hh ok we're in the final stretch dear readers. I've been pretty uhh in a weird place let's say it was my sister's birthday and the attempted coup so yknow mixed bag and my schedule at work is ramping up and I'm not sleeping well. Forgive the typos plis. I still haven't written the last chapter but my publishing schedule keeps sliding around so I might actually not publish the next chapter until the twelfth and final chapter's been written. This doesn't make any sense. What I'm trying to say is there might be a delay on the last chapter.
- Heloise -
To heavy-Scottish-accent, or not to heavy-Scottish-accent. That is the question.
I was planning on going for it tonight, actually, but I lost my nerve just as I was walking onstage. I just think it'd be really fun to go This is Illyrrria, laddie.
But it also might make Mr. A throw me out a window and I'm kind of scared of that happening, so instead I just spoke through my lines as best I could in my 'normal voice.' Which worked absolutely fine for me, until Mel hunts me down after our second show.
"Honey, we gotta talk," she sighs, catching up easily to me as I'm hurrying back up the steps of the auditorium toward the tech booth. I forgot my bag up there. Again.
I hustle up the stairs faster, but Mel takes them two at a time and then plants herself in front of me.
"Hey, hey."
"Sorry!" I half-squeak and try to duck past her. I know I'm being super quiet!
I hit leather jacket and silk. Gosh, she smells really good. I peek up at her. She's looking down at me with a half-exasperated expression, both dark brows perfectly arched.
"Honey," she repeats. "Sit for a sec."
I let her push me down into the nearest chair. Springy and still warm from its last occupant, with a little flyer still stuck to the floor in front of it. Then Mel climbs over me. I open my mouth to tell her to—stop? move? remove her hand from its perilous position on the rail next to my thigh?—and she drops into the seat next to me with a sigh that turns me an extra-fun shade of cherry-red.
All I'm saying is the high-energy, left-over adrenaline of the play plus Mel being right next to me in a similarly flushed state of excitement is kind of making my brain confused as to what we're doing.
"What's going on with you?" Mel asks, socking my shoulder lightly.
"What… what do you mean?"
Mel squints at me. How does she make her eyes sparkle? "You're not stepping into your light, for one."
I laugh weakly.
"And your voice is super quiet. I have heard you make some…" Mel grins and I lose track of where I am for a second. "Truly piercing noises. I think you can project, can't you? What's going on? Are you nervous?"
"Very nervous," is all I can really say. Now, especially. "I'm… trying. There's… I've kind of wanted to try this thing, but… I don't want to mess it up."
Mel nods like she knows exactly what I'm talking about, which I highly doubt. She purses her lips—glossed for show days and still glittering in the lights of the auditorium—and tilts her head like she's contemplating me. Then she says, "Well, I think you should go for it."
"Really? What if… it all goes horribly wrong?"
"Well, I don't think it will." Mel shrugs. "Why do you think it'd go wrong?"
I think of Mr. A and the smashed window with a Heloise-hole in it. "I don't know if… the other people involved would be onboard."
"People?" Mel echoes.
"Person," I correct. Or maybe Haiza wouldn't like it either...
Mel stands again and steps over me to stand in the aisle. Then she looks down at me, bites her lip, and smiles. "Only one way to find out, don't you think?"
Before I can piece that one together, she strolls down the aisle toward the stage. My cheeks feel feverishly hot, but I guess she's given me some good advice. How the heck did she figure out that I wanted to do a Scottish accent for my Captain lines, though?
I look down at where Mel's joining the rest of the cast for a post-show freak-out. She looks up at me for a moment, nearly a head taller than most of them and seeming to glow under the yellow-y houselights. I stare back at her for a second, then whip around and hurry up the last of the stairs.
We were talking about me doing the accent, right?
When I duck into the tech booth, I find Belle waiting. She spins toward me in her chair, looking somehow both bored and surprised to see me. She's wearing make-up too! Is that a tech crew thing? My hand flutters to my own mostly-bare face. Are we 'sposed to do a lot for shows? She fires me off another unimpressed look from underneath smokey eyelids.
