Chapter Twenty-One #2
“I’ve reached my verdict.” Vicky hopped off the kitchen counter, padding closer to Dylan. “After careful consideration of the facts, I’m sentencing you”—she wound her fingers into Dylan’s belt loops, tugging them close—“to more making out.”
Dylan grinned, tipping Vicky’s chin up with their fingertip. For a moment, their gaze softened—something warm and unguarded behind the teasing smile. “Sustained.”
· · ·
The next morning, Vicky was back on her bullshit—aka being a Responsible Adult. She pushed open the door to the Rhodes Playhouse, ready to work.
On one side of the stage, Kat and Emery mimed swordplay, parrying back and forth so effectively, Vicky could almost hear the clang of metal.
On the other side of the stage, Annie was practicing her blocking, speaking her lines softly as she ran through a scene, script in hand, expression inward and focused.
Today only called for Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, the Player, and the teen Tragedians.
Dylan’s call time wasn’t till midafternoon, so they were planning on making yet another test batch of their new chocolate for Marlowe, the details of which were mysteriously under wraps.
“Kat, Emery, remember to keep your shoulders back, heads high—less flailing, more fencing!” Lola called from the stage.
“Annie, you’ll be crossing downstage left when you deliver the line We must be born with an intuition of mortality—it’s going to look crowded if you linger too long in the center.
Vicky, hi: Our costume designer requests your measurements by end of day, please. ”
“No problem, Lols,” Vicky called back, saluting.
There was something wonderfully otherworldly about spending a sunny Sunday inside a grand old playhouse.
Vicky loved how theater let adults treat make-believe as meaningful and important.
It was the opposite of her work as a lawyer, which affected real people’s lives.
And yet, there were similarities—both were about telling a story with conviction and guiding an audience—be it jury or crowd—to feel something true.
Vicky took a seat near Orchid, who was slurping a smoothie while scrolling on her phone. “Hey.” Vicky waved. “Cool shirt.”
“Thanks.” Orchid brushed a piece of lint off the puffy sleeve of her shimmery blue top. “I made it.”
“You did?” Vicky was impressed. “The extent of my sewing abilities is dropping things off to be tailored.”
Orchid chuckled, putting her phone down. “I just like making things.”
“Right, you wear a lot of hats.” Vicky recalled the teenager’s introduction—actress, filmmaker, writer.
“I guess I have a lot of interests and I don’t want to limit myself.” Orchid shifted to face Vicky more directly. “How did you decide to become a lawyer? Was it, like, hard to whittle it down?”
“Not really—I guess I didn’t have a lot of interests,” Vicky said. “But you don’t need to make any forever choices now. You’re so young.”
“I’m the oldest student in the cast—I’ll be seventeen this fall.”
Vicky remembered feeling this way—hopelessly old, well before she actually was.
“The thing about feeling old,” Vicky said, “is you never get any younger. As soon as you think you’re old—you are.
So if you think you’re old now, at seventeen, you’re gonna be old for the next, like, seventy years. And that’s if you’re lucky!”
Orchid blinked. “I’ve never thought of it that way.”
Neither had Vicky. This was a new concept for her, too.
“You’re not even old enough to vote,” Vicky said. “You literally have your whole life ahead of you. You can make a million mistakes, change your mind a million times.”
Orchid looked doubtful. “That’s not what my mom says. She’s riding my ass over my senior year, putting all this pressure on me to do well, so I get into a good college, so I get a good job, so I have a good life. It feels like one wrong move and I’m destined for failure.”
Vicky remembered that pressure intimately—the weight of her parents’ expectations not just to succeed, but to succeed in a way that validated the sacrifices they’d made moving to the United States.
Being good wasn’t enough; Vicky had to be exceptional.
There was no road map for that, especially as one of the only Chinese girls at Riverstone Prep.
Back then, she equated invisibility with safety.
She laughed when her white friends laughed, ate what they ate, and never corrected any mispronunciation.
But the pain of not being seen didn’t go away just because she was good at hiding.
She hated how much she’d let slide—how long it had taken her to name things for what they were.
Back then, she hadn’t had anyone like Orchid to talk to. She hadn’t even realized she needed someone.
“I can one hundred percent relate,” Vicky told Orchid. “My parents were strict, too. They were acting out of care and didn’t get that their pressure made things harder. And that not everything is about good test scores or getting what they think is a good job.”
“So, what’s it about then?” Orchid asked.
Vicky had been asked this sort of thing before—hell, she’d given keynotes on climbing the law ladder.
Of course she had—she was a textbook example of someone who’d made it.
And where had it landed her? First, in a hospital bed, then here in Rhodes, in a community theater production. So what was it all about?
“Honestly? I’m still figuring that out.” Vicky thought about Dylan, and Lola, and Annie, all, in their own way, muddling through.
“I think everyone is always figuring it out. But what I’m working toward now is a balance.
A life that allows for work and play. Healthy eating and Taco Bell.
That has room for discovery and adventure and taking the long way home. ”
The words coming out of Vicky’s mouth surprised her—she’d never taken the long way home in her life.
“I love my job,” Vicky went on, “but I don’t want it to be my whole life anymore.
Because doing this play has been the most fun thing I’ve done in ages.
And fun should not be underrated. Joy should not be underrated.
The joy you make and the joy you take really matters.
So, choose joy. I guess that’s my advice. ”
“Choose joy,” Orchid repeated, her eyes shimmering. “I like that.”
“And keep in touch,” Vicky said, “after all this is over. I can be a resource.”
“Thanks,” Orchid said, sounding moved. “I will.”
“Okay, kids!” Garrett called from the stage. “It’s ten a.m. Circle up!”
“Let’s hit it.” Vicky got up, extending the teenager a hand.
Smiling, Orchid took it, rising up.