If You're Out There(52)

He looks out meekly to the audience. “I’m a caterpillar, by the way.” There’s a little snort from a couple seats down. “Probably should have mentioned that.” Sam nudges me, a stunned look on her face as she tilts her head toward the smiling woman beside her. The laugh came from her mom.

I grin back at Sam before my gaze shifts to the bar behind her. I spot a man standing there, a beer in hand.

I look away, then double-check.

It’s definitely him. The guy from Priya’s house. The same guy from the zoo.

The audience roars with laughter. I must have missed something. When I peek over again, the man’s expression hasn’t changed. He drains his glass and sets it down, looking almost nervous as he runs a hand over his stubble.

I jump when Sam clutches my arm, laughing breathlessly. Beside her, Connie rears her head back, wiping away a happy tear. Music has started playing—a booming house party beat. I’m pretty lost, but I think Arturo is expressing Glen the Caterpillar’s metamorphosis through dance. He prances and gyrates, his face so heartbreakingly earnest. It’s all so perfectly bizarre.

When I steal another glance at the bar, the man is staring straight at me.

I jolt, and Logan leans in to whisper, “Hey, you okay?”

“Fine,” I say tersely, watching as Arturo flits about the stage, morphing into character after character, impression after impression. All people with different accents, all in their Before Parts. I’m only getting bits and pieces, though, because the man’s eyes are burned into my vision, my breath growing shallow.

I’m not sure how much time passes before Arturo’s voice brings me back—his real voice—as a calm settles over the crowd.

“Please let her like me.” Something in the energy around us shifts, and Arturo is somehow impossible to look away from as he ties an invisible tie onstage. “You know what? No. I mean I’m praying here, right, God? Go big or go home!” Arturo looks to the ceiling, and his arms spread out wide. “I meant love, God! Let her love me! I get that it’s only a date. But goddamn—” He grimaces. “Whoops, sorry. It’s just . . . With some people, you just know, you know?”

I catch Sam and her mom in a brief, meaningful look. Sam’s cheeks are flushed, her eyes a little glassy from laughing. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her look like that. I wonder if I’m even capable of the expression.

Around me people are still and silent, absorbed by this open view into my boss’s weird, adorable heart. My eyes float to the bar again, and the hairs on my arms begin to stick up as a piano rings out. The man is gone.

Arturo is back to being Glen the Butterfly now, fluttering and singing while the crowd claps. I listen in on the song for a moment as I scan the place— “Nothing like landing on your first bologna sandwich!” What?

I spot the man slinking behind the standing-room-only crowd in the back row, making his way to my side of the theater. He looks . . . intense? Determined? It’s freaking me out. I twist in my seat, looking for a clear path. I’d have to cross the stage to get to the main doors. But there’s a back exit.

Sam gives me an odd look as I get up. I mouth the word sorry, my eyes fixed on the man still weaving his way through the tight space in back. I lean over to whisper another apology to Connie before slipping out, and Arturo catches my hunched-over exit while belting out a long note. He doesn’t look mad. I think he’s too high on the night to care. I give an emphatic thumbs-up and rush for the exit, the sounds of a joyful crowd dampening as the door closes behind me.

Out in the alley, I check over my shoulder and hurry toward the main street. I step into a busy intersection, swarming with Cubs fans, and a crossing guard trills her whistle. “Sorry. Sorry!” I say, darting back onto the curb.

Someone comes up from behind me and I whip around.

“It’s me,” says Logan, his hands up. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” I shake my head, heart racing. “Maybe . . . I don’t know.” I look at the gum-pocked sidewalk. “I think someone might be following me.”

For the first time today, Logan looks straight at me. “Seriously?”

I feel suddenly sheepish as I meet his eyes. “I think so. I met him yesterday. Saw him again earlier today. And now here, at the theater.” I search the moving crowds, but there’s no sign of the man. “So yeah. Seemed like I should probably leave.”

“Jesus,” says Logan. He checks over his shoulder. “What’d he look like? Do you see him anywhere?”

“No, I think I lost him.” I look down the block, back toward the theater. “I feel bad for running out on Arturo like that.”

“I think you saw what you needed to,” says Logan. “Our man killed it in there.”

“Yeah, seemed like it. But I was so distracted by that stupid guy that I spaced out for a lot of it. What do you think he was getting at?”

Logan shrugs. “Meaning of life?”

“Damn,” I say, smiling despite myself. “That would have been good to know.”

For a moment, I’m tempted to slide back into our easy banter, but I know it’s not that simple. It won’t change what Logan said about me. Or what I said. He must feel it too, because he clears his throat, back to business. “I should walk you home.”