“So, what do you think?”
It’s the Friday before spring break. Dr. Lochley finally agreed to go over my portfolio with me; that way I’ll still have a week to work on it before the deadline.
She purses her lips as she taps around on my iPad, looking through my photos and documents, rearranging yeses into nos, maybes into yeses. Even one no into a maybe.
“If you have room,” she says, about a picture of Madison from last year’s production of The Bad Seed. “Now let’s look over the layout.”
My portfolio’s not just a collection of photos, it’s a whole website, with links to videos and stuff too. Dr. Lochley nearly stabs my iPad with the point of her pen before she realizes it, clicks it off and uses the soft nubby bit to swipe around.
“Hm.”
Is that a good hm or a bad hm? I can’t tell.
“I think you need to yes-no-maybe all this as well. There’s too much going on, so nothing really stands out. But the bigger problem is, there’s not a whole lot of you in here. Companies and universities and scholarship committees are going to be looking for candidates that bring something unique to their organization. You’ve got an Iranian last name, but you don’t mention your disability anywhere.”
“Oh.” Heat creeps up my neck. I don’t think she’s trying to be ableist, but it’s hard not to feel kind of weird about it. How am I supposed to talk about being hard-of-hearing in a portfolio, anyway? Take a picture of my hearing aids? Make a log of all the times Cam called me Jackthon?
Maybe I could add that I’m fluent in ASL or something.
“Another thing that’s missing is—”
Suddenly Cam bursts into the room. I jump, my elbow knocking my iPad against Dr. L’s coffee mug. I save the iPad from getting splashed, but that doesn’t stop the coffee (well, it’s mostly cream) from sloshing onto her plate of tater tots.
“Sorry!”
But Dr. L’s looking up at Cameron. “Good morning?”
“I got in!” Cam holds up his phone. The screen has gone dark, though, and he has to tap around and unlock it again before setting it on Dr. L’s desk right on top of my iPad. “I got into AMDA!”
Their upside-down logo glows on the screen. Dr. L’s face lights up as she stands and grabs Cam’s shoulders.
“That’s terrific!” She picks up his phone, skims it twice, then smiles back up at him. “I’m so excited for you.”
“Me too.” Cam runs a hand through his hair. He’s been growing it out for the show, and he seems to think that the slight waves at the end count as texture. “I can’t believe it.”
“Believe it. You’ve earned this.”
Dr. L pulls Cam to the couch and starts telling him about AMDA, and New York, and all the experiences he’s going to have, and I lose the thread immediately. Cam spares me an absent nod hello as he listens.
And I just sit in my seat, forgotten. Dismissed.
Again.
This wave of anger crashes against me. At Cam, for always interrupting. And at Dr. Lochley, for always letting him. Always picking him over me.
I can’t stand it. I stuff my iPad into my backpack, and despite my heavy stomps, neither of them seems to notice me leave.
I feel like I’m going to explode. I’m so tired of Dr. L giving up on me the minute Cam enters her orbit. Liam’s right. It’s not okay.
ONLY PAYS ATTENTION TO ME WHEN SHE NEEDS SOMETHING
ALWAYS TELLING WEIRD STORIES
SCARVES NEVER MATCH HER SHIRTS
FAVORS ACTORS OVER TECHIES
ABLEIST??
LOSES THE DEPARTMENT MONEY WITH TERRIBLE CHOICES
TREATS ME LIKE A GLORIFIED ASSISTANT
LETS CAM BULLY ME GET AWAY WITH EVERYTHING
DOESN’T CARE ABOUT ME
NEVER LISTENS TO ME
NEVER HELPS ME WHEN I NEED IT
I take a deep breath, rip off the list, and stuff it in the very back of my binder where no one will ever see it. I don’t really hate Dr. L. I just needed to vent.
But just once, I wish she’d pick me over Cam.
In seventh period, Dr. L doesn’t bring up my portfolio, and how we never finished. And she doesn’t at rehearsal, either.
She does make sure I note the changes in blocking. And has me sit in different seats to check sight lines. And asks if I’ve updated the prop list. And has the whole cast congratulate Cam on his acceptance to AMDA. No one claps harder than Philip, even though he looks a little sad too. He didn’t audition for AMDA. I’m not even sure he’s going to study Theatre after he graduates.
