Dreamers Often Lie

  I tilted my head to one side, considering. “I don’t think so. I could have come up with all of this in my own subconscious.” I handed the wallet back. “Well—maybe not Vera. But everything else.”

  Rob’s eyes caught mine. Looking into them felt like edging my toes into a cool stream. A shiver raced up through my legs, into my spine, and for a second, I wanted to plunge the rest of the way in, to know everything, to tell everything, to be completely there—but then I remembered the hideous gash on my forehead, and all the mess that went with it, and a second later, I remembered Pierce. Gorgeous Pierce. Perfect Pierce.

  I pulled my eyes away.

  “How’s your head feeling?” he asked.

  “Not great.” I scraped my hair over the scar. “Like an ugly mess inside and out.”

  “Most people can’t lie around and quote Hamlet perfectly if their heads are a mess.”

  “So that was Hamlet. See?” I crossed my legs on the platform, angling slightly away from him. “I didn’t know I knew that speech. I didn’t even know what it was.”

  “Maybe that head injury gave you some kind of crazy gift. Like those people who have a seizure and can suddenly play every piano piece Mozart ever wrote.”

  “But it’s not like I can recite all of Hamlet. Or any other play. It just—it comes out in these weird little pieces, at the worst possible times.”

  “Okay. Maybe it’s Shakespearean Tourette’s.”

  I laughed. The tightness in my skull was loosening. “How did you know that was from Hamlet, anyway? Have you done that play?”

  “We were studying it in lit class at my last school.”

  “But you said you’ve been in other plays, right?” I felt the sudden need to move the conversation away from myself, away from real thoughts and feelings. “Which ones?”

  Rob leaned back on his elbows. “In reverse order: Much Ado About Nothing, Our Town, Tom Sawyer, The Three Little Pigs, and Alice in Wonderland. I was the Dodo.”

  I felt a faint, deep sting at the words Alice in Wonderland. I rubbed it away. Put on a smile instead. “The Dodo? I love it. And please tell me you were one of the Three Little Pigs.”

  He grinned. When he smiled, the shape of his chin sharpened, and asymmetrical laugh lines appeared on either side of his mouth. I found myself studying that smile, feeling my own face trying to imitate it, even though I knew I’d probably never get it right. “I just built sets for that one,” he said. “I like being offstage more than having to be on.”

  “Really? I love being onstage.” I shuffled my feet against the fake grass. “My favorite thing is that feeling when you’re waiting in the wings, in the dark, totally hidden, but you can feel the audience out there, and then you step out and the lights hit you, and you’re blinded for a second, and you could be anywhere, but you know you’re inside this thing that you’re helping to create, and it’s like—it’s like electricity. I’m completely addicted to it.” I gestured to my forehead. “That’s why I was in such a hurry to get back here. Even with this giant thing on my head.”

  “I get it.” Rob watched me for a second. His smile had softened a little, but it changed again before I could figure out what was behind it. “What’s been your favorite role so far?”

  “Probably this one.” I pulled a petal off one of the silk daisies. “I’ve played a lot of crappy parts.”

  “Such as?”

  “Oh, god. Let’s see. The stupidest of the seven dwarves. An ear of corn. A talking tumor—”

  “A tumor?”

  “It was an anti-smoking skit.”

  His left eyebrow went up. They were great eyebrows. Stage makeup eyebrows.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I think a talking tumor is cooler than a fairy queen. For sheer messed-up-ness, anyway.”

  “Maybe. But the tumor had fewer lines.”

  Rob laughed out loud. I felt myself smiling too, the constriction in my body starting to release. There was something about having him near—something exciting and comfortable at the same time. Something familiar yet totally new.

  But it wasn’t familiar. My brain was stretching feelings that didn’t belong over moments that hadn’t happened at all. I yanked another petal off of the daisy, making it tremble on its wire stem.

  I’d been quiet for longer than I’d realized. When I looked up again, Rob was watching me closely. His eyes made my neck tingle.

  “Are you remembering your roles as other inanimate objects?” he asked.

