Chapter 11 Stevie #2
“No, we’re done for the day,” Mr. Hamlin replies. “Head to the nurse to get checked out, and then make sure you rest. If you need to call off rehearsal tomorrow, we’ll survive.”
My face sours.
Lex places his hand at the small of my back and leads me down the aisle, spearing Jameson with a hostile look over his shoulder. “I’ll drive you home after you stop by the nurse.”
I blink up at him, dazed and starry-eyed, hesitant to pull away. Could be a minor concussion. “No, don’t worry. My dad is off work today, so he’s going to pick me up when I text him.”
Friends and fellow performers send me concerned smiles and curious side-eyes as I move down the walkway, massaging my achy tailbone.
“Where’s your car?” Lex asks.
I grab my backpack off one of the seats and glance at him as we continue toward the main doors. “Oh…it’s gone.” I swallow, looking away. “It was deemed totaled.”
He frowns. “Like…totaled from when I hit you?”
I nod.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. It’s not a big deal.”
“It is a big deal.” He reaches for my hand to halt my escape. “Stevie.”
Pausing just outside the doors, I fold in my lips and peer up at him as his hand slowly falls away from mine. Then I shrug like it’s only a minor inconvenience. “The insurance payout was next to nothing. We can’t afford to get a new one right now.”
“Shit.” His jaw tightens, his eyes losing their light. “I’m sorry.”
“It is what it is. We’ll figure something out.” I try to lessen the doom and gloom with a soft chuckle. “Come what may, right?”
The joke falls flat. He looks broken.
“I feel like a dick. It was my fault.”
“It was just an accident.”
Stabbing a hand through his hair, Lex darts his eyes around the hallway before returning his attention to me. “Listen, my birthday was last week. I got some money from my grandparents. Can I make it up to you?”
My breath hitches. “I missed your birthday?”
“It was just another day. I didn’t do anything.”
“What day was it?”
He shrugs. “Thursday or something.”
Thursday.
I think back to last Thursday and remember that he spent the afternoon with me.
We practiced some lines out by the walnut tree, bundled up in fuzzy coats and knitted caps, and then he fell asleep on my checkered blanket while I sang my part of the harmonized chorus of “Come What May.” He awoke an hour later and apologized, telling me he had to go before the sun set.
I had no idea it was his birthday. If I’d known, I would have insisted he stay for dinner, or Joplin and I could have made him a cake…or something. He turned eighteen, and that feels like a big deal—a bigger deal than voluntary theater homework and a catnap underneath our ancient tree.
I wonder why he didn’t tell me.
“Happy birthday,” I murmur softly.
“Yeah. Thanks.” He clears his throat, looking fidgety. “So what do you say? Can I make it up to you?”
Flush breaks out across my collarbones. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. Dinner or something.”
“Dinner?” My eyes widen as the flush travels up my neck and stains my ears. “A date?”
“No. Just dinner.”
“Um…you don’t have to do that. Really, it’s fine.” Cotton balls confiscate my mouth. “I’m going to get a part-time job after the holidays so I can earn some money for a car. My sister works at this diner. They’ve been hiring—”
“Are you going to Natalie’s after-party?”
I frown through the swift subject change. “Oh…I was thinking about it, actually.”
Lex studies me for a beat as if he wants to say something, as if he wants to say more than he says. “Cool.”
“Are you going?”
“No. I hate parties.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really.” He shuffles through his pocket and removes a pack of cigarettes. Shaking the box, he watches as three cigarettes wiggle around inside. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I—” My words itch to topple off my tongue, but I catch them before they fall.
I want to ask him about that kiss. That barely kiss.
I want to ask why he doesn’t like parties, why he seems so agitated today, why he comes over to my house to practice lines when we practice so much here at school.
Why he’s cold sometimes, why he held my hand on the roof that night and didn’t feel cold at all.
Why he shows himself to me and then hides away again before I can truly see all of him.
But my courage dissolves, and I bite down on my lip instead. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Lex.”
He doesn’t look at me as he turns away.
I watch him light the cigarette before he even reaches the door.
