Inevitable and Only(50)

In fact, Zephyr was enthusiastic about everything from the time we walked into the theater. “I love this play,” he kept saying. “I can’t wait to see what you think. I promise not to nudge you at all the good parts. I’ll try, anyway.” I didn’t think I’d ever seen him this animated, except on stage.

Watching Zephyr watch the play was like a whole show in itself. His mouth never stopped moving—either whispering lines along with the actors or grinning a huge cheesy grin at the funny parts, and sometimes at the sad parts, too. His eyebrows shot up and down. Even his ears wiggled a little, he was moving his face so much. I realized, watching him, that I’d never actually seen him smile. I’d certainly never seen him do this many facial expressions, not even on stage. I couldn’t tell if he was aware of what he was doing or not—he certainly wasn’t aware of me watching him. It was like he was in his own private bubble. But every once in a while, when his delight overpowered him, he’d turn the grin on me, as if to say, Look! Are you seeing this, too?

“You know,” I commented, as we made our way out to the lobby at intermission, “some people might find you incredibly annoying to sit next to at an event like this.” His goofiness seemed to have unlocked my tongue—I had my powers of speech back. Hallelujah.

Zephyr stared at me. “What did you say?”

“Oh, come on. You seriously don’t know you’re doing it?”

“Doing what?”

“The silent cackling! Whispering lines along with the actors! The absolutely psychotic glee you’re manifesting out of every pore!”

He smiled uncertainly. “Is that a good thing?”

Oh my god. He really didn’t know he was doing it. “It’s a joy to watch.”

“You should be watching the stage, not me.” Now he was grinning, a lopsided smirk, and I felt my face flush.

“So,” I said, trying to change the subject, “you said you had a long story to tell me.”

He frowned. “What long story?”

“Why you didn’t go to the Fall Ball—you said it was a long story?”

“Ah.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked around, as if searching for an emergency exit. “Cadie, that’s what people say when they don’t want to talk about something.”

“Of course.” My face burned hotter. “I’m sorry, forget it.”

“No, no. It’s okay. It’s not a big deal. Oh, look, brownies.”

He made a beeline for the snack table, and I excused myself to go to the bathroom. There was a long line, of course, and by the time I got back, the lights were flickering.

“Here,” he said, holding out something folded up in a paper napkin, “I got you a brownie, too.”

“Oh! Thanks,” I said, slipping it into my purse, where I was sure it would shed crumbs all over everything. I couldn’t very well cram it into my mouth in the two seconds we had left before going back in for the second half, though. Why was everything so much more complicated on a date? Were we on a date? I still wasn’t sure. How were you supposed to know whether it was a date or not?

Zephyr took my elbow to steer me back toward the theater. A jolt of static electricity zapped my arm, and he snatched his hand back. “Ow!”

“That was your fault!”

“Was not!”

We both laughed.

Maybe it was a date?

“So anyway,” he continued, as we found our seats, “about the Fall Ball. It’s not a big deal. It’s just that my girlfriend lives in New York, and she didn’t want me to go without her.”

The lights went down over the audience, and a spotlight illuminated the actors already on the stage.

A good thing, because my face was burning again, and I didn’t want Zephyr to notice.

Of course. His girlfriend. Ava, I remembered suddenly. The girl whose call he’d answered at the Shakespeare Theatre.

What kind of an idiot was I, asking out a senior who already had a girlfriend?

And yet, he’d said yes. So what if it wasn’t a date? I didn’t have tons of guy friends, but maybe this was totally normal for Zephyr. I’d just play it cool. Of course he had a girlfriend. Maybe he assumed I had a boyfriend, too.

And we were having a good time. A great time. His face was about to crack open with joy again, watching the stage, and I was having fun for what felt like the first time in ages.

So just take this for what it is, Acadia Greenfield, and be content for once. Stop always wanting more.



Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? was unlike any play I’d ever seen before. There were only four characters: a middle-aged couple, George and Martha, and a younger couple, Nick and Honey. Only one setting—George and Martha’s living room. The whole thing took place over the course of one evening. The way the characters manipulated each other, and the audience, had my head spinning—every time you finally figured out whose side you were supposed to be on, someone would reveal a new horrible secret and turn the tables. George and Martha were more complicated and intense than any characters I’d ever seen on stage, more honest and deceitful and humble and arrogant. They were larger than life. They were hilarious and excruciating and mind-bogglingly real. I fell in love. So hard that I said yes instantly, without even pausing to think, when Zephyr asked if I wanted to see it with him again the next night.