You in Five Acts(32)

“Isn’t that the lady from the lobby?”

“Huh?”

You leaned in closer, and I realized you were looking past me, to the radiator cover by the window. On it was framed picture of Pop-Pop and Roberta Zeagler, the founder of our school, whose giant wrinkled face hung over the water fountain by the security desk. I saw her every day, but didn’t even think about it anymore, because she was just my grandfather’s old friend who had died before I was born, just a name that meant nothing—except when it got me a second-semester transfer to an elite New York school I probably couldn’t have acted my way into, anyway.

“Is it?” That was the best I could do, feign stupidity.

A few awkward seconds ticked by until you shrugged and smiled. I could tell you knew but kept silent to spare my feelings. It was kind. Maybe that’s why I was so eager to return the favor later on, so eager to turn away so I couldn’t see what was happening right in front of me. Except, cowardice feels different from kindness. You can tell by the sting. You can tell by the shame.

“Should we . . . ?” you finally said.

“. . . Oh, right. Yeah. Let’s rehearse.” I’d forgotten completely about the script on my lap. I hoped I could remember how to read.

“Anything but the . . . you know,” you said, smiling down at your knees.

“Yeah, that would be weird to do without . . . someone else here,” I said, attempting a laugh that sounded more like a grunt. My breathing was getting fast and shallow. As if on cue, your phone pinged.

“Ethan?” I asked.

“No,” you said, frowning at the screen as you typed something quickly with one thumb. “For once. I just forgot about something else I was supposed to do today.”

“We can run lines any time,” I said. “So, if you need to—”

“Nah, I’d rather be here.” You curled your legs underneath you and shot me a smile that made me forget everything else. I needed something to do, fast, to distract me from the fact that I wanted to kiss you so badly my head felt like it might explode.

I flipped open my script to a random page and started reading. “The stars are like diamonds in the dark,” I said, substituting volume for any kind of emotion. “They’re the only things in this city that are free.”

“Oh! Um, ok . . .” You flipped through until you found the right page. “Catch one for me, and we’ll be rich.”

“We?” I asked, making tentative eye contact with you. “A moment ago you called me a stranger.”

“That was a moment ago,” you said, looking up at me with a coy half-smile. I wasn’t sure if it belonged to you or to Viola. “In this moment I feel differently.”

“How can so much change in one moment?” I asked. “The world is the same. I am the same. You are the same. Nothing has changed except the time.”

“Time changes everything,” you said solemnly. Then you threw your head back and laughed, breaking character. “Oh, God. How did we get ourselves into this?” you groaned.

“I know, right?” I smiled. “Maybe we can ditch Ethan and just rewrite the script.”

“I wish,” you said, not looking at me.

“Should we keep going, then?”

“Why don’t we just improvise?” You chucked your pages on the rug and raised your eyebrows, and I’ll admit for a second I thought you might be thinking what I was thinking.

“What do you mean?” I asked, half expecting my voice to crack like I was twelve.

“Let’s pretend we’re on a bridge,” you said. “What would you say to me?”

I looked at you cautiously; it felt like a dare. “As Viola?”

“No,” you laughed. “Just as me. Or even better, a stranger. If you met a stranger and you were the only one around for miles, what would you tell them?”

“Wow, I don’t know.” I leaned back against the wall, feeling the mattress wheeze under my weight, knowing that every second it was getting closer to the floor but not caring. “Everything, I guess.”

“So tell me everything,” you said, leaning forward until your elbows were balancing on your knees. “Start at the beginning.”

So I did. Just like I’m doing now. I started at the beginning and told you everything. About getting famous too early and letting it go to my head. About treating girls like shit and my friends only marginally better. About the divorce and the career flameout and how it caught up with me in Toluca Hills, ending in a school suspension after I got wasted during lunch and thought it would be a good idea to sneak into the gym and throw empty beer cans into the lap pool. I confessed it all, and you listened without judgment.

But there’s something else I need to say that I didn’t know yet on that Sunday afternoon:

Forgive me.





Chapter Twelve


    February 24

78 days left


A FEW WEEKS LATER, I did something even scarier than letting my guard down with you: I went to Staten Island. When I said OK (the third time he asked) Ethan reacted like no one had ever gone to his house before . . . because apparently, no one had ever gone to his house before.

“Hell no,” Diego said when I asked about it during our second, slightly less humiliating scrimmage. “If the subway won’t go there, neither will I. It’s a practical rule, not a prejudice.”