Exit Stage Left (9 page)

I cross my arms again. “Are you saying that because you want him for yourself?”

“No! Absolutely not.” She twists the chain on her silver necklace. “I just don’t want to see you get used again,” she says in a small voice.

“Used? Used! Wow. I’ll have you know that
no one
is using me. I’m in total control, with or without Trevor.”

“I don’t know if this is the best idea—”

“And I don’t know if I want your opinion right now. All I want is for you to promise me that you’re not interested in him.” I feel
really
in control right now. More so than I have since before auditions. Maybe things are finally going to start going my way again. I’ll get back together with Trevor, and then I’ll become some insanely talented horsewoman who gets a full ride to a school with a pre-vet program that doesn’t care about grades, just about how well I can connect with horses. I’ll be back on top.

“I’m not.”

“Good. Because as of this minute, my life is going back to the way it was. At least as close as it can get.” I let a forced smile crack through my stony expression. “And that means I need you to be my friend—the one who has my back and isn’t trying to sabotage my life.”

Amanda closes her eyes for a moment and sighs. “Right,” she says. “Everything back to normal.”

I could swear that she sounds a little sad when she says that.

As I’m chewing on a peanut butter cracker at lunch, Amanda swooshes into a chair next to me and drops a chocolate chip cookie onto my tray. The guilt must be eating away at her. “Soooo . . . Trevor wants to go out Friday night.”

I nearly choke on my cracker crumbs. “With you?”

Amanda rubs her thumb over an old ketchup stain on the table. “I told him I already had plans with you and some other people. Then he said he’d come along.

“It’ll be me and you, Harrison, and then he invited the Grimaldi twins and the Grimaldis’ cousin Rosalita or something, who’s in town visiting.” She counts off the names on her fingers. “Kelly’s going to her little sister’s ballet recital, and Chris bailed on me.”

“Band thing. Sorry.” Chris shrugs.

“So I’m the last one to find out?” The truth of that stings.

“I wanted to make sure I had a bunch of people who could go. That way I’ll have someone to talk to so that Trevor can’t talk to me. And
well . . . you guys can be kind of alone if you want.” Amanda widens her blue eyes at me and smiles like she’s come up with the best idea ever.

She’s trying, I have to give her that. But, God, it’s like there’s a giant Trevor-sized hole in my heart, hearing that he basically
asked her out
. And I wonder why she didn’t say anything to me about it right away, instead of running around and asking pretty much everyone we know to come along. It makes me think that she was considering saying yes, at least for a little while.

“So,” I say to Amanda, “this is like some kind of group date thing?”

Her face goes red. “It’s not a group date. It’s just friends hanging out. Except for you and Trevor, of course,” Amanda says. “Come on, you have to go, Case. Let me
try
to make this right.”

I should just stop talking and say yes already. But then I’ve always had a problem with keeping my mouth shut. “If it’s a group date, and Trevor
thinks
you’re going with him, then who am I supposed to be with? Harrison or both of the Grimaldi twins?”

Harrison chokes on his grilled cheese.

I glare at him. “Obviously, I’d be with the Grimaldis. Fantastic.”

Chris thumps Harrison on the back. “I can’t believe the hair gel and the fake accents don’t turn you on, Casey.”

“I think those accents are real,” I say. “They moved here in the fourth grade.”

“What do they
do
?” Kelly asks. She points across the cafeteria to where the Grimaldis occupy a Trevor-less table. “It’s not theater.”

“Or band,” Chris adds. “You think they forged their applications?”

“But you need some proof of your talent to get in here,” Harrison argues. “How do you forge that?”

They’re quiet as they contemplate the Great Grimaldi Mystery. Even after unintentionally spending a lot of time with them by being with Trevor, I have no idea why they’re at this school. I’m pretty sure Steve-o cuts more days than he even shows up for, anyway.

“I don’t care if the Grimaldis are the next great artistic whatever,” I say to Amanda. “I’ll go on your group date thing. It’ll be weird, but I’ll be there.” Partly because I need the opportunity to make Trevor fall for me again, and partly because I wonder whether Amanda would cancel if I didn’t come. I don’t really want to know the answer to the last one.

“It’s not a group date,” Amanda says, but I’m already checking my phone. I need some time away from her, which means it’s time for The List.

“Harrison,” I bark like a drill sergeant.

He nods and we leave the table.

“What are they up to?” Chris asks through a mouthful of Cheetos.

“Casey?” Amanda says to my back.

I stride through the cafeteria, Harrison on my heels. I don’t stop until we reach the lobby, where I’m far away from Amanda and can dial the number to Happy Valley Stables. In two minutes, I’ve reserved a lesson for me and Harrison.