"I was just…" I cough. "Just grabbin' the bag. My bag, I mean."
"Did you do it?" Belle asks, twirling herself back toward the desk with the toe of her blundstone.
"Do what?" I squeak.
Another flat look.
"No, I got nervous and decided not to," I admit. How does everyone know I was going to do an accent? Did I tell them about it at some tech meeting, or something?
Belle hmms, examining her nails. They look manicured, trimmed down short with the little white ends and glossy tops. Why's she all dressed up? Or am I under dressed…? "I really thought you'd go for it on opening night."
"I only thought of it yesterday!" I exclaim.
"But Mel's been… uh…" Belle squints. "You're not talking about… shooting your shot, are you."
"I'm talking about doing a Scottish accent! What are you talking about?" I practically squawk.
Belle leans back in her chair and cackles. "Not a fuckin' Scottish accent, girl. Jesus." She rights herself and leans toward me on her knees. "Are you blind? Mel is as into you as I have ever seen her into anyone. Kiss her, fool. You know. Grab some poetry and a guitar. Serenade her. Climb her like a tree—"
"Okay, okay, I get what you mean now." My head reels a little. Wait a second, was that what she was talking about? "Wait. What? Okay. Hang on."
I sit down.
"Okay." I press my palms to my cheeks. "I think I'm going to go for the accent."
Belle makes a pained noise.
"And… and also go for the other thing," I whisper. Then something occurs to me. "If… I… Why is she waiting for me to make a move? If I was trying to, uh, date me, I wouldn't think I was the sort of person to be the first to… escalate."
"Ah." Belle examines her nails again like there's something about them she's trying to figure out. "I didn't understand either. I figured she'd notice you were a bit of a shrinking violet and… take matters into her own hands." Belle shrugs. "But she's dated butch girls for like, ever. After Izzie shot her down last year, I think she swore off all girls that weren't, uh, in the driver's seat, per se. Not to be a patriarch on main, but I think she's used to the other girl being the one to make a move."
Epically confident Mel, flirty-fast-walking-always-in-control Mel thinks I'm going to be the one to make a move?
"Well… gee." I sort of fall back in the chair. Belle snort-laughs and I ask, "What do I do now?"
"Nut up and do the accent," Belle exclaims.
I stare at my palms, then squeeze them into fists. Yes. Okay, yes. I made it to Toronto, I made friends, I joined tech crew, and… now I'm going to ask a girl I like out, even though she is very tall and very scary, because I'm Heloise Feddersen and I can totally make the first move without collapsing into a pile of mush and terror.
"Yes. Okay. Yes. I will." I stand and grab my bag.
"Just so we're clear, you're gonna ask her out, yeah?" Belle yells after me as I dash out the door.
"Yes!" I call back over my shoulder as I sprint down the stairs. And also do the accent. Third show's the charm.
- Penelope -
The floor of the auditorium swoops out from under me.
"What?" I ask Mr. A, voice weak to my own ears.
He gives me an apologetic smile. "The flu's been going around, and Haiza emailed me this morning. She's not gonna make it. You'll do a great job, kiddo."
I'm going to do a great job… of panicking and dying. I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying to stave off the looming panic attack. "Yup. Yup," I say, and then I run at full-tilt out of the auditorium.
Mr. A shouts something after me but I can't hear much except a loud fuzzing whoosh. Like an ocean made of cotton. When the world's visible again, I'm standing over the sink in the girl's bathroom. Buy sustainable! A neon-pink flyer urges me. You got this girl, a sticky note adds from its precarious place on the edge of the mirror. The stall doors are painted puce and chipped from use. Covered in graffiti. The floors are gross. There's toilet paper jamming one of the sinks.
I look at the person in the mirror, feeling suddenly like whatever's inside me has deflated, unfilling the new body I found with Freddy and Baru's help. Where are they, anyway? I take a shaky breath, then snap up straight when I hear the door bang open. Uh oh, they're not coming in here, are they?
