Little Do We Know(39)

The stage was already set up for Act Two—a large platform representing George’s bedroom and another one a short distance away, representing mine. There were two tall ladders in between them. “Homework scene?” I suggested, and the cast moved to action.

I tossed my backpack on top of the pile with the others and climbed to my spot on the high platform. I’d been practicing this scene all week, but the dialogue was bouncy, with lots of back-and-forth, and I knew I’d never get it down until Tyler and I could work on it together.

I reached the top and sat, legs folded in front of me. Tyler sat on the other platform, facing me. I could see his script in his hands, but I knew he didn’t need it. He was keeping it handy in case he had to feed me a line.

Charlotte, who was playing the part of the stage manager, stood at her mark and set up the scene for the audience. She paced the stage as she delivered her lines, and I tried not to be jealous of the solid performance she was giving during a totally voluntary, completely casual lunch rehearsal.

Charlotte looked up at Tyler and me and shifted into her non-acting voice. “Okay, now the choir sings, and Simon Stimson says his lines, and then…go.”

Tyler and I sat hunched over, pretending to do our homework. I flipped imaginary pages and wrote with an invisible pencil. And then Tyler whistled.

“Emily,” Tyler said with a wave.

“Oh, hello, George.” I let out a heavy sigh. “I can’t work at all. The moonlight’s so terrible.”

We went back and forth, him telling me the math problem he was struggling with and me giving him hints until he figured it out. The lines came easily to me, until there was a pause in the conversation and it was my turn to kick us off again. I searched my brain, but my line was nowhere to be found.

I looked up at Tyler and motioned for him to feed it to me.

“Choir practice,” he said.

“Right. Got it. Thanks.” That line always made me think of Hannah, and I made a mental note to connect it to her, so I wouldn’t forget it.

Moonlight. Choir.

Grass. Hannah.

I shook out my shoulders and rocked back and forth, settling myself back into place.

“My, isn’t the moonlight terrible? And choir practice going on. You know, I think if you hold your breath, you can hear the train all the way to…”

It happened again. I had no idea what to say next. I fell back onto the platform and stared up at the stage lights hanging on the batten above me. “I’m never going to get this down.” I draped my arm over my eyes.

My brain didn’t feel big enough to handle it all—Mom’s wedding, Hannah, UCLA auditions, Our Town lines, and now Luke. I had no idea how I’d pull it all off.

“Hey.” Tyler was suddenly right next to me with a supportive hand on my back. He must have climbed up there, but I hadn’t even felt the platform jiggle. “You okay?”

“No.”

“You’ve got this.”

“What exactly have I ‘got’?” I asked. “I don’t know my lines, I don’t know my blocking. I just keep screwing everyone up. And for what? The rehearsal? The stage time? At this point, it’s not going to get me into UCLA or anywhere else for that matter.”

“You do realize the message of this play, right?” Tyler asked.

“Sure.” My arm was still over my eyes. “It’s about life on a farm and falling in love and watching the people you love die. So, you know, that’s awesome.”

He ignored the sarcasm. “It’s about being alive. About noticing all the little things, because no one ever knows if it’s the last time they’ll see them.”

It reminded me of our summer plans. Our road trip. Our pact to not think about the end so we wouldn’t miss out on the present.

“Stop thinking about what happened to Luke. And what could have happened, and what almost happened. He’s okay. He’s here. Life goes on.”

I hadn’t let myself cry. Not once. Not during all those hours in the waiting room with Mrs. J when I thought he was dead. Not when Luke’s mom came in to tell us he was going to be okay. Not when I finally saw him, bruised and broken and shaken and weak. I don’t know if it was his words, or the fatigue, or a combination of everything, but when Tyler pulled me into him and hugged me hard, fat, hot tears started spilling down my cheeks all on their own.

“I don’t cry,” I said into his shoulder.

“Oh, you’re such a badass.”

That made me cry even harder.

But he was right. I pulled up that mental image of Luke and me driving along the coast, warm wind streaming through the windows, fingers interlaced and resting on the center console.

We sat like that for a minute, and then I dried my face and took a deep breath. I looked down and saw Charlotte standing below, staring up at me with a worried expression on her face, like she didn’t know if she should climb up the ladder and join us or leave it all for Tyler to handle.

I waved to her. “I’m okay,” I said. And then I looked at Tyler. “I’m done now.” I kissed his cheek. “Thank you, George.”

“You’re welcome, Emily.”

And then I stood up, brushed imaginary dust off my jeans, and rooted my feet in place. “Let’s do it again,” I called down to the cast.