Exit Stage Left (25 page)

“That was . . . amazing,” Oliver says. He’s looking at me as if he’s never seen me before. He takes a step forward, and then seems to realize that half the cast is standing around us. He clasps his hands behind his back. “Really amazing.”

“Thanks,” I say as my face turns a little warm. I turn to Harrison. “So?”

“You never needed to find anything else,” he says. “Thanks, by the way, for getting me out there.”

“No problem. That’s what friends are for, right?”

“Right,” he says with a grin.

I lag behind my friends as they walk up the sidewalk to Amanda’s house. Music escapes from the partly open windows, and people move around inside. I remember that night I peeked through her window and spotted her with Trevor. That feels like a million years ago. It feels like a whole other Casey ago.

“Casey, you coming?” Harrison holds the door open for me. Oliver and Kelly have already disappeared inside.

I run to catch up, and peer around the familiar living room once I’m inside. It’s packed with cast, crew, musicians, some parents and siblings, and even a few teachers. Mr. Williams is holding a shrimp on a toothpick and chatting away to Amanda’s mom in the kitchen. I slide past the door. The last thing I want right now is a lecture on the importance of pre-calculus.

“Oops, sorry.” I turn to see who I bumped into. Of course, it’s Trevor.

He sort of frowns at me before he realizes he’s putting on a
performance for everyone in the room. Then he gives me his perfect smile.

But I see right through that to the guy I really know.

“You did great tonight,” he says as Danielle sidles up to him and takes his hand.

“Um, thanks.” I mess with one of my earrings. “You too. Both of you.”

Danielle bounces up on her toes. “Thanks, Casey!”

“Right. I should . . .” I gesture to the crowd. “See you.” And then I disappear as fast as I can through a knot of parents and teachers.

As I wade through the living room and down the hallway toward the family room, I wonder if I’ll ever be able to have a normal conversation with Trevor again. Maybe I won’t even see him after this year. He’s going to New York, and I’m obviously not. Which is still depressing, but I’m okay now with staying local, at least for college. Maybe I can work my butt off and get a transfer to IU or something. They have a more-than-decent music program, anyway. And there’s always community theater until then. It’s not my dream, but I can still make it to Broadway. Just a little later than I’d planned.

I search for my friends and find them in the corner near the fireplace. I slip into a spot between Harrison and Oliver. Oliver hands me a plate filled with barbeque and those little pickle slices I like so much.

“Thought you’d be hungry after single-handedly saving the entire performance,” he says.

“Starving,” I say through a mouthful of barbeque.

“Too bad Chris isn’t here,” Harrison says. “I’m sure he could do
something interesting with the spray cheese.”

“And my mother would have a nervous breakdown,” Amanda says. “Have you guys tried the stuffed mushrooms? They’re really good. Here.” She plucks one from her plate and drops it onto my plate.

I hold the thing between two fingers. “Seriously?” She knows my feelings about fungus. When I look at her, she bursts into laughter.

“I’m kidding, Casey.” She takes the mushroom back and pops it into her mouth. “Oh my God, you should’ve seen your face.”

Normal Amanda is back. Before I can think of a good comeback, Ms. Sharp’s voice calls to us from across the room.

“People! People!” Ms. Sharp strides through the crowd and wraps her arms around me and Oliver. She leans into the group. “The show is an unprecedented success! Well, except for that one little glitch with the spot in Scene Five. I need to have a tête-à-tête with our friend Joshua.” She frowns, and I kind of fear for Joshua’s life. “But we’re off to such a great start. You’ve all worked so hard. Amanda! You were just fabulous. You have the voice of an angel.”

Amanda’s cheeks turn pink. “Thanks,” she says. “I’m sorry I chickened out at the beginning.”

“It worked out. Just don’t let it happen again.” Ms. Sharp waves her hand and almost hits Oliver in the face. “No one even noticed we started a few minutes late. Casey got you out there, and the show went on perfectly.” Ms. Sharp turns her beaming smile toward me. “And, Casey, you received some high praise tonight.”

“I did?” From who? My mother?

“Yes, indeed. My good friend Mr. Larry Albright told me that
your solo was
the
standout moment for him.”

Holy crap. I can’t say anything. My mouth opens and closes. Larry Albright’s worked on at least six Tony-winning productions before retiring to Chicago to produce an insanely highly regarded festival of new plays. Finally, I squeak out something that sounds like “Me?”

