All We Could Have Been

by TE Carter

  Throughout the day several other random drama kids ask me, tentatively, if I’m really auditioning. I love that it’s so unreasonable that I might still feel like acting, just because everyone knows my real last name.

  Even Chloe mentions it in study hall. We’re currently existing in a strange in-between. We really don’t like each other, but there’s something in the quiet acceptance we’ve built. We try to remain civil because she hates me for things that have nothing to do with Scott, and I respect her begrudgingly for that.

  “I actually think it’s a great idea,” she says, sitting next to me. The teacher keeps looking up at us, but she doesn’t ask us to be quiet. Even the teachers don’t care right now. There are only a few days left until break, and school’s mostly for show. “You won’t get a part, but I think it’s basically the biggest ‘fuck you’ ever.”

  “You think it’s a great idea because you’re pretty much guaranteed a part this time,” I say. “If you weren’t, you’d try to talk me out of it. But this time there aren’t enough people. Or so I’ve heard.”

  “So? You’re still not getting one,” Chloe says, and I laugh.

  “You know what? I’m glad you’re the worst.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s mutual.”

  When the bell rings, I head toward the parking lot to meet Marcus and his friends, who drive us to and from school now. I really don’t plan to audition, despite what I told people. On my way out I pass the auditorium, where everyone is starting to congregate. I don’t let myself remember how it felt to belong for a moment. I ignore the memory of that first moment on the stage.

  I tell myself not to think about the bleachers, either. About Ryan. That’s not the truth of it all anymore. That’s not real for me now.

  I make it to the staircase that leads out to the parking lot. I’m almost outside. Almost free of it.

  On the window of the door that leads outside, I see one of Rory’s “Let’s all point out what a terrible person Lexi is” flyers, and I stop. I see Miles and Lucy from the glass, and I can make out cars and people through their faces. I turn and look back down the hall, toward the auditorium, and then turn back, staring at the flyer and the world beyond it again.

  In Romeo and Juliet, I had three lines and I played a nonexistent character. I got to wear clothes I chose, on the days I needed to, and I never had to feel uncomfortable. Being part of something was easy.

  This won’t be. If I go to auditions, I most likely won’t get a part. But if I do, it will be revenge for Rory. She’ll make it miserable. It will be the wrong role. Probably something that reaches into the things I hate most about myself. Something that will lead to a lot of nights of anxious tears with Marcus and Aunt Susie. I will absolutely have to wear something that will make me want to vomit. Maybe even red. They’ll cast me in a part that makes me remember Scott every day at rehearsal. They won’t let me forget.

  I can walk away. I can go outside, can meet Marcus at the car, can head home and be done with it all. I won’t benefit at all from auditioning. Either it will be humiliating in a simple way—no part for me, even though there aren’t enough actors—or it will be hell for months.

  But if I go outside and I don’t audition today, Rory Winters wins. She breaks me.

  I text Marcus and turn around.

  The auditorium is full of all the same people. They stop what they’re doing and look at me when I enter. I feel the doors whoosh closed. It’s too cold inside, the fake air pumped through the vents making me shiver. I ignore it, and I ignore everyone’s stares, looking straight ahead and focusing on the stage lights.

  I stroll to the front of the auditorium, pick up a packet, and start preparing. I’ll have to use the only monologue I’ve ever memorized, because I didn’t plan to be here.

  After I get my forms, I sit in the second row and fill out the papers while the silence turns to a quiet hum. People start talking, pretending they’re not uncomfortable. A couple of girls stare at me and whisper, but I focus on filling out my details and I try not to hear them. I even include my phone number this time on my info sheet. They can do their worst.

  Rory walks to the stage, and the auditorium settles into quiet. She glares at me while speaking.

  “I’m really excited to see most of you here. It’s nice to see the same faces. Clearly, we have to be open to all, and sometimes there are people we’re not really expecting to see here, but I’m happy there are so many familiar faces. The important thing is to do your best. I know people assume I get every lead, but things can change.” She smiles as if she believes it. “So let’s get started, shall we? Any volunteers to be first?”

  No one volunteers. No one wants to be first; the first person is like the practice audition. Whoever goes first sets the bar for everyone else, so it’s usually someone new. They’re chosen by Rory so they can set the bar low. That way everyone else feels good about themselves. Yeah, it’s a pretty shitty way to do things, but it works and keeps most of the drama club members feeling good. One random person who will likely never try out again is a sacrifice Rory is more than willing to make.

  I’m not at all surprised to hear my name called as the sacrifice today.

  I don’t really know why I’m doing this, I think as I walk up the aisle. I can’t win. But I guess it’s like I told my aunt: It’s not about winning; it’s about not losing anything else. It’s about not letting Rory Winters have the last word.

  I head onto the stage, feeling Rory’s eyes on me. When I turn to face the audience, though, I can’t see any of them. Just darkness against darkness because of the lights in my eyes.

