All We Could Have Been

by TE Carter

He sits up and he’s right beside me. I can feel him breathing, small bursts of warmth against my neck. Marcus unnerves me as he looks at me. I try to look down at my hands, to break eye contact, but he lifts my face. “Stay this time, Lexi.”

  I almost say yes. He leans closer, and I feel myself meeting him there, my face only a flicker of space from his. I can almost taste his lips on mine, but then I think of my brother. I think of the after. I remember the things people said about me. Why I stopped going online for months.

  I stand up, grabbing my stuff. “I have to go. I’m sorry. Honestly.”

  He nods, but he won’t look me in the eye anymore, and I leave, the full October cold and darkness greeting me on my walk back to my aunt’s apartment. I run to my room, yelling to her that I’m home. When I lie down, I peer through the small gap under my shade at the light across the complex. Marcus’s room. I wonder if he ever looks over here. If he will anymore, even if he ever did.

  I close my eyes and blame October.

  Chapter Thirteen

  After the night with Marcus, I’m happy to go to Ryan’s craft fair. I like Ryan, even if it’s not in the same way I like Marcus. With Ryan, though, I find it easier not to reveal myself. It’s safer being around him.

  He’s the only person here who’s under 309 years old.

  “Now, I should tell you that I’m quite the connoisseur of lawn ornaments,” I say, “and these, sir, are far and away the best lawn ornaments I have ever seen. In fact, if I happened to have a gigantic lawn, I would fill said lawn with these exact ornaments.”

  An old lady with a basket full of wreaths stops as she passes, glances at the lawn ornaments, and shakes her head at me. I don’t know if she’s refuting my lawn ornament expertise, Ryan’s work, or just our being here.

  “It’s been a nightmare,” he says. “I’ve sold two.”

  “Do you normally do well?”

  “I do, but this is the big time, you know. This is where the real crafters make their name.”

  “And you’re not making your name in the record books of lawn ornament creators?”

  “Alas, no.”

  I pick up a small ladybug sculpture. I’m not sure what a person does with these things. I don’t have a lawn per se, although I guess the few dead blades of grass in the dirt in front of our apartment might count as a lawnlike space. There’s probably room for a ladybug. It certainly can’t hurt the aesthetics of Castle Estates.

  “How much for this future MoMA piece?” I ask.

  “Four dollars.”

  “Four dollars?” I repeat loudly, getting the attention of more old women and a few men, although I think most of them are just wondering what the high school girl wearing all pink is yelling about. “My God, man. This is worth three times that price!”

  “It’s a pity you’ve only got three lines in the show. Your acting skills are sensational,” Ryan says.

  I laugh, pay for the ladybug, and suddenly realize I have no other plans for the afternoon. I said I’d come, but I’m here now, at a craft fair, and I have to wait three hours for my aunt to come get me.

  “So … I have come to the unfortunate realization that I’ve got all day. Want some help?” I ask.

  “Well, as you can see, it’s been nigh impossible to keep the crowds away. It’s very hard to do alone.”

  “I’ll help you fend off your rabid fans, then.”

  Ryan stands up, opening a random closet behind him. He grabs a folding chair and sets it up next to his.

  “How was the rest of rehearsal last night?” I ask after I sit down.

  “It was fine. We figured out the blood packs, so no more Tarantino-esque fight scenes. It’ll be much less … intense from here. How are you feeling?”

  “I’m okay,” I say. “I got plenty of rest. Drank some fluids. But you were right. I was probably just reacting to all the stage blood. I get so grossed out by stuff like that.”

  “A lot of people do.”

  “Yup. Totally that. I feel a lot better now,” I lie.

  “That’s good. I’m glad. I was afraid you were faking it so you could ride off into the night with your secret lover.”

  I think of Marcus. How we sat on the bench, my knee against his, and how I couldn’t look at him completely because of his eyes. I think of how badly I wanted to kiss him, to ask him if he felt the same way, to tell him the truth about me. I think of how I ran away, right after he specifically asked me not to. I think of all of it, but I shake my head. “Yeah, I don’t have lovers.”