“Yes, you, silly girl.” She squeezes my shoulder. “He wanted to know if you need another recommendation to NYCPA.”

“Yes. Yes!” Tears fill my eyes. I can’t believe I’m crying now. I should be jumping up and down, shouting and laughing.

“Well, I’m glad that makes you happy.”

She has
no
idea how happy that makes me. At least until I spy the look on Harrison’s face. Oh God. Maybe I’ll finally snag that audition, but he won’t. I feel like a traitor.

Ms. Sharp surveys our small group. Her gaze lands on Harrison. “I don’t know why you look so depressed, Mr. Kaelin. Although I should be used to actors feeling like the world has ended even in the face of crowd adulation. My dear old friend Tildy Timmons asked me to give you this.” She fishes in the tiny purse slung across her chest and pulls out a business card.

Harrison stares at it in silence. I peek over his shoulder. In raised script, the card reads
Tildy Timmons, Casting Director
.

“Casting director?” he says, his voice full of disbelief.

“One of the best, though I’m a little biased. She’s casting for a new show that opens next year. Also, she might have a little crush on you.”

Harrison goes beet-red, and Ms. Sharp laughs.

“She’s seventy. I think you’ll be fine,” she says.

“Heartbreaker.” I elbow him.

“Enjoy yourselves,” Ms. Sharp says. “But not too much. Matinee’s at two tomorrow.” She gives Oliver and me a final shoulder squeeze before she runs off to the next group.

“I can’t believe it,” I say. “After all that . . .”

“Who needs Misfit Turntable?” Harrison says. If he could smile any bigger, his glasses would pop off his face.

“Or the Bohemian Brigade. Who needs any of it?” I hug him so hard that he coughs.

“What are you guys talking about?” Kelly asks. “Is that why you had that pink streak in your hair, Casey?”

Amanda smiles at me. “That pink looked good. Made you look kinda edgy. Nothing at all like a nun.”

I’ve
missed
her.

“What’s a misfit turntable?” Oliver asks.

“Nothing,” I say. “I’m just so . . . happy! I love you guys and I love theater and everything is
right
.” I grab them all in a big group hug. Amanda’s mushrooms tumble to the floor and Kelly complains that someone is pulling her hair.

When Amanda leaves to get more food, I follow her. “Hey, I’ll be right back,” I tell her as I toss my empty plate into the trash.

“You okay?” she asks.

“Definitely. Just need some air.” I squeeze through the people crowded into the living room. My phone chimes and I pull it out as I open the door.

Nice work, little sis. For you @ home.
Attached is a picture of Eric
holding a black leather jacket and grinning into the camera.

I shut the door behind me so I can text him right back.

Srsly??!!
Even though rock star is totally out of the picture for me, I kinda loved Eric’s jacket. What I can’t believe is that he actually
bought
one for me. Generosity isn’t exactly my brother’s strongest suit.

Sry couldn’t afford flowers too.

Who wants some old flowers?
I pause and glance up to the clear night sky, dotted with stars. Then I add,
Good luck 2nite
. Manic Banshee managed to book a late gig at Spotlight. My brother is totally going places.

And so am I.

I shove my phone into my pocket and wrap my arms around myself. I stupidly left my coat inside, but I need only a minute out here. Just long enough to clear my head and think for a moment about how amazing this night has been. And what the future has in store for me and my friends.

I’m shivering and starting to think of going inside when the door opens quietly and someone slips out. Oliver.

Neither one of us says anything for a while. When my teeth start chattering, Oliver opens his arms. I step back toward him, and he folds me into his warm body. He rests his chin on my head. I sigh and lean my weight into him as I gaze out into the dark street. I used to think Trevor felt like home—like normal. Now I’m thinking Oliver was right all along. Sometimes change is scary, but worth it.

“I’m sorry I kept butting in with you and Trevor,” Oliver says. His breath tickles the top of my head. “I know I made it look like an
accident, but, well, it wasn’t. I couldn’t handle the way he was acting, but I should’ve backed off.”

I don’t say anything. Instead, I turn around until I’m facing him. His arms are still around my waist. I look up into his gray eyes. His smile is soft and his hair is still smooth from the show.

“You know what?” I say. “You’re a salt-and-vinegar chip. And I’ve decided I need more than just boring old barbeque.”