"Penny?" It's not Baru or Freddy. My sister rounds the corner of the sickly-yellow tiles with a worried expression. "I mean, Penelope? I saw you run out."
I reach for her on instinct and don't bother trying to pull away and pretend to be fine as she offers a hug.
"You want to breathe on ten?"
"Yeah."
"Okay." I feel Heloise's chest press against mine as she takes a deep breath. I count with her. "That was really good," she says, and I don't have my usual snippy answer. I'm not shaking anymore at least. Was I shaking before? "What do you need right now?"
"Water," I rasp. My throat is suddenly bone-dry. We walk in silence to the water fountain and eventually I explain, "Haiza's sick."
"I heard," Heloise murmurs.
I gulp down another mouthful—Why are these stupid water fountains so frickin' cold?—then straighten. "I—what do I do?"
"You put on a great show," Heloise tells me, putting an arm around my shoulders and squeezing gently. We're practically the same height now. "You learned all the lines, Penelope. You know the part, and you were sad that you wouldn't get a show as Viola, weren't you?"
"I was—but—" I flex my hands nervously. "What if I get onstage and… and like, freeze?"
"I'll shut off all the lights," Heloise promises.
"What? Do you even know how to do that?"
"I do, actually." She giggles. "Mel and Mr. A showed me. Apparently it's an instant expulsion if you do it without cause in a packed auditorium; causes panic and endangerment. But I'd do it."
I snort. It's weirdly comforting.
I pull away from the lockers, ready to go back to the auditorium and explain to Mr. A that while, yes, I was freaking out and running away three minutes ago, I'm fine now, but Heloise catches my arm.
"Hey. I think it's really brave that you're doing this," she says, getting that serious, big-sister-talk-time look in her eye. "I mean, the play in general. I know the move was hard."
"Yeah," I mumble, because I don't really want to have a heart-to-heart in this gross, deserted school hallway.
"You're gonna be great, and I'll be watching the whole time," she says, a little too misty-eyed for my liking.
"With your hand hovering on the 'turn off all the lights and cause panic and endangerment' button?"
"Right on it," she agrees and we laugh.
Once I've had that very fun and cool conversation with Mr. A, I go looking for Freddy and Baru. Where the hell are they? I duck behind the curtains to see if Freddy's with his sister, but I find Isadora and Ivette alone.
"Hey, have you—whoa," I stammer.
Isadora grins, her normal Sephora-model smile very unsettling when paired with black lipstick and bruise-purple eyeshadow. "Hey."
"Whoa," I repeat. "When did you do that?"
Ivette gives me a satisfied, lazy smile as I take in Isadora's full goth make-over. Fishnets, probably not borrowed from Ivette since they fit Isa, a black leather skirt with a long silver zipper on its front, a black long-sleeved shirt, and a white-and-black chequered bralette overtop. And of course, combat boots.
"We cut fourth," Isadora explains. "Ivy wanted to cut her hair and I volunteered to hold the mirror."
"Your hair!" I exclaim, turning back to Ivette, who laughs. Her hair's been buzzed as short as Belle's, much shorter than mine, and dyed back to the bright silver it was before.
"We mixed in a little purple," Isa says. "Is it noticeable?"
I peer at her head, and Ivy strikes a pose, the backstage lights catching the silver studs in her ear. There's a bit of a sheen, I think. Iridescence is what Heloise would call it. Ivy gives me a little grin, her greenish-blue eyes catching the light the same way. I freeze for a sec and wonder if this is why they say she turns girls gay, then turn back to Isadora.
"Have you… um… have you seen your brother?"
Isadora groans. "He's definitely up to something."
I squint. "But where's Baru, then?"
"Probably collaborating," Ivy offers.
"I dunno." I shrug. "He and Baru have been kind of avoiding each other lately."
"Really?" Isa's eyes spark and she leans forward. "What's the tea?"
I sit on the block that Ivy pats, then hedge a little. This is weird. I've never really felt like 'one of the girls,' I guess, but just sitting backstage with them for a second, I already feel more at home than I did with my old 'friends' in Amsterdam.