  “Well, that’s a good thing?” Ryan asks.

  I glance over at him, but he goes back to rearranging lawn ornaments.

  I’m not interested in being in the midst of some kind of love triangle, although I don’t know if that’s what any of this is. Still, the possibility of it and the added confusion aren’t great for my emotional state.

  “So what did you do last night? After you dropped me off and went back to rehearsal and whatever?”

  “Nothing, really. I mean, we hung out at rehearsal and went to the diner and stuff.”

  “Did anyone ask? After? Like, about what happened?”

  He pushes some of the lawn ornaments to the side and then puts them back in a new pattern. It’s nervous behavior. I recognize it, and I know what it means.

  “Were they talking about me?” I ask.

  “What? No. Of course not. I mean, yeah, everyone asked, but that was it and … hey, do you want a snack? I was thinking of heading to the vending machines.” He won’t look at me as he bends down toward the jacket he draped over his chair, rummaging through the pockets for loose change. “I’ve been here since, like, eight. I’m starving.”

  “No, I’m okay,” I say. “I’ll hold down the fort.”

  “Don’t go too easy on them. Don’t let ’em talk you down on the prices.” He jingles the change in his hand. “Listen, none of that matters, okay? People can say what they want. It’s not important.”

  “What did they say?”

  He shrugs. “Nothing that matters,” he says, and heads toward the vending machines.

  I know no one knows yet, but I hate it. I hate that they sat there talking about me. Was it during rehearsal? What did they say when Ryan wasn’t there to hear it? Who was it? I can just see Chloe talking about me, making up stories, reenacting my reaction to the blood. Laughing at me. At everything that’s happened.

  I try not to get angry. I don’t want to be angry. Not here. Not with Ryan, who’s been safe and nice and a respite from it all. I don’t want to lose this. Drama itself isn’t important to me—not in the way it is for Rory and Lauren and some of the others—but it’s something. It’s someplace, and they’ve welcomed me.

  Or at least I thought they had. But I know from the way Ryan wouldn’t tell me what they said that they haven’t. Not really. As soon as they had something, they sat around and made up versions of me. Sure, those versions are still probably better than the truth, but they did it, and it sucks. It sucks because I just want to be someone people don’t ridicule. Someone who doesn’t have a panic attack over something normal. Someone who can dress like a person and who doesn’t wonder at night why she deserves this. Why can’t I be that girl?

  “I got you trail mix,” Ryan says when he returns. “Sorry. It was that or gum. The pickings are slim.” He hands me a bag before opening his own. We sit quietly, eating seeds and nuts and M&Ms, probably both thinking about what was said at rehearsal, neither of us wanting to let it carry into now.

  “You know what your problem is?” I ask.

  “What do you mean?”

  I point down the room to an old lady selling birdhouses. “It’s your competition. People keep heading to that woman’s table. There’s only so much room on people’s lawns, and they’re filling the space with birdhouses. I think you need to do some deep market analysis.”

  “That’s Mildred. She’s been doing this for ages. She’s on the committee. I think she might even be president this year.”

/>   I look at Ryan in mock surprise. “Egads, Ryan. Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

  He nods. “The craft fair circuit is hard-core rigged. It’s good you realize it now. It’s not a place for the faint of heart.” A man coughs loudly as he passes our table. “Well, actually, it literally is, but you get what I mean.”

  “Well then, I’m glad I’ve got you to introduce me to the underground world of birdhouses and lawn ornaments. One could get in with the wrong crowd if one wasn’t careful.”

  Ryan crinkles the bag from his trail mix. A few seeds that were missed fall onto the floor by his feet. “Stick with me, L. I know the ways of the world.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  After the fair Ryan invites me to get dinner. Sadly, it would be with his parents sitting in another booth, so I tell him I have to head home with my aunt. I shouldn’t be pretending any of this is real anyway, and I don’t feel like meeting anyone’s parents if I don’t need to.

