Chapter 29
ISAK
Welp, I got what I asked for. Lachlan’s ignoring me everywhere but onstage. No nods. No texts to meet him in the closet. No acknowledgment whatsoever for days.
No big deal. It’s not like he has to hang out with me. We aren’t friends. We’re in a show together, and the rest of the time he hangs out with his crowd and I hang out with mine. He’s doing what I demanded he do.
Why am I so disappointed?
Take now, for example. I’m standing in line for the cafeteria. Lachlan’s across the way with a group of friends. And it’s like I don’t even exist. Guess I got accustomed to our eyes meeting in a secret kind of communication. Now, his gaze passes over me like I’m nothing. Not worth his time.
I hate it … even though it’s exactly what I asked for. Why am I such a dick? Why is he?
With a heavy feeling on my shoulders, I talk with Jody as we get our food, and then we go and find empty spaces at a lunchroom table.
A lot of kids don’t eat at them, but I think it’s more comfortable to have a table and chairs—okay, benches—than sit on a low retaining wall in the quad.
I unwrap my industrial sandwich that passes as food.
“This sandwich sucks,” I mutter, taking a bite.
Jody sighs as he pops a tater tot into his mouth. “You and your sandwiches.”
“Sandwiches are the food of the gods. Everyone knows that. That’s why so many different cultures have a version of a bread-type thing—baguettes, tortillas, pitas, arepas—with a filling-type thing. Because they go together so well.”
“Bread-type thing and filling-type thing,” Jody mutters, amused.
I push their shoulder. “You’re just jealous because I got the last Uncrustables.”
“I’m never going to be jealous of that. Unless it’s a hazelnut one.”
I wave a hand and take another bite.
The jocks pass by, Lachlan among them. My fool heart lifts up to wave at him and then ducks back down, because dammit, Isak, that’s not what we’re doing. I need to stay away.
I’m protecting myself from hurt, I remind myself.
Lachlan won’t even touch me in the presence of another person unless we’re pretending.
He isn’t someone I could have a real relationship with.
He’s so deep in denial that I’d need to send a search party to look for him—and that’s if he even wanted to be found.
I can’t drink his come and then allow him to keep me at arm’s length. Not anymore.
Best to keep away. Then he can’t hurt me.
Onstage, though, it’s entirely different. He’s always there. His scent. His presence. He’s … everywhere. And we’re in almost every scene, so we need to play off each other.
We have to make the audience believe we’re falling in love. But we can’t actually do it.
Zanita joins Jody and me at the table, setting down her black bag. “So,” she says in a conspiratorial voice, “are you going to tell us what happened with Lachlan and That Kiss?” She totally says it like it’s capitalized.
I shake my head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Zanita exchanges a look with Jody. “Okay … You sure?” she asks.
“I mean … I got pissed because he surprised me. I was worried he was making fun of me or something. We worked it out. No need to discuss it further.”
Jody nods dubiously. “If you say so.”
I can tell Zanita wants to ask more, but she drops it.
“Let’s work on the duet in act two, scene six,” Mr. Pascual says at afternoon rehearsal. “Billy and Forest, come here, please.”
While other cast members practice their lines, Lachlan and I sing our duet.
I’m a competent singer, meaning I can carry a tune. And with how my role is written, I can sing-say my lines, and it mostly works.
Lachlan’s part is more challenging, and he rises to that challenge.
I can’t help but watch him sing. His chest expands.
Little veins show on his neck and forehead when he hits notes that he really has to belt out.
It’s obvious to anyone that he enjoys singing, his palm over his heart and a relaxed smile on his face when he’s done.
And then there’s the eye contact. Whenever he sings, he’s singing to Forest. Telling Forest how much he wants him. How much he cares. How he doesn’t want Forest’s digital footprint to disappear. How he wants Forest around forever.
I only wish that he were singing to me, because I feel seen when he does it. Like he’s cataloging all the things that are right about me and celebrating them.
He hasn’t kissed me since that first night. Either he says “And we kiss” and goes on to the next line, or he puts a finger on my lip and kisses it.
Those are tougher. His eyes always catch mine first. He sucks in a breath, and so do I. He leans closer, closer. So much so that I wish he’d “mess up” again and kiss me for real.
Instead, I get his warm thumb resting on my lip and his face almost touching mine. Almost, but not quite.
It’s dangerous, because he’s right there, and if he’d move his finger just a bit, I’d taste his mouth.
That can’t happen, though. I have to protect myself.