"I'm pretty sure they're…" I motion.
Ivy chuckles and Isa's eyes narrow. "They're what?"
"Like. You know. Pining. Catching feels." I wave my hand. "Haizandro'ing."
They both take that in for a moment, then...
"No, no, I cannot have Baru as an in-law," Isa exclaims, slamming a fist down on the block next to her for effect. "Unacceptable. You and Belle in some friendcestuous mess was bad enough." Ivy holds up her hands in an innocent gesture. "But I will not invite him to my brunches."
Which is an insane thing to say while wearing combat boots and heavy eyeliner, but I can't help sticking up for Baru. "I know he's kind of annoying but I think it's just social awkwardness. He just… doesn't know when to keep his opinion to himself."
Ivy snorts. "Yeah, good luck with that shit, Izzie."
"Aren't you about to gain Bruno as your brother-in-law?" Isa says.
"Well, he won't be too broken up about being excluded from my brunches," Ivy deadpans, then stands and stretches. "It's been fun, ladies. I gotta go, though."
"Harassing Belle?" Isa grabs her comm as if ready to warn the other tech crew girl.
Ivette widens her eyes. "Of course not! Me? Never. I'm actually gonna go help Moiz with some kind of… something… that he's arranging. But I'm sworn to secrecy so that's all you're getting."
Isa rolls her eyes and Ivy gives her the finger in return. I laugh and for a minute, live in a blissful world where I'm not going to be onstage in front of a hundred people in about an hour. Then I stand as well.
"Okay, where the hell is Freddy?"
- Fredrik -
"What the fuck is that?"
"Oh, I think you know exactly what the fuck this is."
"Freddy, this is a terrible idea. What if someone sees?"
"Maybe I want them to see."
"Do you even know what you're doing with that thing?"
"Of course! You insult me," I tsk, then push my harp through the doors of backstage. "I took lessons for like two years."
Baru snorts. "Yeah, right, you did. You couldn't stick to something that long."
"I have endurance." I fold my arms, indignant, then follow my harp into the dimly-lit backstage area. "And I like the harp. It's… unexpected. And pretty."
Baru turns up his nose and I flip him off. After a little performative incompetence on my part, Baru sighs and comes over to help me maneuver the instrument. It's almost as tall as him and I laugh at the sight, then guide it over to the wall.
I run my hands over the strings, remember each strum and pick that goes with each line of Come Away Death. I tuned it last night, and it sounds downright heavenly. Now, as I quietly play through it and sing a line, a shiver runs down my back.
Then I turn to Baru and grin. "Not bad, eh?"
"Shut up, Hämäläinen," he huffs.
And we don't have to talk about how he's the only one who can pronounce my last name other than Isa and our family, and how I feel about that.
"Freddy! Baru! What the—" Penelope's appeared from the other side of the stage and stops dead when she sees us with the harp. I pose.
"What do you think of her?" I strum for effect.
Penelope sort of gapes then says, "Alright. Isa's goth now."
"Oh yeah, I saw." I would've cut her hair too, but… She would not stand for the chasing-with-a-razor stunt. Last time I tried to involve her in anything of that kind she grabbed the spritz bottle our mom uses on the houseplants and sprayed me.
"And you've got a harp."
"Indeed."
"And Haiza's sick so I'm playing Viola."
"What?!"
I've got nothing against Haze; I mean, quite the contrary. Watching her and Leandro dance around each other for a hundred years and then seeing them forced together like this is chicken-soup for my touch-starved soul. Still, at the news, it's an effort not to whoop. I really didn't think Penelope would get a single show as Viola unless Mr. A actually benched Haze to give the understudies a chance in the spotlight. I hope Haiza feels better, and I wish her a speedy recovery… and I'm very excited to watch Penelope onstage.
"Fuck yes!" I exclaim.
Penelope snorts. "Have some sympathy for Haiza."
