Look Both Ways(32)

I grab my phone, turn on the flashlight, and stand up. “I’ll be right back,” I say.

Zoe touches my ankle, and even that seems to mean something now that it wouldn’t have meant two minutes ago. “You okay?” she asks.

“Yeah, of course.” I hurry toward the bathroom, and she doesn’t follow me.

Once I’ve made sure I’m alone, I set my phone on the metal ledge under the mirror and point the light at the ceiling so it casts a diffuse glow around the room. I’m breathing so fast, I’m starting to feel a little dizzy, and I brace my hands on the sides of a sink and force myself to calm down. I have no idea why I’m so worked up; I have no problem with girls kissing each other. Women kiss in front of me all the time. Theoretically, I believe nobody is totally gay or totally straight. It’s just that I’ve never applied that idea to myself before. I’ve never even thought about kissing a girl. I certainly didn’t expect to enjoy it.

Am I taking this whole thing way too seriously? Maybe Zoe’s kiss only seems earth-shattering because it feels amazing to be chosen by someone so important to me. But maybe it wasn’t about me at all; she could be the kind of person who will kiss anyone when she’s a little drunk. In the morning, maybe she won’t even remember that she did it. Or what if it was some sort of joke, something another apprentice dared her to do before I got to the party? I’m not sure I could stand that.



It didn’t feel like a joke, though. It felt like she really wanted to kiss me. And if she wanted to do it again, I’m pretty sure I would let her.

I tell myself there’s no way that’s going to happen. The whole thing was probably a throwaway gesture; everyone here is overly affectionate with each other. Plus, Zoe has a boyfriend, and she’s totally happy with him.

But it happened. I’ll always know it happened, even if it never happens again.

I close my eyes and replay the kiss in painstaking detail, fixing it in my mind so I can pull out the memory whenever I need it. And then I lean in close to the mirror and inspect myself, trying to figure out if I look any different now that I’m a girl who has kissed another girl. The only evidence I see is a smudge of silver sparkles across my cheekbone. I leave them there. They match how I feel on the inside.





The moment I wake up the next morning, I start wondering if Zoe and I are going to talk about the kiss today. I grow increasingly nervous as I tiptoe around her sleeping form and get ready for my crew call, trying to predict whether things between us will be more intense and charged or more complicated and distant after last night. I’m afraid it’ll be the second one; Zoe cheated on her boyfriend with me, and she’ll probably feel pretty guilty about it now that she’s sober. I decide to let her initiate the conversation, if we’re going to have one at all. I don’t think I could handle seeing a look of pity flash across her face if I brought it up and she had to explain that it can never happen again—or worse yet, that it didn’t mean anything to begin with.

I’m a little relieved Zoe hasn’t woken up by the time I leave. She isn’t around at dinner, either, so I eat with Jessa, who spends the whole meal telling me a convoluted story about her ex-boyfriend. I see Zoe in the wings during the performance of Midsummer, of course, but it’s not like we can have a private conversation there. She squeezes my shoulder on her way to the stage at the top of act two, and I spend the rest of the show trying to figure out whether there was a hidden message in the brief pressure of her fingers. Sorry about last night? Don’t even bother thinking about it?



Or maybe I want to kiss you again?

I almost miss my cue, and the stage manager has to yell at me before I spring into action and plug in my LEDs.

I get back to the room before Zoe after the show and curl up with a book to wait for her, but I’m not even seeing the words on the page. When I hear her key in the lock, I frantically rearrange myself on the bed so I look as casually cute as possible, propped on my elbow with my hair hanging over one shoulder just so and my tank top riding up my stomach the tiniest bit. I toy with the end of my ponytail and look down at the novel I’m supposedly reading; I want her to walk in and think, I can’t believe how adorable she is when she’s not even trying.

But when I look up and say, “Hey,” she doesn’t even meet my eyes.

“Hi,” she says.

“Did you have a good show?”

“Yeah, it was fine.” Zoe drops her bag onto her chair, scoops up a binder from her desk, and starts paging through it so fast, she can’t possibly be reading anything.

Is she trying to avoid me? I assumed that the worst possible scenario would be discovering that the kiss meant nothing; I never even considered the possibility that it would bring our entire friendship crashing down. Maybe Zoe confessed to Carlos and he told her to stay away from me. I have that bottom-dropping-out feeling I get when I go on the Cyclone at Coney Island, like my body has moved forward and left my stomach behind.



“How was the rest of your day?” I ask. I try to keep my voice bright and cheerful.

“I had my first Birdie rehearsal.” When Zoe finally looks up from the binder, there’s no embarrassment or anger in her eyes—there’s only panic. I’ve never seen her look vulnerable before, and the way she’s struggling to hide it makes her look heartbreakingly young and fragile. This obviously has nothing to do with me, and suddenly I can breathe again.