Exit Stage Left (19 page)

He takes a step up, so that now he’s a little taller than me. “I tried to tell you before that change isn’t always a bad thing. It sucks for a while and it rips your heart out, but it gets easier. And sometimes, it gets a whole lot better.”

“I don’t see how losing everything I thought I had gets a whole lot better,” I finally say.

Oliver takes another step up, so that now he’s right in front of me. I have to tilt my head back to keep eye contact.

“You haven’t lost as much as you think you have.”

I laugh, short and not at all amused. “Right.”

He doesn’t laugh, though. Instead, he’s still looking at me—into me—and he’s so close that it feels as if the temperature in the stairwell has gone up ten degrees. What exactly does this mean? I need space. I need to think. I put a hand on his chest at the exact same moment that his hand cups my chin. And my lips find his.

It’s a few seconds before I realize I shouldn’t be doing this. I
like
it, but it can’t be right. Not if I’m supposed to be with Trevor. And then I remember how Trevor was laughing with Danielle just a few minutes ago, and I don’t care what I’m supposed to be.

Except I barely even
know
Oliver. Not the way I know Trevor, anyhow. I don’t know if he has a dog or a cat, what his favorite color is, whether he likes green bean casserole. But I know how he feels about his dad, and how much he cares about his mom, and his feelings on
Oklahoma!

And his lips are gentle and warm, and he’s still holding my chin, and I really,
really
like this. My heart is pounding so hard, I think it’ll burst from my chest. It’s all so new and a little terrifying. But I don’t stop it.

When the sound of voices leaving the cafeteria penetrates the stairwell, he pulls away.

“I’m sorry,” he says, rubbing a hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

I straighten up. “Except I kind of started it.”

His mouth crooks up into a smile.

I smile back until I remember Trevor. “I . . . should go find . . .”

His smile disappears. “Trevor. Right.”

“See you at rehearsal.” I take a last look back before I move through the door. “I’m sorry,” I say.

“Don’t be,” he replies.

And deep down, I’m not sorry at all. Just really, really confused.

I’ve decided that the best way to stop worrying about all my problems is to bother Harrison about his own. I know I shouldn’t push him, but I mean, this is an
arts
school, after all. Plus, I’ve learned that secrets get you nowhere. Unless the secret is that your little thing for Oliver West got a little out of hand yesterday and now you’re having trouble acting normal around Trevor. I try to focus on Harrison again. “I think you need to find someone. Because then you would be a lot less grumpy. And more open to hearing about other people’s relationships,” I tell him.

He snorts.

“No, really. So pick somebody, okay? It’s not normal to go all the way through high school unattached.” What I leave unsaid:
Just come out, already
.

“No. Let’s talk about something else.”

“Uh-uh. You
have
to be into someone.”

Harrison’s face turns a little red.

“Ha! I knew it! Are you going to tell me, or do I have to guess?”

He ignores me.

“Okay. But I warn you, I’ll guess until I get the answer.” I look around the theater and start naming girls at random. “Gabby?”

His face stays blank.

“Danielle?”

Nothing.

“Hannah? Seriously, Harrison, I can go on like this for weeks.”

Harrison watches the action onstage and says nothing.

“Kayley? Jill? Elizabeth? Ms. Sharp?”

Harrison laughs silently.

“Emmie? Jenna? Tim? Madison?” I bite the inside of my cheek as I pretend to scope out the auditorium for more potentials.

“No. Wait, what? Did you say
Tim
?”

“This is an equal-opportunity school, Harrison,” I say in as normal a voice as possible, while I side-eye him for a reaction.

He’s bright red.

Ms. Sharp calls the “Sixteen Going on Seventeen” scene, and Harrison stands up super fast like he’s trying to run away from me. And he does—run away, that is.

I don’t have time to plot my next move in the Make Harrison Come Out Super-Plan, because Trevor says something to Amanda, who frowns, and then he leaps off the stage and races down the aisle. He brushes my arm as he moves past me.

That’s a silent invitation to follow him. Without intending to, I glance around the auditorium for Oliver. He’s sitting up front with
a few other people. I don’t know why exactly, but I almost wish he’d turn around and see me leave. But he doesn’t. So I stand up and make my way down the aisle and through the theater doors. I follow the sounds of a vending machine in the Alcove of Sin lobbing a soft drink can out through its chute. That’s where I find Trevor.

“Here.” Trevor pulls a Diet Mountain Dew from the dispenser and hands it to me.

