Chapter 25
Dafne
The next day, Mr. Hackle’s voice echoes through the first row of seats where I’m sitting. “Ten-minute break before we go over Act Four,” and as he scratches his eyebrow with his thumb adds a muttered, “and that means ten minutes, Thomas.” Thomas throws him a covert glare, but we all know he’s the tardy one. I’m about to get off stage to drink some water, when Ms. Patterson signals me to come over to her seat next to Mr. Hackle. “Aya is in the backstage taking measurements, Dafne,” she whispers, making sure we don’t bother the evidently tested man sitting on her left.
“Off you go,” she smiles pleasantly, and I nod and thank her for letting me know before making my way backstage as quietly as possible. Aya, one of the school’s tailors, is finishing taking someone else’s measurements–Theodore’s, of course.
“You are all set,” she says, rolling up her measuring tape and scribbling on her tiny leather notebook. He thanks her warmly, and it’s like getting hit by a cricket bat in the stomach. I shake the feeling off, pretending to stretch my shoulders–perks of being in a theatre, where no one will question random exercising. He doesn’t no-tice me, and as he slips his APDAS sweatshirt back on, the movement is slow enough for me to notice how firm his skin looks under the few delicate yellow lights in the backstage area. Not a single lock of his chestnut hair is out of place, and in this precise moment in time, he looks exactly like he did the day we met, just outside the audition room. My head spins at how drastically things have changed since then. When he looks up and sees me, he nearly trips on the powder blue jacquard bag where Aya keeps her tools.
“Careful, or your understudy will dance on your corpse,” I say, and I wish the floor would open and swallow me whole. Really, Dafne? Is that the best you can do? You’re not supposed to joke with him. You’re mad at him, remember?
Theodore huffs a laugh, and he opens his mouth, but takes one look at Aya and stops himself.
“I’m not the one the show needs to sell out,” he says then, like he’s just pointed out water is wet. We stare at each other for a second too long, then a rustling sound of fabric coming from behind him makes me break eye contact. He shoots Aya a look, then clears his throat before disappearing through the curtains.
“That was adorable,” Aya sighs, handing me her notebook to hold as with one fluid movement she starts taking my waist’s measurements. “I didn’t know you were dating on and off stage,” she adds before I can comment on it, a playful smile on her thin lips. My eyes grow wide at her assumption, her measuring tape circling my forearm. Alright, where are the cameras? How is this happening again? It’s like there’s a glitch in the simulation, as Ollie would say.
“Why would you say that?” I feel more than see Aya shrug, as she snatches the notebook from my hand and with one of the numerous pencils she keeps on herself at all times starts scribbling numbers.
“For one, he asked if I’d already seen you today,” she starts, and why does it sound like she’s about to give me an actual list of reasons? “And then, you know, we made small talk. I said I thought you were spectacular in last year’s Titus Andronicus , and he agreed. Something about you outshining everyone else …” she says absent-mindedly, the scratch of pencil on paper almost unbearable. “… I think.”
You think? I want to yell, but Aya’s patting my shoulder and saying something that sounds a lot like “All done.” I wouldn’t bet my life on it, though, because I’m not listening anymore. Even sweet Aya thinks we’re a thing. Wait–I didn’t correct her on it. I really should. I turn around from the spot I’m still rooted in, but when I do, Aya’s gone, her bag and pencils with her.
“Yes Dad, I’ve been repeating the mantra,” I mumble into the phone as I’m balancing a cupholder with three steaming-hot coffees in one hand and adjusting my ever-slipping tote bag on my shoulder with the other. My father has self-proclaimed himself as my personal motivational speaker ever since I decided I was going to be an actor at nine years old after seeing Macbeth at our local theatre. As such, he comes up with new life mottos on a monthly basis for me to recite. This month’s is an acronym– PEA , which stands for Positive Energetic Attitude–and I can picture him perfectly, sitting at our round cherry wood table, scribbling in one of his many notebooks.
“Good, good, good, and tell your friends to use them, too!” he says, pride lingering in his voice.
I assure him I will have the message delivered and ask him to kiss mum for me as I hang up–then stop dead in my tracks. Theodore is standing a few feet from me, hands in his pockets, looking perfectly relaxed. I take a couple of steps back and try hiding behind a low wall. He’s chatting amiably with someone I can’t see as they’re blocked by a pillar. If I want to know who it is I can’t turn around and take a different route; I have to pass right next to them. Do I want to know who’s the mysterious girl? Why am I assuming it’s a girl at all? I grimace at myself. Is this the reason he won’t–
“Hey, stalker,” Phoebe whispers in my ear and I let out a yelp the entire neighbourhood probably hears.
“What are you do–” I push the coffee tray in Phoebe’s hands hoping that will make her be quiet.
“I’m not doing anything,” I say quickly, reaching for my water bottle from my bag and taking a long sip. “I was waiting for you.” Phoebe raises a blond eyebrow. “So you crouching behind a wall has nothing to do with the fact that Theodore is over there, talking to a pretty second-year student?” she asks, the smile on her lips expanding with each word.
So it is a girl. Probably the girl Ollie mentioned. Fine. He can talk to whomever he pleases. I have been seeing Ethan after all … one time and a half. Even though the thought of kissing him hasn’t even crossed the threshold of my mind.
And Theodore knows that.
“Of course not,” I raise one shoulder, and slowly link my arm with hers so as not to make the coffees drop. “In fact, we are going to walk past them right now.” We start walking, and when we reach their proximity, Theodore turns towards us as if I’d called out to him. I say nothing and can’t stop a nod in acknowledgment, but repress the urge to greet him like a normal, unfazed person–which I would have done if he hadn’t been talking to this girl. Hey , he mouths, eyes lingering on me for that extra second. As for the girl … she is pretty. I’ve never seen her before, and I don’t know where she could’ve met him but–Nuh uh. Stop. Rewind. Not a problem. Comparison kills joy. Insecurity? I don’t know her. I’m amazing. Phoebe downright yells, “Hello Theodore!” flashing him a toothy smile, and I pull her a little more vigorously than intended. Coffee has definitely been spilled now.
“ Was that necessary? Whose side are you on? I mutter as soon as we’re out of his hearing range, snatching my coffee from the tray.
“Was it, Dafne?” she asks innocently, peering behind us. “And we’re both on your side, given his eyes are totally glued to your back, babes.”
I narrow my eyes at her, willing my body not to turn around to see for myself.
“I know what you’re doing, Nilsen, and it’s not going to work.” I gulp half my coffee down, and Phoebe snorts before taking a sip from her own cup.
“But what if this whole nemesis thing is more than just that, Daf? What if all the tension and fighting and kissing between you two has all been leading up to a glorious riva–”
I stop abruptly in the street, raising a finger in warning. “If you say the words rivals to lovers I’m going to put in a request for a new roommate,” I threaten, to which she gasps.
“You wouldn’t,” genuine worry in her eyes.
After a moment of suspense, I confirm that I wouldn’t. “But enough of this, yeah?” I plead.
“We kissed. I’m not delusional–it was great. Bloody magical. Did I think things could be different after find-ing out that he has actual emotions , and is funny, and is capable of warmth and–” I sigh.
“I’ve made my feelings very clear, and he’s had the op-portunity to talk to me today and he didn’t, so he’s obviously determined to ignore whatever is going on between us. He’s confused about what he wants, and I can’t have that. Besides, he’s probably seeing that girl now, and I’ll be dead before I pine over another man. Okay?” I’m out of breath, out of energy, out of sorts.
Phoebe nods sadly and links her arm with mine, giving me a gentle squeeze. As we resume our walk back to APDAS, I can’t help but doubt my own words.