Twelve Steps to Normal(63)

“Oh! Okay. Yeah.” This is where I should turn to go, but I don’t. Instead I stand there like a massive dork.

He gestures toward the auditorium. “Do you, um… want to come watch?”

I’m surprised at the invitation. Aside from the holiday program the Wavettes put on, I’ve never been in the auditorium for a theater performance. But I want to be backstage with Alex. I’m suddenly grappling with this urge to spend time with him.

“Yeah, is it okay? For me to be in there, I mean?”

“Definitely.” He tugs on the back of his beanie. “You can watch from backstage with me.”

And just like that, I’m following him into the auditorium. Mrs. Henson, one of the theater instructors, is giving commands to a few actors on stage. Aside from her, the rest of the seats in the theater are empty.

Alex leads me down a small hallway that loops backstage. It’s mostly all juniors or seniors in this cast, but no one pays me any mind as we walk by. They’re running lines with each other or discussing costumes with the senior costume designer, who looks a little stressed out.

Alex stops at the right wing of the stage. It’s cluttered with a white dresser on wheels and a small office desk with a lamp on top of it.

“I kinda just wait here until scene break. Super exciting, right? But it’s cool seeing them improve.” He moves the lamp to the ground, then takes a seat on the desk. He pats the empty space beside it. “Here.”

My nerves thrum through my veins as I climb next to him. We’re sitting so close, and I’m so, so aware of him. The soft flops of his dark curls. The calluses on his hands from building props in the workshop. The slight overlap in his two front teeth when he looks over at me and smiles, like I’m the only person here that he cares about.

My heart beats deeply, an erratic rhythm in my head.

I think back to what Ana said. He’s always been really open with you. But he wasn’t the only one. Even though Alex wasn’t part of my immediate circle of friends, I’d still told him about my dad. I talked to him about it more than I ever talked to Jay.

Is it possible that our friendship has evolved so naturally that I’ve barely noticed?

He shifts. Our hands almost touch. I swallow and swallow and swallow. I imagine what it would be like if we made even the slightest contact. My skin would ignite. I would burst into flames.

I inhale sharply.

Then I panic.

This feels way beyond friendship.

“Sorry.” Alex’s voice is abrupt. Insecure. “This is boring. I—”

“No.” I interrupt. My synapses crackle with electricity. Does he feel it, too? “I like it. I feel very VIP.”

He breaks into a grin, but I catch his chest exhaling in relief.

“Why tech theater?” I ask, hoping talking will calm down my spasmodic heart rate. “Doesn’t everyone want to act?”

“Nah,” he says as we watch the actors run through blocking. “I’m better at designing and building. Besides, I get to watch it all happen from back here.”

I flick my gaze to the set on stage. The current scene takes place in a kitchen, but from the way the painted wooden walls are tri-folded together, I can tell it’s easily able to transform into a whole new room for a completely different scene.

“You used to write screenplays,” I say. “In middle school, remember? They were Supernatural episodes you wished existed. Oh, my god, remember the one with the murderous poltergeist?”

“Oh.” He glances down, embarrassed. “Man, those were awful.”

“They weren’t!” I mean it. “Do you still want to go to school for screenwriting?”

“I do, but I don’t think it’s such a smart idea.”

This surprises me. “Why?”

He keeps his gaze on the stage. “Because, I don’t know. That whole industry… it’s so risky—and it can be pretty unstable, from what I’ve read. Both my parents worked really hard to make sure we have everything we need. I should major in business, you know? Get a job where I can have that stability they were able to give us.”

“Is that what you really want?”

It’s the same question he asked me. I can tell he remembers, because he meets my gaze.

“No.” I’m surprised by his honesty. “But it’s the responsible thing to do. I want to make my parents proud. I don’t want them to have a son who’s in debt and who can’t find a job because I risked it all in a creative industry.”

“Alex.” His name sounds so sad in my mouth.

But he just shakes his head. “I—”

I don’t know what he’s going to say because it falls quiet on stage. The lights dim, casting darkness in our small corner.

Alex leans back ever so slightly, his shoulder brushing against mine. My stomach flips. Was that intentional? No, I’m reading too much into it. This desk is so small. It was an accident.

Right?

In the darkness, my eyes find his chest. His breaths accelerate. In-out-in-out-in-out. Does he feel it, too? Am I the only one who feels this undefined friction between us? I don’t know. I try looking at him, but I can’t read his expression in the dark.

I focus on the stage. The only source of light is the spotlight that pours down on the two actors on stage. Alex adjusts his posture, leaving a bigger gap of space between us. The hopeful expansion in my chest immediately deflates. I’m imagining this. I’m overreacting to everything.