  I remind myself that Ryan is in here somewhere. I think of him. I think of all the things I promised him and how I let him down. He’s who I hold on to when I speak.

  Nothing hurts more beautifully than memory.

  When I speak, I think of that evening with him on the bleachers. I try to make him remember.

  Even after you think the scars have healed, they never, ever heal.

  I promised I would be his normal. I still want that for us. I still want to be something to him. I realize as I speak these words about memory and pain that I love Ryan. I love him in a way that makes it ache not having him around. It’s a different kind of love than romance. It’s nothing like it is with Marcus, but I miss it so much.

  I can continue. I can start over. Not a new beginning … but a different beginning. One that branches out from the old. That takes into account all that came before it.

  I say someone else’s words to Ryan, and I try to make him see. I try to show him what I’m missing without him. Friendship and trust and knowing you can bear your burden because you’re happy to carry someone else’s for them.

  I tell him all this through the words of another person. Through a writer I don’t know and through a character who isn’t real. I try to tell him, and I try to let the words come from me instead. To let him see me.

  Something will remind me. And that pain will still be there … but part of me welcomes it now.

  After my audition I leave. I don’t wait for feedback from Rory. I realized while I spoke, while I tried to tell Ryan what I wanted him to know, that it doesn’t matter if I get cast.

  I don’t want to be a part of them anymore. I just wanted them to know I’m still here.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  I’m in my room packing for winter break when my phone buzzes. My parents are on their way to come get me, and Marcus was just here, so I can’t imagine who it could be.

  Do you have a couple hours? the text says.

  Who is this?

  Oliver Queen.

  I run through all the conversations I’ve ever had. The people I’ve met. I try to place the name and I can’t.

  Who?

  I keep packing while I wait for a response. But as I fold my shirts and see the green corner of one on the bottom of the pile, I remember.

  Ryan?

  Green Arrow, he texts. Remember?

  I do. How�
��d you get my number?

  Drama form. Sorry you weren’t cast.

  I sit on my bed and close my suitcase. My parents will be here in a few hours pending traffic, but I can probably find time. Worst case, they can talk to my aunt until I get back.

  I didn’t really want a part anyway.

  I figured.

  So I have some time now. A little.

  Meet me outside.

  When?

  I’m already here.

  I go outside as he’s pulling into the driveway. I’m tempted to lecture him on texting and driving, especially in the snow, but I’m too surprised to say much of anything. I lean over and open the passenger door, peering inside.

  “Hey,” I say. “What if I hadn’t answered?”

  “I brought you a present. I was just going to leave it.” He gestures to a red bag on the passenger seat.

  “I didn’t get you anything.”

  “That’s okay. It’s kind of crap anyway.”

  I laugh. “It’s freezing. I’m going to get in.”

  “Please.”

  “Can I open it?” I ask once I’m in the car.

  “It’s really nothing,” he says. I ignore him and pull the tissue from the bag. Inside is a ladybug lawn ornament with a Santa hat.

  “It’s the sibling to the one you bought,” he explains. “Seasonal. I … I’m sorry. It’s garbage.”

  “I love it. It’s a festive delight.”

  “I just … I wanted you to know … I…”

  I watch him struggling to find words, and I put the bag down by my feet. “So where are we going?” I ask, trying to distract him from what he doesn’t want to—or can’t—say.

  “It’s Christmas. Well, Christmas season. And where better to spend it than at the greatest comic-book store ever?”

  The car is warm. He’s been in here for a while, because it’s that toasty warm that feels like its own memory of summer. A break from the chill outside. I love riding around in winter just because of the contrast. Sweating while the entire world outside becomes white.

  “Sounds good to me,” I say.

  It’s silent in the car for a while as the snow continues to fall all around us.

  “Look, L,” he says finally. “I don’t know how to do this.”

  “Do what?”

  “This. Us. Whatever. I miss you. I can’t stand not seeing you. But I don’t know how to have people look at me. I can’t have them truly look at me.”

  “I want to tell you you’re overreacting. I want to say you have nothing to worry about. But I can’t. People…”

  Ryan turns on the windshield wipers, pushing winter in arcs along the glass. “I’m sorry they’re not … People change.”

  I think of everything Marcus said. “Do they? Sometimes I hope they can, but—”

  “I don’t mean in a good way,” Ryan says. “I mean, sure, sometimes I guess people do. It’s nice hoping they do anyway. But what I mean is that people change when you really see them. They’re one way when it’s easy. But they change when they’re tested. When something makes them uncomfortable.”

  “She wasn’t tested,” I say. “Rory Winters has never been tested in any way.”

  We drive forward into warp speed, snow coming down faster as we go, the faint sounds of Christmas carols coming from his stereo.

  “I don’t know what would happen if they found out,” he admits. “Maybe they’d think it’s fine. But what if they didn’t? I don’t know what it would be like, but I know for sure that I can’t survive a year and a half if it turns out like it did for you.”

  “You know I get it, right? You know it’s all okay?”