“Thursday after school, we become skilled in the equestrian arts,” I inform him. “After which we can comfortably open a dude ranch or
declare our pre-veterinary majors.”

Harrison nods. “Except we have no experience.”

“Oh, it’s easy.” I wave my hand like I ride horses every day. At least, I hope it’s easy. I’ve never ridden before, actually.

“Um, Case?” Harrison’s face goes beet-red. He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks at the floor, as if that’ll hide the fact that he’s probably flushing down to his toes.

“What?”

“The thing on Friday . . .”

And there goes my newfound good mood. “Please don’t tell me you think I shouldn’t get back together with Trevor.”

“I have an opinion, but it’s none of my business. But the thing is . . . I think Trevor asked Amanda to set up me up with the Grimaldi twins’ cousin, and . . .” Harrison looks so pathetic, adjusting his glasses and pulling on the collar of his shirt. If he’d just
tell
everyone already, he wouldn’t get stuck in situations like this.

“And what? You’re nervous?” I ask, with a lilt to my voice that really says,
You wish Rosalita was a boy?

“No. Not nervous. Just . . . I’m a little freaked out. I mean, you’ve seen Johnny and Steve-o. What do you think their cousin looks like? What do you think she
acts
like?” He shudders a little.

And that’s not the response I was looking for, Harrison. But fine, I’ll play along. “And you want me to, what, protect you?”

“No!” He gives a nervous laugh, as if he’s already picturing himself in a headlock courtesy of Rosalita. “I can take care of myself, thank you. But I thought maybe, if I needed it, you could distract
her or pretend to get sick or something so I’d have an excuse to leave early.”

“You got it. I won’t let you get mauled by some scary Grimaldi cousin.” He shades an even deeper red and makes a halfhearted attempt to swat me. What I really wanted to say is
Just tell everyone the truth already!
But maybe I’m not the most qualified person to say things like this.

“Mom! Can I have thirty dollars?” I give up ransacking my room for stray dollar bills and go in search of my mother.

“What do you need money for? You already got your allowance this week.” Mom’s head pokes out from the downstairs bathroom.

“I’m going to learn how to ride on Thursday.”

“You’re going to what? When?”

“Ride horses. On Thursday,” I explain slowly.

“Right . . . What’s with this sudden interest in things that have nothing to do with theater?”

“Harrison and I are just expanding our . . . um . . . horizons.” I’m not particularly in the mood to explain to my mother that Ms. Sharp dashed my dreams of Broadway stardom when she gave the lead to my so-called best friend.

“I don’t see how horseback riding helps with your college applications.” Mom says all this in her I-know-you’re-not-telling-me-everything-Casey voice. “What about a job?”

“No.” Although . . . the whole reason for me not having a part-time job was because of theater. Maybe once the show is over, I can
work in a cute little boutique or a store at the mall. Get discounts on clothes. Try not to think about everyone else auditioning for the spring student-written play festival. “I wish I could, though. Maybe after the show,” I tell Mom.

She crosses her arms. “You know, if you hate your role so much, I’m sure some other girl would be thrilled if you dropped out. Then you’d have more time for things like a job and horseback riding.”

I’m so floored, I can’t even move. Is my own
mother
telling me to quit the musical? I mean, yes, I despise my part, but I can’t quit. I’d let everyone down. And there would be this big hole in my life—something that can’t be filled by a mall job. I need to find something to fill that hole before the show is over, or it’ll consume me entirely.

“I can’t quit, Mom. Now, can I pretty please have thirty dollars or not?”

She gives me a half smile. “You know, sometimes you remind me of your dad. In a good way,” she’s quick to add.

If I were Dad, I’d have already left for Kansas, and to hell with everyone else. “Good. Thirty dollars?”

Mom sighs. “You can have it, if you clean the bathroom.”

She knows me a little too well sometimes. “You know the smell of Lysol in that tiny little space makes me feel like I’m going to faint.”

“If you faint, Aunt Pittypat, I’ll be sure to bring the smelling salts,” Mom says in a really pathetic
Gone with the Wind
impression. Talk about overacting. She retrieves the Lysol from below the sink. “Don’t forget the baseboards.”

I’m scrubbing away at the shower and singing “Climb Every
Mountain” at the top of my lungs when Eric shows up at the door with his fingers in his ears.

“Hey, Drama Queen! Can you turn it down?”

“Climb every mountain!” I sing even louder, punctuating each syllable with a shake of my sponge at him.

Eric pulls his fingers out of his ears and throws his hands up in front of his face. “Quit. What are you cleaning the bathroom for anyway?”

“Mom’s paying me.”