"All due respect to her, I am so glad she got sick enough to miss a show," I say, making the sign of the cross for no reason in particular, then say, "You think you'll get tomorrow too? Too much to hope for closing night, eh?"
"God, I'm telling her you're saying this," Baru snorts.
"Promise?" I grin. I'd like to see Haiza try to beat me up. Maybe she could read sonnets at me really hard. Or sic Leandro on me. Hm. Actually, that sounds like a nightmare. "Nah, I'll get Bruno to run her some chicken soup later. He owes me."
There was an incident involving stealing Baru's phone so I could make him a playlist in which I surrendered my other gift to Bruno, but we don't have to talk about that.
Penelope's still looking a little shaky as we're herded backstage. The harp distracts her enough that I think she's going to manage, but I keep an eye on her. I know enough from Isa and her architectural aspirations to recognize what the tail-end of a panic attack looks like.
"Everybody ready?" Mr. A asks as he comes backstage. And then he stops. And then he asks, "What is that, Freddy?"
"Well, her name is Mathilde," I begin, standing to give the harp a tender pat. "And I thought she would make a nice addition to the cast."
Mr. A's eyes light up as he does a slow one-eighty of the instrument. "And you can play it?!"
"Like an angel," I promise.
"Did you run this past Ms. Cary?" he asks.
Baru makes a noise. I elbow him. "Yes."
Mr. A definitely isn't buying that for a second, but he grins. "Well, I'm glad you did. Because if you didn't, she would probably be annoyed about that. But since I've now asked and made sure you did, you have my official permission to play that funky harp, white boy."
I try to pick out the opening notes of the Wild Cherry song he's referencing, and probably just make a discordant mess. Still, Mr. A eyes the harp again, then grins widely and turns on his heel.
"Right! Baru, I'm grabbing you for fight call. Doors open in about half an hour."
Then he disappears, tugging Baru along. I turn back to Penelope. "Ready for some last minute line running, Penetanguishene?"
"Excuse me?"
"Rural town, population eight thousand," I fill in, flapping my hand. "Doesn't matter. Let's go. I'm rusty on the Sir Topas scene."
"I'm not in that one!" Penelope protests and I grab her arm.
"We're not doing this for you!"
We make it through a scene and a half before Baru returns, in his little mustard-yellow Andrew costume and noticeably out of breath. Penelope's chilled out immensely and has started acting out the lines instead of reading 'em in monotone.
"Alright! You guys ready?" He's practically exuberant with the energy of the warming up for his fight, and my nerves hop to life in response.
"Always."
Penelope grins at that with a hint of something in her expression that I don't understand. I side-eye her, then clap my hands.
"Right! Costumes, pl-ay-cesss," I singsong, and run off to the dressing rooms. Penelope laughs and chases me. I help her drag Cesario and Viola's costumes out of the stack, then grab my own patchwork pants out of the stack. The rooster hat follows.
I'm impressed with Penelope, actually; she dons the rag-situation for post-shipwreck, and has her little blue vest combo for Cesario arranged on its hanger and ready to go for a quick change. All without panicking or trying to run away.
"Hell yeah," I say quietly, clapping her on the shoulder as we leave the dressing rooms. She shoots me a look.
Then we head back out, into the backstage. I stretch my arms out as we go, feeling that same loose, reckless energy that I always get just before a show. Baru's the same, nearly hopping from foot to foot as the muffling noises of the crowd filter into the backstage. Penelope is cracking each knuckle in turn.
I give her a little salute as she passes me to walk on for her first scene with her sister. Heloise's sea captain has gained a thick Scottish accent, and Baru and I collapse into silent laughter backstage. Penelope's first line comes out very confused-sounding, which I accredit to Heloise's absurd accent, but from that point on, I gotta say, she's hitting it out of the park.
Haiza, like I said, is always fun to watch in her scenes with Leandro, but Penelope's really shining from the outset.
"Oh, my poor brother," Penelope says, misery catching at her words. "And so perchance may he be."
