You in Five Acts(68)

“Hey, yourself,” I said, avoiding eye contact. You’d blown off school on Friday, which meant we’d had to reschedule our cue-to-cue, which meant that Roth had disappeared, too, and neither of you responded to messages over the weekend. I didn’t have any real proof yet, but it certainly wasn’t for lack of trying. I’d been leaving you guys alone in the theater as much as possible, taking prolonged coffee breaks, making an excuse to drag Chris with me, and then bursting back in when (I hoped) you least expected it. But so far, I hadn’t walked in on anything worse than you blasting Justin Bieber. The hardest piece of evidence I had to go on was that Roth had texted the word rehearsals, plural, when I’d asked him about break. You’d been very clear at dinner that there had been only one. But I couldn’t confront you with that. I’d look like a complete paranoid *.

Diego and Joy were slowly making their way across the square, apparently late because they had to stop every two seconds to kiss or whisper something to each other. I’d only witnessed them as a couple for a week and I was already sick of it.

“What’s up, E?” Diego said, sitting down and pulling Joy onto his lap. She winced slightly, which made me darkly happy. “Missing the beach yet?”

“No,” I deadpanned.

“You ready for the Showcase Showdown?” Joy asked.

“Wait, did you just drop a Price Is Right reference?” Diego beamed at her in mock horror. “That’s it, we’re done.”

“Where’s Roth?” I asked, ignoring them, scanning the plaza. You two kept “coincidentally” missing each other, swapping places like you were pulling some kind of Clark Kent outfit change.

“I think he might have Career Management,” you said, examining your tray of deli sushi. Career Management was the Janus version of a guidance counselor. Seeing as it was a private appointment instead of a class, I found it hard to believe you would know he was there if you two weren’t at least talking.

“Well, we need to go over the schedule,” I said. “I haven’t been able to get in touch with either of you.”

“Uh, you see me every day,” you laughed.

And you don’t see me at all, I thought, seething. You think you can just humiliate me and I’ll lie down and take it.

“Showing up is half the battle,” Joy said, looking pointedly at you.

“Shouldn’t you be in a better mood, man?” Diego asked, popping open a bag of Cheetos. “I mean, your part is basically done, right?”

I glared at him. Performers always thought it was all about them—they were the ones onstage, they were getting the attention (and, most importantly, the applause, which they needed like oxygen). They never seemed to think about the fact that someone else was really doing all the work. They were like puppets, deluded into thinking they were moving and talking on their own.

“Hardly,” I said. “It’s tech week, which means endless sound and lighting fixes, sets and costumes, the cue-to-cue, and then a dress rehearsal. I’ll be living and breathing this thing until curtain.”

“I hear you,” Joy said. “I feel like a broken wind-up toy, just going and going and going.” She turned to Diego and frowned. “Adair put me through hell this morning. I basically got a full physical.” They exchanged a few concerned whispers.

“Secrets, secrets are no fun,” you started to sing, but then Joy shot you a death stare and you shut up.

“Your schedule is cleared this week, right?” I asked. You nodded, tapping on your phone.

“Because I need your full . . . commitment,” I said, savoring the irony of the last word.

“What else would I be doing?” you asked, still not really paying attention. I don’t know what bothered me more, the fact that you were hiding something, or the fact that you were such a shitty actress that you couldn’t even be bothered to do a good job of it.

“I don’t know, you seem pretty busy lately,” Joy said. The words were acid-tinged and made me reconsider Joy’s potential value. You sniffed and rubbed your nose with your wrist. I was about to make a loaded comment about seasonal allergies when Roth finally showed up.

“Hey, sorry I’m late.” He walked over with his thumbs hooked into his pockets, hunching his shoulders, his eyes darting from your face to mine. “I was in Career Management.” I raised my eyebrows; you two were syncing your alibis.

“Cool story, bro,” I said. “What did Ms. Lopez have to say?”

“Just that I have no career,” Roth said with a self-deprecating smile. “It was a short meeting.”

“The casting directors will be knocking down your door come Monday,” Diego said. “Right, E?”

“We’ll see,” I said, frowning out at the sea of tourists with their selfie sticks. “We still have a lot of work to do.”

“It’ll come together,” you said, looking at either me or Dave—with your sunglasses on, it was impossible to tell where your eyes were. “It always does.”

“That’s a pretty confident statement coming from someone who can barely make it to school,” I snapped.

Everyone fell silent for a minute or two, but I had the distinct, paranoid feeling of messages being exchanged silently across the transom, beyond my peripheral vision.