Always Never Yours(24)

“True love?” I scoff, not meeting his unfaltering eye contact. I don’t know why the question throws me. Maybe it’s the way he asked it, like true love is common and obvious enough to be brought up as easily as the weather. “I told you. I’m not really the romantic, love-at-first-sight type,” I answer.

“You also said Tyler and Madeleine are perfect together.”

“So?” I reply a little hotly.

“So,” he repeats, his tone measured, “if two people are perfect for each other, it suggests their connection is better than others. Deeper, truer.”

“True love exists, like, in the world.” I gesture vaguely to the air around me. I’ve witnessed true love too often to think otherwise. What Madeleine and Tyler have is true. Same with my dad and Rose. “But I’m certainly not holding out hope for it myself.”

“Hmm,” Owen muses, his eyes sparkling. He leans back, clearly confident about whatever he’s going to say next. “It’s interesting you think that.”

“Think that? I know it. It’s my own feelings.” My skin itches down my arms. I roll my shoulders, trying to loosen the sudden tension in my back.

“And yet, when one relationship ends, you jump easily into another.”

“Which, as the entire student body can tell you, means I’m flirtatious and boy-crazy. Two things I’m not ashamed of, by the way,” I add, chin up.

“Of course.” He nods quickly. “I’m not saying you should be. I just wonder why, if you’re only flirtatious and boy-crazy, you go from relationship to relationship instead of hookup to hookup.” His eyes bore into mine again.

I blink. I haven’t known Owen very long, and somehow he’s seen into the quietest, smallest corner of my heart. It’s a wish I don’t let out very often. Not everyone finds someone perfect for them. Or if they do, sometimes that person doesn’t think you’re perfect for them. My mom’s lingering affection for my dad showed me that.

“I thought this was supposed to be play brainstorming, not psychotherapy or something.”

Owen puts down his pen, his expression growing gentle. “You’re right. You’ve given me a lot of great stuff to work with.”

The silence hangs in the air. I don’t know what to do next. I guess I’m here to ask about Will, but would it be weird if I did? Or would it be weirder if I didn’t? Would that just show I’m more rattled than I’d like to admit? I wish I could think of something to dispel the tension.

“Not amazing, huh?” Owen asks suddenly, and I’m thankful he’s smiling. “Tyler, I mean.”

I feel a grin spreading across my face. “His final performance didn’t exactly live up to the acclaimed early previews.”

Owen lets out a quick laugh. “Not a long run then?”

“Closed in minutes. Hoping Will lasts longer . . .” I raise an eyebrow.

“That’s Sexy Stagehand Will to you,” Owen says seriously.

“Of course.” I lean forward. “Your turn. What’s up with Sexy Stagehand Will? What’s taking him so long? It’s been days of me giving him my best bedroom eyes—and not like shitty, twin-bed bedroom eyes,” I add. “Like four-poster, silk-draped, chateau bedroom eyes.”

“Bedroom eyes?” Owen cocks his head skeptically. “Is that a thing?”

On the bed, I lean a little closer and look up at him through smoldering, half-lidded eyes.

“Ah,” he says almost immediately. “Well, Will’s not used to this kind of thing. He wouldn’t make a move unless he knows you’re interested.”

“I’m not just going to march up to him in the middle of school or rehearsal and plant one on him. Not if he might not be into it. I do have some dignity.”

“What if it’s not at school?” Owen muses. “Will’s band is playing a house party this weekend. It’ll give you guys a chance to find some privacy.”

Yes. In front of a crowd is one thing, but if I can get him alone, I’d definitely make a move. “Perfect,” I say. “Sounds like I’ll have a new boyfriend by Monday.”

Owen looks at me curiously. I can read the question in his eyes.

I sigh with impatience, and maybe a little something else. “I told you, I’m not holding out hope for love. I like Will. I want Will to be my boyfriend. Even if I hope someday, something like . . . true love”—I almost can’t get the words out—“is possible for me, I’m expecting nothing from him other than our relationship falling apart just like the rest.”

“You’re certain it’ll fall apart,” Owen asks, “and still you’re eager to start a new relationship?” There’s nothing judgmental in his tone.

It’s not like I haven’t asked myself the very same question. “What else can I do? Otherwise I’ll just be watching everyone else.” I get up off the bed and pick up my bag by his door. He’s still watching me with the scrutiny of his interview, even though he’s put his notebook down on his desk. “Besides,” I add, throwing my bag over my shoulder, “it’ll be fun while it lasts.”





NINE




JULIET: Give me my Romeo, and when I shall die,