Always Never Yours(53)

Jody turns her attention to me. “You’re an actor here, Megan. Not a director. You need to remember your role.” It’s an agonizing few moments before she continues, like she’s torturing me on purpose. “But . . . I’m impressed,” she finally says with a slight smile. “That’s the Juliet I’ve been waiting for.”

I breathe a sigh of relief without entirely meaning to, hearing Owen’s words in my head. Don’t undervalue yourself.

“Me too,” I reply.



* * *





I walk out of rehearsal half an hour later, still grinning stupidly from nailing the scene, and go directly to the bulletin board in the front of the Arts Center. The campus is quiet this time in the afternoon, the sun beginning to dip below the trees and paint the pavement. There’s only a scattering of cars left in the parking lot, those belonging to the cast and the athletes here for afternoon practices.

Today was the deadline to sign up for the Senior Showcase scenes, and while I really should head home—Dad told me if I was late to dinner one more time there would be ill-defined “consequences”—I have to know who signed up. The exhilaration of the showcase beginning to come together, combined with the Romeo and Juliet rehearsal, is nearly enough for me to forget how messed up things are with Madeleine.

I fold back the open-mic night poster on the bulletin board to find the flier I printed out with Death of a Salesman at the top. I left four lines for the four actors I need. I’ll sort out who plays who later. The first name I spot is Tyler’s. Yeah, he’ll be a perfect Willy Loman. Sorry, Dad.

I read down to Kasey Markowitz, who I’m glad took my advice and signed up, and Jenna Cho, written in her exaggeratedly loopy handwriting.

Then at the bottom of the list, Owen Okita.

He’s written his name in the deep blue ink I recognize from the endless scrawl in his notebook. I feel my chest warm with gratitude. He didn’t even tell me he’d be signing up, and I wonder why stage-shy Owen would volunteer before it occurs to me, of course he would. He’s a good friend like that.

But the feeling only lasts a moment because I realize there’s one name unaccounted for, one I was really hoping to see. Will made it sound like he wanted to sign up.

The door to the drama room swings open, and Owen walks out, backpack slung over his shoulder and notebook in his hand. “Owen!” I shout. “You signed up for my scene!”

He spins to face me, his eyes finding mine. “You’re right. I did,” he says, looking amused. “I wanted to experience Megan Harper directing firsthand.”

“Was that before or after you watched me direct an actor into kissing me?” I had to. I can’t help it.

But Owen doesn’t blush this time. Instead, he rolls his eyes. “Before, Megan. Cosima, remember?”

“Come on, Owen. If it’s on stage, it doesn’t count.”

“Good to know,” he says, and I swear there’s a sparkle in his eyes. He comes up to read over my shoulder. “Who else is on there? I didn’t really check before, I was in a rush.”

“Tyler, obviously . . .” I say under my breath. I’m hyper-conscious of Owen behind me, his face next to mine.

He takes a step back, and he’s frowning when I turn to face him. “Why’s that obvious?” he asks.

“Well, it’s just, my scenes have a reputation for stealing the show . . .” I know how full of myself that sounds, but whatever. It’s the truth.

Owen grins. “Right. Obviously.” But he must notice I don’t return his smile, because quickly his face turns concerned. “Hey, what’s up? You seem upset.”

“It’s stupid, but I thought Will would sign up,” I mutter. It’s not Owen’s problem, I realize as I tell him. I pull out my phone and write a message to Will.

senior scene signups?? I send, and look up at Owen.

“Death of a Salesman doesn’t feel like Will’s kind of thing,” he ventures.

“I guess,” I reply. A second later, my phone vibrates. I glance down and read Will’s text.

Shit, I forgot!! I’ll make it up to you later? ;)

“He forgot,” I say emptily, returning my phone to my pocket. Owen bites his lip like he’s trying to figure out what to say. Before he does, my phone starts vibrating repeatedly. “Someone’s calling me,” I say, pulling my phone back out.

“Is it Will?”

I check the screen. “Uh, no,” I say, surprised. “It’s my mom’s boyfriend. I guess I should answer.”

“Oh, of course.” He nods. “I’ll talk to you later.”

I start to raise the phone to my ear, but watching Owen push open the Arts Center door, I call after him. “Hey.” I hold up the signup sheet. “Thanks. You’ll make a perfect Biff Loman.”

He breaks into a wide smile before he turns and leaves me to my phone call.

I hit ANSWER. “Hey, Randall,” I say.

On the other end, I hear a clattering sound and then Randall’s voice. “Megan, hi! I’m not getting you at a bad time, I hope?” He sounds surprised, like he wasn’t certain I’d pick up. “Your mom told me you have rehearsals after school, and I didn’t know if you’d be done, and there’s the time difference—”