’t just let him be hurting.
He bites his lip and nods. I step forward and pull him into a hug, resting my hands in the small of his back, a safe distance above his flat ass waistband. His body is warm, like usual. We smush the roses between us, the sweet scent of the flowers mixing with his deodorant. I squeeze him, try to tell him without words that it’ll be okay. That he’s my friend and I’m here for him.
But eventually he breaks the hug, wiping at his eyes.
“I wish somethingsomething.”
“What?”
“I wish I could just go to Perkins with you.”
“Hah. I don’t think Jasmine would like that.”
“Yeah.” He sighs, blows out a slow breath through his lips. They don’t look quite so thin when he does that. And even if they are thin, they’re really nice, with a little bow in them.
They make the shape of my name.
“Huh?”
He’s looking at me funny. Like he caught me staring.
“Sorry. It’s been a long day and my brain is done.”
He switches back to sign. “It’s okay. You sure you won’t come? Bowie too?”
I shake my head. Honestly, it’d be a nightmare. Loud music and cross talk and I would just sit in the corner alone, talking with Bowie, assuming I could even convince them to come, while Liam hooked up with Jasmine in an empty bedroom danced with Jasmine or made out in a corner or just hung around, being one of the actors, feeling at home with them in a way I never could.
And even if I had been invited—even if I wanted to go—how could I now? When he’s going to be with Jasmine, and I’m going to be there, wishing he wasn’t. Wishing he was with me instead.
I need to get away from him. As far as possible. For both our sakes.