Always Never Yours(62)

“No way,” I mouth while Tyler continues to wave me on.

I watch him—unbelievably—exchange a knowing glance with Owen, who darts to where I’m hiding behind the curtain and, before I know it, hauls me by the elbow onto the stage. He holds me firmly in place under the spotlight.

“Could we give an extra-loud round of applause for Megan Harper,” Tyler shouts to the crowd. “Who’s probably going to kill me because of this, but not right now. Too many witnesses.” The audience laughs, still under Tyler’s spell. I can’t blame them. Even if he’s right and I will kill him after this.

“Not only is Megan an extraordinary director, she put together the entire Senior Showcase,” he continues. “She’s done amazing work in four years of bringing drama to life on this stage—and giving me more opportunities than I deserve to make a fool of myself in front of you guys.” He unleashes his cockiest grin for the span of a second before his features settle into something sincere. “It’s been an honor working with her.”

Nothing in my history with Tyler prepares me for the way he looks at me then—with genuine respect. A stagehand comes out of the wings bearing a ridiculous bouquet of white orchids, and Owen gives my arm a reassuring squeeze. I turn to look at him, but he’s already releasing me and stepping back out of the spotlight. Leaving me alone at the center of everything.

Heat rises in my cheeks. I must have taken the flowers from Andrew Mehta’s hands, because distantly I’m aware of the petals pressed against my shoulder while the audience applauds me.

By choosing to be a director, I’ve tried to avoid moments like these—moments where everyone’s eyes are on me, where my classmates’ cheers and Rose’s loving smile are for me. I thought this would feel like an unwelcome reminder of what I’ll inevitably lose when everyone moves on. But it doesn’t.

It feels like everything I’ve missed out on.

I hear someone backstage shout, “Get it!” and I know without a shred of doubt it’s Anthony, whose Pulp Fiction monologue was, for the record, amazing. Jenna and Kasey laugh behind me, and in the moments that follow, the applause gradually dies down. Everyone begins to shuffle out of the auditorium, everyone except Madeleine. She pushes through the crowd to reach the stage, her smile lit up with pride.

I jump down off the stage next to her. “You on your way to meet Tyler in the boys’ dressing room?” I ask, waiting for her to flush.

Which she does. “No,” she protests. “I’m waiting for my incredibly talented, gorgeous, director-extraordinaire best friend.” She sweeps me up in a crushing hug.

“You’re the best for coming,” I say into her sweatshirt. “Now seriously, I saw Tyler go backstage.”

Madeleine releases me from the hug and glances behind me, hesitating.

“I have to go talk to Rose,” I reassure her. “You should congratulate Tyler. I’ll find you later.” She squeezes me in a final hug, but it’s all the encouragement she needs, and she bounces to the stairs up to the stage. I join the crush of people filing into the quad. Hoping to find Will—I figure he has to be here somewhere—I do a quick sweep of the crowd outside. I frown when I don’t find him, but then again, it’s nearly impossible to tell who all’s here.

Rose, however, stands out. She’s waiting next to the refreshments table, and despite how packed the courtyard is, everyone’s giving her pregnant stomach a three-foot radius. She looks lost. I understand why—she’s never done this kind of thing before.

I walk over to her, not really knowing what I’m going to say. I want to thank her for coming, but we don’t often talk one-on-one. It’s not like I have a script for this sort of thing. Besides, I still feel like I’m betraying my mom by being happy Rose is here.

Her eyes light up when she spots me coming out of the crowd. Instead of telling her something appreciative, what ends up coming out when I reach her is, “Where’s Erin?”

Rose blinks, then her composure returns. “I figured we should wait until she’s three before we expose her to Death of a Salesman’s suburban nihilism,” she replies, and despite myself, I laugh. Encouraged, she smiles gently. “It was wonderful to watch your scene. The whole thing, really. You put on quite an event. I loved your staging—how Willy was increasingly isolated from the rest of the actors as his advice grew more delusional.”

I reach for words, surprised. It’s precisely what I was going for. “You—know the play?”

“I was an English major in college,” she says with a smile. Betrayal of Mom or not, I feel guilty I didn’t know that about Rose. There’s probably a lot I don’t know about her, I realize. Where she grew up, her favorite movie, whether she’s ever been in a play herself, why she chose to be a paralegal.

“It was really nice of you to come,” I finally say, knowing I should’ve just done so earlier.

“I’m glad I could.” She nods to something behind me, her smile turning knowing and playful. “Looks like Biff Loman wants to talk to you, which I think is my cue. I’ll see you at home.”

“Yeah. See you there.”

“You want me to take your flowers?” She points to the bouquet I forgot I was holding.

“Oh.” I hold them out to her awkwardly. “Probably a good idea. Thanks,” I say, then turn to find Owen a few feet behind me, fidgeting with his tie.