Always Never Yours(5)

A couple of her clique follow her out of the booth. I look around the room, feeling distinctly out of place—or out of context. I know everyone here from drama, where I watch and direct them, but never participate. Now I’m expected to act alongside them. I spot Tyler and Madeleine in the arcade, adorably tag-teaming a Whack-A-Mole game. Everyone else, I notice, is darting glances between Tyler and me. Between Romeo and Juliet.

Everyone except one boy, sitting by himself, writing feverishly in a notebook.

I recognize him as the new kid in drama this year. He’s Asian, thin without looking underfed, with hair a little overdue for a haircut—which he’s presently running his fingers through contemplatively—and wearing a well-fitting gray sweater. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard him talk, but he’d definitely be better company than Alyssa’s minions giving me death glares. Without a second thought, I walk over and sit down in his empty booth.

“Owen Okita, right?” I remember his name from a class we had together once. Freshman math? I’ve seen him hanging out in the halls with Jordan Wood, the editor of the school paper who moved to Chicago this summer, but I’ve never really noticed him.

Owen blinks up at me.

“You weren’t in drama last year,” I continue.

“Don’t I know it,” he says, and his voice startles me. For a guy I’ve never heard speak, he sounds surprisingly sure of himself. “I’m completely out of my element.”

“Who’d you audition for?” I ask, noticing he’s fidgeting with his pen.

“I just wanted to play an extra. Instead, I’m Friar Lawrence. Like, I’m a character.”

“Come on.” I smile, relieved and sort of stunned to find someone else in my situation. “Friar Lawrence isn’t an important character.”

“Every character’s important.” He sounds slightly affronted.

I pause, curious. Owen signed up for drama in his senior year just to play an extra? “Well, why’d you audition, then?”

“Romeo and Juliet. It’s, uh . . .” He looks embarrassed and drums his pen on the table. “It’s my favorite play. When I saw drama was doing it I had to join, but I’m terrified on stage, and Friar Lawrence has a ton of lines.”

I feel myself smile, respecting this boy who can admit to stage fright and appreciating Romeo and Juliet. “You think you’ve got it bad? Guess who I’ve got.” I reach across the table and grab the pen out of his hand, putting an end to his nervous tapping. Owen’s eyes follow it, his ears reddening.

“The Nurse?” he asks, stowing his hands under the table.

“The Nurse? Should I be offended?”

“I, sorry, I—” His ears flame brighter.

“Go higher,” I instruct, enjoying how easy it is to fluster him.

Owen pauses. “Megan Harper,” he says after a moment, like he’s just recalled my name from the recesses of his memory. I wonder if he remembers me from freshman math, too, or if he knows me for the reason everyone knows me—because I hang out with Madeleine and Tyler, homecoming queen-and king-to-be. I can practically see Owen connect my name to the cast list in his head. “You’re Juliet . . .” He studies me. “And you’re not excited.”

“Nope.” I return the pen in a gesture of goodwill.

“You must be the only girl in the history of high-school theater not thrilled to be Juliet.”

“I don’t think there’s a girl alive who’d want to play Juliet opposite her ex,” I reply.

His eyes widen. “Who’s playing Romeo?”

Now it’s my turn to be surprised. “You don’t know?” I didn’t think there was anyone left in Stillmont who hadn’t heard in too much detail about Tyler and me breaking up. If he’s unclear about my history, I guess he does remember me from freshman math.

“Uh. Should I?” Owen looks lost. I nod in Tyler’s direction, and Owen’s eyebrows shoot up once more.

“Seriously, I can’t believe you haven’t heard the story.”

“My apologies for not being up-to-date on the drama-kid gossip,” he says with a hint of a smile. I laugh, and his smile widens until it lights up his face. But before I can reply, Anthony’s standing next to the booth.

“I got a job,” he says, and without missing a beat, “Hey, Owen.”

“You already have a job.” I frown, looking up at Anthony. Then I notice the blond busboy collecting dishes across the room, and I realize what’s happening here. “Anthony, tell me you didn’t change career paths because you’re hot on the busboy.”

He rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Starbucks isn’t a career path. And it’s not for the busboy—it’s for love. And the busboy has a name—Eric.”

I’m about to complain about the loss of free Frappuccinos when my phone’s alarm buzzes in my bag. “Shit,” I say instead. I lost track of time. “I have to go.”

“It’s so early! You haven’t even eaten!” Anthony protests. Then a moment later, his expression shifts. “Oh, right. It’s five on Friday,” he says, realizing.

I get up. “We’ll talk about the busboy—”

“Eric,” Anthony interrupts.