Look Both Ways(67)

We’re silent all the way back to Ramsey. Zoe and I each have a free hand, but she doesn’t reach for me, and I don’t reach for her, either. When I come back to the room after brushing my teeth, she’s lying in her own bed for the first time in weeks. I want to tell her she can still sleep over here with me. Curling up together, warm and safe, doesn’t make me uncomfortable at all. But I know I’ve hurt her, and the least I can do is leave her alone to lick her wounds.

I pull my blanket up over me and switch off the light, and we lie there in the dark, awake but separate. Neither of us even says good night.





It’s like the entire world has been flipped onto its head. For the last six weeks, Zoe has made me feel confident and worthwhile, like I was doing everything right by being myself, and being in the theater has made me feel exactly the opposite. But now I can’t wait to get to Legrand for Bye Bye Banquo every morning, and I try to stay there as late into the evenings as I possibly can. I tell myself I’m hiding in the rehearsal studios because Russell and I have so much work to do. But deep down, I know I’m avoiding being alone in the room with Zoe.

I expect her to be sulky after our failed picnic, and I spend days waiting for my punishment to start. But the other shoe never drops—if anything, Zoe’s even kinder than usual. She moves back into my bed the next night, gives me sweet little kisses, and whispers that she loves me, but she doesn’t try to take off my clothes again. She brings me offerings whenever I have breaks from rehearsal—iced coffees, doughnuts, funny notes folded into origami shapes—and she surreptitiously holds my hand under the table while we eat dinner. This is exactly the friendship-plus-more situation I’ve been wanting from her, and I know I should be happy. But I can’t relax into it, because I never stop wondering how long this reprieve is going to last. We’ll be living together for only a few more weeks, and there’s no way Zoe’s going to let them pass without trying to push things forward again. It feels safer to stay in public, where we have to act like we’re nothing more than good friends.



Fortunately, it’s easy to stay out of the room. The music director cedes more control of Bye Bye Banquo to Russell and me every day, and eventually he abandons the piano altogether and lets us teach our parody songs to the actors ourselves. Being in charge is a challenge at first, mostly because it’s hard to act confident enough that people twice my age will accept me as a leader. But after a few days, I find my rhythm, and I start to love the feeling of shaping a show into exactly what I want it to become. After rehearsals, the cast always unwinds at a pub called the Bronze Pineapple, and I’m surprised and pleased when they invite Russell and me along right from the first night and treat us like part of the group even though we’re not actors. Even Jessa jokes around with me when she joins us after her Dreamgirls performances. Zoe’s always there, too, of course, standing close enough to me that she can unobtrusively touch my hand or my waist while she chats with the cast. We usually stay out late enough that I can feign exhaustion and go to bed the minute we get home without seeming like I’m rejecting her.



I know this comfortable limbo won’t last, but I try to enjoy it while I can.

And then I get to the Bronze Pineapple on Saturday night and find that Zoe is already there, waiting for me at a table for two instead of with the other actors near the bar. The whole time we’ve been at Allerdale, I’ve been the one waiting for Zoe’s undivided attention while she finished her important work, and it’s weird to be on this side of the equation. It’s flattering that she wants to be alone with me, but it also puts me on edge.

She slides a ginger ale across the table as I approach. “Hey! This is for you. Sit with me for a while?” She sounds casual, but her smile looks too-bright and pasted-on.

I sit down across from her anyway. “Of course,” I say. “Thanks for the drink.”

A waitress comes over and drops off a spiral wire stand holding a cone of curly fries. “Those are for you, too,” Zoe says. “I know you always want salty stuff after rehearsal.”

I’m starting to get really nervous now; it’s like she’s buttering me up before she delivers bad news. I wonder if she’s cheating on me or something—I mean, with more people than Carlos. But I force a smile anyway and say, “You’re the best. Here, have some.”

We eat the fries and chat about nothing while I wait for her to drop whatever bomb she has in store for me. But there’s no big revelation, and after a few minutes, I can’t stand the suspense any longer. “So…why are we all the way over here?” I prompt. “Is there something you want to talk to me about?”

She shrugs. “Not really. I just miss you, I guess.”



“You saw me this morning in rehearsal, silly. We were together for, like, six hours.”

“You know what I mean. You’re never really around anymore.”

I reach across the table and take her hand. “I’m sorry. We start rehearsing onstage tomorrow, and there’s been so much work to do. It’s not like I’m avoiding you or anything.” I’ve never told her an outright lie before, and it takes everything I have to maintain eye contact.

“It kind of seems like you are, a little,” she says.

“No, I’ve just been really tired and overworked. I’m sorry if it’s getting in the way of us.”