The Pretty One(53)

When I was in the bathroom I kept reassuring myself I’d feel much better once I actually got onstage. Lucy has always said that the minute she gets onstage she feels as though she’s been transported to another world and is never aware of the audience. But as I stand in the middle of the stage, gagging on my own peanut butter breath while holding my script and waiting for Drew to give me my blocking, I couldn’t be more aware of the audience if they were still giving me dirty looks across the lunch table. And it certainly does not help that (unlike in Mr. Lucheki’s demonstration) the auditorium lights are on. They’re all right there in front of me, sitting in the third row: Annie Carmichael, Jane Hitchins, Maria Merton, Marybeth Wilkens, and last but not least, Lucy Fletcher.

“Okay,” Drew is saying. “Let’s start at the bottom of page four. I remember…”

I glance at the script, but my hands are shaking so badly I’m having trouble reading it. I think about how great Lucy was yesterday and how she had moved me to tears even though she was just receiving her blocking and was still reading from her script.

Oh crap.

I attempt to steady the script by balancing it on the edge of my belt as I clear my throat. “I remember the first time we got together. You told me I was special…that you had never felt like this about anyone before. Remember?”

“I remember,” Drew says, reading the part of Guy.

“Was it a lie?” I glance into the audience. Lucy’s arms are crossed and she’s giving me a smug you stink sort of look. I wipe away a bead of sweat from my forehead. I had a feeling I shouldn’t wear my hoodie but I just felt safer in it. But here I was, onstage for two seconds, and already dripping with sweat.

“Of course not.”

“When you first broke up with me I was so devastated, I couldn’t sleep.” I’m speaking in a monotone voice, with no inflection, no emotion, no nothing.

“I couldn’t eat…I couldn’t do anything. And then I thought…I’ll be okay as long as he doesn’t date anyone else. As long as I know his heart still belongs to me.”

Drew gives me a little smile that is definitely not in the script. It’s as if he knows I’m nervous and he’s sending me a message, like, don’t worry, I’ll be gentle. I gag on a lump of saliva and clear my throat again.

“When I heard that you and Wendy were hanging out,” I say, “I told myself that you guys were just friends. And last night, when you saw me talking to that guy, I could see the pain in your eyes and I knew you were jealous. I knew you still cared about me.” I pause and look directly at Lucy. She narrows her eyes and shifts uncomfortably in her seat. I look back at my script, but I’ve lost my place.

“And then you touched my arm,” Drew says, feeding me my line.

“And then you touched my arm,” I say, reading my line.

“Okay,” Drew says. “As you say that line I want you to walk over to me and stand in front of me, slightly downstage.”

“And then you touched my arm,” I repeat yet again, walking toward him. Four steps to go. Four steps and I’ll be touching his lips to mine. My breath catches in my throat as I take another step. Three, two…my heart is banging against my chest. “Remember ‘I miss you,’ you said.”

“Okay,” Drew says, stopping me. “I want you to run your finger down my arm as you say the next line.”

“You still love me,” I say, pointing my finger and running it down the length of his arm. I know it’s supposed to be a sexy sort of move, but mine is anything but. It’s more like, hey you have a bug on your arm and I’ll just squash it and smear right on down.

“But that doesn’t change how I feel about us,” Drew says, reading his line. “Now I’m going to turn away from you,” he says, as he proceeds to explain the blocking. “I want you to walk stage right.”

I know (of course) that stage directions are the opposite of what they seem. Yet I still move to the wrong side.

“Stage right,” Drew repeats. “Over here.”

Out of the corner of my eye I see Lucy grin and look at Marybeth, as if to say: My sister is such an idiot she doesn’t even understand stage directions!

“Then Guy says: I can’t…I don’t want a relationship right now. I want you to come up from behind me and stand as close as you can without touching me and say your line.”

I stand behind him, as close as I possibly can. OHMYGOD. Just breathe, I command myself. Just breathe. I stare up at the back of Drew’s head as I take a big whiff of his musky-smelling hair.

“So we won’t call it a relationship,” I say. “It’s just about what feels good. And this feels good.”

“Okay,” Drew says, out of character once again. “I want you to be the aggressor, so as soon as you say your line, put your hands on my shoulders and spin me around and let me have it.” And then he gives me that smile once again, the smile that makes me go weak in the knees, the smile that makes it feel as if someone is squeezing my heart like a bottle of ketchup.

I can do this, I can do this, I can do this…I purse my lips as I put my hands on his shoulders. As he spins toward me, I step forward, stand on my tiptoes, and pucker up. I give him a smooch right on the lips that ends with the unmistakable sound of a plunger unclogging a toilet.