CHAPTER 20

“You ready to sing your face off, Miss Ariel?” Avery asks when I slide into her car with my bags for opening night. “So ready.” I bounce excitedly in my seat. “When’s Timothy coming?” “I’m not sure. I texted him but haven’t heard back yet.” I didn’t notice Timothy at school today, but I didn’t have time to look for him. I was exempted from classes for final preparations for opening night. “But I got all these candles and snuck them down to the gazebo for tonight.” She squeals, and my stomach flips. Between the musical and what happens after, this is going to be the best fucking night of my life. We get to school, and I hug my friend before taking off to do my hair and makeup backstage. After, I warm up with the rest of the cast, doing vocal exercises and some physical stretches. I try to peek at the audience but can’t get a good look. On impulse, I hit Timothy’s number. It goes to voicemail. “Hey, it’s me. I’m going to pretend you’re here to say break a leg or promise me cheese fries, but I can’t wait to see you tonight.” I swallow my nerves. “Thank you for helping me with this. I couldn’t have done it without you.” I leave the phone out, face up, while I go back to the dressing room. “Fifteen minutes!” the stage manager calls. I go to grab my costume. It’s not there. I ask the other actors and the stage manager, but no one’s seen it. Then my gaze lands on Carla. “I think I saw it over there.” She points to the corner. Relief has me sagging as I run to get my tail, its garment bag draped over a chair. I hold up the plastic bag and notice red liquid running down the bottom. “No.” I get the tail out of the bag and open it, seeing the inside stained red. I gingerly reach out to touch it, and it’s wet. Panic rises up in my throat. “What did you do?” “Me? Nothing. Jessy was drinking wine a little while ago. She must have spilled. Or maybe it’s that time of the month.” Jessy looks toward me in shock. “That’s bullshit.” But Carla turns and walks away. My breath sticks in my chest. Shit. “Ten minutes!” “Emily!” Jenna calls me over to her dressing table. “Do you want mine?” She bites her lip, trying to hide the wince. I find a smile. “No, but do you have your garbage bag still?” She helps me put it on underneath my real costume. It’s still gross, but at least I can perform without being distracted by stickiness. “Does the fabric smell?” I ask. She sniffs near my waist. “Only up close. If you can ignore it, Carla and Chris are the only other ones who’ll get a whiff.” “Perfect.” I’m not about to let this stop me. I take my spot in the wings as the curtain rises on the first scene. I watch it before the lights go down, and I take my mark. When the lights come up once more, I look out at the audience. I recognize Avery’s pink sweater. She’s in a row with her parents. I find my Dad and Haley. I’m pretty sure there’s an empty seat next to my Dad. I try to hit all the notes and the words, but my body feels heavy, as if I’m performing in water. My forehead’s damp from the lights. Then partway through the first act, my gaze lands on a shape at the back of the seats, by the doorway. Timothy. Every part of me lifts, expands, and from that point forward, I love being on stage. I relish every second in the spotlight. This is what I wanted, and though I sneak a look at my family once in a while, every line and song and scene makes me realize it’s not for them. It’s for me. I’m doing it for me, and I feel amazing. The final curtain is accompanied by thunderous applause and hollering. Everyone exchanges smiles—even Chris pulled his shit together. Carla tries to avoid my gaze but can’t, and I wink at her as we join hands to bow. “I owe you a drink,” I murmur to her, “since I’m pretty sure your family’s entire liquor cabinet is inside my costume.” “That was great, Emily,” Haley says when she and my dad come backstage after the show. Her eyes land on my costume and the trash bag on top of it. “Do I want to know what that’s about?” “No. No, you don’t.” I smile, looking past her. “Where’s Timothy? I saw him come in. He was standing in the back.” They exchange a look. My Dad lowers his voice. “Let’s go home.” “I’m going with Avery.” “Emily, please.” “Okay,” I relent, waving to my friend with a promise to call her in the morning. When we get home, my Dad’s Bentley is already in the garage, but Timothy’s bike is gone. How is he not back yet? I run around the side of the house, nearly tripping on the roses in my hurry to get to the pool house. The lights are on. I burst in the door, breathless, a smile on my face as I prepare to giddily tell him every second, to demand his reaction. Hell, I’d even take notes as long as he put his hands on me while he gave them. But the space is empty. Something else is wrong, too. It takes a second for me to put my finger on it. No schoolbooks. Not tidy stacks of clothes. No guitar. My stomach plummets. I feel a presence at my back and whirl on my Dad. “Where is he?” “Gone.” Numbness takes hold of my gut, spreading to my limbs. “Where?” “He didn’t say.” “And you didn’t ask? Whatever ‘I’m a musician, I’ll do what I want’ breakfast cereal you all eat isn’t charming. It isn’t normal.” The burning behind my eyes doesn’t turn to tears. It lingers like coals that refuse to cool. I run across the pool deck and into the house. Haley calls out to me, but I pass her without a word and pull out my phone to check for missed calls or messages. Nothing. Three nights ago, he slept in my bed. The next day, we flirted at the dinner table. I fucking bought candles. It’s not true. It’s not. It’s— I stalk into my room and pull up at the sight of the object lying on my duvet. The guitar I bought Timothy. Twenty-four frets, inlaid rosewood. I stare at it numbly as if it’s going to speak, but maybe it already did. “Emily...” Haley’s voice comes from the doorway. I can barely make her out through my blurry vision. “Go away.” “We should—“ “Go. Away!” I shut the door and grab the guitar, sliding my back down the side of the bed until my ass hits the floor. I wrap a hand around the neck and squeeze. The strings bite into my skin. “Forgive me.” “Someday.” “When?” “When you never leave me.” I shut my eyes so hard my teeth hurt. After three years of ups and downs, of inside jokes and bitter standoffs and dreaming of things I never thought would happen, everything‘s starting falling into place. My life is making beautiful, twisted sense for the first time. “I like you. A lot.” “I like you a lot too, Six.” The last few days with him scroll through my mind, a movie of promises and confessions and trust and openness. Of wanting and finally having. After so long, I have him. Timothy is coming back. Timothy Adams is mine. My friend, my prince, my heart. He has to come back. I love him. I think he might love me too… … He’s not coming back.