His funny smile goes even more crooked. He’s Not-So-Silent, Not-Really-from-Hollywood Guy who wouldn’t even talk to me the first time I met him, with his funny sticking-up hair and band T-shirts, and I kind of . . . really . . . like him. I stand on my tiptoes—and kiss him.

He hesitates, and for a moment I’m paranoid that he’s changed his mind. That he’s thinking of how I couldn’t make up my mind. But then he softens. He pulls me closer against his well-worn Black Keys shirt and there’s nowhere else I want to be right now. Not only is Oliver devastatingly good-looking, but he’s also really, really nice, and thoughtful, and he’s funny, and he
cares
. And all this, I’ve decided, is pretty important.

I pull away, but not too far. “We should go back inside.”

“I’d rather stay out here.” His voice is muffled against my hair.

“Me too. But if we don’t go in, everyone else will come out here,” I say with a smile.

He sighs and drops his arms. I take his hand and we head back into the house.

“I’m still starving,” I tell him when we get to the kitchen. I’m stuffing my face with another barbeque sandwich when we reach Kelly,
Harrison, and Amanda. Amanda’s next to the fireplace, and Kelly and Harrison are over by the window. Oliver stands so close to me that it would be impossible for everyone not to know what just happened between us.

I look to Harrison, who’s laughing with Kelly. There’s something I need to resolve with him.

“Hey, come here a second.” I swallow a bite of food and grab his arm. When we’re a good few feet away from everyone else, I set my plate on an end table. “I just need to tell you that I’m sorry.”

He’s looking back at our group. “For what? Dragging my sorry ass out onstage when I could’ve missed out on the biggest opportunity of my entire life?”

“Ha. No. I mean for trying to push you into admitting something you’re not ready for. That wasn’t okay of me, and I’m sorry about it.”

Now I’ve got his attention. But he doesn’t look angry or embarrassed. Just . . . relieved?

“I knew what you were doing the whole time. And I know you were only pushing because you thought it would make things easier for me, but Casey? That has to be my decision. No plans or lists or anything like that.” He pauses. “But it
was
cute watching you work so hard.”

I swat his arm.

“Jesus, why are you always trying to beat me up?” He rubs the spot I barely even touched.

“Because I love you, you weirdo. Who lets their friend try to make them come out for their own entertainment?”

“Me. Hey, did you hear that I’m so amazingly talented that casting directors are practically throwing themselves at me?”

I hold up a finger. “One casting director. Don’t get a big head.”

“Might be a little too late for that. At least mine will still be half the size of yours.”

I shake my head, link my arm through his, and get back to the party.

I sleep in on Saturday morning. When I finally open my eyes, I stare at the ceiling and listen to Mom clinking dishes downstairs and Eric’s muffled music thumping through the wall from his bedroom. I still have a couple of hours before I have to get to school for the show, and I can’t stop smiling.

Everything is in place again. But really, I would’ve been fine if it was in place differently, the way I thought it was before Ms. Sharp dropped the most amazing news I’ve heard all year. I have purpose again, and in finding that, I know that I can face anything. I can
do
anything.

Except maybe fly a plane. Or write a song. Or gamble. Or anything involving horses or clay. Hey, I might even give the whole driving thing a try.

Maybe.

And . . . Oliver. I pull the covers up to my eyes and relive that moment on Amanda’s front porch. I close my eyes and drift into
memories of standing in the freezing cold with only Oliver for warmth.

“Casey?” Mom’s voice calls up from the stairs.

“Mmmm . . .” is about all I can manage, being half asleep and all.

“Case, Amanda’s here. I’m sending her up.”

That wakes me up. It must be a lot later than I thought. I jump out of bed and throw on a clean-ish pair of jeans and a white long-sleeved shirt, just as Amanda knocks on my door.

“Come on in.” I kick aside some discarded clothes and makeup on the floor. I’m not entirely sure how the makeup got there, but there are always a few interesting surprises in my room.

“God, Case, don’t you ever clean up in here?” Amanda says from the doorway. “Wait, don’t answer that. I don’t think I want to know.” She picks her way around my stuff until she reaches the bed.

I sort of halfheartedly pull up the sheets and blankets as Amanda looks around my room with her usual face—the one that says she thinks roaches are about to come crawling out from under the closet door.