Lachlan’s the only person besides my mom who’s ever protected me, and he’s the very one with the power to hurt me now.
During a break, Zanita whispers, “We need to play the binder clip game.”
I grin. She’s right. It’s tradition. “Do you have one?”
She nods and stands up. “Okay, everyone. We’re going to be playing the binder clip game. The rules are simple: Place the clip on someone while they’re onstage, without them knowing. Does everyone understand? If you get clipped, pass it on.”
She gets a few laughs and some claps, and excitement runs through the room.
“You first,” Zanita whispers, and I realize she’s already attached the binder clip to the hem of my jacket.
I laugh. “Damn, girl. That was fast.” I slide the binder clip into my pocket and glance around for possible targets.
The easiest way to do this is to clip it onto the back of someone’s hoodie, and that counts, but it’s like bonus points if you can get someone’s shoelace or fly—somewhere more challenging.
Surveying the stage, I see a lot of options—actors in loose clothes.
But then there’s Lachlan, who’s got on a long-sleeve Henley shirt and jeans. More difficult, but not impossible.
I smirk at Zanita. “I got this.”
Ms. Laurent calls us back to do the next scene, and while saying my lines, I have to throw my arm around Lachlan. As I do so, I attach the binder clip to a fold of fabric on his shoulder.
We finish the scene, and he stretches and mutters, “What the hell?”
Everyone bursts out laughing.
Lachlan closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Payback, Isak. I will get payback.”
Promises, promises.
No, Isak. Stay away. That’s what you asked for.
God, I’m exhausting myself. I need to focus on the script.
We practice another duet, and I want to just stop and listen to Lachlan sing. I can carry a tune, but Lachlan has a Voice, even if he’s still figuring out the song. Together, though, the harmony somehow seems to work. And the eye contact, when he’s able to look away from the lyrics?
Shivers.
It’s like he’s actually in love with me.
I’m wiped when I get home. Rehearsal ran late, because we wanted to finish the scene we were on and everyone kept forgetting their lines. Me included.
Ms. Laurent kept changing the blocking. I trust her, even though she’s relatively new to the Royce High drama program, but it still felt like she was moving us on a whim rather than because we really needed to be moved. But maybe I can’t see the whole picture.
I want to flop into bed, but I should eat something first. I wander into the kitchen, where Mom’s wiping down the counter.
It’s quiet tonight at Lachlan’s house. A relief.
So much of my mood depends on whether I hear the neighbors fight.
I’m in this odd codependent relationship where I change my behavior depending on their household mood, even though they have no clue I do it.
They affect me, but I can’t affect them in any way.
I just hate hearing them fight all the fucking time. I grab a glass of water.
“Are you doing okay with … you know. Being onstage again?” Mom asks, giving me a pointed look.
Oh, god. I’d been doing so well not thinking about outside criticism.
“Yes, I’m fine. I don’t want you treating me like I’m fragile.
I’m nervous about performing and what the reaction is going to be online, but I won’t mess up like last time.
I have a lot of lines. I’m learning them. I’m in most scenes, with Lachlan.”
“How’s it going with him?” Mom asks, with her typical laser intuition.
Well, Mom, I have to kiss him onstage. And I want to kiss him offstage, too. Our characters are falling in love, but I’m insisting we don’t talk apart from our roles. And that is very confusing.
I don’t want to tell her any of that. But I also don’t like hiding things from her.
“I think he’s doing well.”
Except at home.
“I’m having some feelings for him,” I say. “Which is a big pain, because he’s popular and I’m … not. And regardless of how he feels about me, he’s not willing to come out. Not that there’s any reason for him to do so.”
“Hmm,” Mom says noncommittally. “It seems like there might be more going on under the surface.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think he likes you more than you know.”
I wave a hand. “Wishful thinking, Mom.”
“You like him more than you’re admitting.”
I gulp. Okay, maybe that’s true. I don’t say anything.
“And I remember how he used to look at you when you were kids.”
“What? How do you mean?”
“He seemed to like you, Schmoopy.”
“Of course he liked me. We were friends, until we weren’t.”
She shakes her head. “You two were very close. I always considered him part of our family.” She smiles. “Maybe because you were born the same day.”
“I know we were close, but I think you’re reading into things.”
Mom shrugs.
But the thing is, I miss him. I miss even the scraps of interaction I used to get. Because I see him at school, smiling and flirting with everyone, but then I hear his family yelling, and I want to wrap him up in my arms.
I only get to do that onstage. During our fake kiss in act two.