Stage Kissed

  “Oh, and next week the orchestra starts rehearsing with you guys. I heard you’re playing Will. You’re gonna be so great and I’m super stoked for you. I had no idea you could sing and dance or that you even could be front stage, not backstage. If only I could sit in the audience and watch that would be fantastic, and oh my gosh, we should totally walk to class together after rehearsals. Let’s plan on it, okay? Oh! I’m so excited. Is this your house?”

  She nods out the window, and I’m on a delay because I’m trying to catch all of what she just said.

  “Uh…yeah, that’s me.”

  She throws the car in park, and I fumble a bit with the seatbelt in my haste to be alone for a while.

  “Goodnight,” I mumble, pushing the door open.

  “Night!” She waves happily at me, then I feel her watching my every move into the house. I head straight for my room and fall face-first into my bed sheets. I’ve done mathematic competitions, science fairs, robot wars, and yet I’ve never felt as mentally exhausted as I do after three hours of Sophie.

  I flip to my back and stare at the planetary system I have painted on my ceiling. Mom did that when I was six after Dad took me on my first trip to the planetarium and I wouldn’t shut up about it. Slowly my mind starts to find peace again as I run through the constellations. I think I’m programmed backwards. Social interactions and “normal” human behavior confuse me, make my brain work overtime to try to catch up to what other people seem to naturally know. Science, math, linear equations, and scientific proofs relax me because they make sense. They’re constant. I’ve often wanted to handle social situations with flair, with ease, but haven’t figured out how to do it yet. Not like Kate. Kate’s a pro.

  Kate.

  I tug on my phone, holding it out above me as I read her text from earlier.

  This is how my night is going. Hope yours went WAY better ;)

  Then there’s a picture of a dog face-down in a math book. I chuckle and answer back.

  Tomorrow? You, me, and a lot of trigonometry?

  I don’t bring the phone down, even though I’m not sure if she’s even still awake. I doubt she’ll be available last minute for anything, since Kate rarely is, but I can’t help but think that if I help her out maybe we can fit in some more rehearsal time. She can teach me how to stand in front of a crowd without wanting to vomit.

  My phone buzzes.

  Sunday is family day :( Otherwise I’d totally take you up on it. How was the movie?

  Figured. It’s just as well. Mom probably needs help around here since the house has kind of fallen apart with my parents fussing over my bruised brain.

  Plot was a bit derivative. Acting not horrible for a horror movie, so that was impressive. I’d probably see it again when it comes to Netflix.

  LOL! Um… I wasn’t talking about the actual movie ;)

  Oh…she’s talking about the date. I stop myself from overanalyzing about why she’s thinking about that.

  Lol…whoops. Yeah, it was fine.

  Just fine?

  Well, I have a hard time around people. It’s not really…fun for me.

  :( I wish I could somehow make that better for you, then.

  My fingers start to shake over the keyboard, hesitating on if I should say it or not. Texts are permanent, and once I hit send, gone it goes. No erasing or deleting or taking it back.

  I stare up at the ceiling again, then just decide to say it anyway.

  You do.

  All I get is a blushing smiley face back, which honestly does something way more exhilarating to my stomach than it should.

  “Mom’s going to kill you if you don’t get up.” Ginny pushes my shoulder and then tugs on my arm.

  “I thought you moved out of my room three years ago,” I mumble into my pillow.

  “I believe you moved out of ours, but the details don’t matter. What matters now is we’re leaving for church in five minutes and you look like that.”

  I pry one eye open and try to glare at her, which is hard to do with only one eye.

  “Get. Up,” she finishes before exiting my room.

  I groan and throw the covers off, goose bumps instantly covering my skin. I pull the comforter back over my body. Why is it always so cold in this house?

  I hear some shuffling on the other side of my door and then Ginny’s loud voice, “Four minutes, Kate!”

  Bracing myself for the cold, I push the covers off and scurry to my dresser. I only have two outfits I rotate through for church, and I think I wore the black skirt last week so I’ll go with the forest-green one today. Slide that puppy on, pull over the long-sleeved black shirt. Add earrings—church is the only event I ever wear jewelry to—and run a brush through my hair. Shoot. I slept on wet hair last night so I look like I stuck my hand in an electrical outlet.

