The Truth About Fragile Things (27 page)

“It was a joke,” he repeated, a sulk sneaking into the back of his voice. He waffled over an apology, but then his eyes narrowed and hardened. Nothing shuts up Phil like wounded dignity.

I sighed. I’d just started at least a week-long fight with him. “Just promise me you did not and will not tell anyone.”

“Whatever,” he murmured. “I’m going to class.”

“Phil, some things are private.” The plea in my voice wasn’t enough. He shrugged off my words.

Charlotte turned worried eyes to him and I knew I had seen those eyes before. A hundred times. On a hundred girls hoping to catch one of his kisses. Phillip moped out of the library with Charlotte close behind and I had only two brilliant words to say.

“Oh, no.”

“L
et’s deal with it.”

I spoke before Phillip turned around, hoping a surprise attack would help him snap out of his moping. He swiveled just enough to confirm it was me and went back to his homework.

Schatz had called a meeting for all the understudies during rehearsal and it was the first time in three days I’d been able to speak to Phillip alone. He slouched against the brick wall at the back of the theater, plodding through calculus. I sat next to him, close enough to force him to acknowledge me. “We have a new problem. So can we agree everything was my fault and I’m sorry and move on to the next issue?”

His pencil paused. “You don’t mean that.”

“Of course I don’t. You were an idiot to tell Braden but I’ve accepted that you’re an idiot for years. Why should anything change now?”

Instead of looking up to see my impish smile he growled. “Go away, Megan.”

“Phillip, I’m serious. You need to stop being mad at me because I have to talk to you about Charlotte.” He scratched out his problem with sharp, dark scribbles. It wasn’t the math he was slashing through, it was me. I ignored how much that bothered me and continued. “I’ve been watching her and I think she likes you. Like romantically.”

His scribbles turned to lines, long, fluid streaks of graphite smearing down his paper.

“You noticed, didn’t you?” I asked.

He granted me one shrug. “She hasn’t said anything to me.”

“She doesn’t have to. She sits with you at lunch every day. She meets you after school.”

“We all meet here after school. It’s called rehearsal,” he snapped.

“Phillip, you know what I mean. You have to figure out a way to let her down easy. If she gets mad at you she might take it out on me and then we won’t finish the list. We have to finish the list.” When I moved my face into his line of vision my hair fell across his hand. He slid a lock through his thumb and forefinger, tilting it to watch the glow of the yellow lights move across the black strands. I slowly pulled away.

“What do you suggest?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Fall in love with somebody else. Make out with someone in front of her. I don’t care. Just do it before she says anything to you and gets rejected.”

“Are you volunteering to make out?” There was a shadow of my Phillip behind the joke, but he was stiff and wrong. A cardboard cutout of my best friend.

“Maybe. I don’t really care at this point. But we couldn’t fool her. She’d see through us. Don’t you have any old girls lying around you were thinking of kissing twice or something?”

His face moved away from me as if I’d struck him. “Go away, Megan.”

“But what about—” I started to ask as he stood up.

“I’m dealing with it,” he said and walked away, leaving all his papers behind. I looked just startled enough that when Braden passed with his clipboard he stopped.

“Are you okay, Megan?”

I nodded; the lie fit easily into the middle of me where no one could see it. But Braden tapped his pen against his clipboard, wavered. “You wanna test lights with me? Since you’re not practicing.”

That was a new invitation. Any other day curiosity would have pushed me to say yes, but I refused with a worried smile. “Thanks, but I’m good.”

Instead of leaving me Braden looked up at the stage where Phillip stood with an actress from the next scene. He swallowed, prepared for a question, and just when I was sure he would ask me something he clipped his pen to his papers. “Yeah, you are,” he agreed with a grin.

Maybe because it was a compliment disguised as a throwaway comment, it snuck past all my reserves and defenses and made its way to my toes where it felt cold and light, like stepping into the river. And just like the river, he rushed past me and left me shifting my weight, fighting for balance.

Even Schatz picked up on Phillip’s odd mood that day. He was wonderful in the scenes where he had to be dry and sarcastic, but when he had to be playful or comically passionate, it was comically sad.

“Phillip,” Schatz called from her favorite seat in the center of the auditorium. She had just chewed off a large bite of licorice so we had to watch her gesticulate until she could finish her sentence. “I feel like you’re a dance partner who’s going to drop the girl. You can’t leave Megan hanging out there. We need a little sparkle. Where’s your sparkle, Phil?”

A smattering of laughter rose from the onlookers and stage crew. A few guys did some sparkly-looking jazz hands. “You’re not sparkling, Phillip,” Alicia called from backstage.

In the stage lights I hoped my embarrassment wouldn’t show. I found a nondescript piece of air to study while the truth burned like a smoky campfire in my chest. He was leaving me hanging because he couldn’t stand to touch me. Every time he was supposed to pull me into his arms, he refused to grab me against his chest, let go too fast, put too much distance between us. “Maybe it’s me,” I offered when he didn’t come up with a reply.