He’s more than familiar with my undying love for Mountain Dew in all its caloric and noncaloric forms. That’s something I bet Oliver doesn’t know.

“You sounded good today,” he says as he leans against the giant Pepsi bottle on the front of the machine. A piece of hair falls into his eyes, and I’m just about to reach over and push it out of the way when he flicks his head and it flops into place.

“Really?” I say when I tear my eyes away from his hair. I’ve barely practiced. He’s probably just being nice.

“Yes, really. Since when do I lie about that?”

I can’t help but smile, because that’s the absolute truth. If he thought I was awful, he’d tell me.

“Did you watch me?” he asks.

I nod. “Of course.” I mostly watched him, except for those romantic scenes with Amanda. Before, it was jealousy. Now it’s just awkward and painful to sit through. I can tell Amanda’s trying to be professional about it, but something just isn’t working. She’s stiff and unnatural, and I could feel her discomfort from the back of the theater.

He takes a swig of water. I sip on my Mountain Dew. The school
is silent, except for the buzzing of the vending machines and the faint sound of voices from the closed theater. I’m starting to think that right now is perfect for some alone time—if only to fill the quiet and make the thoughts of Oliver in my head shut up—when he takes my hand. He leans back against the wall that separates the Alcove of Sin from the lobby and draws me over right next to him.

But instead of kissing me, Trevor says, “You would’ve been great as Maria. Ms. Sharp really screwed you over, you know.”

“I know.”

Trevor laughs. “That’s what I’ve always liked about you. You have so much confidence.”

“I know,” I say again.

“Except for when you get overconfident and ditch me.”

I force a smile and thread my fingers through his. “I think you’re rewriting history.”

“
I
think you were overreacting.”

“Well, how exactly am I supposed to react when I find you all cozied up to Jenna, alone in the choir room?”

He drops his head back against the wall. “Why are we talking about this right now? Nothing happened. And that was months ago.”

He’s right. I don’t know why I can’t let that stuff ago. It’s not happening right now. One laugh with Danielle doesn’t mean he’s falling back into pattern. I take a deep breath, force down the old hurt, and say, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring all that up again.”

“I’m only focused on you right now,” he says, squeezing my hand tighter. “And whatever happened in the past, it was only ever you.”

I sip my drink and turn so that I’m facing him. “Are you serious?” I ask.

He puts a hand to his heart. “You’re questioning my feelings for you? You wound me, Casey Fitzgerald.”

I laugh. Maybe what Trevor and I have now is something new and much, much better than what we had before. I came back because I craved something I knew, but maybe now I’m getting something different. Except . . . this is what he’s always like early on. It’s not until we’re further into it that he starts looking around.

He’s watching me with those perfect brown eyes. And I’m having a hard time looking at anything else. This time could be different. He’s just about promised as much.

He reaches out and brushes my hair. “What happened to the pink?”

“Oh, I . . .” I drift off, completely incapable of coming up with any actual words.

“I miss it.” He ducks his head so that our foreheads are touching.

I reach up and trace the constellation of those freckles. He closes his eyes and I feel heady with some kind of power. Like I’m back on top and my entire life is entirely under my control—not at all what I felt with Oliver yesterday. And before I know it, my mouth is on his. Somewhere, some little wisp of a memory is whispering that we should really be in the auditorium in case Ms. Sharp calls one of our scenes. But does it really matter when I’m no longer Casey Fitzgerald, drama queen? Also, it’s really hard to think at all when Trevor’s sliding one hand down my back to my butt and dropping kisses along my jawline to my neck. I clutch his shoulder with my free hand to keep
from dissolving completely.

I firmly believe that neck-kissing is possibly the best invention ever, and Trevor knows this because he knows
me
. Just as some functioning part of my brain decides it never, ever wants this to stop, Trevor straightens.

“You want to get out of here? We could go to my place.” His voice is barely a whisper, and his breath is hot against my ear.

My heart thuds into overdrive as my head tries to start working again. Get out of here. His place. There is totally a subtext there. Do I? Yes. No. Maybe.

Oh. My. God. Casey, make a freaking decision before he thinks you didn’t even hear him! Except he’s on my neck again and I barely even remember my name right now.

“What about rehearsal?” I say stupidly. Because I mean, really, who
cares
about rehearsal—or anything else right now?

“Oh, shit. Sorry. Bad timing,” a voice that’s definitely not Trevor’s says.

My eyes fly open, and there’s Oliver calmly feeding a dollar into the soft drink machine. God, how long was he standing there? Trevor backs away, but he keeps one arm around me. I chug my Mountain Dew, hoping it will hide my burning face.

