CHAPTER fifty-four #12
Not because Zach ever makes me feel that way — God, he never does — but because I hate that I haven't been able to give him anything this week. No quality time. No real conversations. Sometimes not even a kiss that lasted more than ten rushed seconds backstage before I had to sprint to the wings.
He's been the one doing all the work. Finding me between blocking notes and costume changes. Showing up at odd hours just to check on me. Dropping off snacks and full meals when he knew I wouldn't have time to eat.
He even stops by during his tiny slivers of free time — right before class, right after practice — just to see me. Even if it's only for a minute. Even if all we could manage was a quick hug in a hallway crowded with tech students carrying ladders.
He makes time.
He always makes time.
And it only makes me fall in love with him even more.
Having him in my corner during this nightmare of a week has been my salvation.
Even though I haven't slept more than four hours a night since last Sunday and I'm one minor catastrophe away from screaming and walking off the set forever, he reminds me why I'm here.
That despite the chaos, despite the exhaustion, despite my left eye twitching like it's sending desperate Morse code signals—this is still my dream. My passion. My everything.
Hell week in theater is exactly that: hell.
But it's my hell, the one I chose, the one I'd choose again.
Because when that curtain finally rises, there's a kind of magic you can't find anywhere else—messy, frantic, and fueled by pure adrenaline.
The kind that makes you feel more alive than you've ever felt before.
A magic that only makes sense to people who've lived through this kind of chaos.
The kind that sneaks up on you in the split second before the lights go up, when your heart is pounding against your ribs and the whole cast is holding their breath like a single organism.
The kind you feel in your bones when the first cue lands perfectly, when the audience leans forward, when the energy in the room shifts and suddenly—miraculously—every mistake, every meltdown, every sleepless night becomes worth it.
It's the kind of magic that happens when a dozen people who've been half-delirious all week somehow snap into perfect rhythm the moment it matters.
Where the stage stops being wood and paint and props, and becomes a world you created.
Where your blood is buzzing with nerves and joy and terror all at once, and you've never felt more alive, more certain, more you.
That magic.
The one hell week tries to beat out of you... and the one that always, always brings you back.
And honestly? How could I not love him more when he's the one who remembers this for me. When he sees me drowning in the chaos and somehow knows exactly which words to pull me back with. When he gets this part of me—the part I don't even know how to explain—down to its bones.
I swear, sometimes it feels like he knows my heart better than I do.
Ugh. Annoying. I hate how perfect he is—like, hello? Could he stop giving every girl within a five-mile radius another reason to daydream about him?
Well, too bad for them. He's mine. All mine. I love him so much it's disgusting. I might actually need therapy.
I'm mid-spiral, fully lost in my Zach Appreciation Fantasy Bubble?, when Terrence's voice, our acting director, slices through it like a dull butter knife to the brain.
He claps his hands once—loud, sharp, dramatic.
"Alright!" he calls out from the center of the stage. "Let's run the throne room sequence again. From the top. And somebody please remind Marcus he is not, in fact, a literal rodent."
The bubble pops.
Reality returns.
And I'm yanked right back into Hell Week.
Marcus—currently wearing fake whiskers and a crown made of tinfoil and crushed rhinestones—raises both hands. "Method acting, Terrence!"
Terrence massages his temple. "Marcus, your method acting is giving me a migraine."
Professor Callahan chuckles from the back row. "Let the kid commit, Terrence. At this point, commitment is all we have left."
Lucy is flipping rapidly through her binder, muttering rewrites to Katie, who is scribbling them down like a court stenographer. Cami and Suzy are adjusting props. Kyle is testing the spotlight again because the bulb keeps flickering like it wants to unionize.
And me?
I'm sitting on the sidelines with Adam, both of us half-dead on a stack of costume boxes, watching the chaos unfold.
Terrence claps once. "Places! Let's go!"
Marcus stomps dramatically to his throne—a chair we spray-painted gold few days ago. He spreads his cape and clears his throat.
The scene begins.
Marcus (as the Mouse King) leans over a table covered in maps and parchment.
"These new kingdom expansion plans are GENIUS," he declares in a booming voice. "Soon, all will bow to the mighty Mouse King!"
A rustling sound fills the air.
Then—a blur of wings swoops in from stage right.
Kyle, wearing bat wings made out of black construction paper, crash-lands directly onto the table, scattering the parchment everywhere.
Lucy's voice explodes from the house: "KYLE! The bat doesn't body slam the table!"
Kyle pops his head up. "Sorry! I tripped over my own foot!"
Cami sighs. "Dude... you're literally playing a creature that flies."
Kyle shrugs helplessly. "Some bats have balance issues."