  “No,” I said, looking away. “Actually, I was thinking that maybe it would be better if I was imagining all of this. Because then at least I wouldn’t be acting like such a freak in front of everyone. And then I was thinking that maybe it would be worse, because this is the most realistic hallucination I’ve had yet.”

  “So you need, like, metaphysical proof of identity. Yeah. I don’t carry that in my wallet.” He paused, looking thoughtful. “You’re supposed to pinch someone who thinks they’re dreaming, right?”

  I pulled my legs out of his reach. I actually heard myself giggle, like a girly idiot. “Don’t pinch me.”

  “I wasn’t going to. I swear.” He extended one hand toward me, palm out. “What if we just shook hands?”

  “We’ve done that before.”

  “And it was real.”

  I shook my head. “Not every time.”

  Now he frowned, but he looked more intrigued than confused. “What do you mean?”

  The red-spattered hole in the snow. The hospital room. Rob lifting my hand, kissing the back of my wrist . . .

  “Nothing. I’m—don’t listen to me.”

  “But I like listening to you.” Slowly, Rob reached out and ran one fingertip down my forearm, over the place on my wrist where I could almost feel that kiss. Then he leaned back, meeting my eyes. “Feels real to me.”

  My stomach fluttered with paper-thin wings.

  “Hey,” he went on. “After rehearsal—”

  Before he could finish, the final bell blared through the auditorium.

  The sound tore through my brain. I hunched over, squinting. Red spots flared in my half-open eyes. The sound hadn’t even died away when the auditorium doors slammed open and cast members started to pour in.

  Anders and Hannah and Tamika were some of the first down the aisle. Nikki and Tom showed up together, laughing about something as they threw their bags into the seats. Pierce strolled in several steps behind them. His light gray sweater seemed to glow with its own magical spotlight. His hands were tucked casually into his pockets. He saw me, and his face curved with that crooked half smile that made my heart jump halfway to my larynx. Then he noticed Rob.

  His eyes flicked from my face to Rob’s, the two of us caught alone in the onstage dimness. His expression shifted. Then he turned back to me, and his smile was even deeper than before.

  “There,” Rob whispered to me, under the noise. “I think that might have been proof.”

  I didn’t give any sign that I’d heard him. I inched backward up the sloping platform, keeping my eyes on Pierce instead.

  “Hey, Stuart.” Pierce leaped onto the stage. “Look what I found in my parents’ storage room.” He crossed to the platform and stopped in front of me, his foot almost crushing Rob’s outspread fingers. Rob leaned out of the way. Pierce didn’t glance down.

  I stared at the framed photograph in Pierce’s hand. Five-year-old Pierce and four-year-old me stood side-by-side in the Caplans’ dining room. Pierce wore a tie and a plastic top hat. I was dressed in someone’s antique lace nightgown. Several paint-splotched tissues were pinned to my stringy brown hair.

  “Ohhhh!” Hannah cooed over my shoulder. “That’s adorable!”

  More people clustered around us, craning for a look. Rob didn’t move.

  “That was the day we decided to get married,” said Pierce. “I thin
k my dog was the ring bearer. Didn’t we tie a sofa cushion to his head?”

  “Oh my god.” I cupped my hands over my cheeks. My palms were as hot as my face. “Snooks. That’s right. Then he ran around smashing everything off the end tables.”

  “Look at those chubby cheeks!” someone squealed in my ear.

  “Is that toilet paper on your head?” asked someone else.

  “Kleenex.”

  “And I realized,” Pierce went on, “we’re still technically fake-married. So we should probably get fake-divorced.”

  Around me, people were laughing. Someone nudged me. Someone else said something I didn’t hear. I glanced down at Rob out of the corner of my eye. He was watching all of this, his eyes cool, amused. Catching everything.

  “I’ll start.” Pierce raised one hand. “I, Pierce Charles Caplan, do hereby untake you as my unlawfully wedded wife.”

  The ache in my head twisted. I didn’t feel like being watched by a crowd. Not now, when I was only my bruised, messed-up self, with makeup I couldn’t remember applying and the hairstyle of someone who’d just had a frontal lobotomy. But Pierce was grinning. Pierce was as golden and glowing as a trophy.

