Chapter 14
ISAK
I head to drama class Monday afternoon with my head down, earbuds in, staring at the splotchy gray and pink gum remnants scattered all over the sidewalk. Lachlan and I got together for the first time since winter break on Friday, and I wonder how long it will be before he texts me again.
How many times has it been now? I grin to myself. His helpless moans and groans, the way he comes undone. I love it.
Zanita nabs me when I pass her locker. “Isak!” She holds out her black-lace-clad arms to give me a hug.
I take out an earbud and squeeze her around the shoulders.
Her long, pointy black nails are like two-inch talons, and she’s wearing black lipstick and severe black eye makeup that contrasts with her powdered-pale face.
“Hey there, queen,” I say with one final hug, then step back to survey her long black dress and chunky black boots. “Missed you in English this morning. You’re looking amazing.”
Zanita gives me a self-satisfied smile and inspects her nails. “Dentist appointment. And I know.”
“Why are polka dots called polka dots?” I ask. “Do they have anything to do with the polka?”
“Um, random.” She arches a perfectly plucked brow. “And I have no idea.”
I point to the sidewalk. “I was just thinking that the gum looks like polka dots and wondering where the name came from.”
“Makes sense.” She kisses my cheek. “I love your randomness, anyway.” Studying my outfit, she clucks approvingly. “And you’re looking great today. Very classic Isak style.”
I swing back and forth, my slate gray utility kilt, ripped sweatshirt that hangs off my shoulder, and boots feeling like me. “Thanks.”
She closes her locker, and we continue toward drama class, moving past hordes of students. A group of football players are coming in the other direction, and among them is Lachlan.
Don’t stare at him.
Dammit. He’s really hard not to stare at. He’s smiling wide as he chats with the other jocks.
My body always reacts when he’s around. My stomach hardens when I see him flirt, and I think my jaw might crack from clenching my teeth.
I should want nothing to do with him, but he’s too charming to ignore. And too sad for me not to feel sympathy for. I heard his family fighting again last night. It was horrible.
He sees me, and his smile fades into something that looks more natural. He gives me an up nod, which I return. Then he returns to talking to his teammates, big grin back in place.
How does it feel to fake it all day, every day? My chest aches for him. Before I can stop myself, I pull out my phone and text him.
Me
U ok?
I get a few looks from his friends—or maybe the looks are directed at both Zanita and me; we always draw attention when we’re together. While some other guys are starting to wear skirts—and utility kilts and whatever else—I’m still enough of a novelty that I get more eyes on me than I intend.
She elbows me, taking me out of my reverie. Thankfully, she doesn’t comment on my obvious fixation on Lachlan, instead asking, “Are you going to go?”
I blink. “Go where?”
She points to a large hand-painted sign on butcher paper advertising prom.
“I wasn’t planning on it. Are you?”
“If Malik wants to, yeah. I haven’t talked with him yet.” The two of them have been together since senior retreat. It’s adorable.
A voice comes from behind us. “If Malik wants to what?”
We both spin to see Malik, wearing a black Joy Division shirt, dark blue jeans with the cuffs rolled up, and clay-colored boots. For a hipster guy, he’s got some biceps, and I admire the way they bulge as he tugs Zanita to him for a kiss.
“Hey,” Zanita says, sounding a little breathless when they break apart. “Isak and I were talking about prom.”
Malik grins at her. “I was going to ask you in a more elaborate way, but do you want to go with me?”
The Queen of Darkness absolutely melts. I swear, cartoon hearts swirl around her body. She bites her lip and nods, apparently unable to answer with words. Goth Elmo is in lurrrrrrve.
Part of me is happy for my best friend. Most of me. Really. The other part of me wants to kick the closest trash can. She has someone who acknowledges that she exists, outside of a literal closet.
My phone sounds.
Boy Next Door
I’m fine.
Me
U sure?
Boy Next Door
Yeah.
Thanks.
I’m good.
