Chapter 37
That evening, we take a break from rehearsing in the dance studio to watch the news segment on one of the televisions in the
lobby, usually used for sharing Sunset Hills’ announcements.
When I show up on the screen, everyone cheers, which is oddly overwhelming. All I’m doing is what I should’ve done from the
start—taking ownership of this show.
Across the lobby, a phone rings.
“What is that?” I ask.
“Do you really not know what a phone is?” Sadie asks. “Young people.” She rolls her eyes.
“I didn’t know there was a phone in the lobby.”
“It’s the box office,” Grace says. “Do you think someone wants tickets?”
“Should we answer it?” Veronica asks.
“Of course we should.” Belinda bustles over to the box office and picks up the landline, then proceeds to give the person
on the other end a full rundown of where the theatre is located.
Dylan glances up from behind her laptop. “We just sold fifty-eight tickets.”
“And the segment isn’t even over.” Connie looks at me. “Rosie, you are a genius.”
At that, I smile.
And I don’t stop smiling all the way through rehearsal.
The thing that threatened to close the show completely, actually brought everyone closer together.
As I sit back and watch my cast walk through the second act, a thought hits me. Maybe I don’t need Broadway or a big movie
career or a national tour to be happy.
Maybe I just need to do what I love with people I love.
If this summer has shown me anything, it’s that dreams shift and change. They grow and evolve. The life I’d always imagined
for myself wasn’t the one I was living. And now, because of this place and these people, I wonder, for the first time in,
oh, forever, if my dream could look different.
There’s just one problem. I still love acting. I still love being the one on the stage.
Am I ready to give that up in favor of a different kind of life?
The thought looms like a creeping storm in the west.
Once we finish rehearsal, I give the cast my notes, thank them for being amazing, and send them on their way. I watch everyone
go, noting the way they interact with each other, and soon I’m left in the seats with only Dylan.
She looks at me, then quickly looks away.
“What?”
She shakes her head.
“Dylan?”
“It’s just...” She picks at a hangnail, and I don’t prod her to talk because I know teenagers hate that. Instead, I go
still, giving her space to figure out how and what she needs to say because there’s obviously something on her mind. “It was,
I don’t know, easier before you got here or whatever.”
“Oh.” My shoulders drop. “Like, better, or...?”
“No, not like that. I mean...” She lifts her chin, then sighs. “It was easier to ignore everyone.”
I nod.
“People left me alone.”
“I mean, you kind of gave off a vibe.”
She glares at me as only Dylan can.
“I haven’t had a lot of luck, you know”—she looks down—“Caring about other people.”
I watch her, but she won’t meet my eyes. I want to tell her I haven’t had a lot of luck with that either but decide it’s best
if I just listen.
“I shouldn’t have done this show because now”—she looks up at me, struggling—“Now you’re going to leave, and it’s...” Her
lower lip quivers, and she pushes the heels of her hands into her eyes. “So stupid . I hate crying.”
“I don’t really want to leave either,” I tell her. “I’ve learned a lot here. And I’ve grown to really like—”
She looks at me. “Booker?”
I laugh. “A lot of people.” I pause. “Including you , you nerd.”
“Whatever, boomer.”
I laugh. “Boomer? I’m not even thirty!”
“Whatever. You’re old.”
I shake my head and laugh.
“For what it’s worth,” she continues, “I think a lot of people have grown to like you too.”
We sit in silence for a few long seconds, and then I announce, “You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about my life choices.”
I don’t have to turn to know I have her attention.
“I’ve been chasing this big dream—my dream—for a long time. Forever, really.”
She looks at me. “To work with old people?”
I chuckle. “No. That is not the big dream. Shocker, right?” I take a breath and lean back in my chair. “To perform. To be
in front of a camera or an audience.”
She shrugs. “So go do that.” She says it like it’s easy.
“There’s no stability in it. Only rejection. So. Much. Rejection.”
Is it weird that being honest with a teenager comes easily to me when being honest with almost everyone else in my life doesn’t?
“Huh,” she says. “I think that would suck.”
I nod. “It does suck. It sucks the life right out of you.” I pause and feel like I’m learning this as I’m saying it. Because
while I know something needs to change, I haven’t worked out the what or the how. “I guess I’m just trying to figure out how
to keep doing what I love without sacrificing my happiness.” I go still. “I really want to be happy again.”
She leans back in her chair, matching my posture. “Happiness is overrated,” she deadpans.
I turn to her. “Tell me your life isn’t happier since you’ve started on this show.”
She shrugs. “Whatever.”
I nod. “Yeah. Uh-huh. I’m right.” I make an explosion with my hands. “Boom. Drop the mic.”
She stares, trying not to laugh. “Don’t ever do that again.”
I shimmy my shoulders. “I just might. I’m cool. I’m with it.”
She rolls her eyes, shaking her head.
I sigh. “I don’t know. I guess I need to figure out what to do.”
A long pause, and then she says, “I don’t think you should quit on your dream. You’re good.”
“Thanks,” I say dryly. “I don’t want to quit on it. I think maybe... I just want to reimagine it. Maybe the dream just got away from me. Maybe I idealized
it a little? Convinced myself there was only one path when really there might be a hundred.”
And then, I’m lost in thought again. Thinking about how different I am now than I was when I first arrived at Sunset Hills.
“I’ve changed, I think.”
Even the simple act of speaking hard things out loud changed me. Maybe it took the fear out of using real emotions in my work
and in my life? I don’t know... but I want to find out. And I want to do that without the desperation I’ve been lugging around on my shoulders all this time.
“I didn’t know you before, so I can’t say,” she says. “But I guess you’re pretty cool, for an old person.”
I feel the slow smile creep across my face. “You’re pretty cool too, I guess, for a bratty teenager.”
She grins. “I have to go. My grandma is forcing me to eat full meals instead of grabbing Pop-Tarts on my way to bed.”
“That monster.” I stand, stretching.
She stands. And she lingers.
“Yes?” I quip, keeping the banter going. “May I help—”
She stops me midsentence and pulls me into a fierce hug. It’s tight, and I can feel her heart beating, fast.
I’m suddenly aware of exactly who Dylan is. And why. It doesn’t take a heart-to-heart for me to fill in the blanks about her
life. A teenager only ends up living in a retirement community as a last resort. Which means that Dylan and I have something
in common.
I wrap my arms around her and hug her back.
I want to tell her I understand, even without knowing all the details. That I only came here because I didn’t have another
choice.
But I say none of those things. This isn’t about me.
“You’re so special, Dylan,” I say quietly. “You’re smart and creative and strong.” I pull back and look at her, but she avoids
my eyes. “Don’t forget that, okay?”
She dries her cheeks with the sleeve of her sweatshirt and nods.
“Promise?”
Now she looks at me. “Shut up.”
“Close enough.”
As she goes, I draw in a breath, feeling like maybe for the first time in my life I’ve made peace with the fact that this
big dream isn’t going to happen for me, and also for the first time in my life—I’m okay if it doesn’t.