Schatz scowled and jerked an angry finger at me, signaling me off the stage. I took the staircase quickly, half mortified, half fascinated, and entirely curious to see what would happen next. I couldn’t remember the last time an adult had been mad at me.

“Megan’s understudy, get up there,” Schatz bellowed, not bothering to remember Charlotte’s name. My eyes shot to Charlotte who looked as surprised as I felt. She passed me on her way up, our faces unreadable and tense. “Show them how to do it,” I whispered.

Schatz met me in the left aisle. “When I am correcting my actors,” Schatz said in a stage whisper designed to be heard by all, “and I do know which actors to correct—I don’t need anyone second guessing me. You were a little flat and I was getting to you, but Phillip was like night of the living dead, only he was more night of the dead dead.” At this point she raised her voice to a booming announcement and Phil rubbed his red face with one hand. “And I had to address him first. Do you want to direct this play?”

I shook my head, my soft hair swishing across my shoulders.

“I didn’t think so.” Her expression had already turned conspiratorial. She was letting me in on the secret. We were still a team. “Now sit next to me and see what I saw and maybe next time you won’t doubt me.”

She told them to start at Phillip’s entrance. Phillip turned up his volume and gestured bigger, but she was right, he was jerky and stuck inside his own head. At least he was until Charlotte messed up the blocking and instead of spinning and running to her left, ran to her right and crashed into him. His elbow caught her in the chin and she went down despite his efforts to catch her. Those of us in the audience gave an involuntary cry, wondering if she hurt herself, but it only took three seconds to realize they were both laughing.

“Darling,” Phil kept character and improved. “What in the name of the Sainted Nicholas have you been drinking? No apple brandies before lunch, love. Did I get your wee chin, there?”

Charlotte tried to respond but her voice broke into effervescent giggles, a sound so light I had to stare to confirm it came from her.

Phil seized the moment to shed all of his stubborn moping and brushed her down as if she were covered in lint from the floor. “Honestly, plum cake, you know you get slap happy when you’re drunk. You’ll get us both fired and then there goes the…” Phillip grimaced, searching for some way to finish the sentence. “The indoor loo we’ve been saving for.” Laughter came from every direction, behind the curtain, behind the sets. Hammers rested while everyone stopped to watch.

“That’s what I’m talking about.” Schatz stood in her seat, her arms raised like she was calling a field goal and her voice boomed across the cavernous room the way only a director’s can. “Welcome home, Phil. That’s how we get it done!”

Charlotte grinned next to him, a head shorter; his arm hovered near her back, almost touching her in congratulations. Schatz tilted her head, something caught her interest. “Finish the scene,” she ordered and snapped her fingers at the other actors who needed to take their places. “See if you two can put that kind of energy into the lines you’re supposed to say.”

You two
. A matched set. A pair. A couple. When I looked back up at the stage I didn’t let my eyes focus, but made the lights blur into hazy colors, muffled sounds, like the confusion rising from my ribs.

I listened for Charlotte’s voice. To me it sounded too practiced, but I wondered what everyone else heard. Was she brilliant and I couldn’t admit it because I didn’t want to? Schatz scratched comments in her notebook and I forced my eyes not to look. Okay, I glanced, but once I realized how hard it was to read in the dim room from one seat over I didn’t try to decipher it.

“What do you think?” Schatz asked me out of the side of her mouth, still scribbling away.

“He’s doing better now.” I never try to let her questions surprise me. I think it impresses her when I don’t stutter or second guess.

“I meant of the two of them.”

I only stuttered on the inside. “As actors?”

She dropped her pencil in frustration and leveled a narrow look at me. “Of course, as actors. Did you think I meant as a couple?” She looked at me like I had lost my mind before she added, “I’m not matchmaker.”

I swallowed, forced myself to watch them. “Good chemistry,” I choked out.

“She’s not half as good as you when it comes to acting. But we have a problem.”

I let my wide eyes ask for me.

“She has an advantage.”

“What?” I asked, the word brittle.

Schatz squinted, like telling me the truth pained her. “Phillip acts better with her.”

“You think I’m holding him back?” I didn’t even care that anyone could hear how offended I sounded.

“No! I think he’s holding back on you. And I don’t know why he’ll let go with that little freshman and not my best actress.”

I shook my head, hoping the movement would toss the words out of my ears. “I don’t know.” And I truly didn’t know if I had just lied to her or not. I was glad we were almost out of time because I did not want to go up there and show the entire cast that Phillip couldn’t act when I stepped on stage. Instead I pulled a Phillip. I picked up my things and left without a word to anyone. For two days I refused to talk to him other than when completely necessary.

The only problem was he didn’t notice.