Chapter 25 Isak
ISAK
I slam my book bag down on the gum-covered concrete behind the math building, then unzip the top and search in it for my vape.
“You’re in a pissy mood,” Zanita notes.
I give her side-eye but go back to tossing pens, papers, and other junk on the ground with shaking hands.
“No comment?” she asks.
I shrug. Finally I find my vape and, after glancing around—coast is clear—I suck on it. The nicotine hit gives me a comfortable buzz. I offer the vape to Zanita, but she holds up her hand to refuse, and I throw it back in my bag.
“Hey,” she says quietly. “Are you okay?”
No, I’m not okay. I’m pissed. Lachlan basically told me that we’re through. Not that there was anything real between us, but I guess if we need to be seen together in public, he wants to make damned sure no one is ever going to catch us in private.
And under the anger is a heaviness. My throat is sore, although I’m not sick. My nose is running. I bite my lip to keep from crying and stare at my boots. I shake my head. “I’m not okay, but I can’t tell you about it right now.” My voice is an annoying, creaky whisper.
Zanita studies me. “I don’t know if I’m being a better friend if I give you the space you’re asking for, or if you really want me to pry. For the record, I want to pry.”
“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” I mutter. “I really, really can’t tell you about it right now.” I try to smile, but my lips quiver, so I quit.
“If you ever can talk about it, you know I’ll listen, right?” Her dark eyes are uncharacteristically sorrowful. “I don’t like it when my friends are hurting.”
I nod. I open my mouth to try to tell her something, give her something. If I can figure out a way to change all the identifying details.
The bell rings, saving me.
“Are you going to be okay at rehearsal on Friday?” she asks as we head to history, our last class of the day.
“Yeah. I’ll be fine.” My voice is falsely bright.
“Is Lachlan going to do the show?”
“I don’t know what he decided,” I mumble, and follow her into the classroom. Once I’m there, I slip the key off my neck when no one’s looking and throw it in the bottom of my bag.
“No, this can’t be happening,” Jody says without emotion. “We must stop her.”
“There’s no way we can stop her,” I say. “Oops. I mean, there’s no way we are going to be able to stop her.”
The entire cast is milling about on and around the stage in the big theater, doing our first read-through of Browser History and starting the blocking.
Everyone has their face in their script, trying to learn their lines and generally get an idea of who is in what scenes and what the dialogue sounds like out loud.
We haven’t learned the songs yet, so we’re just saying the lyrics.
And Lachlan must’ve decided to participate, because he’s here. What’s going on in his mind?
I look up at Ms. Laurent, who smiles at me, waving a hand to indicate Keep going.
The kid next to me fumbles his lines, too, and lets out a frustrated growl.
“Don’t worry! You’ll learn!” Ms. Laurent says. “Right now this show is a bunch of flour and eggs and butter and chocolate chips, and we need to put everything together and bake it to make some cookies. It doesn’t look like anything yet, but it’s going to be delicious when it’s done.”
I glance over at Lachlan. Everyone keeps sneaking looks at him.
We’re all weird. Some of us are emo. Others are nerdy. Some of us have a flair for the dramatic. Put all the drama kids together, and somehow you get an odd sort of uniformity.
In contrast, Lachlan looks like he’s just come from jock training camp, except he’s not sweaty. His white T-shirt is tight, exposing his very nice arms. He’s tan and fit. Understandable, since he’s an athlete.
He has a baseball cap on, his blond curls sticking out the back and sides. That detail hits me deep. I want to touch him. Not that he lets me touch him anywhere but his dick … and not even there anymore.
You’re going to have to kiss me, Lach. Remember? What made you change your mind and show up?
As we keep reading the lines, Lachlan fidgets. We get to a scene I’m not in, and I go to the side to sit for a few minutes. To my surprise, he sits down next to me.
Why does he smell so good?
Also, I remind myself: You’re pissed at him.
You don’t want to interact with someone who’s ashamed to be seen with you.
Hooking up in secret when we agreed on it was one thing—that was no one’s business but our own.
But now he’s scared that people are going to, what, know we have history? Yeah, that’s not cutting it.
And then there’s the whiplash of him rejecting me so soon after defending me against those bullies. I don’t understand him, so I’m not going to talk to him unless I have to.
Which is quite a bit, since we have so many scenes together.
“Next scene,” Ms. Laurent calls. “Forest and Billy, over here, please.”
I scramble up, Lachlan following me, and we shuffle over to where she indicates, stage right. He looks more resolute now. The square set of his shoulders tells me that he’s made a decision, so he’s giving it his all. It’s admirable, dammit.
“Okay. Now, Forest, you stand there and look at Billy.”
I stare at Lachlan—I mean Billy. I need to think of him as Billy.
The other kids in the cast are goofing around behind us, which is making it hard to concentrate. “Quiet, please,” Ms. Laurent says pleasantly.
“If you’re not going to do it, then I will,” I read.
Lachlan says, “Just give me a moment. I will. I need some time.”
“What, are you chicken?” I ask. I look up at Ms. Laurent. “Every time I read this, it sounds worse to me. Forest doesn’t have any compassion about what Billy’s going through. He has a tragic backstory, and Forest’s not even listening or paying attention but is instead stomping all over him.”
She nods. “I think that’s exactly the point.”
“Is there something I can do to make him more sympathetic?” I ask. “Because right now, he’s a tool.”
“I mean,” Lachlan starts, and then he shuts up. But we both look at him to go on. “It’s nice that you can see what’s going on underneath with him, but most people don’t look that hard. They see what they want to see.”
Ms. Laurent tilts her head. “We can show the reasons why someone behaves a certain way, but every member of the audience is going to bring themselves and their own experiences to the performance. Some people are going to like Forest, and some won’t, and that’s just the way it is.
Hopefully, by the end of the show, they’ll understand him better. ”
“I guess,” I say.
Lachlan smiles at me. It’s his fake smile. The one he gives to everyone. The one that pisses me off. “I think people are going to like him, because they like you.”
I make a show of glancing over my shoulder as if to see if there’s someone else behind me.
He shakes his head. “I’m talking to you.”
I raise my eyebrows. Has he forgotten the bigot trio? “Ohhh-kay. I think you have it the wrong way around. You’re naturally magnetic. I’m the prickly one.”
“Then we make a great team!” Lachlan says, his “flirt with a rock” personality back in place.
I stare at him.
“Love the enthusiasm, Lachlan,” Ms. Laurent says. She claps once. “Okay, keep going.”
Lachlan and I continue reading our lines. It’s clear that these two guys are into each other, but they’re dancing around the situation. I shake my head.
“What is it?” Lachlan asks, not in character.
“Nothing,” I mutter.
He narrows his eyes.
All through the rest of the rehearsal, the blocking rarely has us more than a few feet apart.
In one scene, we sit back to back while we watch the other performers walk through what will eventually be a musical number.
At another point, I take his hand. We’re supposed to be falling in love, so there’s eye contact—when we can handle looking away from the script, at least. We have to serenade each other. And confess feelings.
Being this close to him where people can see us feels wrong.
And so, so right.