They’re probably doomed to break up. Maybe they were from the start.
Still, that doesn’t stop them from cuddling in the very last row of benches, ignoring their scene changes until I have to go up and shout at them.
“Can you just cool it, Jackthon?” Cam disentangles himself from Philip. “No need to get jealous.”
I roll my eyes.
I’m not jealous of Cam for getting into AMDA, and I’m certainly not jealous of him and Philip. Not when I have Liam.
“Whatever. Can you join us onstage or do you need me to fill in for you?”
“Like you even could.”
Given I know his lines better than him . . .
After rehearsal, Dr. L packs and is gone before I’m even done sweeping. Liam heads out too—he’s got an awkward dinner with his dad.
“Sorry to leave you,” he says, tucking in my tag and squeezing my shoulder for just a bit too long. With the other actors still packing up, there’s no way we can kiss goodbye, but his quiet, knowing smile makes everything a little better.
Once I’ve swept and set the ghost light and closed up the theatre, I head down to the choir room. Jasmine’s already gone, shopping with Amy at Target tonight, so I’ve got to wait for Bowie to get out of their GSA meeting.
I take a quick peek in through the choir room door. Cheyenne’s gone again, so Bowie is running the meeting. They spot me, give a quick nod, and I retreat out of sight. The last thing I need is for Braden to notice me and try to bro me into submission.
I slide down the wall beneath a trophy case and pull my iPad back out, but after a few moments staring at it, I just get angry again. So I put it away and pull out my stage manager binder. It’s getting way too full the closer we get to the show. The back folder is stuffed with three years of breakup lists. Maybe I need to find an archival system or something.
I scan Dr. Lochley’s list again. I don’t know what I have to do to make her see me.
As I sigh, a white sneaker taps against the sole of my foot.
I close my binder and look up. “Hey. All done?”
Bowie nods. They’re in an orange UT hoodie, with matching burnt-orange eyeshadow. Their nails are a midnight blue, with electric-blue marbling and glitter (sealed in, so it’s not dangerous).
I stuff my notebook into my backpack and stand. “Where was Cheyenne this time?”
“Out sick. Braden thinks it’s a mental health day, but my money is on senioritis.”
I snort and follow them to their car. The afternoon smells of spring rain and warmer days.
“We haven’t done this in a while,” I say once I’m buckled. Between rehearsals, and TJ’s with Liam—or, lately, his mom’s house when she’s gone—plus swimming lessons on the weekends, not to mention the usual piles of homework we get, I’ve been super busy.
“Liam wasn’t free?”
“Yeah. He’s got dinner with his dad, so you know how that goes.”
“I do know.” But I’ve missed something. Bowie’s face is carefully neutral, but their signs are more clipped than usual.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
Bowie shakes their head.
“Are you mad at me for something?”
“You really have to ask that?” Bowie sighs. “When was the last time we actually hung out?”
“Sorry. I’ve been busy.”
“Yeah, with Liam. I’ve noticed.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s been two months of this and you only want to hang out with me when he’s not available. You know how that makes me feel?”
I want to open the car door and throw up. Because I know exactly how it feels. Dr. L does it to me all the time. She did it to me just this afternoon. Again.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” I swallow down my guilt. “And thank you. You want to hang out?”
Bowie rolls their eyes. “Can’t tonight.”
“But I thought—”
“I wasn’t fishing to hang out with you. I’m actually busy. I do have a life outside of carting your carcass around.”
“Sorry.” I know they do. “I miss you is all.”
“I miss you too,” they finally say. “Even when you’re being a butt.”
“That’s fair.” I start to bite my lip but quickly stop. Now that I’ve got a boyfriend, I need to keep my lips in better shape. “I really like him, Bowie.”
“I can tell.”
“I think I’m in love with him.”
I don’t even think it. I know it. But it feels too huge to say with certainty.
“Wow.” Bowie takes a deep breath. “Have you told Jasmine yet?”
I sigh. “No. I’m still working on it.”
“You can’t keep putting this off!”
“I know. But you’ve met Jasmine.”
“I have. Doesn’t change my opinion, though.”
Can’t they just be happy for me?
Bowie goes quiet as they start the car. Disappointment rolls off them in waves.
We barely talk the whole way home.
“See you,” I say as I close the door.
Bowie just nods and drives off.