I check my face in the mirror. I’ve been putting benzoyl peroxide on these zits for two days, but they’ve only gotten bigger. I wish I had some stage makeup to cover up the redness, but I left the tube of greasepaint in my backpack.
I spend a minute psyching myself up enough to walk by the actors’ table again. I take a deep breath, open the door, and run right into Summer coming down the hall.
She points at me. “Z. That’s your name.”
“How did you find out?” I say.
“The actors told me.”
She takes a step towards me, and I see her up close for the first time. I was right about her eyes. They’re hazel with specks of other colors mixed in.
“You’re staring,” she says.
“Your eyes.”
“Is something wrong with them?”
“They’re a lot of different colors.”
“That’s because I’m a mutt,” she says. “Our family tree looks like a Lonely Planet guide.”
“Ours looks like a touring company of Fiddler on the Roof.”
She laughs, a high-pitched sound like a birdcall.
“Was that a laugh?” I say.
“It’s weird, isn’t it?”
“More like distinctive.”
“That’s a nice way to put it,” she says.
I look at the sign on the restroom. A figure of a man standing next to a woman, a wall between them.
There are so many things I want to say to Summer, but now that she’s in front of me, I can’t think of any of them.
She says, “Why did you lie to me, Z? You said you weren’t in the hall when I was dancing, but you were.”
“I was.”
“And you were on spot after rehearsal the other night. You helped me with my monologue.”
“Guilty.”
“So what’s the deal? Are you stalking me or something?”
“Definitely not stalking. It’s not like I’m sending you my hair in an Altoids tin.”
“Gross.”
“You obviously don’t know the techies,” I say.
“So you’re not a stalker. Why all the weirdness?”
“I don’t mean to be weird. I’m just nervous.”
“Around girls?”
“Around oxygen.”
She laughs.
“And girls, too,” I say.
I raise my hand to my zits, trying to cover them up without being too obvious.
“I get nervous, too,” she says.
“What makes you nervous?”
“Getting a lead three days before opening night.”
“That’s pretty scary,” I say.
“First I thought I wasn’t good enough to get the role, now I think I’m not good enough to do it. Hysterical, right?”
“I think you’re good enough.”
“That’s a nice thing to say. Even if you are lying.”
“I’m not lying. I saw your monologue. It was great.”
She bites at her lower lip.
“And now that I’m on spot, I can help you,” I say.
“How can you help?”
“Light is pretty amazing.”
“Will it memorize my lines for me?”
“If you ask it nicely.”
She laughs. “Okay. What about the lighting guy?”
“What about him?”
“Would he run lines with me?”
“Are you serious?” I say.
“It’s a terrible idea, isn’t it? You must have a lot of tech stuff to do.”
There’s a loud laugh from the actors’ table. Their voices carry down the hall towards us. “It’s not that. I mean, why aren’t you working with Johanna?”
“She kind of wants me dead right now. I replaced her best friend, remember?”
“I’d like to help,” I say, “but there’s the actors-versus-techies thing …”
“The code,” she says.
“The code.”
“Do you always follow the rules?”
I think about Grace and me in Derek’s car.
“Not always,” I say.
“Could you break a rule for me?”
“Maybe I could bend one. For the show.”
She holds out her hand and we shake. Her hand is soft and warm, much warmer than I thought it would be.
“Can we meet tonight?” she says.
“Tonight is okay.”
“Is it all right if I come to your place? My parents are mildly psychotic.”
“Really? My mom is completely normal. At least since the lobotomy.”
Summer laughs. “So what do you say?”
I think about how excited Mom would be if I had a girl over to the house. Too excited.
Then I remember she’s going to be home late because of a work event.
“You can come over,” I say.
Summer pulls out her cell phone.
“Type in your number, okay? I’ll grab a bite with the actors, then I’ll run home, change, and call you.”
I put my number in her phone and hand it back.
“You’re saving my life,” Summer says. She steps forward and gives me a quick hug. She has this delicious fruit smell that makes me want to bury my face in her hair.
Reach comes walking around the corner, but he’s looking back towards the actors.
“Talk to you later,” I say, and I quickly turn away as she goes into the bathroom.
“What’s up?” I say to Reach.
“Everything okay back here?” he says.
“I was just abusing the facilities.”
“That’s why I brought my oxygen mask,” Reach says. He sighs, looks at me. “It’s good to have you out with us.”
“Interesting stuff happens when you come down from the catwalk.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Reach says. He sniffs the air. “Why does it smell like fruit back here?”
He wrinkles his nose and heads into the bathroom.