  I turn my head upside down, give it a little shake, and then shove it up into a somewhat respectable messy bun. Mom won’t approve, but it’s the best I can do.

  I’m running out of my room with a minute to spare when I realize I’ve left my phone on my nightstand. I sprint back and pick it up, a smile filling my face because Seth’s latest text still fills the screen.

  You do.

  I know I’m going to church so I should try to have holy thoughts or something, but I can’t help but be a little happy Seth didn’t have the best of time with Sophie. She’s a nice girl, quite the talker, but…I don’t know. Seth is my friend. And if he’s got a little bit of extra time in his schedule I’d really like him to maybe spend some of it with me.

  I shake my head. I really am a horrible person for thinking that. If I were a true friend, I’d want him to be happy no matter who he was with.

  “Kate!” Dad’s voice booms up the stairs. “We really need to get to church!”

  Yes we do, Dad. Yes we do.

  I wave to Jeremy jogging down the street as we pass him and turn into our subdivision.

  “I just can’t understand the priest.” Becca’s trying to defend herself to my parents as to why she never pays attention to the homily, or any part of the service for that matter. I personally think it’s because she’s ten and if I have trouble paying attention and sitting still for a whole service at sixteen, I can only imagine what it’s like for her.

  “If you listened, you’d understand him.” Mom turns around in her seat.

  “He’s like from Japan or something. He talks funny.”

  Ginny and I burst out laughing. “He’s from India,” I manage.

  “Whatever.” Becca rolls her eyes and crosses her arms, clearly annoyed at our laughing at her. “He’s really hard to understand.”

  “Well if you have questions, honey, just ask us, okay?” Mom’s trying to keep the laughter in, but her eyes are sparkling in amusement.

  I’m ready to go into another fit of giggles so I turn to look out the window. “Oh hey. Brit’s here,” I say as we get to the driveway. She waves to us as we pull in the garage, a basketball resting on her hip.

  “Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Ryan,” she says as we all pile out of the car.

  “Why hello, Brittany.” Mom hurries over to her and wraps her in a big hug. “This is a pleasant surprise.”

  She shrugs. “I figure it’s one of the nicest days we’ve had this year, and no one has a better court than the Ryan’s. Since you said the invitation is always open, I thought I’d come by and see if anyone wanted to play. If that’s okay.”

  I look to my father, because today is “family day,” and though Brit could be the fourth girl in the Ryan household, she technically isn’t. But with almost no hesitation Dad says, “You’re more than welcome to. Any time.”

  “Can I play?” Ginny and Becca say at the same time.

  “Of course.”

  “And me?” I say with a smile.

  She smirks. “I guess so.”

  “Give us a sec to change.”

  Ginny, Becca, and I are in workout clothes and hurrying down the steps within two minutes. We grab some fruit fro
m the fridge for “lunch.”

  “Girls,” Dad says from the kitchen, stopping us in our stampede. “Homework all done?”

  “Yes,” Ginny says quickly.

  “I didn’t have any,” Becca informs him.

  I think about the backpack stuffed full of homework and reading I need to do. I got some of it done yesterday, but of course left the hardest subjects for last. But we won’t be out there that long. And it’s such a perfect day for some pick-up basketball.

  “It’s not all done,” I say, quickly adding. “But most of it is, and I promise I will get it all done tonight.”

  Dad looks at us over the mail he’s sorting. “Sounds good. We’re having dinner together. I need to see my girls at least once this week.” He smiles wide and we all nod. Becca’s moving her feet in a stationary running motion, ready to get out on the court. Dad chuckles and shakes his head. “Have fun.”

  My gut clenches at how easy that was to convince him my homework would be done with no issues. But it’ll be fine. I’ll get my work done. Nothing to worry about.

  As the sun hits my face and Brit chucks the ball at me for my first shot, all worries about school drift away.