***
Two days later, I’m walking home from school, texting Misty about Thanksgiving break plans.
I’m feeling good as the prickly wind beats across my face, fused with drizzle.
The temperature hovers around forty-five degrees, not cold enough to turn into snow just yet, but it’s a promise of the winter wonderlands to come.
I love cold weather: hoodies, beanies, snuggly socks, and fireplace warmth. Give me snowflakes over summer sweat any day.
I glance down at my cell phone as I swerve toward my property over the hill.
Misty: Want to go to the city with me over Thanksgiving weekend?
Me: Thanks, but I’m headed to Milwaukee to visit my aunt. Thanksgiving is a big family ordeal around here.
Misty: Boo.
Me: Sorry. But I’m considering going to Natalie’s party after opening night. Want to tag along?
Misty: Gasp. You’re a party animal now?
Me: I feel like I should be there, being one of the leads and all.
Misty: Well, I’m down. Is Lex going with you?
Me: He wasn’t interested. Why?
Misty: Natalie has, like, 20 empty rooms in her house.
Me: …
Misty: You do the math.
Me: The math says you’re delusional.
Misty: Come on, you don’t want to go off to college a virgin, do you? He clearly likes you. Make him go.
My face burns despite the November air nipping at my cheeks.
I swallow down a sticky lump.
Me: We’re just friends, and even that might be an elaboration.
Misty: Lies upon lies. I’ve seen your practices. You’ve bewitched the Hollywood movie star with your awkward grace and choir-girl charm.
Me: It’s called acting. That’s what actors do. He doesn’t like me like that.
Misty: Good thing you read your lines better than you read people.
Flustered, I close out her messages and shove the phone into the pocket of my blue jeans.
Misty is wrong.
Lex and I have had some bonding moments, sure, but that’s inevitable when you’re working in close proximity with somebody for months.
Especially in an intimate environment like ours, performing a live-action love story.
If I ever score a real acting gig one day, it’ll be no different with my future costars.
Besides, Lex truly doesn’t seem interested in me like that.
He doesn’t seem interested in…well, anybody.
Girls flirt and bat their eyes, eager for attention, flaunting their boobs and asses for him when he saunters down the hallway.
He’s a beacon of disinterest and detachment, and he pays them no mind.
On the contrary, he almost seems repulsed by their hair flips and sultry smiles.
He could be gay.
But then, he doesn’t show interest in any of the guys either.
Lost to my thoughts, I almost don’t notice my parents outside in the yard, standing around like they’re waiting for me.
“Hey,” I greet, cutting through the grass tipped with rainfall, then shuffling up the gravel drive.
“Stevie, honey,” Mom says, ushering me forward. “Come look.”
That’s when I notice it.
There’s a car in our driveway. A silver sedan.
Mom and Dad start pacing around the unfamiliar vehicle, inspecting it like it’s a glimmering pot of gold.
I frown, confusion racing through me as I move in beside my parents. “Do we have guests?”
“Nope,” Dad says.
“Then whose car is that?”
My father looks like he might cry as he presses a hand to my shoulder and squeezes. “It’s yours.”
“What?” My heart kicks up speed. That doesn’t make any sense. The modest insurance payout wasn’t nearly enough to cover a new car, especially this one. It doesn’t even look that old. “But I thought—”
My mother claps her hands together, moisture twinkling in her eyes. “Look inside.”
Swallowing, I falter beside the vehicle, trailing my eyes over the rain-glazed siding and smudge-free tires. It takes a moment for me to process what’s happening before I finally reach for the door handle and tug it open.
It smells clean. New.
And resting on the driver’s seat is a folded-up paper note. My chest contracts with a sharp breath.
I reach for it and skim over the handwriting.
Sorry about your car. The light was definitely red.
–Lex
My lungs tighten, shock jolting through my veins. Tears puddle in my eyes.
I can hardly breathe.
My fingers shake as I read the simple note over and over, pressing it to my chest as if I’m in a dream. A trance.
I glance down at the cupholder.
There’s something else, something that cracks my heart into a million pieces and tapes it back together at the same time.
Sitting inside the cupholder is a giant cup of iced coffee.