“Here, your mom sent up a granola bar. She thinks you’re starving to death.” She hands me an orange-foil-wrapped peanut butter bar.

“What time is it anyway?” I ask.

“Eleven. We have to be back at school in an hour.”

“Plenty of time to eat this, shower, and warm up,” I say as I take a huge bite of the granola bar.

She waves a hand. “We can warm up in the car. So . . . tell me. Did you oversleep because of”—she wiggles her eyebrows in a way that would make me laugh if I wasn’t already chewing—“Oliver?”

“Mmmm . . . maybe,” I say once I swallow.

“I’m so happy about you two,” she finally says. “I was wondering when he’d get up the courage to say anything to you. He’s kind of shy, you know.”

“He is?” Oliver never seemed to have any problem telling me exactly what he thought about anything. But he did have that whole silent thing going on for a while. “But then, I kind of suck at noticing when people are quieter. I’m going to try to be better about that from now on, okay?”

“Thanks,” she says with a little smile.

We don’t say anything for a minute. I glance out the window at the backyard, where the last few leaves on the trees are falling to the ground.

Amanda examines the tips of her hair for stray split ends. “I’m sorry I let things go too far with Trevor, even though I knew exactly what he was doing. That’s really messed up, isn’t it?”

“I think we’re all just a little messed up,” I tell her.

“Me worse than you,” she says.

“Are you seriously arguing with me about this? I’m the one who ditched the guy four—no, five—times. Who does that?”

“Yeah, but I’m the one who didn’t even tell anyone how bad things got with him, like to the point where I was crying in the hallway.”

“That is pretty messed up,” I acknowledge.

“Maybe not as much as checking on me with Trevor in tow.” She laughs, and I do too.

“So here’s the deal,” I say. “Let’s keep being honest with each
other, okay? And I promise to give you the spotlight sometimes and not pout about it.”

“You got it,” she replies. “Also, now that you’re not planning to literally ride off into the sunset on a horse with Trevor, will you room with me in New York? You know, when we’re in college? I’d really rather share an apartment with you than some kind of weird performance-art type.”

Those words make me so happy I could cry. “Definitely.”

Amanda flips her hair over her shoulder, the way she did when she was confident, piano-skills Amanda, sure of who she was and what she wanted. “And I also wanted to say thank you for not giving up on me last night.” She pauses. “Even though you said you didn’t mind me getting the lead, I know it killed you.”

“It did,” I say. “It was awful for a while, but now it’s okay. And I mean that. I’m still jealous of your costumes, but I wouldn’t trade parts with you at all now.”

“You were really amazing last night,” Amanda says.

“Thanks. You were too.” I pull the sleeves of my shirt down over my hands and tuck my knees under my chin. “I’m glad things are back to normal. Mostly.”

“As normal as the two of us can get.” She crosses her heart and gives me jazz hands.

I grin and do the same thing. “We are a couple of weirdos, aren’t we? The girl who practices piano like it’s the only thing keeping her alive—”

“And the one who takes method acting just a
little
too far,” she
adds.

“Really? Too far?”

She gives me a sad nod. “Besides, you don’t need it. You’ve got more than enough talent as it is.”

“I know you’re only saying this because you’re embarrassed to be seen with me when I’m dressed like a ninety-year-old woman and carrying a walker.”

“That is so not sexy,” she says. “I mean, it literally scared all the boys away at that luau thing freshman year.”

“Okay, fine. No more method acting in school. Unless I finally take up basket weaving. Or maybe origami.”

Amanda covers her face with a pillow. “I’m not even going to try to figure out what that means,” she says, her voice muffled.

“So, hey,” I ask, “how long do you give Trevor and Danielle, before he starts flirting with someone else?”

“Like till next week, or maybe yesterday.”

“I can just see him in Choral Ensemble. ‘So, hi. You have pretty eyes. I swear I’m not with that other girl over there.’” Amanda pushes her hair back Trevor-style, and I crack up.

“Wait, wait!” I lower my voice to match Amanda’s Trevor impression. “‘You want to watch a movie with me? I think I can fit you in between all my not-really-a-band rehearsals. I’ll bring the popcorn. You like butter?’” I do an exaggerated hair flip that way outdoes Amanda’s, and almost knock my head against my bedpost.

Amanda laughs. “Drama queen.”

“You know it,” I say.