Dreamers Often Lie (19 page)

I
t wasn’t until I reached the backstage door that I realized my shirt was inside out.

I traced the exposed seam around my wrist and up my arm. Yep. Definitely inside out. This meant I’d been wearing it that way, with the seams sticking up and the tag poking out, all day long.

It meant my mother hadn’t noticed it that morning, when she’d let me sleep in until after ten, because Sadie
had
told her about the night before, that traitor. She hadn’t noticed it at the breakfast table, while she sipped her third cup of coffee and I wasn’t allowed to have a single one, or while she drove me to school with an excuse note for the office. I’d watched her hands clenching and unclenching on the tabletop, in her lap, around the steering wheel, like she was trying not to let go of some invisible thing.

There was something else I had to hold on to. Time had gotten slippery, and my memory was a mess of things that appeared and disappeared on their own, but I had to hang on tight to yesterday. I ran through the events again and
again, like I was learning my lines. Everything that had happened—my promise to Mom, getting in trouble with Rob, Pierce’s anger, the way he had kissed me—

He’d kissed me.

Pierce Caplan had kissed me.

And that awful thing I’d seen. Blood seeping across the kitchen linoleum. Blood on the stage’s black boards. I had to hold on to that too, before it sank back into the mess. The kiss. The blood. It meant something. It had to mean something.

I tiptoed into the back of the wings. The crew was onstage, attaching the pillars of Theseus’s palace to the fly rods, and I could hear the voices of the rest of the cast coming from the house. All afternoon, I’d managed to avoid seeing Pierce or Rob or anyone else who would ask about yesterday’s stupidity.

But as I crept into a corner to stow my bag, I heard Tom’s voice. “Ooh, it’s our favorite outlaw!”

He hurried through the wings, wearing a sweater and a smile that were both too big. “What’s this stuff about you cutting with the new kid?”

I looked around, making sure no one else was near enough to overhear. “A mistake.”

“You mean it didn’t happen?”

“No. It happened. But it was moronic. I shouldn’t have done it.”

“I don’t know.” Tom pulled me down onto the edge of
Titania’s platform. “He’s . . . well, he’s not cute.
Cute
isn’t the right word.”

“No.” I agreed, looking down at my feet. “He’s . . . something else.”

Tom started to smile again. “Jaye and the new kid . . .” He bumped me teasingly with one arm. “You
strumpet
.”

“Shut up.”

“It’s just what Shakespeare would say about you.”

I rubbed my head. “You don’t know what Shakespeare would say about me.”

Tom raised his eyebrows. “Oh, I think I do. Because aren’t you already
with
Pierce Caplan?”

I threw up my hands. “I don’t even know. I mean—we’re something. Sort of. I don’t know.”

“Well, that clears
that
up.” Tom kicked my shoe lightly with the toe of his. “You know, it’s a little weird to not even know who your best friend is dating.”

I let out a breath. The ache in my head thrashed. “I’m sorry.” I leaned against his baggy woolen shoulder. “It’s not even clear to
me.
”

Tom patted the side of my head. “Next time you feel like cutting class, you should tell me. We haven’t gotten to talk in forever.”

“I know.” I sighed into his sweater. “I miss it. I’m—”

“Hey, Bottom!” Tri, the costumer, poked her head into the wings. “Come try on your new mask.”

“Coming!” Tom gave my head a final pat. “See you later, harlot.”

When Tom had scrambled past me, I slumped over, putting my face between my knees. I must have been imagining it, because the ache seemed to be worse than ever. And it
couldn’t
be worse. I had to be getting better by now. Had to.

The seams outside my sleeves ticked the sides of my face. As long as I was hiding, I might as well take my chance. I scrambled around the back of the platform and crouched down between the fake riverbank and the wall. I yanked the shirt over my head, whipped it right side out, and pulled it back down.

Backward.

I wormed both arms into the body of the shirt. I’d wriggled it halfway around when a deep voice said, “Hey.”

Rob stood on the other side of the platform. He smiled down at me. “Nice shirt.”