“All that singing. Needed a drink,” Oliver says, raising a can of Diet Coke. “Trevor, Ms. Sharp’s calling the ‘Edelweiss’ scene. She was sounding a little . . . impatient.”

Trevor swears and races back to the theater, because unlike me, he still has a future in theater. He leaves me adrift in the Alcove of Sin
with a cold can of Diet Mountain Dew and enough embarrassment to set the entire alcove on fire. I wrap my arms around myself and settle for avoiding Oliver’s eyes.

He stands right where Trevor was just a few seconds ago. The left shoulder seam of his dinosaur-era Pavement T-shirt is torn. I wonder why he doesn’t just toss the thing. Maybe he likes showing off his arm muscles or something. Which he does have, probably from mucking out all those horse stalls.

And I’m staring at Oliver’s arm muscles. I decide to check the status of my peeling blue nail polish instead.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” I finally say.

“You do a lot of apologizing,” he replies.

I sneak a glance up at him. He’s pulling back and forth on the tab of his Coke can. It snaps off, and—for some weird Oliver reason—he puts it in his pocket. “Casey, can I be honest with you?”

“Depends on what you’re going to be honest about. If you hate my singing or something, feel free to lie about it.” I’m hoping the joke covers up the fact that I’m pretty sure I don’t want to hear what he’s going to say.

Oliver looks me square in the eyes. “I have a bad feeling about this. And before you can accuse me of it, I’m not just saying that because I’m jealous.”

“Are you sure? Because that’s kind of what it sounds like,” I snap. “First Harrison, then my brother, and now you? What is this, a We-Hate-Trevor Club?” Or, maybe a We-Don’t-Want-Casey-to-Be-Even-Remotely-Happy Club. One thing, that’s all. I’ve finally
gotten
one
thing I’ve wanted this year, and I’m not about to let anyone else ruin it for me.

Oliver hooks the thumb of his free hand in his jeans pocket. He eyes the floor, like he’s trying to think of the right words. I immediately wish I hadn’t jumped on him like that. Because as much as I bury it when I’m with Trevor, I definitely feel something for Oliver, and I don’t want to hurt him.

“I don’t hate him,” Oliver finally says. “He’s just . . . not right for you.”

And I’m on the defensive again. I let out a short laugh. “How would you know what’s right for me? Because we . . . had a moment? I mean, you’ve known me for what, a minute?”

He closes his eyes. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have said anything.” He could’ve reminded me that I’m the one who kissed him, not the other way around, but he doesn’t.

“I should get back inside.” I drop my half-empty can into the recycling bin and move toward the lobby.

“Casey, wait.” He reaches out and touches my arm.

I fight every nerve ending that insists I move closer to him. “I . . . I think maybe we should stop this. Whatever it is. I’m with Trevor, and that’s just how it is,” I choke out.

He looks back at me, gray eyes that are as light as Trevor’s are dark. “Is it serious? You told me before that it never was because you were both so committed to theater. If that’s changed, then tell me, and I’ll back off.”

I pull my arm away but don’t say anything. Because I don’t know
what the answer is. It’s not like we’ve talked about it.

“I see,” he says.

I don’t know what he means by that, but I leave him standing there in the lobby as I disappear through the theater doors.

I find a seat in the back of the house. I really don’t feel like sitting with anyone right now. Trevor is onstage with Amanda and about half the cast. Amanda looks almost sick to her stomach. Which makes Oliver’s words echo through my brain again.
A bad feeling
. What the hell does that mean anyway?

I put my fingers to my temples and try to rub out the memory of Oliver. I have something I want, and I should be content with it—and with whatever it is. So why can’t anyone else be happy about it?

I check the time on my phone, wondering when this is going to end so I can finally go home. Why
am
I here with these rehearsals that drag on and on? If I dropped out right now, it’s still early enough that Ms. Quindell could alter my costume for my understudy. And Ruth would be ecstatic to step into my role. I’d have a lot more time on my hands. I could join some kind of club or get a job or play a sport. Wait, who I am kidding? Definitely no sports. But I could be brushing up on my poker skills right now. All I’d have to do is march up to Ms. Sharp and tell her I’m through with theater.

So why don’t I? Instead, I stay glued to my seat, glaring at the people onstage while mouthing the words to the song and silently speaking Maria’s lines along with Amanda.

Maybe I just like making myself miserable. But the thing is, I’m not entirely sure it’s just theater that’s making me miserable anymore.