  “So is high school that much harder than middle school?” Ginny asks Brit as they continue to shoot around. Brit and Becca lost the two-on-two match against Ginny and me, so Becca’s busy wallowing on the sidelines. I didn’t want her to wallow alone, so I’m keeping her company. Plus, my ankle’s acting up a bit and I don’t want to push it before State.

  “Which part?” Brit asks as she fakes a shot, getting Ginny to jump, and then dribbles around her for the layup.

  “All of it, I guess,” Ginny says as she moves to the top of the key and gets the ball from Brit. Brit stretches out those long limbs and gets down in a defensive stance.

  “I think you have to try harder. In school. In sports and clubs. There’s more competition and stuff,” Brit says as her sneaker squeaks along the pavement in her attempt to stop Ginny’s drive to the hoop. “I wouldn’t say it’s impossibly hard or anything, though.”

  I bark out a laugh. “This coming from the six-foot-plus basketball star and science whiz.”

  Ginny takes a jump shot and Brit proves my point by slapping the ball away. Then she turns and gives me a wink.

  “Whatever, Ryan.” Brit takes the ball Ginny offers and squares up. “Don’t act like it’s not like that for you. You’re just better at even more stuff than me.”

  If only she knew. My thoughts drift to the trig book in my room, then my eyes find the sun dropping lower to the treeline.

  “Basically, Ginny,” Brit says. “As long as you give it one hundred percent, you’re going to be just fine. You’re smart. You’re talented. It’s going to be the best four years of your life.” For emphasis, Brit dribbles back and pulls up for a three. Nothing but net.

  Very wise words from my best friend, and I can tell Ginny believes them. I do too.

  But somewhere along the way, I lost the part where I gave a hundred percent to everything.

  “All right girls, time to wrap it up,” Dad says as he walks out to the court. “Dinner will be ready soon and some still have homework to do.” Brit throws him the ball, which he palms and then puts up a beautiful-looking shot, which bounces off the rim and right to Brit.

  “You’re losing it, Mr. Ryan,” she says with a smirk.

  “I haven’t been warming up for five hours.” He laughs and waves us all inside. “Let’s go. Brit, you’re more than welcome to stay for dinner.”

  “Thanks, but I have some homework to do to, and my parents are complaining about how little they see me.”

  Dad holds up his hand and Brit gives him a high-five. Then she turns and wraps me in a hug. “We need to do this more often.”

  “Hug?” I say with a laugh.

  “Hang out.” She pushes my shoulder back as she laughs. “See you tomorrow.”

  “See ya.”

  As we enter the house, Brit walks around to her car, waving goodbye.

  “I wish she was my sister,” Becca says as we start setting the table.

  “The two you have aren’t good enough?” I ask through a laugh.

  “No, you’re fine. But it would be cool to have Brit as one too.”

  “Glad to know we’re fine.” Ginny smiles at me before reaching into the fridge to grab the milk.

  This is a different language. I swear it is. I stare at the trig proof I need to solve by tomorrow.

  (cotx/(1-tanx)) + (tanx/(1-cotx)) -1 = secxcscx

  This is impossible. I have gone through every chapter in this darn book, looked at all the example problems. Why can’t I find anything to help me?

  I lean back in my chair and stare at the Abby Wambach poster on the wall. I know it’s hard to make the women’s Olympic soccer team, but it’s got to be easier than this trig stuff. I think I’ll just throw all my eggs in the “be really amazing at soccer” basket.

  I plop my head onto my textbook. That would never fly with my parents. And if we’re being honest, I’m good at basketball and soccer. Probably college-scholarship good. But not “do this professionally” good. Picking my head back up, I stare at the problem again. When am I ever going to use this? Do people actually need this type of knowledge to do well in life or in their jobs? I can’t imagine it.

  The clock by my bed reads ten-thirty. Dad’s going to be up here soon to tell me I should get in bed. Then he’s going to see I’m still not done with my homework, and I’ll feel horrible about spending all that time playing ball with Brit today. But it’s not like more time is going to help me learn this stuff. I think I’m just not capable of understanding it.

  Or maybe I’m just using that as an excuse.