  I put on a matching smile. “I, Jaye Eden Stuart, do hereby untake you as my unlawfully wedded husband.”

  “You may kick the bride!” someone shouted.

  Before Pierce could move, I gave him a kick in the shin. I turned to run. Pierce dove after me, laughing. His arm locked around me from behind, pinning my arms to my sides.

  “Let go!” I shouted, pretending to laugh too. “I’m not your wife anymore!”

  Pierce lifted me off the ground. His chest was warm and solid against my back, and his arms were like metal bands. They were crushing me. Blood rushed to my head, making it pound, but I didn’t really care. Because Pierce Caplan had his arms around me. Pierce Caplan. Then I felt like an idiot for not caring. And then I remembered Rob, with his cool blue eyes and his wallet full of interesting memories, watching all of this. My stomach went sour.

  “All right, everyone!” Mr. Hall’s voice rang through the house. He clapped his long pale hands. “Let’s finish the wrestling match, shall we? Ensemble assemble! Center stage, please!”

  Pierce gave me one last squeeze before setting me on my feet. I staggered toward the group, still laughing, feeling feverish and dizzy. Rob had disappeared.

  “Wrestling with the girl,” said Nikki’s voice from behind me. “Jock Flirting 101.”

  “Quiet please!” Mr. Hall ordered. “I’d like to run Act Three, then go back and work a few scenes as needed. Bottom and the players, we’ll start with you. And Titania?” His eyes traveled around the circle until they caught me. I tried to brush my hair into place. “Remember, you’re already asleep upstage at the start of the scene. Ayesha, call for places.”

  I turned toward Nikki, but she had already darted off into the wings.

  Tom skipped across the stage toward his mark and stopped next to me. He put a hand on my shoulder. His too-large sweater had holes in both cuffs. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m fine.”

  “You look a little shaky.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure? You did just get divorced.”

  “Shut up.” I smiled and gave Tom a shove. He moved into place, grinning back at me.

  The platform squeaked slightly as I settled down on the fake grass again. Downstage, the other actors were milling, murmuring. I spread my hair over the fabric and rested my uninjured cheek on my palm. The lights clicked and dimmed above me.

  Tom, as Bottom, and the other players began their scene. Their voices rose and fell in the distance. But it was another voice that whispered in my ear.

  “Here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes this vault a feasting presence full of light.”

  My eyes snapped open.

  Shakespeare sat beside me on the green velvet. Stage light frosted his soft brown hair.

  “I’m onstage,” I breathed through my teeth. “Why do you keep showing up at the worst possible times?”

  Shakespeare shook his head. “Confusion’s cure lives not in these confusions.”

  “So stop confusing me.” I lowered my eyelids to a squint, hoping that from offstage they would look shut.

  “In the meantime, hither shall Romeo come, and he and I will watch thy waking—”

  “Wrong play,” I muttered, struggling to keep my voice and my eyelids down. “And you’re not here. You’re not here, you’re not here, you’re NOT here.”

  Shakespeare’s voice breathed close to my cheek. “What thou seest when thou dost wake, do it for thy true love take.”

  At least that was from the right show. I widened my eyes just a sliver. Stage lights made feathery rainbows on the tips of my eyelashes. Downstage, Tom and Adam and the others were reciting their lines; I could hear them, but I couldn’t see them from where I lay. Instead, I gazed out past the lip of the stage, into the blurry blackness. If Pierce was out there, or Rob, or anyone else, I couldn’t see them, either.

  Besides, you’re already awake, I reminded myself. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake.

  CHAPTER 12

  Oh my god.” Nikki reached across my lap and grabbed Tom’s hand.

  The three of us were sitting on the rolling platform, waiting for Mr. Hall to finish with notes. My mind kept wandering away from his voice, away from the stage, into the darkest corners. I hadn’t seen Rob since rehearsal began. Had he watched my scenes from the wings again? Was he still even here? I rearranged my hair and straightened my shoulders, just in case.

