Chapter 8
At rehearsal, Ezra is noticeably absent.
Arden, Raf, and Jessica are deep in conversation, but Mallory can barely concentrate as she walks with them from the greenroom to the Crypt.
“Have any of you seen Ezra?” Mallory blurts, face flushing at the realization that she blatantly interrupted Jessica, who turns in surprise.
“Hendrix said something about a headache,” Raf replies, an arm slung around Arden’s shoulders as they fall into step down the corridor.
Mallory picks at a flake of black nail polish. It feels like someone is taking a scalpel to my brain, Ezra said the other day about his chronic migraines. No matter what I’m doing, I have to stop everything and wait it out in the dark.
“Why are you looking for Ezra?” Jessica asks playfully, and Mallory throws her a look she hopes is more neutral than she feels.
“We’re supposed to run lines,” she lies.
“You guys have been running lines a lot, it seems,” Raf says as they wade past the curtains into the theater. He arches an eyebrow. “Anything you wanna tell us?”
“Anything like…” Jessica makes an obscene gesture with her hands, and Mallory offers them both a practiced eye roll.
“We’re just friends.”
Technically it’s not a lie, but it feels like one. Mallory stares at the floor so she doesn’t have to see the skeptical glances her friends trade in response.
“Places for act two, scene five,” Hendrix calls from the stage. “Nurse and Juliet.”
Mallory’s stomach drops. She’s barely seen Arden all week, and now they have to act together.
She should have carved out more time, asked Arden to get coffee after their psychology class, so Mallory could have listened to her talk about whatever’s obviously blossoming between her and Raf.
But Mallory’s recent dishonesty has noticeably widened the space between them.
Perhaps saying someone else’s words will be easier than coming up with her own.
“Before we run this scene, let’s talk about the dynamic between these women,” Hendrix says as Mallory and Arden approach. “While they have a close relationship, there is a crucial status discrepancy at play. How would it feel to care for someone knowing, deep down, you may be expendable to them?”
Mallory’s skin prickles at his words. She doesn’t dare look at Arden.
“Let’s go from the top.” Hendrix gestures with his script. “Juliet, you’ve been waiting for a message from Romeo for days. You’re impatient. I want to feel that.”
Mallory nods, glancing at her lines. “Now, good sweet nurse—O Lord, why lookest thou sad?” she says. “Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily. If good, thou shamest the music of sweet news by playing it to me with so sour a face.”
“I am a-weary,” Arden responds, voice a note deeper as she acts. “Give me leave awhile.” She sits on the edge of a rehearsal cube, a hand to her spine. “Fie, how my bones ache! What a jaunt have I!”
“I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news!” Mallory sinks to the stage in front of Arden’s knees. She presses a pleading hand to her chest. “Nay, come, I pray thee, speak. Good, good nurse, speak.”
But she barely hears Arden’s reply as she registers what’s missing beneath her palm.
“My locket!” Mallory cries, and Arden scrunches her nose as if to say, That’s not in the script.
“Pardon?” Hendrix calls, eyebrows raised.
“I—” Mallory stands, whirling. “I’m sorry. Can I take ten?”
The sigh Hendrix releases is so forceful, it seems to land right at her feet. “We have a scheduled break at the top of the hour, Ms. Webb.”
“Please.” Embarrassment warms her face. “I lost something. I need to check if—”
“Fine.” Hendrix waves his script. “Take ten!”
“Thank you, ten,” the cast echoes, and Mallory spins.
“Mal!” Arden races after her.
Mallory sprints down the corridor, boots clunking on stone.
She skids around the corner, flying into the greenroom, where she makes a beeline for her bag.
Dropping to her knees, she rummages through it, pulling out her cell phone, keys, and Clinique Black Honey lip gloss.
She never takes off her mother’s locket except to sleep or shower, and she always puts it back on.
“What the hell—?” Mallory sits back on her heels, pushing both hands through her hair.
“Mal,” Arden says again, rushing to her side.
“I lost it,” she blurts. “My mom’s locket—it’s gone.”
“No, no, I’m sure it’s not gone. Let’s retrace your steps.”
“It’s no use.”
“Mal, it’s okay, we’ll just—”
“It’s not okay, Arden.” The words come out bitter, all corners and edges. “You don’t understand.”
A flash of hurt flickers across Arden’s face, and Mallory instantly wishes she could take her words back.
“I’m sorry,” she scrambles to say. “That was supremely bitchy of me.”
But the lines of Arden’s face only harden. Like she’s searching for something that will hurt just as much in return.
“Maybe,” she clips, “your locket fell off when you were hooking up with Ezra.”
Mallory exhales. “What’s with everyone tonight? We’re not hooking u—”
“I’m not oblivious, and neither is anyone in this cast. The two of you have been eye-fucking each other nonstop since auditions.”
Mallory chokes on a surprised laugh, and Arden’s gaze darkens as she leans closer.
“It’s not funny—do you have any idea what people are saying about you?” she hisses.
The laughter flutters away. “What?”
“I’m only telling you this because I’m your friend, okay?
” Arden sits beside her on the floor. “They’re saying you got this part because you’re sleeping with the assistant director.
And that’s only second to the rumor you got cast as Juliet because you’re a legacy student.
That you bought your way in. Not just into this production, but to Shore in general.
” Arden’s blue eyes burn into hers. “I’ve had your back for days, Mal, while you’ve been off doing god-knows-what, coming home smelling like a damn candle store.
” She huffs an exhale. “So maybe you can summon some energy to be nicer to the one person who actually knows the real you.”
