Look Both Ways (14 page)

I close my eyes and replay the kiss in painstaking detail, fixing it in my mind so I can pull out the memory whenever I need it. And then I lean in close to the mirror and inspect myself, trying to figure out if I look any different now that I’m a girl who has kissed another girl. The only evidence I see is a smudge of silver sparkles across my cheekbone. I leave them there. They match how I feel on the inside.

The moment I wake up the next morning, I start wondering if Zoe and I are going to talk about the kiss today. I grow increasingly nervous as I tiptoe around her sleeping form and get ready for my crew call, trying to predict whether things between us will be more intense and charged or more complicated and distant after last night. I’m afraid it’ll be the second one; Zoe cheated on her boyfriend with me, and she’ll probably feel pretty guilty about it now that she’s sober. I decide to let her initiate the conversation, if we’re going to have one at all. I don’t think I could handle seeing a look of pity flash across her face if I brought it up and she had to explain that it can never happen again—or worse yet, that it didn’t mean anything to begin with.

I’m a little relieved Zoe hasn’t woken up by the time I leave. She isn’t around at dinner, either, so I eat with Jessa, who spends the whole meal telling me a convoluted story about her ex-boyfriend. I see Zoe in the wings during the performance of
Midsummer,
of course, but it’s not like we can have a private conversation there. She squeezes my shoulder on her way to the stage at the top of act two, and I spend the rest of the show trying to figure out whether there was a hidden message in the brief pressure of her fingers.
Sorry about last night
?
Don’t even bother thinking about it
?

Or maybe
I want to kiss you again
?

I almost miss my cue, and the stage manager has to yell at me before I spring into action and plug in my LEDs.

I get back to the room before Zoe after the show and curl up with a book to wait for her, but I’m not even seeing the words on the page. When I hear her key in the lock, I frantically rearrange myself on the bed so I look as casually cute as possible, propped on my elbow with my hair hanging over one shoulder just so and my tank top riding up my stomach the tiniest bit. I toy with the end of my ponytail and look down at the novel I’m supposedly reading; I want her to walk in and think,
I can’t believe how adorable she is when she’s not even trying.

But when I look up and say, “Hey,” she doesn’t even meet my eyes.

“Hi,” she says.

“Did you have a good show?”

“Yeah, it was fine.” Zoe drops her bag onto her chair, scoops up a binder from her desk, and starts paging through it so fast, she can’t possibly be reading anything.

Is she trying to avoid me? I assumed that the worst possible scenario would be discovering that the kiss meant nothing; I never even considered the possibility that it would bring our entire friendship crashing down. Maybe Zoe confessed to Carlos and he told her to stay away from me. I have that bottom-dropping-out feeling I get when I go on the Cyclone at Coney Island, like my body has moved forward and left my stomach behind.

“How was the rest of your day?” I ask. I try to keep my voice bright and cheerful.

“I had my first
Birdie
rehearsal.” When Zoe finally looks up from the binder, there’s no embarrassment or anger in her eyes—there’s only panic. I’ve never seen her look vulnerable before, and the way she’s struggling to hide it makes her look heartbreakingly young and fragile. This obviously has nothing to do with me, and suddenly I can breathe again.

I sit up. “Was it bad? What happened?”

She sighs. “No, it was fine. I’m just…a little overwhelmed.”

“Of course you are. Kim’s a really big role, and it was your first day.”

“I know, and logically, I’m sure I can handle the part. The songs aren’t even that hard or anything. We started working on ‘One Boy’ this morning, and it went pretty well. But then I did ‘What Did I Ever See in Him?’ this afternoon with Julianna—she’s playing Rosie—and she’s…” Zoe sighs and drops her binder on the desk. “She’s so professional. I mean, she
is
a professional, obviously. But it reminded me how much I’m not, you know? I don’t even have any real training yet. How am I supposed to keep up with her?”

“Zoe, you’re insanely talented,” I say. “You’ll totally be able to keep up.”

“Thanks. I know it’ll probably be fine. But…this is going to sound terrible, but I’m used to it being easy. I’m used to being the best. It was never hard for me to get leads at my high school. And here I’m, like,
so
far from the best, and it’s going to be the same at Juilliard. What if I have to spend the entire rest of my life not being the best?”

A snotty little part of me wants to go,
Welcome to the club,
but I swallow down the words. Zoe has never really
needed
me before, and I want to show her how supportive I can be. Plus, listening to her spill her secret fears is making me feel close to her in a totally new way.

“You have tons of time to rehearse,” I say. “The show doesn’t open for six weeks. By then you’re going to be even better than Julianna.”

Zoe smiles at me. “You’re sweet,” she says. “I think maybe I’ll feel better if I go to the practice rooms for a little while and look over what we did today.”

“You can practice here. I don’t mind.”

“No, it’s late. I don’t want to bother anyone. I’ll be back soon, okay? I’ll try not to wake you up if you’re asleep.”

Of course I want Zoe to feel better, but I also don’t want her to leave me. Before I even have time to think about it, I’m asking, “Do you want an accompanist?”

“Well, yeah. I’d love that. But nobody’s going to be available this late.”

“I’m available.”

She looks up from gathering her things. “I didn’t know you could play.”

“Yeah. I’m pretty good, actually.”