  When my aunt comes to pick me up, she sees me standing in front of the building talking to Ryan, and she immediately starts before I even have my seat belt on.

  “Dating is a bad idea,” she says. “I knew I should’ve been paying better attention.”

  “We’re not dating. I don’t even like him. Not that way, anyway. He’s just nice.”

  “Nice turns into something else,” she says, glancing back at Ryan once more before turning out of the parking lot.

  “Nice can just mean nice. I’m not interested in a relationship. And definitely not with Ryan. He’s a friend.”

  “You’re not interested in anyone else, are you? Anyone like Marcus Cotero?” she asks. I don’t respond and she shakes her head. “Be careful, Alexia.”

  “That’s me. Always being careful.”

  She opens her mouth to say something else but changes her mind. I feel bad. I shouldn’t take it out on her. She’s doing her best. She has to hear it from my parents, and if they find out I’m spending time with not just one guy but two, they’ll assume the same thing. They almost made me come home last year when they found out about Ben. Luckily for them, everyone else found out about me first.

  “Can I ask you something?” I say to Aunt Susie. “About Marcus, actually?”

  She looks over at me, trying to focus on the road but making it clear she doesn’t like the direction the conversation is going. “I warned you about him. Clearly, that didn’t take.”

  “I know. I know you warned me, and I know I didn’t listen. But I mean, why? Why did you warn me? What do people say about him?”

  “Like I said, they say he’s trouble. That he’s been trouble for a while. I heard he almost killed someone when he was a freshman. Got in a fight. He has anger problems. And Louise says he sells drugs, too. Just like Dianne told me.”

  “Really?” The drug thing doesn’t seem like Marcus, although can I really say? I don’t know much except his dad left, he seems sad, he has incredibly attractive eyes, and he likes old movies. And I like how he makes me feel normal.

  “I don’t know,” my aunt admits. “Louise has a habit of saying things. I don’t know if any of it’s true, but people talk, and with everything, you don’t want to be the one they talk about. I’m supposed to keep you out of all that.”

  “They already do,” I tell her. “People at school. They’re already starting to talk about me.”

  She tightens her grip on the steering wheel, but her face remains stoic. “How did they find out?”

  “They didn’t. They don’t know anything.”

  “Your parents are counting on me, Lexi.”

  “I know. And I’m doing my best. I haven’t told anyone. But…”

  She looks at me quickly, even though she’s supposed to be driving. “But?”

  “But I freaked out last night at rehearsal. There was blood for the play, and it reminded me. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, and I panicked. I told them I was sick. Ryan said I was just grossed out by the sight of the blood, and I went along with it. But no one believes anything. I know they can tell. They know I get distracted and sometimes forget to respond to them when they ask questions. They can see my clothes. They see how I shut down when things freak me out. I’m not fooling anyone. I don’t even know how to try to fit in.” I look back at her, her face still impassive. “I wish I could just be this other girl. Your niece. The one who transferred here because she needed to improve her GPA.”

  “You know you are that girl, right?” she asks. “Sure, there’s other stuff, but that doesn’t make you any less you. And the real you is pretty great, Lexi. Maybe you don’t need to fit in. Maybe you just need to let them get to know all these things you’re holding behind some kind of wall.”

  “But once they find out…”

  She shakes her head. “People have an amazing capacity for forgiveness sometimes. Not everyone, no, but I truly think you’re so much more than the girl you’re holding on to. Maybe it’s a good time to think about letting her go?”

  This feels a bit deep for a car conversation as we pass Taco Bell. And I don’t know if that’s true. I don’t think she’s right. Are we able to separate what we were from what we are? And are we what we are if we’re always hiding some of what we were?