“I-I’m sorry,” Mallory says again. Fresh guilt swells at Arden’s words, at the way she can say the real you with such conviction when Ezra said the same thing last night.
How he already knows so much more about her than her best friend ever could.
“Arden. Do people really think that? Raf, Jess? The whole cast?”
“Some of them seem to.” She clamps a hand on Mallory’s knee. “But I don’t, okay? I don’t.”
Mallory closes her eyes, fingers pressed to her lids.
“Mal.” Arden squeezes her knee. “You know I would never judge you, right? If you’re with Ezra, you can tell me. You don’t have to sneak around.”
Mallory sighs, opening her eyes. “It’s not like that.”
“Then what’s it like?” Arden leans closer. “ ‘Never leave each other behind,’ right?”
Their pact. The first time Arden said it, the words were literal.
Whispered during a game of Assassin, one of their boarding school’s century-long traditions.
Each student was assigned another to “kill,” and once you completed your task with a plastic water gun, you absorbed your victim’s target.
It was Arden’s idea to share their marks, to stake out the dining hall in the morning and weave through the snow-covered soccer field in the afternoon.
Never leave each other behind, she whispered as they shook hands, palms sticky with the heat of new friendship.
But the meaning changed shape over time. What started as a pledge of protection turned into a vow to blend their lives, to share a singular path that might not be wide enough to hold both their feet.
And as Mallory stares at Arden’s pleading face, she can’t help but wonder what happens when people outgrow the spaces they used to fit.
“It’s hard to explain,” she finally answers, and disappointment takes over Arden’s expression. She removes her hand, fidgeting with the cross at her neck.
“I don’t know what you’re scared to say. But if you think I wouldn’t love you anyway, I guess you don’t know me at all,” she sniffs, standing.
“Arden.” Mallory stands, too, pulling her sleeves over her hands. “Look. There are things that happened to me before we met. Things that are hard to talk about.”
Arden studies her carefully. “Things you can tell Ezra but not me?”
Mallory swallows, unsure how to explain that she can’t unravel the most nightmarish corners of her history to someone like Arden Thatcher, someone whose world is full of light and faith. That as close as they are, she’s not sure Arden has the capacity to understand these particular hurts.
That sometimes, it’s easier to whisper your ugliest truths to someone who is broken in matching places.
When Mallory doesn’t answer, Arden nods.
“I get it,” she says. “You don’t have to say anything more.”
“Wait, Arden—”
The only response is the click of the door as Arden leaves the greenroom. And the quiet that follows seems to whisper the shape of the rumors. Entitled. Undeserving. Unworthy.
Slut.
Mallory flinches. That last word wasn’t a manifestation of her anxiety; it was spoken right in her ear. A low growl spurred from something unseen, stirring her hair with icy breath.
Just like the other day in class.
Mallory scans the room, heart pounding. But the dimly lit space is empty; it’s just her, the walls, and the remnants of a friendship that’s crumbling fast.
She darts toward the door, avoiding her own gaze in the mirror, the remorse that’s surely baked in her dark brown eyes.
Because she knows that lies are never siloed, never exist independently of one another.
They’re always linked, like tiny stars woven together to form the angriest, most destructive constellations.
And Mallory Webb is building an entire night sky.
The knot of worry hasn’t loosened by the time Mallory slinks back to the Crypt. She retrieves her script, eyeing cast members in the wings. Did they laugh at her when she was out of the room? Question whether she belonged here, if she was good enough to be on this stage?
Even if she was sleeping with Ezra, no one would blink twice at him.
It’s so fucking easy to whisper about women, to demand they be everything at all times. Be innocent but don’t be a prude; be sexy but don’t be a slut; be pretty but don’t be a bitch. The world will pull a woman’s limbs in every direction, then act surprised when she splits and bleeds.
What if she did want to fuck Ezra? Would that make her any less of a good actress?
And when did everyone get together and decide that sex is something women have to give rather than want for themselves? Deep down, she knows it’s not true. Knows there’s something powerful about a woman who doesn’t see desire as a threat to be tamed.
But until everyone else catches up, she’ll just be the girl who spread her legs to get the lead.
She rips through her script, fuming.
“Ms. Webb,” Hendrix calls. “I’d like a word.”
Mallory smooths her skirt before crossing downstage to where he’s standing, his directorial binder spread out on the black-painted wood. She sits on the edge facing him, silently bracing herself for whatever’s coming next.
“I know we have time, but I’m growing worried about your performance. And I’ve got to tell you, I really don’t like it when an actor makes me worry.”
Her cheeks flush. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been distracted—”
Hendrix holds up a palm. “No need for apologies, Ms. Webb. In theater, we like to be prepared, don’t we?
We have backup bulbs in case of technical difficulties, costume repair on standby in the event of a ripped seam.
It’s only natural to bring in an understudy if an actor is struggling.
Fortunately for us, yours is back on campus and ready to join the fray. ”
Mallory recalls what Ezra said at the read-through.
Her name’s Saskia. She’s starting the semester late.
But the word understudy feels like an insult.
Mallory has never missed a performance, and she’s not about to start now.
She needs theater the same way she needs her anxiety medication, to maintain the balance, create her own sense of safety. We don’t have to be ourselves today.
“Saskia should be here any moment,” Hendrix says, oblivious to Mallory’s inner turmoil. “In the interim, you should share your blocking notes, and please make sure that any future costuming appointments are attended together instead of— Ah, perfect timing! Here she is now!”
Mallory turns as the door flies open with a hollow clang.
And the entire room seems to tip on its side.
Because she’s staring at the white-haired girl from the maze.
The one who called her Lily.