  “I’m not a good person. I should have been your friend. I was supposed to be your friend.”

  “Ryan, people get scared. You have a right to be scared. I was selfish. I should have thought about you, about the ripples of the things I was doing, before I went off and did something like that.”

  He shakes his head, clutching the steering wheel. “I’m an asshole. I don’t want them in my life over you. They weren’t there. They haven’t been there. Two years ago when I wanted to die every day, where the fuck was Rory Winters? She was part of the problem, and I’m letting her do it again. It’s just in a different way. You know I get that, right?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with you, you know,” I tell him.

  “I know. But … I just don’t have the desire to explain it to them. To try to make them get it. If I told them I’m not into girls, everyone would assume I’m gay. Which would be fine, except I’m not. So if I said that, they’d tell me I’ll find the right girl someday. Like everything is defined by who I end up with. I can’t make them get it. And I don’t feel like trying. I just want them to leave me alone.”

  “I can appreciate that. And for the record, I get it. I don’t think you have to explain.”

  “I miss you,” he says.

  “Me too. I miss you constantly. I tried … during my audition, I tried to tell you. I wanted you to know I was talking to you. I really wish things were different.”

  “How do I be good for you and still be okay, L? Just tell me how.”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess we figure it out as we go. You know I don’t need the world to know we’re friends, right? I don’t care about any of that anymore. I just need you to know. I need to know you don’t hate me.”

  “I never hated you,” he says. “For the last month, I’ve hated me. I wanted to defend you. Whenever they’d start shit. Rory and her fucking flyers. At auditions. I wanted to be there. I want to be there for you.”

  “I thought about going back home,” I tell him. “At first. I almost gave up when she started it.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t, even if I don’t have the right to feel that way.”

  We slow down and Ryan pulls up to a brick building with a gray sign. According to him, this is the world’s most exciting comic book store. It looks like another accountant’s office, but hey, what do I know? Maybe everything holds much more on the inside.

  “I’m not leaving,” I say. “I’m gonna stay here. I decided I’ll stay here for a while after all. You know why?”

  “Why?”

  “Because on my first day of school here, I met two people. A boy I admit I’ve fallen pretty embarrassingly in love with.”

  “See? What kind of friend am I that I haven’t even been there for that?” Ryan asks.

  “Don’t worry. I will be happy to regale you with all the stories. Maybe at the next regional craft fair. In between fighting off the hordes, of course.”

  “It’s January third. They don’t even give people time to put away all the shit they got for Christmas that they didn’t want.”

  “Well, I’ll be there with bells on,” I say. “Probably literally. You know, when in Rome…”

  “Mildred is selling jingle bells. After Christmas. And don’t worry. She’ll sell out,” he says.

  “The corruption runs deep.”

  “It does. But I interrupted you. You said you met two people…”

  “I did. Two boys, actually. I worried at first, I admit. I’ve read enough books to realize that meeting two boys on the first day of school is usually a bad sign. And one’s probably a werewolf or something.”

  Ryan laughs. “Can you imagine how annoying it would be to have your relationships decided by hashtags and team names?”

  “Seriously. I think I’m going to be nothing but #TeamMe.”

  “#TeamNope?”

  “You’re the worst distraction,” I say, laughing. “I’m supposed to be telling you my feelings right now, you know.”

  “I think it’s pretty clear. And so you know, I’m definitely on your team. I’m just…”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “So we’re still friends? Even with the complications?” he asks.

  “I told you before. We’re always friends. I miss you, Ryan. I don’t care if we’re only friends at craft fairs and on secret snowy trips to
this kind of shady brick building. I’d rather have you in my life than not.”

  “Galactic Empire is absolutely not shady. I am quite disturbed you’d say so,” he says, turning off the car.

  “Okay, except the sign is a gray rectangle with only the letter M still visible. It’s not a good omen for the state of the company.”

  “Listen, L. Galactic Empire is such that it doesn’t need signs. People know this place. They can sense it through time and space.”

  We both get out of the car, standing in the snow as it continues to dust the world.

  “You’ll see,” Ryan says. “You’ll come to know the wonders of Galactic Empire, and the world as you know it will never be the same.”

  He takes my arm as we walk. I lean on him because the snow makes the driveway slippery.

  “What are you into for comics?” he asks. “You said a while back that you were kind of into them.”

  “That was a while ago,” I say. “With my brother.”

  “Oh … is this … Are you okay?”

  I nod. “Yeah. Yeah, you know what? I’m okay. I’m good, actually.”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  TE Carter is the author of I Stop Somewhere. She was born in New England and has lived there for pretty much her entire life. Throughout her career, she’s done a lot of things, although her passion has always been writing. When she’s not writing, she can generally be found reading classic literature, obsessing over Game of Thrones (she’s 100 percent Team Lannister), playing Xbox, organizing her comic collection, or binge-watching baking competitions. She continues to live in New England with her husband and their two cats. Visit her online at tecarter.com, or sign up for email updates here.

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