“You’re acting really weird lately,” Bowie says.
“No I’m not.” I hand over a pair of tickets to the sophomores who signed up for the banquet.
“Hm.” They arch an eyebrow as they close the cash box. The GSA is still a cash-only operation. The Theatre Department mostly uses iPads and credit card readers for our ticket sales, but we also deal with about a hundred times more people than the GSA does.
“You sure you don’t want to borrow one of the department’s iPads?” I ask them as we have to turn away yet another student who wants to come to the banquet but only has a debit card.
“It’s fine.” They frown. “I said we should get one, but Cheyenne started going on about rainbow capitalism and credit card companies.”
“Ugh. They’re the worst. Where are they anyway?”
“Campus tours. You know they applied to, like, all the Ivies?”
I shake my head. Why would anyone want to go to a stuffy Ivy League school?
I mean, yeah, Yale’s School of Drama is kind of famous, but NYU is still better.
“Well, it’s still not fair you have to do all this on your own.”
“I’m not on my own. Or I wouldn’t be if you’d pay attention.”
“I am paying attention!” I straighten out the pile of tickets and adjust the folding sign on our table.
They switch to sign. “Did something happen?”
Yes, something has happened. It’s happened again and again. Every day at TJ’s after we’ve run lines. And in Liam’s crappy Toyota Corolla as it idles down the street from my house, because Jasmine absolutely cannot see us kissing when he drops me off.
“Nothing happened,” I say, but clearly I doth protest too much, because Bowie narrows their eyes.
“What are you two talking about?” I stop signing to find Cam hovering in front of the table.
“Nothing,” I say automatically.
Philip steps up next to Cam and passes over an ice cream sandwich. Cam thanks him with a little kiss on the cheek, then starts peeling it open.
“How’d you do?” Bowie asks.
Philip hands over a stack of bills. “Ten so far.”
Ten? Bowie and I only sold four tickets today. Braden might actually be right about them selling more tickets.
“Great.” Bowie puts the cash in the box and adds it to their ledger. “Thanks for your help today.”
Cam licks around the edge of his ice cream sandwich before it can drip. “Anytime.”
I resist the urge to scoff, but only barely. Cam’s helpfulness always evaporates any time there are sets to paint.
Cam gives Bowie a little wave, and me a curt nod, before taking Philip’s hand and wandering off.
Once they’re gone, Bowie switches back to sign. “So? If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, but don’t pretend there’s nothing going on.”
“All right, all right.” I look around the cafeteria and then lean in to shield our hands. I don’t think there are any other signers at school (not counting Liam) but I’m not risking it. “You can’t tell anyone.”
“I won’t.”
I take a deep breath. “Liam and I kissed.”
Bowie’s eyebrows nearly fly off their face.
“I think we’re dating now?”
Bowie’s jaw drops too.
But before they can ask me anything else, Braden steps up to the table.
“Hey, bros,” he says. “How’re you doing?”
Bowie shakes themself, like they’re snapping out of a dream.
“Fourteen tickets,” they say. “Not too bad.”
Braden beams and nods, sending a lock of floppy hair over his forehead. He pushes it back. “So that’s thirty-five in toto?”
“In total?” I ask.
“In toto. It’s Latin, bro.”
I glance at Bowie, willing them to meet my eyes, but their face is aggressively neutral as they keep their gaze fixed on Braden. “Right. We should have a good crowd Saturday.”
“Sweet. I’ve got to somethingsomethingsomething meeting?”
“Sure,” Bowie says.
Braden charges off. I don’t know where he gets so much energy.
I straighten out the stack of flyers for the dance. They’re in Papyrus—the worst font—but Bowie wouldn’t let me help.
“We’re not done talking about this,” they sign to me, before spotting a pair of juniors heading our way. “Hey! Want to come to the Winter Banquet?”
Bowie catches me at my locker before seventh hour.
“Okay. Spill.”
So I tell them everything. Well, not everything. I don’t tell them about how Liam’s lips feel, or the way he likes to play with my hair while we kiss, or how I like to wrap my arms around him and feel the way his back muscles are put together.
“That’s . . .” Bowie shakes their head. “Wow.”
“Yeah.”
“Does Jasmine know?”
“Of course not! You know how she is.”