  The slowly fading summer that’s turned to dying leaves and early evenings and bursts of clouds from our breath in the cold is always such an odd time for me. I know I said I hate it—because I do. But I also love it for its tragedy. I feel like there’s a lesson in there somewhere, but I don’t want to think about that now.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Somehow, despite the one moment so close to the edge, the next couple weeks until show week go by like the rest. People mostly seem to have forgotten about the blood pack debacle, or at least they’re so worried about forgetting their lines or missing a cue that it’s not a priority.

  I, on the other hand, feel more anxious by the day because I’m three nights from being onstage and I’m seriously doubting whether I can show up. At least the show can go on without Elaine, but I’ve grown more determined to do this—even though I still can’t convince myself I can.

  I get away with my plan of changing my costumes every night, claiming a lack of time to do laundry. No one believes me, but the fact that people don’t question it aloud makes me feel a little closer to them.

  “Three days, people. Let’s go,” Rory says as everyone filters into the auditorium for rehearsal. Most of us don’t have the same sense of urgency she does—and it pisses her off. We’re all committed to making the show good, but good isn’t in Rory’s vocabulary. It’s either life-changing or it’s not worth doing at all.

  “Calm down,” Eric says. “Give people a chance to breathe. School got out, like, eight minutes ago.”

  “Yeah, exactly,” Rory says. Eric rolls his eyes, dropping his bag into a seat and heading to the cafeteria for a snack. She watches him leave, her eyes wide. “Really?” she calls after him. He doesn’t reply.

  “Hey, I’ve been looking for you,” Ryan says, coming up behind me. “I’m in charge of the cast party, and I need to get your food order.”

  “What cast party?”

  “Saturday. After the last show. At Rory’s.”

  “Oh.”

  He looks at me, slowly realizing no one’s mentioned the party to me. Sure, it could be because everyone assumes someone else told me, and it’s part of the show, and they figure I’ll find out and come. They could have figured Ryan would tell me, so they didn’t need to worry about it. But regardless of all the could-haves and the likely scenarios, I can’t help feeling left out.

  For all the ways I want to disappear and not let people see me, it still cuts me every time they don’t.

  “I’m sure everyone just assumed you’d be going. Since I am.”

  “Oh, right,” I say. “Except, I mean, why? We aren’t inseparable or anything.”

  Ryan sits in the seat in front of me and turns toward me. “Can I tell you something without you getting
upset?”

  “That question never precedes something that’s not upsetting,” I point out.

  He looks down, eyes focused on the top of the auditorium seat, his hands picking at the fabric on the back of the seat next to him. “I might have let everyone believe we’re together.”

  It’s not a big deal. I’m not with anyone else, and while I don’t like Ryan that way, I don’t really care what people think in terms of my relationships, especially the ones that aren’t relationships. Ryan hasn’t acted like we actually are together, so does it matter if everyone assumes it? In some ways it’s probably easier. But there’s something kind of … well, it’s a violation, isn’t it? I’m fake-dating someone I’m not interested in, and I didn’t even know I was.

  “Why’d you do that?” I ask.

  He looks up, and his eyes are sad. There’s also an odd fear there. “Can we talk about it later?”

  “Okay, but I’m holding you to that. Maybe during the dinner break?”

  We agree, and it’s better we wait, because Rory is losing it onstage now. People are milling around the auditorium, talking about food and dinner orders and calculus tests and the semiformal and basically everything that has nothing to do with star-crossed lovers in fair Verona.

  “Can you all please sit?” she yells.

  Everyone stops what they’re doing, and while they don’t seem thrilled about being yelled at, all of them move quietly to their seats.

  “Thank you,” Rory says. “Look, we have three days until opening night. Everything’s mostly on track, but we still have some serious issues with the party scene, and Tybalt’s death is…”

  “Awful?” Mark, the guy playing Tybalt, offers. “Horrendous? More comical than tragic?”

  “It needs work,” she agrees. “And, like, half the English teachers are giving extra credit to their freshman classes if they attend, so it’s a big deal we do this well, guys. I don’t want to look bad in front of the whole school. This club is very important to me. I’ve been working on building this program for three years now. It’s going to be my legacy.”