  I moan as my head lands on my textbook again, my hands sliding across my desk and smacking my phone. Because I’m feeling sorry for myself and I need a laugh, I pick it up and text the only guy I know that makes everything feel better.

  I don’t suppose I can call in a huge trig favor right now, can I? :)

  Seth’s response is almost immediate and scares me as the vibration shoots up my arm.

  Shelby’s sick, so I’m trying to help out the parents.

  My lips turn down reading Seth’s text. It seems his sister is always sick.

  Poor thing. Hope she feels better soon.

  Thanks. Next time I’ll help you and you’ll get it in no time.

  I laugh to myself at the idea that I could actually understand the foreign concepts in my trig book.

  Uh…doubt that. I’m not the brightest at this stuff.

  Nonsense. I’m a really good teacher ;)

  I could do this all night—text Seth. But I have homework to finish and he has a sick sister to take care of.

  I bet u r are a good teacher. See u tomorrow, Will. Night.

  You had to bring the Will thing up. Now I won’t be able to sleep. ;) Night.

  The smile lingers on my face till I come back to reality and put my phone down. This is silly. Seth is going to help me with trig. He’ll get me all caught up and understanding it. For now, I just need to make sure I get a good grade on this homework assignment to keep my semester grade even close to respectable for the class.

  My hands shake as I bend down and pull the sheets of loose-leaf out of my backpack. Billy’s handwriting is surprisingly neat. My gut clenches and my whole body heats up as I smooth it out on my desk and pick up a pencil.

  And even as I copy work that I will shamefully call my own onto fresh loose-leaf, I don’t have the slightest idea what I’m putting on this piece of paper.

  The blood pounds through my ears as the orchestra strikes the first note of All Er Nothin’. The song echoes through the auditorium, and I stare down into the orchestra pit wishing I could sit in the empty cello spot. But then I catch Sophie’s wink and I shoot my gaze up to Kate.

  She’s taken her place on stage right, twirling long curls that have been pulled back in a high ponytail. Ribbons stream down from h
er hair over her bare shoulders. The big pink fluffy dress is a little loose around her middle, but I think they’re fixing that before the performance.

  I suck in a breath and try to relax. When I first agreed to this, I thought I’d considered every part of it. Parade around in cowboy boots. Sing in an Oklahoma! accent. Memorize lines and manage to do it all without trembling out of my way-too-tight jeans.

  I overlooked one thing, and now it’s staring me in the face.

  Well, she’s staring me in the face with that sweet and sassy “Ado Annie” smile. The one the script calls for right before Will…right before I have to kiss her.

  Freaking kiss her.

  In front of about thirty people right now, and an auditorium-full on Friday night. My first kiss on the lips, and it’s a public one.

  With Kate.

  More pounding echoes through my ears.

  She bats her eyes at me, I know I’m not looking at Kate right now. It’s Ado Annie. And I am not Seth. I’m not, I’m not, I’m not. I’m Will Parker.

  And Will Parker wants all ‘er nothing!

  The orchestra gets past the intro, and I close my eyes, choke back the acid rising in my throat, and spit out the first verse.

  “Louder, Seth!” Mr. Steiman says from over the guitar Tommy’s playing like he’s at a rock concert instead of a high-school auditorium.

  Does my voice even go louder?

  I reach deep in my diaphragm and sing out the next line.

  “That’s great!” I hear in the background. “Keep going!”

  Kate takes her cue then, sauntering to me and twirling that big poofy skirt the way she’s supposed to. She looks good. Really cute. And I’m surprised my auto response is to smile Will’s smile and keep singing like it’s just us in the Jamba Juice lobby, dancing toward each other and me pretending I don’t want her to touch me. Even though every time her hand lands on my shoulder, it kills me to throw it off in true Will Parker fashion.

  After my solo comes the dancing, and my mind goes to calculation mode. Two counts, twist, turn, two more counts, flip hat, twist, step, two more counts…

  Kate follows my lead in perfect synchrony, and I wonder if maybe she wasn’t crazy to think we could do this. That I could do this. Even in these way-tight pants and a belt buckle that’s digging into places I really don’t find comfortable.