“Yeah, yeah.”
“I love you, too, Simon,” he adds in a high voice.
“I love you, too, Simon,” I echo, rolling my eyes.
“Simeon,” he corrects. And the overture starts to rise.
Cal Price can’t act for shit.
Thankfully, he has the whole play memorized, but he plays the part of Reuben like a soft-spoken elderly accountant. And he’s a terrible singer—just cringingly, comically bad. But he’s so sweet and self-conscious out there, you just want to poke him in the face. He’s the personification of a preschool dance recital. D-minus for talent, but A-plus for adorableness.
In any case, it’s not the cast’s best performance, but it’s not a total mess. Taylor sounds amazing, and Simon’s voice doesn’t crack, and I’m not going to lie: Nick is hot as fuck in that dreamcoat.
When it’s over, I catch Simon by the edge of his robe and surprise him with a hug. “You were perfect,” I say, and he actually blushes. Then he takes both my hands and claps them together. For a minute, he just looks at me, smiling.
“You’re a really awesome friend,” he says finally.
It’s so soft and sincere that it catches me off guard.
The actors trail back to the dressing rooms to change—they’re not allowed to have lunch in their costumes. But Cal walks straight to Nora, and she slides off her headset to hug him. And it’s quite a hug: full body, no space between them, Cal whispering something in her ear the whole time. I don’t think they see me watching. But when he finally leaves for the dressing room, I lean my elbows on her desk.
“So.” I grin. “You and Cal.”
“Shut up.”
“That is so fucking cute.”
“There’s no that. Nothing’s happening.”
“Okay, but I just got a boner watching you hug, so.”
“Leah!”
“I’m just saying.”
She groans and buries her face in her arms, but she’s smiling.
“Hey.” I feel a soft kick on the heel of my shoe. I peek behind me, and it’s Bram. “We’re grabbing lunch off campus somewhere. Do y’all want to come?”
Nora shakes her head. “I’m not supposed to leave. We have another performance in forty-five minutes.”
“Ah, okay.”
“Who’s going?”
“Just Garrett, Morgan, Anna, and me.”
“Leah, you should go,” Nora says.
“I don’t want to ditch you guys.”
She smiles. “You can ditch us. Cal’s getting demoted back to stage manager.”
“Oh man. Who’s playing Reuben?”
“Ms. Albright.”
“I bet she looks great in a beard.”
Bram just looks at us, smiling faintly. “So, you’re coming?”
“I guess so.” I shrug and clasp my hands, feeling suddenly small in Garrett’s hoodie. It’s that girlfriend feeling again, not that I’ve ever been anyone’s girlfriend. But I imagine it feels like this. Like I’m this tiny precious wanted thing. I can’t decide if I feel gross about that, or if I only think I should feel gross about it.
By now, Simon and the rest of the cast are holed up in the dressing rooms, so I say good-bye to Nora and follow Bram out through the atrium. Anna’s sitting on the ledge by the carpool circle, and Garrett’s gesturing emphatically to Morgan. But he catches my eye and grins, and when Bram and I walk over, he tugs my sleeve. “So, I see you’re a Tech fan.”
“Fuck you.” I grin back at him. And then it occurs to me that there’s absolutely no reason for me to still be wearing Garrett Laughlin’s hoodie. “Guess you probably want this back.”
“But you look so comfy,” he says.
“Um.”
His cheeks flush softly. “Not comfy.” He swallows. “It looks nice on you.”
I narrow my eyes. “It looks nice?”
“Yes.”
I tug the sweatshirt over my head and bunch it up in my arms, handing it back to him. “You are so full of shit, Garrett.”
He takes it and smiles at me, scrunching up his nose. And I have to admit, he’s not terrible-looking. He’s got blond hair, bright blue eyes, and a sprinkling of freckles on his nose. Just a few, not like me. I’ve got freckles all across my cheekbones. But it’s cute and surprising and weirdly endearing, and now I’m thinking about the fact that Garrett plays piano. It’s funny—his fingers don’t look like piano fingers. They’re long, but kind of meaty, and now they’re wrapped around his sweatshirt like he’s trying to choke it.
“What are you looking at?” he says nervously.
I look up. “Nothing. I’m not.”
Bram clears his throat. “Okay, so do we want to go to Rio Bravo?”
“Fuck yes,” says Garrett. But then he pauses, glancing at me. “Is that where you want to go?”
“Sure.”
“Let’s just go. Come on. I’ll drive.” Morgan links her arm through mine, and I link mine through Anna’s, and I have to admit, I feel pretty lucky. I love Simon and Nick and all the other guys to pieces, but there’s something about Morgan and Anna. They just get it. I’m not saying we agree on everything. Morgan likes dubbed anime, which is basically blasphemy, and Anna once described Chiba Mamoru as “barely attractive.” But other times, it’s as if we read each other’s minds. Like, if Taylor’s being a diva at a rehearsal, we don’t even have to look at each other. It’s as if this secret cosmic eye roll passes among our three brains. One week in seventh grade, we tried to convince people we were sisters, even though Anna’s half Chinese, Morgan’s Jewish, and I’m basically the size of both of them combined.
But what it really comes down to is that they always have my back. And vice versa. Like, when Anna got the norovirus last year, Morgan and I reenacted the fight she missed in the lunchroom. In seventh grade, I drew fifty-six posters to help Morgan protest the school’s racist Thanksgiving play. And when Simon and Nick disappear into boyfriend- and girlfriend-land, Morgan and Anna are there to be cynical assholes with me. I don’t even care if they like Journey. They’re the best squad in the world.
“Leah, where’s your backpack?” Morgan asks suddenly.
“In my locker?”
“Do you need to go grab it?”
I look at her. “Are we . . . not coming back?”
Here’s a confession: I’ve never actually skipped school. I mean, there was a week last year where I was pissed at Simon and Nick, and I might have spent a few class periods in the music room storage closet. But I’ve never left campus. Don’t get me wrong, people do it all the time. But I’m sort of squeamish about the idea of getting in trouble. Partially because I don’t want to jeopardize my scholarship, but also—I don’t know. Maybe I’m just a giant nerd.
“Leah, it’s fine, okay?” says Morgan. “I’ve done this before. Even Bram has done this before.”
I glance back at Bram, and he smiles sheepishly.
I mean, if I’m going to skip school, today’s the day. My teachers will assume I’m missing third and fourth period for the play. Come to think of it, I actually would be missing class for the play if Nora still needed me—if Cal hadn’t been such an adorable disaster onstage.
“You okay?” Morgan asks.
I nod.
“Good. Let’s roll.”
Morgan drives a shiny, fancy Jetta with seats that smell brand-new. Her parents bought it for her eighteenth birthday and had it equipped with GPS, satellite radio, and a little video screen that shows when you’re about to hit something in reverse. Already, there’s a UGA cling sticker on the back windshield.
I take shotgun, even though Garrett’s six foot two, and I’m pretty sure that makes me an asshole. But he’s totally unfazed. He sits in the middle of the backseat, leaning forward, a hand on each of the headrests. My hair is basically draped over his arm. Sometimes I think Garrett calculates the exact most awkward way to position his body in any given moment, and then he just goes for it.