“So you’re just . . . not going to tell her?”
“I will once she cools off.” And once she stops asking me to repeat Liam’s list every week.
And once I figure out how to tell Liam I might have accidentally kind of lied about not making a list for him.
“Be careful. With Liam and Jasmine. And with your own heart. Okay?”
I nod.
“But you know I’m happy for you, right?”
“I know.”
Dr. L claps her hands once. “Let’s set up for Act IV, Scene 3.”
The actors clear the stage, Philip taking a spot next to Cam on the benches, while I get out the bench for Olivia’s garden.
As I grab it and start dragging, Paige steps up and takes the other end.
“Oh. Thanks.”
“Sure.” She helps me get it into position. I haven’t spiked anything yet—I won’t do that until Dr. Lochley’s 100 percent satisfied with the blocking, which won’t happen until we start doing our whole-act run-throughs. “Hey. When’s the first workday?”
“Not for another couple weeks. Did you want to come?”
“Of course.”
“Oh. I’ll let you know, then. It’ll depend on Denise’s schedule.”
I can’t believe Paige still wants to help. I kinda figured she’d blow workdays off like all the other actors.
I finish setting the scene with a couple potted plants, then retreat to my usual spot next to Dr. L, who tightens her scarf. “Right. Let’s start with Sebastian pacing center stage. Olivia and the priest, you’ll be entering stage right.”
I’m only about 70 percent certain I catch all of Dr. L’s notes—since she’s blocking for a thrust, she’s constantly turning, making it hard to read her lips. But I can follow along pretty well, thanks to all my sessions with Liam.
Learning the script, not making out, though the latter is definitely my new favorite part.
It’s our last scene of the day; Dr. L has Paige, Cam, and Shira— who plays the priest—run it through one last time, once she has the blocking the way she likes.
“Perfect! Perfect. Let’s call it for today.”
She retreats to the benches, where her tote bag rests.
“Hey, I missed a couple things,” I say to her. “Can you . . .”
But Cam comes up to her other side. “Dr. L? You have a sec?”
“Sure, Cam. I’ll be with you in a second, Jackson.” And then she follows him out of the theatre.
I shake my head, stuff my binder into my backpack, and drag the set off-stage so I can sweep. Whatever.
As I finish, a shadow falls across the waxed floor. Liam’s standing in the doorway, silhouetted against the sunset from the big windows in the hallway.
I hate how, in the winter, the sun starts setting before rehearsal is even over. But I love how Liam looks in the golden light.
“Hey. What’re you doing here?”
“Waiting around for you,” he says. “How was rehearsal?”
“Fine.” I gesture around the Little Theatre. “Tough to hear everything.”
Liam nods and hoists my backpack so I can get my arms through it. When I turn around, he signs, “Sorry.”
“It’s whatever.”
“You all set?”
“I was . . .” I glance toward the doors closest to the Theatre Office; Dr. L still hasn’t come back.
“Waiting for Dr. L?”
“Yeah. Got a few questions.”
“Ah.” He looks around, then signs to me: “I wish I could kiss you right now.”
If I could pop out my smile and stick it on a stand, it would outshine the ghost light. Which I suppose I still need to set.
“Me too.”
As I wheel it out, Liam asks, “You excited for Saturday?”
“What’s Saturday?”
Liam’s eyes bug out. “The dance?”
“Oh. I dunno. Bowie’s really stressed.”
“I’ve noticed.” Liam gives me a sly grin. “You going with anyone?”
I grin right back. “Why? Are you asking me to a dance?”
“I know we have to keep things quiet, until you can get Jasmine to come around. But . . .”
“But she won’t be there,” I say. “And if anyone asks we can say we came as friends.”
“Exactly. So . . . you wanna go to the dance with me?”
Warmth fills my chest.
“I’d love to go.”
The smile he gives me makes me wish I could kiss him.
I almost do.
But he straightens and looks past me, out into the hallway, where Dr. Lochley’s headed for the stairs, tote bag in one arm and coat slung over the other, still talking to Cam.
Guess she won’t be coming back to answer my questions.
Liam presses his lips together.
“It’s fine,” I tell him before he can say anything. “I’ll catch her tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
“Come on,” I say. “Let’s go study lines.”
And then make out.