Everyone's a Critic (9 page)

She gave me a quick hug. “You look gorgeous,” she said. “Have a great time.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I know she meant it, too.

I got out of the car, walked down the sidewalk toward the auditorium, and stood at the front doors, watching people greet each other and head inside.
Should I wait out here? I wondered. Should I go in and wait there? Maybe I should find someone I knew to talk to so I didn't look like I was actually waiting. But wasn't that what I was supposed to be doing, waiting for Michael?
Arts Reporter Has Nervous Breakdown at Theater.
Stranger things have happened.

Just as I was about to go inside, thinking that somehow I'd seem less awkward in the lobby, Michael came jogging up to me, smiling.

“Okay, Take Two—the second time in one day!” he said cheerfully. He looked so good in khakis and a crisp white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up that I suddenly couldn't move my mouth.

“You look great,” he said.

A flash of warmth spread over me. “Thanks, so do you,” I said in a strange tiny voice.
Sam, keep it together. This is a newspaper assignment, NOT a date
, I tried to tell myself. “So, let's get our seats!” I blurted out, and started walking.

We both had our tickets and headed straight into the auditorium to sit down. I hadn't remembered
the seats being so close to one another. I crossed my legs, trying not to brush against Michael's by accident. We chatted about the performances we had seen earlier, and then the lights went down. Suddenly I was sitting in the dark, four inches apart from Michael Lawrence. I could hear him breathing. I could even smell the Tide detergent scent on his clothes. It was almost too much.

The opening act started, and Michael took out a little notebook. I did the same. He was sitting to the left of me, and he laid his right arm on the armrest between us. His arm was now an inch away from me. The lady to my right had her arm on her left armrest. Suddenly all I could think about was Michael's arm so close to me and where in the world I was going to put my hands. I scrunched them in my lap and held the notebook on my thigh.

Well into the second act, I noticed Michael lifting his arms up and stretching. Okay, now I had a little room to stretch out too. Then Michael put his arm on the armrest again and brushed against my arm. I felt electricity shoot through me. Was that on purpose or by
accident? I gave him a glance out of the corner of my eye. He was staring straight ahead. I quickly switched my gaze forward. How was I going to concentrate on the play? Now I was in a full sweat. Perfect. I'll bet professional arts reviewers don't have to deal with these things.

Somehow I managed to pay some attention to the rest of the play. Allie was great, as usual, but Julia Gowen seemed as off as she had been the first night. One part of the city backdrop kept falling down, and they still had problems with the spotlights. Maybe I was being too critical? At least I was reviewing the play with Michael and we could compare notes.

At the end, the cast came out for a bow, and the crowd went crazy. I yelled, “Go, Allie!” and Michael did too, even louder than me, which I thought was a bit strange. It was the last performance, and I could see relief on the director's face as he came out for his bow. I watched Allie bask in her final moment as Anita and I wondered how she felt. Was she happy that it was finally over and she hadn't messed up any lines or dance moves, at least as
far as I could tell? Or did she feel kind of sad that it was over, along with all the excitement and the attention that came with it? That's kind of how I felt after a big story of mine ran in the
Voice
. But I also felt happy that it was done.
I
certainly was glad the play was over. I'm happy Allie did such a great job, but it would have been nice not to be trying to sleep while she belted out “America” in the next room.

As the lights came on and we stood up, Michael and I looked at each other. Now what? I heard Hailey's voice in my ear:
Let him fill in the blanks.
I smiled and kept my mouth shut. Michael smiled back and started walking out. I followed. He stopped when we were outside. People were everywhere—coming out, getting into cars, yelling out plans to each other.

“How'd you like it?” I asked him. I had to say something.

“It was okay. Pretty similar to the matinee. So, um, want to go to Slices and talk it over? I'm starving.”

“Oh, sure. Definitely.” I nervously started
playing with the little tassels at the end of my scarf. Now did this count as an official date? I had to restrain myself from calling Hailey right then and there. I texted my mom, and she texted right back “Have fun!” with a smiley face. Mom seemed just as excited as Hailey.

We walked over to Slices Pizzeria, the most popular local pizza joint in our town. Their pizza was popular for a reason. The crust was superthin and crispy, and the secret recipe for the incredible marinara was said to be kept in a safe, according to Leo, the owner. When we walked in, I looked around, and I swear half our school was stuffed in there. It hadn't occurred to me that we probably wouldn't be the only people getting a slice after the show. I saw some of the guys from the baseball team at the same table, sharing a pie.

“Hey, man!” Jamal Williams said, high-fiving Michael as we walked past. Then he waved hi to me. A couple of other guys at the table did the same. I waved back.

“What are you guys up to?” Jamal asked, with a twinkle in his eye. Everyone at the table was
suddenly listening really hard. Michael and I glanced at each other.

“Oh, we're just working,” he said casually. “Sam and I are reviewing the play for the paper, so we need to hang out and compare notes.”

My heart dropped to my shoes. “Just working” is what he said. Suddenly I felt stupid in my fancy scarf and earrings and lip gloss. Is that all this meant to him? I guess even being asked to a pizzeria didn't count as a date. We left the guys and went up to the counter. We each ordered a slice and a Sprite. I pulled out a ten-dollar bill Mom had given me in case we went out for something to eat after the play.

“No, no,” Michael said, “I got it,” and he handed the cashier his money before I could even say a word.