  Nikki held Tom’s shiny purple thumbnail in front of my face. “You forgot to take off your nail polish from last weekend.”

  “I didn’t forget,” Tom whispered back. “I’m out of remover, and it wouldn’t scratch off. Besides, Jonah already saw it.”

  “What did he do?” I asked.

  “I told him I hammered my thumb in shop class. He was happy.”

  Nikki blinked. “You’re not in shop class.”

  “He doesn’t know that.”

  “I bet he doesn’t know that you’ve got a bigger nail polish collection than me, either.”

  Somewhere farther off, I could hear Mr. Hall dismissing the cast, other voices breaking out. Rehearsal was over. I let myself imagine what Rob had been about to ask. After rehearsal, would you like to . . . Don’t flatter yourself. After rehearsal, could I look at your anatomy notes? That was probably it. After rehearsal, can I hitch a ride home with you? Or maybe: After rehearsal, could you get me that girl Michaela’s phone number? My eyes scanned the house, checking each shadow, each silhouette. They were still focused on the blurry darkness when a pair of blue jeans walked straight in front of me.

  Nikki and Tom went silent.

  I glanced up.

  “Ready to go?” asked Pierce.

  “Oh,” I said, feeling like he’d caught me in front of my bedroom mirror all over again. I raised my chin. Smoothed my face. “Are you driving me home? Because Nikki and Tom and some other people were going to go—”

  “Your sister made me swear that I’d drive you straight home again today.” Pierce held up my coat and bag. “I got your stuff. So. Are you ready?”

  “Oh,” I said again. “. . . Sure.”

  “‘Sure.’” Pierce imitated my dreamy tone. “You use that word a lot, don’t you?”

  “Sure.”

  Pierce didn’t seem to notice the sarcasm. Slinging my book bag over his shoulder, he stepped down from the stage and headed up the aisle.

  “Bye, guys,” I murmured before hurrying after him. I checked each row of seats as I went, but there was no sign of the new kid. Pierce was walking so fast, I may have missed him anyway.

  Outside, a thick, fast snow was falling. The pavement of the parking lot was slick.
Without speaking, Pierce grabbed my arm. I couldn’t tell if it was to keep me safe or to keep me close.

  He opened the passenger door of the BMW, waiting until I’d climbed in and grasped the seat belt before closing it again. This was charming. I should have been charmed. I should have seen the waves of his lion-colored hair and the jut of his chin and the shape of his shoulders and felt fluttery and flattered and happy.

  “What a piece of work he is . . .” Shakespeare’s voice sighed from the backseat. “In form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel . . .”

  My concentration shattered. “Shut up,” I growled over my shoulder.

  “What?” asked Pierce. He slid into his own seat.

  “Nothing. I just—I caught my hair in the seat belt.”

  Pierce shook his head. “You need to stop hurting yourself, Stuart. You’ve got little enough hair left as it is.”

  I felt my face ignite. I turned aside, shaking the hair back across the scar.

  Pierce streaked out of the lot. My spine pressed back against my seat, my brain knocking inside my skull. In the rearview mirror, I could see a pair of heavy-lidded blue eyes watching me.

  “It’s crazy how fast this semester’s going,” said Pierce, after a silent minute.

  “Yeah,” I said, still facing away from him. “It goes even faster when you miss a bunch of it.”

  “You know, after the play, there are only eleven weeks until graduation. It’s crazy.”

  I braced my elbow on the door as he zoomed around a corner. “You must be excited to get out of here.”

  “Well, I’m just going to U of M, so it’s not like I’ll be going far.” He glanced at me. “It’s a sixteen-minute drive from my future dorm to your house. In case you know anyone who’s interested.”

  Now my stomach started to flutter.

  “Hey.” Pierce’s tone changed like he’d just remembered something. “Who was that guy you were with?”

  “What guy?”

  “On the stage. Tall. Skinny. Wearing black. Looking like some death metal reject.”

  “Oh.” Proof, said Rob’s voice in my head. Pierce had seen him. The wallet, our conversation. It had all been real. Relief and joy streamed through me. “He’s new. The counselors made him join the stage crew.”