His Royal Highness(47)
Ryan texts me often and I wonder what it would be like to have time to think about texting someone. He sends me funny memes or just simple one-liners—Hope you’re having a good day!—and though I usually don’t remember to reply until hours or, if I’m being honest, days later, he’s always really nice about it.
Part of me wonders if I’m being unfair to Ryan by stringing him along, but it’s not as if I’m giving him false hope or trying to use him to make Derek jealous. Not at all. Derek is not mine to make jealous. If I were playing the odds, I’d say it’s much more likely that at the end of all this, after Derek finishes his time playing His Royal Highness and resumes his lofty position as heir to the Knightley Company, I will end up with Ryan.
He’s the one who fits into my life. He’s the far safer bet.
I’m doing a poor job of replying to my family’s texts as well. They’ve been hounding me more than usual because of Avery’s opening night in three weeks.
Mom: You’re still planning to come up to New York, aren’t you?
Dad: We bought your plane ticket. Your sister really wants you to be here.
Mom: Here’s a photo of Avery in costume! Doesn’t she look like a star!?
Avery: Helllloooo. Why aren’t you answering my phone calls? Are you still alive? Mom and Dad said they bought you a ticket to come visit. Please come! You don’t have to see the musical—though it is really good! We can just hang out and explore the city together, just you and me. Think about it and stop ignoring my calls! Love you. XX
I don’t even have brain space for my family at the moment, so I reply to all of them at once.
Whitney: I’ll be there. Can’t wait.
The second I send off the text, I feel queasy. Why can’t I just be someone who says, No, you know what? I’d rather swallow a nail than go to New York. Life would be so much simpler that way…except that’s not really true. I do want to see Avery, but there’s no seeing Avery without seeing my parents too.
The night before our first parade, after we wrap up our final dress rehearsal, Thomas thanks everyone for their hard work and forces us all to gather round in a circle and put our hands in the center, like we’re a football team about to burst onto the field for the championship game. Everyone grumbles about it being silly, but they do it anyway. I can’t quite fit with everyone crowding in, so Derek reaches back and grabs me, tugging me in front of him so I’m part of the circle. His hand is around my waist, holding on to me as Thomas leads us through a “One, two, three, go team!” chant that makes absolutely no sense but makes us all laugh anyway.
I tip my head back to look up at Derek. His gaze flits to my mouth and his hand squeezes my waist. I can’t believe it’s about to happen right here of all places but then Carrie’s on me, tugging me toward her and taking a guillotine to my private moment with Derek.
“Okay, here’s the plan. We’re going to go home, take quick showers, chug energy drinks or whatever, and then meet at Lucky Star for tacos and drinks.”
“Who’s we?”
“Thomas, me, a few of the other girls from Costuming, some of the fairies, I think. Derek, you’ll come too, right?”
He turns to me, brow arched. We both joked about heading straight home and crashing as soon as rehearsals were over. We moaned with mock pleasure at the idea of a freshly made bed and fluffy pillows. Soft robes, I’d said, and his eyes had rolled back. Eight uninterrupted hours, he’d countered, causing me to nearly faint in delight.
Now, neither one of us is willing to admit how lame we actually are.
He grins, knocking into my shoulder like we’re two old pals. “C’mon. Our beds can wait. We should go out, enjoy ourselves.”
“Fine, but you’re buying me a taco. You almost dropped me during that final run-through.”
“Yeah, because you were dead on your feet like a rag doll. I was doing all the work for the both of us.”
“Not true! I’m just a much better dancer, so I was taking a break and letting you practice.”
Carrie walks away from us while we continue to argue—if you can call it arguing. It’s what we’ve been doing the last few weeks, and it’s the only way we know how to communicate: teasing, poking, pretending to be friends.
Laughable.
I am Derek’s friend the same way ball boys are friends with NBA players. Hey Lebron! Lebron! Wanna hang out after the game?
In the end, we agree to go only because the other person does. We even pinky swear on it due to my insistence.
“Do you want me to pick you up on my way?” he asks, reaching down to hand me my duffle bag. He does these little things: holding doors open, tugging my chair back for me, buying my meal when we eat together in the cafeteria even when I insist it’s not necessary. A girl could get used to this kind of treatment, so I try not to let it go to my head.
“It’s okay, Carrie and I will go together. I’m sure she’ll want to drag me back to her apartment and force me into some kind of fashionable outfit. Personally, I’d rather just keep this on.”
I’m wearing a sweatshirt and leggings. They’re black, though, so…fashion.