Inevitable and Only(33)

“Those lines can’t be melodramatic or loud,” Robin was saying. “They come from somewhere deep in your gut. You’re talking to yourself, watching your carefully constructed life crumble. You already know what’s under there. You were just hoping you’d never have to face it.” Robin almost seemed to be talking to himself now.

Zephyr looked at him for a quick moment, something unreadable in his eyes. Then he nodded and picked up his script, just as the bell rang.

“All right!” Robin shouted, clapping his hands. “Good work again, people, but let’s get these scenes off book ASAP.”

As everyone else packed up and filed out the door, I lingered. Rehearsing that scene with Sam had made me feel good for the first time all day, and I didn’t want the feeling to go away just yet.

Robin was packing up his messenger bag in the front-row seats. I went around to the side of the stage and used the steps to descend instead of jumping off—took more time that way. Then I made my way down the first row.

He looked up. “Acadia! Nice work today.”

“Thanks.” I felt that glow in my chest, the same glow as when he’d praised me for having my own copy of Much Ado. The same way I felt when Dad was proud of me.

I squashed that thought.

“So,” he said, studying my face, “what can I do for you?”

“Oh, I was just—” I thought quickly. “Um, I was just wondering, what was your name before you changed it to Robin Goodfellow?”

He let out a surprised bark of laughter. “Well, well. That was the last thing I expected you to ask.”

“I’m sorry, if it’s too personal—”

“No, no, no. It’s not exactly classified information. Are you ready? Hold on to your hat.” He paused dramatically. (Can you call it a dramatic pause if it’s the drama teacher who’s pausing? Isn’t it sort of by definition a dramatic pause?) “My birth name was Rubens Pfefferkorn.”

Moment of silence.

“Oh, my,” I managed.

“Yes, indeed. Rubens was a family name on my mother’s side. Pfefferkorn was my father’s. And I wanted something entirely my own. I didn’t want to be reminded of either of them whenever I wrote or said my own name.”

“I get that,” I said, without thinking.

Robin narrowed his eyes and gazed at me. “I don’t recommend changing your name without careful consideration,” he said. “It tends to—send a message to your family. Makes them very upset, causes a lot of pain. Unless, you know, you think they deserve that pain.” He smiled, a wry, sad smile. “But of course, you’re not eighteen, anyway.”

“And I’m not really thinking about changing my name,” I said quickly. Then, before I could stop myself, “What did your family do to deserve it?”

“Well, that’s—complicated. Maybe we’ll talk about that another time.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said. Do you ever wish there could be a back button in real life? I do. All the time. “Of course, that was a totally nosy and inappropriate question for me to ask. I’m sorry.”

He laughed. “No, no. You’re interested in people, Acadia, and that’s a wonderful thing for an actor. You’re an observer of human nature; you’re thirsty for it. I can see that. Store it all up, everything you observe, and use it onstage.” He smiled at me, a real, warm smile this time. It made his face all wrinkly around the corners of his eyes. “You’re doing a great job in Much Ado, by the way. I’m very pleased with the way you’re approaching the character.”

He was? How was I approaching the character? I felt a big goofy smile blossom across my face.

“Now, was there anything else you wanted to talk about?”

I shook my head.

“Well, then. I have to get to a meeting, but walk with me—I have some notes for you. In the very first scene, when you’re talking about Benedick with Leonato and Hero …”

I followed Robin out of the theater without noticing that there was a floor beneath my feet.



I wasn’t called for any scenes on Wednesday evening’s Much Ado rehearsal schedule, so I decided to see if I could go home with Raven that night. I really didn’t need another strained dinner, or another night vying with Dad for the couch. I packed up everything at my locker and slammed it shut, then turned and almost walked into Farhan.

“Hey, Cadie,” he said, holding his backpack on his shoulder with one hand. His signature move. Okay, okay, not exactly patented, I know. Probably eighty-five percent of boys hold their backpacks that way. But I loved the way he made it look.

I snapped my gaze away and looked down at my saddle shoes. We were just about the same height. If I’d collided with him any harder, we might’ve accidentally kissed. He was standing so close I could smell his cologne—or was it laundry detergent? Dryer sheets? Something clean and fresh. And under that, a very faint whiff of male sweat. Ugh, pheromones, I could hear Raven saying. I wondered what it would feel like to dance with him … to feel his arms around me …

“Cadie?”

“Hmm?” I glanced back up.

He wasn’t looking at me. “I’m really sorry, this is super awkward—but you mentioned that you wouldn’t mind—”