It was like someone had opened a window. Suddenly there was air and light and a potential escape route, and a view of things I hadn’t even realized were there. Even squatting in a corner, my clothes on sideways, knowing I must look totally ridiculous, all I felt was happy.

Then I smelled the blood.

Remember.

I looked away. “Thanks.”

“You weren’t in anatomy,” his voice went on. That voice. God. I loved that voice. “Skipping two days in a row? Pretty ballsy.”

“I wasn’t skipping.” I stood up, circling around the far side of the platform. Keeping my distance. “I wasn’t feeling well this morning.”

“Are you okay?”

I took another step away from him. “I’m fine.”
Keep the conversation short. Face blank. Voice calm.

“I shouldn’t have kept you out for so long,” said Rob. “I’m really sorry.”

No. I’d wanted the afternoon to go on and on.
Keep your face blank.
“
I shouldn’t have suggested it.” Say it. That’s your line. SAY IT.

“It was my fault.” My chest was tight. “I’m sorry I got
you
in trouble.” I put one hand on my head, half hiding from view. “What did they do to you?”

“One week of morning detention and a stern warning. You?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” His tone was impressed. “Well played.”

“Well. You know.” I pointed to my head. “Get Out of Jail Free card.”

Rob took a step toward me—just near enough that I could catch the scent of his clothes. Detergent. Soap. Something else, dark and spicy, like cloves. It made my heart beat faster.

“Don’t,” I said stupidly.

“Don’t what?”

I had to be clear. I had to push him away. Even though what I suddenly wanted to do more than anything was reach out and wrap both arms around him, feel the solidity of his body. Tall. Warm. Real.

“Don’t talk to me anymore.” The tightness filled my skull. “Yesterday was idiotic. My head was hurting, and I was tired, and I made a mistake.” The words came faster. “We shouldn’t have done it. Now they’ll be watching you, like they’re already watching me. We can’t give them anything to see.”

God, I sounded paranoid. I sounded insane
.

From the corner of my eye, I could see Rob’s smile disappear.

“What would anyone have seen? Two people drinking coffee?”

“That’s not all it was.”

“Oh. Right.” Now his tone was almost sarcastic. “There were some noodles too.”

“That’s not what I meant. You know that.”

“Look: I didn’t do anything out of line. You seemed confused and out of it and like you needed somebody to talk to. So I talked with you. You made it clear that there’s something going on with you and Pierce—although actually you seemed pretty confused about all of that too—and I listened. And then I brought you back here.”

Anger flared in me. “Don’t say I was
confused.
Don’t just blame all this on my head.”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing?” He shrugged, taking a step back. “You don’t want me to talk to you anymore. I hear you. Sorry if I did something wrong.”

I darted after him before he could turn away. “No. You didn’t do anything wrong.” I stopped myself just in time to keep from grabbing his hand. “
I
did. I keep screwing up. I keep choosing the wrong thing.”

Rob looked down at me. His beautiful eyes were cool. Slightly hurt. Unsurprised. “It’s fine,” he said. “I’m not making more out of this than it is. I thought we might be friends. That’s it. But I can leave you alone.”

“Please—” I had to clench my hands into fists to keep from grabbing him this time. “I’m saying this for you, not for me. This isn’t what I want.”

“For me? What do you mean?”

“If you don’t stay away from me—” Blood pooling on the floorboards. Blood dripping from a gash in his side. My mother’s haunted face. My father. My father. “You need to stay away from me,” I nearly whispered. The sword in Pierce’s hand. “Or bad things . . . really bad things . . .”

And then Pierce was actually there. Standing in the gap in the curtains, his face stiff with rage. His hands clamped around the hanging velvet.

“What the hell?” he demanded.

Rob glanced over his shoulder. “Hey,” he said civilly. “Could you give us a minute? Thanks.”

“She just told you to stay away from her.” Pierce’s voice was low and tight as a tripwire. “Now back off.”

“I asked you first,” said Rob. “I did it more politely, but I meant the same thing. So: Could you give us a minute? Thanks.”