“It’s really nice of you to offer. But I don’t have the piano part.”

“That’s okay,” I say. “I know it.”

“Seriously? You know all of
Birdie
by heart?”

I shrug. “I mean, I probably don’t know
all
of it. But I’m pretty sure I can do your songs.”

I love the way Zoe’s looking at me right now, like she’s eaten an oyster and found an unexpected pearl lurking in the shell. “All right,” she says. “If you’re sure. Thank you.”

She leads me downstairs and into one of the practice rooms, and by the time she closes the door behind us, I’m starting to panic a little. What was I thinking, setting her expectations that high? If I were in my own living room, accompanying Marisol or Christa, I have no doubt I could play most of
Birdie
from memory. But what if I choke in these new surroundings, when Zoe’s counting on me? I can’t stand the thought of embarrassing myself in front of her.

The room is tiny and windowless and much hotter than it is upstairs, and a bead of nervous sweat slips down my spine. I sit down on the bench and play some scales and arpeggios until my fingers feel limber and relaxed. “Okay,” I say. “I’m ready when you are.”

Zoe digs her music out of her binder and comes to stand right next to me. If she regretted last night, she’d probably try to keep some distance between us, right? “Can we start with ‘One Boy’?” she asks.

“Sure.”

I start playing, and by the time I’m through the short introduction, I already feel much better. I do know this song by heart; hundreds of songs are stored in my fingers, in my blood, in my DNA. I could play them while Marcus threw eggs at me. I could probably play them in my sleep.

I’ve never actually heard Zoe sing before, but the second she opens her mouth, it’s obvious why she got into Juilliard. Her voice is sweet and pure, perfect for Kim, and she sings the song simply, without showing off or adding any unnecessary flourishes. When I accompanied Skye a couple of weeks ago, she stared off into the middle distance as she sang, like she was performing for an invisible, adoring crowd. But Zoe sings right
to
me, holding eye contact for so long, it unsettles and thrills me at the same time. If she can make me feel like this in a dingy little practice room, I can only imagine what it’ll be like when she’s onstage, backed by an entire orchestra. Everyone in the audience is going to fall in love with her. It’s so easy to fall in love with someone while she’s singing.

And then I start listening to the words.

“One boy, one steady boy,

One boy to be with forever and ever,

One boy, that’s the way it should be…”

I’ve been waiting all day for a signal from Zoe about whether last night meant anything, and I think I finally have my answer. She’s gently trying to remind me that she’s straight, that she has a boyfriend, that they’ve been together for almost a year. How could I have assumed last night meant anything? She was drunk. I was there. It was a game. There’s nothing to talk about.

There won’t be any more kisses, and I can’t believe how disappointed I am.

Somehow I manage to finish the song, and the second I take my hands off the keys, we both start talking at once. “You sound
awesome,
” I say, and it comes out a little too enthusiastic, like I’m trying to mask everything I just thought.

But Zoe doesn’t even notice, because she’s too busy saying, “Brooklyn, that was amazing. You are
amazing.
”

“Thank you,” I say, and then I have to concentrate all my energy on not turning bright red.

“Seriously, why didn’t you tell me you could play like that?”

“I don’t know; it never came up. It’s not a big deal.”

“It
is
a big deal. You know not everyone can whip out some random musical from memory and play it perfectly the first time, right?” Her eyes bore into me, piercing and bright, like she’s really
seeing
me for the very first time.

I shrug. “It’s kind of like having a good sense of direction or a good ear for languages,” I say. But now I feel like maybe my musical ability
is
kind of a big deal. Why didn’t anyone at home ever tell me I was great at this? I’ve been playing the piano since I was six, and I’ve always felt like it was a cop-out. The bench was my place to hide. I’ve never even considered that it could be a place to shine.

“Can you play other shows, too?”

I laugh. “Yeah, of course. I know tons of them.”

“Do you know
A Chorus Line
?
Phantom
?
Merrily We Roll Along
?
The Secret Garden
?”

“Sure,” I say. “I can probably do stuff from all of those.” I wonder if Zoe’s imagining long nights locked up with me in this tiny room, singing her heart out while I play. Even if she doesn’t want to kiss me again, I want to be indispensable to her in a way nobody else is. I send that image to the universe to help things along.

Zoe shakes her head in wonder. “Man, I can’t believe you had this hidden talent the whole time I’ve known you. Makes me wonder what
else
you can do…”

Her voice is edged with the slightest hint of a tease, and I can’t tell anymore if we’re still talking about the piano. Maybe she wasn’t trying to tell me anything with that
Birdie
song after all. The lyrics could be a coincidence; it’s not like she wrote them. I wish I could
ask
her how she feels, but I’m not sure how to do that without sounding ridiculous.
Hey, straight roommate with a boyfriend, remember that time you put your mouth on my mouth? Can you explain the subtext of that to me, please?

I should probably forget about the whole thing. Zoe and I are friends, and that should be enough for me. It was enough forty-eight hours ago. But now that she’s standing six inches from me, flushed and glowing and looking at me like I’m something rare and exciting, it doesn’t quite feel like enough anymore.

“Do you mind if we do it again?” Zoe asks, and for a second I think she’s reading my mind. But when I look at her in alarm, she’s holding up the music in her hand.

“Of course,” I say. “We can do it as many times as you want.”