I exchange an impressed look with Baru. We're sitting together on one of the long rolly-platforms that tech puts out for the scene with Antonio and Viola. As I'm looking back at Penelope, though, he's still looking at me. I glance back at him a second later. He looks catatonic. Is he having a fit?
"What?" I whisper.
He flinches like he's snapping out of a daze. "Uh… sorry. I just… It was cool of you to keep Penelope calm and everything. I mean… forget it."
"Oh." I blink. "Thanks? I dunno, wouldn't anyone have…?"
Baru shrugs. "Forget it."
I squint at him and something occurs to me. Oh, he's also got a crush on me. Like, definitely. I look back at Penelope, then shift closer to Baru so our hips are as lined up as they can be between two people with a height difference of nearly a foot. Baru's head snaps around to look at me so fast I half-expect to hear a crack. I hold his gaze and wait. Sure enough, his mouth pops open a little like a goldfish and emits a faint noise of pain.
Then I return my eyes to the stage and don't move away. Well. In this essay, I have proven my point. Now what the hell do I do? I have many skills in life, one of which was staying single for sixteen years. Am I supposed to ask him out? I side-eye him. He's not looking at me either, though he has made an impressive effort to turn bright red despite the blue lighting and his dark brown skin. I could probably kiss him now, right? Just based on the orientations of our heads, though, that might take a little contortion. Also I don't want to fry his brain before he goes onstage. Or mine, for that matter. Besides, that would be infringing on Daphne's copyright.
With that magnificent array of excuses, I stamp down on the impulse.
But…
I've had a little idea simmering in my brain soup the past week, involving taking advantage of Dad's business trip and Isa's party planning ability. A giftcard to Le Nordik would remove Mom from the equation too. And then we'd have the house to ourselves… A little cast party might be just the thing for our cliche gay love story. I stroke my woefully smooth chin and begin to plot.
- Bellona -
I have good news and bad news. For me, anyway. The good news is that I'm immune to Mel's glowing smiles. The bad news is that they're now extremely annoying.
Her control of the tech booth is slipping its way down to hell as she continues to smile dreamily. I slide my chair over and lean all the way across her just to slam off the lights as she drifts in her trance.
"Mel! Wake up!" I hiss, then abandon her and grab one ear of her comm and say, "Go, curtains."
Mel startles, and takes the comm back from me. "Huh? Sorry." She grabs her thermos, downing the coffee in one go, then grabs the edges of her panel as if to anchor herself.
"I'm going down for the officer scene in a sec," I remind her. "Are you gonna manage?"
Mel smiles beautifically again. "Of course."
Goddamnit. I give her a sharp look, then stand and shove open the door of the booth. Mel swears under her breath as she hits the wrong lights, giggling to herself.
Strangely, it reminds me of when I first met Heloise. Mostly I remember coming over to the tech room, finding a short, heavy girl waiting with round eyes, and then pretending I couldn't tell she was staring at me. Iz said something like… 'You broke her, Mel,' or something. I toss look over my shoulder at Mel's silhouette, perfect posture poised over the panel, and definitely lagging behind the cues. Well, looks like Heloise got her revenge.
I'm early enough backstage that as I'm stripping off my top layer to get down to my base costume, Iz and Ivy are waiting. If I take an extra second to really slide my flannel off my shoulders to reveal the same black tanktop I've had for like four years, well, who's really to say? Ivy's eyes track me, gleaming like precious stones despite the darkness.
I give her a challenging look. Make a move, then. I'm ready to shoot her down, for my own sanity. If I've been baiting her, so what? Try it, Ivy. She says nothing though, just keeps looking at me with what I'd describe as… an intense expression. Maybe a smoulder. I cock my head, but then she turns around and takes her place to enter.
How the tables turn… Energy fizzes under my skin, made into frustration by the delay. Is she ever going to? Are we just gonna be stuck in limbo forever? I've planned my rejection line for weeks, but maybe I'll never get to use it.
A moment later, Ivy's shout rings through the auditorium. "Put up your sword! If this young gentleman have done offence, I take the fault on me. If you offend him, I for him defy you!"