Pierce’s jaw flexed. “No. I’m not giving you anything. She told you to leave her alone.”

“Pierce—that wasn’t what I meant,” I faltered. “It isn’t like—”

Pierce’s eyes didn’t even flick toward me. “Stay away from her. I don’t want to see you talking to her. Sitting near her. Even
looking
at her.”

“I’m sorry. I forgot that
you
are in charge of what she does,” said Rob, with increasing courtesy. “Hang on. What year is it in Minnesota? Did I move to 1850 when I moved here?”

“I’m not telling her what to do.” Pierce stepped closer. “I’m just trying to protect her from some pathetic stalker.”

“I don’t know—the guy lurking behind the curtains to eavesdrop on her conversations seems more like the stalker to me.”

Pierce lunged so close that his chest bumped Rob’s. His shoulders were broader, his body thicker, but Rob was a few inches taller. Pierce had to jut out his chin to glare up into Rob’s cool blue eyes.

The ache in my head was fracturing. “Pierce. Stop.” I shoved my hands between them, trying to grab Pierce’s shoulders.
“Listen to me.”

“I’m not going to say it again,” Pierce growled, like some actor in an action movie.

“Good,” said Rob. “Because I’d really like to see what you’re going to
do
instead.”

Pierce’s face twisted. Suddenly, I couldn’t even recognize him. He wasn’t the boy who’d been my best friend. He wasn’t the gorgeous stranger I’d watched from the other end of the school halls. He bumped me aside, grabbing Rob by the front of his black shirt. I heard threads pop as he whipped Rob around and shoved him out of the wings, onto the stage.

Clusters of actors scattered as Rob and Pierce plowed between them. There were gasps. Somebody shouted Pierce’s name.

I heard my own voice yelling
Stop
as I lurched out onto the boards behind them. But the word only ricocheted around inside my skull, never making it out into the fire-colored air.

Pierce’s arm went up, aiming a punch at Rob’s face. Rob ducked to the side. The propulsion of his fist sent Pierce staggering after it. Smoothly, Rob put out one leg. Pierce tripped over his ankle, sprawling onto the stage.

Mr. Hall’s voice came from somewhere in the
red-streaked distance, but I couldn’t make out what it said. The air was too thick. The fire in my skull burned hotter.

Pierce rolled gracefully back to his feet. He spun around, pounding forward, the force of his whole body aimed at Rob’s chest. There was a glitch in my vision as they collided, their bodies frozen mid-fall, the stage simmering away into a wide stone floor. Queen Gertrude and King Claudius, positioned for the final scene of
Hamlet,
watched from their raised thrones. Gertrude raised a cup to the fighters. Over its brim, her glassy eyes met mine.

There was a thud as both bodies hit the floor. Someone’s foot connected with a plywood pillar, knocking it aside. More gasps. More shouting.

Pierce reared back, his fist connecting with Rob’s cheekbone. It came down again. And again. My stomach heaved. Rob’s elbow flashed up to block the next strike. His free arm levered him upward, toppling Pierce sideways. There was a thud as Pierce slid to the boards. Rob pounced, pinning Pierce to the floor. His hands locked around Pierce’s wrists.

“Enough!”
Mr. Hall’s voice seared through the noise.

He dove between Pierce and Rob, arms out. The rest of the cast surged inward, dragging Pierce and Rob apart. Mr. Carter and two school security officers were already jogging down the center aisle. One officer jumped onto the boards, heading for Pierce, while the other pulled Rob off of Pierce’s body.

Rob had already gone still. His face went blank as the officer grasped his elbows, yanking him to his feet. A red welt was forming on his cheekbone. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of his lip to the edge of his jaw.

“A touch, a touch, I confess . . .” Hamlet whispered into my ear.

Wake up,
I begged myself.
Wake up.

“All right, Mr. Mason,” said Mr. Carter. “It looks like you made your choice.” He gave a nod. The officer marched Rob toward the steps, one arm pinned behind his back. Rob didn’t struggle.