Terrence pinches the bridge of his nose. "Bat entrance—again. From the landing."
Kyle resets, flapping his wings in slow motion like he's warming up for takeoff.
Terrence points. "AAAND... go!"
Kyle hops, flutters, and this time lands gently on the edge of the table.
Marcus gasps, outraged. "Bat! Why do you enter my royal chamber uninvited?!"
Kyle straightens. "I—I bring news!" Then he squints. "...Actually I forgot what it was."
Marcus slams his fists on the table. "INCOMPETENT CREATURE! TELL ME OR I SHALL TURN YOU INTO—" he looks at Lucy for a cue.
Lucy mouths a wooden chair.
Marcus snaps back into character. "—A WOODEN CHAIR! A very UNCOMFORTABLE one!"
Kyle holds his stomach dramatically. "I would remember... if I could have a snack. I feel faint."
Suzy loses it behind the prop tree.
Terrence barks, "NO improvised hunger monologues! Stick to the script!"
Kyle pouts. "But he's supposed to be dramatic!"
Terrence and Lucy glare at him. Kyle rolls his eyes and starts again. "Okay, okay. The news. Right. I saw the Nutcracker. He's back."
Marcus gasps loudly—too loudly.
"THE NUTCRACKER?" he bellows.
Terrence mutters, "Marcus, indoor voice."
"And," Kyle continues, "he's traveling with a strange girl."
A spotlight hits the table.
Wrong spotlight.
"SUZY!" Terrence yells.
Suzy yells back, "I SWEAR I HIT THE CORRECT BUTTON!"
Lucy groans into her binder.
Katie whispers, "We are never sleeping tonight, are we?"
Marcus clears his throat grandly, recovering. "This girl—what of her?"
Kyle opens his mouth.
Pauses.
Blinks.
"...Wait... what is her deal again?"
Terrence throws both hands up. "CUT!"
Professor Callahan laughs so hard he nearly drops his coffee.
Terrence turns around slowly, dramatically, like a Disney villain who has finally snapped.
"Kyle," he says in a dangerously calm voice, "the line... the ONLY line... is: 'They seek the Sugarplum Princess.'"
Kyle nods, earnest. "Right. Right. Sugarplum Princess. Got it. Sorry. My bad."
Adam leans toward me, whispering in my ear. "We're dying here, aren't we?"
I snort, covering my mouth. "We've been dead since Monday."
Terrence claps his hands again. "Alright! Reset! One more time! And someone—please—bring Kyle a cue card before I journey into the void."
Kyle looks offended. "HEY—"
Professor Callahan just sips his coffee. "This is going better than yesterday."
Adam groans. "That's the terrifying part."
Lucy stands, binder raised like she's Moses holding the Ten Commandments. "Okay, everyone, from the bat's entrance! AGAIN!"
Before anyone can drag themselves into position, a familiar voice booms from the mainstage entrance:
"Hi, everyone! I come bearing food!"
All heads whip toward the door.
And there she is—Sam—bright, bubbly, borderline glowing, striding in like a tiny, cheerful hurricane. Behind her are three of her friends, each carrying massive takeout bags like they're delivering supplies to a war zone.
"Sam!"
She beams at me. "Hey, Care! Zachy asked me to come check on you aaaand..." She lifts the bags with a flourish. "He also wants to make sure you don't skip dinner, so he asked me to buy everyone dinner."
My heart swells. Like physically expands. Like it's trying to press charges for excessive tenderness.
Behind me, the entire cast erupts in grateful groans and cheers.
"THANK GOD."
"I haven't eaten since... I don't know, Wednesday?"
"Oh my god, bless him."
"Food. Actual food. I could cry."
"Hey, Sam."
Adam steps over, flashing his signature charming smile. "Thanks for the food. Seriously. You saved us."
Sam gives him an equally warm smile. "Of course. Glad it helped."
I catch the exchange — the easy tone, the comfortable familiarity — and it makes me smile too.
They've become a bit of friends since that night Adam asked her to dance at the prom Zach arranged for me last month. It was sweet, unexpected, and honestly the only thing that got Sam to smile that entire night. Since then, they've formed this low-key friendship.
Adam heads back to his group, and Sam waves everyone over to the long table near the backstage wall as her friends start unloading bag after bag from Bennigan's Deli, the famous off-campus spot everyone loves but can't afford more than twice a semester.
They lay out mountains of food—stacked sandwiches, wraps, soups, giant pasta trays, salads big enough to feed a village, and an absurd amount of pickle spears. There are also drinks: lemonades, iced teas, sodas, even bottled cold brews.
"Alright, theater people!" Sam calls. "Eat! There's plenty for everyone."