“Thanks! You didn't have to do that,” I said, surprised and even more confused. Wasn't I supposed to know if this was a date or not? I had answered that Dear Know-It-All letter so sure of myself. If he asks you to something or if you ask him to something, it's a date.
But what if you ask him to the first part and then he asks you to the second part? What if he tells his friends it's just for the paper but
then
he offers to pay?
Boy Causes Case of Permanent Date Confusion. Girl Never Recovers
. We finally found a little table in the back and sat down. I took out my notes, and Michael did too.

“The show was pretty good, but kind of the same as opening night,” I said, happy to get my mind off date stuff and just think about the review. “I mean, a lot of work went into it. The sets and lighting were pretty elaborate. Some of the performers were great. Some were not so great.”

“I agree. I don't know about Julia Gowen. She has a nice voice, but she just never seemed comfortable up there, at least not tonight.”

“How about the matinee? Was she any better?” I asked.

“Not really,” Michael said, and took a sip of soda.

“Yeah, she was kind of the same at opening night. I thought it might just be jitters. Guess not.” I
took a tiny bite of pizza, hoping I wouldn't get any sauce on my face.

“Your sister was great, though!” Michael said, suddenly excited. “She's, like, really awesome.”

For crying out loud. This was not what I wanted to hear on my sort of date/not date with Michael Lawrence—how fabulous my sister was. I hoped—no, I prayed with every bone in my body—that he didn't have a crush on her. That would make me just want to move out of town. Tonight.

After we finished our pizza, Michael suggested ice cream. This time I offered to pay and he accepted. More date confusion. We got cones, him a rocky road, me a caramel vanilla swirl, and sat outside on a bench, eating them. We were quiet for a moment. The night was really clear and still; no wind at all. It wasn't too hot or cold outside, just perfect spring weather.

“Look at the sky,” Michael said, tilting back his head.

I tilted my head back. It was an inky blue, each star glowing like a rhinestone sprinkled into the atmosphere.

“You can see so many stars,” I said. “Magical.”

“We used to go to Montana on summer vacations to visit my uncle when he lived there,” Michael said. “And the sky looked like this, only bigger and brighter. It was amazing.”

“I'll bet. Wish I could have seen it.”

“Yeah,” Michael said, looking at me. “You should go if you ever have the chance.” He cleared his throat and seemed a bit nervous. His cheeks were rosy. He put his arm on the bench behind me and leaned back his head back again to look at the sky. I had already called my mom to tell her to pick me up and she would probably be here any second, but I didn't want to leave this bench. Ever.

“I had fun tonight,” I blurted out.

He stopped looking at the sky and stared straight at me. “Me too, Paste.”

“Enough with that ridiculous nickname, Mikey,” I said. Oof. Way to ruin a moment, Sam.

He seemed truly embarrassed. “Sorry, it's a habit. Me too,
Sam
. Or should I be calling you Samantha?” Before I could answer, my mom
pulled up, smiling and waving. I asked him if he wanted a ride home.

“Sure,” he said. “That would be great.”

He hopped into the backseat, while I sat in front with my mom. We discussed the play, more of its good points and bad. Michael told my mom how great Allie was
again
and I rolled my eyes in the dark. After we dropped him off, Mom turned to me.

“So, how was it? You're grinning from ear to ear,” she said.

“It was good,” I said, trying to hide my smile.

“You pick 'em well, Sam.”

“Mom,” I said, rolling my eyes. “It was just for the paper. I told you!”

“Sure, honey, just for the paper,” Mom said, and gave me a wink.

I couldn't help but laugh. As much as I tried to keep my cover, the night definitely felt like more than that. If it talks like a date and walks like date, it's a date, right?

Chapter 10

“Sam, it's Hailey. You awake?” my mom asked softly at eight thirty the next morning, standing next to my bed and holding the phone.

I rolled over. I kind of was, barely. “Uh-huh” was all I could say, and took it from her.

“Mmm?” I said.

“Well?” Hailey's voice burst through the phone. She's much more of a morning person than I am. I think it's because she's used to getting up early sometimes for practices and games. Me, I hardly roll out of bed before ten on a Sunday morning. But not this Sunday, apparently.

“Whatever could you be talking about?” I said playfully, rubbing my eyes. “And why did
you call me so early, Hailey?”

“That good, huh? Why didn't you text me last night?”

“Sorry, got home late. Crashed,” I said, yawning.

“Spill it,” she said.

I told her about the whole night, the thing Michael said at Slices about “just working.” Then I told her that he'd asked me to have pizza and paid, and about the ice cream and how I paid. I kept the stargazing to myself. It was the best part, but for some reason I was afraid that if I explained it, it would sound goofy, or would just seem less special.

“That's totally a date,” she said.

“You think? I never know with Michael. And I feel like he might have a thing for Allie, which makes me nauseous if I think about it too long,” I said in a lower voice, although Allie would probably sleep until noon this morning, since she was recovering from the play and from cast parties on both nights.

“No! Really?” Hailey said. I told her what Michael had said after the play.

“That doesn't mean anything,” she said. “I thought Allie was awesome too. Everyone did.”

She was probably right and I was worrying for nothing. After I got off the phone with Hailey, I went down for breakfast. As I was digging into a delicious plate of waffles, strawberries, and a bit of vanilla yogurt on top, the phone rang again. Mom answered it and handed it to me.

“Michael,” she said in a hushed tone, a bit of excitement hidden in her voice.

Everyone was up this morning! I got a fluttery feeling in my stomach and cleared my throat, before grabbing the phone and taking it into the den for privacy.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hi, Pasty,” he said, loud and energized. Great, we were back to nicknames. “We need to figure out when we're going to meet and write this thing. It's due Friday.”