“I’m sorry, what?” He stands there in his La Italia dishwasher’s uniform and pretty much glares at me.

“Paying. As in money. I’m taking a horseback-riding lesson on Thursday and I needed thirty bucks.”

“You have got to be kidding me.” He turns away and I think he’s actually counting to ten. “Okay, the fact that you are the spoiled youngest child notwithstanding, since when are you into horses?”

I decide to let the spoiled comment go. Eric exists in a constant state of
Why Me?
I don’t think he could function if he didn’t have something to whine about. He’d never admit it, but he definitely likes the drama. “I’ve decided I want to become a veterinarian or maybe own a ranch. I’ve always liked horses.”

“Right. Like that time we took the little cousins to the petting zoo and you ran away screaming when that pony snorted at you.”

“I was eight.”

“You were thirteen.”

“This dress is totally prom-worthy. I wonder if Ms. Sharp would freak
out if I borrowed it in April.” Amanda smooths the light blue dress and then strikes a pose in the mirror.

I make a face. Of course it’s prom-worthy. It’s pretty much red carpet–worthy too. Ms. Quindell may be ancient, but she can make some killer costumes. And now I’m trying really, really hard not to picture Amanda in that dress, on Trevor’s arm at prom. I know it won’t happen, but somehow that doesn’t stop the image from burning itself into my brain.

I slouch in my dressing room chair. It’s only Wednesday, and it feels like this week is dragging. I’m supposed to be fitting my costumes—or costume, since I get only one for the whole show—starting at four, but Amanda is running overtime with all her millions of outfits. I look at my phone. 4:15. At least Eric can’t leave me behind without Mom freaking out on him, even if I do make him late to work.

Ms. Quindell steps back and peers at Amanda’s dress. She’s only been making costumes for Holland plays for ages. You’d think she’d be a little faster by now. “We need to take it up another inch,” she says.

And I need to get out of here for a little while. “I’ll be right back.” Before either of them can say anything, I’m out into the wings and making my way down the theater steps. I don’t know where I’m going. Outside, maybe. I’m halfway down the aisle when I hear a shuffling noise behind me.

When I flip around, no one’s there. Except for someone who’s on the stage. Not sitting or standing, but lying down. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I retrace my steps until I reach the stage.

It’s Oliver. Lying flat on his back, earbuds in, eyes closed.

I quietly lift myself onto the stage and sit so my feet are dangling off the side. His eyes are still closed, and he probably has no idea I’m here.
I
don’t even know why I’m here.

Now what?

I’m debating between saying his name really loudly and poking him in the arm when one eye opens. Any normal person would probably be completely freaked out to find a girl they barely know just sitting there, staring at them. But Oliver smiles and tugs one of his earbuds out.

“Nap on stages much?” I ask.

“It’s a good place to think,” he says, sitting up. “Aren’t you supposed to be in a costume fitting? I think I’m right after you.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s running over. Might be a while. Amanda has ninety-nine costumes to try on.” The bitterness seeps out of my voice. Great. Now Oliver will think I’m some kind of sore loser.

“Overrated,” he says. “Costume changes, I mean. It’s way less stressful to only deal with one or two. Then you can focus on the actual performance.”

Huh. I never thought of it like that. Of course, his one costume isn’t bound to be some hideous monstrosity either. “So what are you listening to?”

“Violent Femmes.”

“That’s . . . old.”

“They’re classic,” he corrects me.

“Same difference. I think my dad liked them.” Actually, I know he did. Or maybe
does
, but I wouldn’t really know that.

“You haven’t really listened to them, have you?” And with that, he scoots forward and hands me his earbuds.

It seems kind of rude to decline, so I listen. A memory of jumping around and dancing in the living room with Eric and Dad years and years ago creeps into my head. I pull out one of the earbuds and look at Oliver. “And what am I listening for?”

His mouth quirks sideways, almost like he’s trying not to laugh. “Nothing. It’s just fun music.”

I pop the earbud back in. And take it out again ten seconds later. “These lyrics aren’t exactly deep.”

“Now you’ve got it. Just listen and relax.” This time he reaches over and puts the earbud back in for me. His fingers graze my neck, and I can’t help shivering just a little.

I try to listen as Oliver sits next to me, tapping his hand against his thigh, almost as if he can still hear the music. He catches me watching and stops. Then he leans back on his hands, and suddenly I’m aware of how close together we’re sitting. My mouth goes a little dry, and I’m not sure if I should stay perfectly still or if I should figure out some way to move over.

I close my eyes and try to pay attention to the music, and not to the half inch separating my leg from Oliver’s. “It’s not bad,” I tell him after a few minutes.