Always Never Yours(90)

I wonder breathlessly whether a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, I give Romeo my faithful vow, and when I tell him, “Parting is such sweet sorrow,” I feel tears in my eyes.



* * *





I die tragically in Act V and come back to life once the curtains have closed. When I walk to the front and take Tyler’s hand for my bow, the cheering gets louder, and I can’t help it—I’m proud of myself.

I don’t know if I’ll ever act again. I won’t write it off entirely. But I do know I’m glad I did it. Being in the spotlight’s not terrible, and it taught me that losing yourself in a character might lead you to find something new in yourself. If I do return to acting, maybe I’ll play someone without an all-consuming teenage romance.

Then again—where’s the fun in that?

We file off the stage. The instant we’re out of view, we’re no longer noblemen and noblewomen, daughters and cousins, Montagues and Capulets. We’re us, smearing stage makeup in a stupidly happy group hug.

I look for Owen and Anthony in the throng. But instead, I find Will waiting behind the crowd, looking uneasy. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Tyler break off from the group and head directly for him.

“Look who showed up,” Tyler says, his voice raised and edged in sarcasm. Everyone falls silent, and I know he’s done restraining his anger.

Will doesn’t flinch. “What’s your problem, man?”

“You, man,” Tyler returns. “Do you have any idea what could have happened? I could’ve broken my leg on stage, in front of everyone. You could’ve ruined the entire show!”

“Whatever. It went fine, didn’t it?” Will tries to say. “You got your applause—” but before he finishes the sentence, Tyler steps up in his face.

I’m running toward them in the next moment, knowing their staring match could erupt in the blink of an eye. The excitement and pride and camaraderie of the room are ebbing fast, transforming into something ugly. “Tyler!” I force a hand between them.

“What? You’re defending him?” Tyler rounds on me.

“It’s so not about that,” I fire back. “It was shitty”—I glare at Will—“but it doesn’t warrant physical violence,” I finish, turning back to Tyler.

“I deserve an apology. You do, too. It was your directing he ruined.”

“Yeah, I do.” For more than Tyler knows. I look back to Will and, surprisingly, from the guilt in his eyes, I know he knows what I mean. With Will in front of me, Tyler at my back, I tell the two guys who’ve hurt me worst what I know to be true. “If you beg for every apology you’re owed, your throat will go dry,” I say, noticing Owen watching by the back door. “You can’t lose yourself over every problem, hurt, or wrong someone’s committed you. Bad things happen. You fix your eyes on the future, and you move on.”

I don’t wait for Tyler or Will to say something. Without a backward glance, I walk to Owen.

“Ready?” he asks. There’s an eager waver in his voice.

I nod, reaching into his heavy sleeve to take his hand. Instead of fighting our way through the crowded theater, we head to the back door behind the dressing rooms. We run into the night, the cold turning our cheeks and noses pink. It’s a short sprint to the front foyer where our families and friends are waiting.

I search the room for my parents, and instead my eyes land on Anthony, fake blood staining his tunic. Out of the way of the crowd, Eric’s handing him a bouquet of flowers—small, yet they look carefully chosen. Eric’s eyes are eager, colored with a little nervousness. Anthony’s are understanding, and appreciative. I don’t know what’s going on between them. But I feel like both of them know they’d be idiots to give up on each other.

Anthony catches my eye, noticing me. And though he gives me only the hint of a grin, he’s glowing.

I nod at him and begin to walk away, wanting to give them their moment.

“Megan.” I hear Anthony behind me, and I turn around. “You were an amazing Juliet.”

“I was, wasn’t I?” I say jokingly, but my smile is genuine.



* * *





My family’s seated when Owen and I get to the restaurant, a white-tablecloth French bistro near the theater. My parents went ahead and got a table while Owen and I changed, scrubbed the stage makeup from our faces, and met Owen’s family. His mom, a surprisingly short woman considering Owen’s height, looked startled that Owen had a new girlfriend, while Sam tromped around the foyer boasting that his brother was dating Juliet. Owen didn’t appear to mind.

When we sit down at the table next to my mom, Rose peers at Owen.

“I know you,” she says, her face lighting up. “You’re Biff Loman!”

“What?” Dad sits up and sets down his glass. “You’ve met Megan’s new guy already?”

“Dad . . .” I say warningly, not liking the direction this conversation is heading or the way he clarified “new guy.”

“I’m just really glad I have the chance to meet one of Megan’s boyfriends,” Mom chimes in while buttering her baguette.

I round on her, my eyes shouting traitor. “Mom, you’re making it sound like there’s one every week! I’ve only dated one other guy this year.”