She jumps down from the platform, circling Bruno and putting out a hand as if to shield 'Sebastian' from his wrath. Penelope looks appropriately puzzled.
"You sir? Why, what are you?" Bruno scoffs.
"One sir, that for his love dares yet do more than you have heard him brag to you he will." Ivy usually injects that line with a bit of exhausted sarcasm, as if Antonio's been dealing with Sebastian's shenanigans for ages. Tonight, it comes out steady and low like she's actually ready to cut Sir Toby open on Sebastian's behalf.
"Nay," Bruno pulls his sword from the scabbard at his belt and points it at Ivy. The silver of Antonio's lighting makes it look like a lightsaber. "If you be an undertaker, I am for you!"
Iz shifts from foot to foot, ready for our entrance, but I'm transfixed for a moment by the way Ivy moves, leaping forward and swinging the sword behind her head to give Bruno time to put up his sword, as it were. The sound cue is a heartbeat late—Goddamnit, Mel!—but they continue to fight, unfazed. Izzie grabs my arm.
"Wake up! Let's go!" she whispers.
Well, guess I can't throw stones. I hurry after her as she walks on.
I force out my lines as loud as I can, staring Ivy down. Because that's what the scene calls for, and not because I'm just now noticing her fresh dye job involved enough purple mixed in that she seems to shimmer in the lights.
"Will you deny me now?" Ivy rasps as Penelope holds out a few coins to her. "Is't possible that my deserts to you can lack persuasion? Do not tempt my misery." She swallows. "Least that it make me so unsound a man as to upbraid you with those kindnesses that I have done for you."
Penelope, with an impressive tone of bafflement, says, "I know of none. Nor know I you by voice or any feature."
I feel a tug in my chest as Ivy begins to shake her head, looking utterly pathetic. Iz shoves me. I say, "Come, sir, I pray you, go."
"Let me speak a little," Ivy says, matching my soft tone, then turns her ice-cold gaze to Penelope. This whole scene is pretty sad, but I feel like it comes into sharper focus for me as Ivy says, "But oh, how vile an idol proves this god! Thou hast, Sebastian, done good feature shame. In nature there's no blemish but the mind; none can be called deformed but the unkind. Virtue is beauty, but the beauteous evil are empty trunks o'erflourished by the devil."
I find my hands slick with sweat as I crush them into fists. Fuck. Oh no, I'm about to make a bad choice.
"The man grows mad. Away with him." Izzie's voice is just as dismissive as it needs to be.
My own comes out rasping and pained. "Come, come, sir."
Ivy locks her gaze with mine as she says, "Lead me on."
I step aside to let her fall in line with Iz. I walk behind her, staying slow enough that I don't get too close to her. She turns slightly, just enough to frame her profile in silver as Mel falls behind her cue again. I gulp. What did Blaire tell me…? My sister was in some kind of Mel-ish state of delirium after opening night and dreamily told me to follow my bliss, and do something for myself. I guess ruining my life is kind of like doing something for myself.
I'm ready to sidestep and sprint back up to the tech booth as we reach the backstage area, but Ivy's in my way. I freeze and look down at her. She cocks her head. She's got a light smattering of freckles over her nose, have I ever noticed that? I'm ready to use my rejection line, but that's not what comes out when I open my mouth.
Instead, sounding very strained, I ask her, "Gonna break my heart, ladykiller?"
Ivy's eyes flick across my face like she's considering some kind of witty answer. Then she smiles, sort of bittersweetly, and says, "Nah."
My heart thumps but I sound pretty relaxed, I think, as I reply, "Good enough for me."
And even if it's gonna ruin my life, I don't care at all. Ivy reaches up, far more gently than I would've expected, and brushes her fingers along the line of my cheekbone to reach the side of my head in one hand, almost in a question as she pulls me down just a tiny bit. I give to the pressure, bend down, and kiss the girl I've been way too into for way too long.
Ah I'm tired but I hope you like this! Leave a review to give me a little pat on my hardworking head