Bullshit. But I’m not going to call him on it. At least I tried.
Just before the bell, we file into the smaller of our school’s two theaters—the one we use for class, not productions—and take seats in the first row next to our friend Jody.
Jody’s got messy white-blond hair and pinkish-white skin, and he dresses like a tourist from Boca Raton, in loud Hawaiian shirts and cargo shorts.
But Jody’s as alt/Goth/emo as Zanita, Malik, and I are, just in a colorful way. No, I will not be taking questions.
“We’re going to announce the spring musical next week!” Ms. Laurent says once we’re seated. She always makes it a game for us to discover what the show is going to be.
That gets the class buzzing. People start calling out names of popular musicals as guesses: Dogs, Joseph and the Gray Thrift Store Blazer, Ghost of the Music Hall, Viola Player on the Sidewalk, ZeusCity, Showboys.
I glance around at the exits, tightness sweeping up the back of my neck and across my face.
“You’re going to try out, aren’t you?” Zanita mutters.
Wincing, I shake my head.
She sighs heavily. With a talon, she carefully pushes some of my hair back so she can see my face, while I hold still, hoping to avoid a puncture wound. She looks me squarely in the eyes. “Isak, listen to me. You’re talented. I know you love the theater. It was only one unfortunate performance—”
I cut her off with a glare.
“I know.” Zanita squeezes my shoulders. She looks to Jody for help.
“Isak,” Jody whispers. “By reliving it in your mind over and over again, I think you make it worse. Becky Hansen graduated. Wouldn’t it be better to replace that memory with new ones?”
Thank goodness people aren’t allowed to record the school shows, but even without video evidence, Becky’s snarky Ad/VICE post about me falling into the set spring semester of my sophomore year went viral.
I shake my head and swallow hard. “I’m good with doing stagecraft. I don’t need the limelight.”
Zanita and Jody exchange another look.
Jody puts a hand on their waist. “Are you sure stagecraft is enough for you?”
“Yep. I’m happy building sets, doing costumes, lighting, makeup. Whatever Ms. Laurent needs.” I tug at my hair.
“Listen to me,” Jody says. “I think you should seriously consider trying out. This is your senior year, your last chance to be in a high school production. You loved the ones you were in, you know, before …”
I don’t reply. Jody’s correct; I loved performing during my freshman and the first half of my sophomore years. Even the spring production was great, until Becky. “You two are going to audition, right?”
The Queen of Darkness looks excited, and her black-lipsticked lips curl into a smile. “Obviously.”
“Come on,” Jody wheedles. “You know you want to be in the show.”
I gulp, feeling nauseated.
“I don’t want to pressure you into doing anything you don’t want to do,” Zanita says airily. “But Jody’s right. You’ll be missing out if you don’t.”
“But what if they don’t cast me?” I whisper, ducking my chin.
“Or what if they do, and I fuck up? And what if …” I gulp.
“What if someone else writes another nasty post about my acting ability that spreads all over the internet and attracts horrible comments that I recite in my head every day for the rest of my life?”
Zanita lifts my face with her fingertips, the talons pressed against my neck.
“You know Becky was just being shitty because she can’t stand that you don’t care about not fitting in.
You challenge her boring beige world. Plus, acting is exposing your emotions and putting yourself out there.
That’s amazing and honorable and brave. Criticism is a part of life—”
“I know—”
“I’m not done. If they don’t cast you, then you tried, and that’s fine.
Do crew. And I know that’s not, like, a backup position.
But no matter which show this is, you should try out.
If you do fuck up,” Zanita raises her hands, “well, you went viral before, and you’ve lived to tell the tale, so I think you’ll survive people talking shit about you again.
I don’t want to force you to do anything you don’t want to do, but I’d also feel terrible if you missed out. ”
Jody stares. “Promise us you’ll think about it.”
I huff. “I don’t want to think about it, but fine.”
They both look satisfied. I’m still not auditioning for the show.