by Emily Bybee
“Are you sure you won’t be making this harder when you meet your betrothed this summer?” Mom asked softly.
I lifted my chin. A few months with Sam was worth any heartache that might come later. “I’ll be fine.”
Abby’s eyes assessed me, as if she could see past my lies. “This is a bad idea.” She shook her head. “He needs to stay away from you.”
Mom kept her gaze on me. “The damage is already done. The decision should be Clara’s.”
“But Mom—” Abby started.
Mom held up her hand to stop Abby. “Remember Clara, love is like throwing yourself in a raging river. You give up control—and sometimes logic.” She reached over to grasp my hand. “I just hope there aren’t rapids and waterfalls ahead of you.”
I licked my lips and nodded. “Thank you, Mom.”
Nora raised her hand to talk as if we were in school. “I hate to add to the trouble but there is a question of if Sam caught us performing the spell on Katie.”
Abby’s face flushed crimson and if she ground her teeth together any harder, I feared they’d break. “I’ll take care of it.”
“No,” I jumped in. Abby mucking around in Sam’s brain was the last thing I needed. “I made this mess. I’ll clean it up.”
“How?” Abby asked.
I held her gaze even though I wanted to curl up in a ball. “I’ll ask him.”
Chapter 7
Despite my bravado of the day before, I trembled at the thought of asking Sam if he’d seen me perform magic. I couldn’t just come out and ask him—and I refused to invade the privacy of his brain. But during my sleepless night I’d come up with a plan. Sort of.
I dropped my backpack and leaned over to change my shoes for the heels I needed in the finale scene. Learning to walk in them, much less dance, had proved to be more challenging than the choreography.
Today was the day. Our first stage kiss. My blood heated as the memories of our many kisses yesterday surfaced.
“Hey beautiful,” a soft voice said behind me.
I turned, a smile already on my lips at the sound of his voice. My response died on my tongue, along with my oh-so-well-thought-out plan of how to find out if he knew I was a witch.
He held out a single red rose with an envelope attached by a cloth ribbon. “I brought this for you.”
“You didn’t have to.” I found my voice and took the rose, lifting it to my nose. The light and sweet smell filled my head and heart to near bursting. Careful, so as not to damage the stem, I untied the knot and released the envelope.
Sam glanced at his shoes, his hands in his pockets.
Unfolding the envelope, my mouth dropped open. It was a hand-written poem.
I never knew
Part of me
Was missing, completely gone.
Until I met you
My beautiful Clara.
You have filled
All the cracks in my heart.
The parts of me
I never knew to miss
Have become whole
Because of you.
You have my heart
My soul
My love.
Forever.
* * *
My mouth gaped as I read the words. They mirrored so completely what I’d experienced the moment we kissed. Tears gathered and the paper blurred. I dropped my hand and reached for Sam. Gripping his shirt, I pulled his lips to mine, not a care for who saw or the gossip that would spread faster than wildfire.
His warm mouth covered mine and the feeling of rightness settled over me again. I might as well have been tethered to him with a chain. This bond was real, solid, and not going anywhere.
Whistles sounded and Sam broke the contact. He waved off the onlookers. “Getting warmed up for our big moment.”
A few people laughed.
“So…you like it.” He motioned to the paper in my hand.
“You wrote this?”
“Yeah, I try to write songs and poems when I’m inspired.” His gaze held mine, and his voice dropped to almost a whisper, “And you inspire me more than anyone or anything I’ve ever known.”
“I feel the same way about you,” I murmured. It sounded lame compared to the beautiful poem he wrote. “But I won’t torture you with my poetry. It’s pretty awful.”
He wrapped an arm around me. “I’m sure it isn’t as bad as you think. As artists we’re always hardest on ourselves.”
I leaned into the contact, craving more of his warmth, more of him. Several of our castmates did doubletakes as they passed. We might as well have taken an ad out in the newspaper. Gossip about our relationship would be all over the school by lunch tomorrow.
“Ready to rock this scene?” Sam asked.
“Let’s do it.”
We got through all the blocking and choreography. The moment I’d so looked forward to and dreaded was upon us. The kiss. Now I couldn’t wait to feel his mouth again. He pulled me in, both of us slightly breathless from dancing, and kissed me then dipped me low. I hung on and kissed him back, lost in the moment.
The director and the rest of the cast clapping invaded my mind, and I remembered where I was. Sam pulled me upright and we faced Mr. Goldblum.
“I knew you two would do great in these leads,” he raved. “Keep up the good work. Everyone go home for the night.”
I didn’t hear the rest of what he said because Sam was smiling at me and all that existed in my world in the moment was Sam and me.
We fell into a routine, Nora picked me up every morning for school and Sam drove me home after rehearsal—well, not straight home, there was plenty of making out in between. Weeks passed with my life a dream I’d never imagined I could experience. I was floating through the clouds, so filled with happiness nothing could keep me down.
The week before the performance rehearsals went even later as we were doing full dress and scene changes and running through the entire musical. The final performance was the last night before spring break.
I dreaded that performance. It was the end. The end of my dream. And I never wanted to wake up. The thought of being without Sam sounded as logical as cutting off my own legs. I couldn’t live without him. It was exactly what Mom warned me about.
But I was sinking in quicksand. The longer I stayed with Sam the more I fell in love with him and the more impossible breaking it off became. If I didn’t do it soon, I never would. Running away with him and never seeing my family again wasn’t an option. It would put everyone in danger, especially Sam.
We walked to his truck in silence after rehearsal Wednesday night. He’d been off all day—smiling, but it never reached his eyes. Now he walked and stared at the ground, his mind seemingly off in a distant place.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked for the tenth time. New reasons for his detachment were popping up in my brain like weeds—each one worse than the last. I’d picked at the hem of my shirt until the thread unraveled.
His head jerked up, and the same painted on expression fell across his face. “Oh, yeah, I’m good.”
We climbed into the truck and I stopped his hand on the ignition. “Sam, talk to me. I can see something’s bothering you. You can tell me anything.” The words felt hypocritical considering the number of secrets I myself was currently keeping.
He sighed and rested his head on the seat. “It’s just my dad.”
I took his hand in mine.
“He’s coming to town Friday. My mom invited him to the musical.”
I frowned. “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”
A harsh laugh escaped his lips. “You don’t know my dad. He thinks all this singing and dancing isn’t manly. The only thing a guy should be doing is sports, and even then, only the really physical sports, forget baseball or tennis.”
“But you’re so talented. You voice is amazing,” I exclaimed. “I’m sure he’ll see.”
His gaze met mine. The pain in his eyes gutted me. Like someone threw my heart in a blender.
>
“I never told you about summers with my dad.”
I shook my head and waited.
Sam stared off through the windshield. “We’d go camping.”
“That sounds fun.”
“Not your regular camping.” He shook his head. “It was more survival training. He’d send me out on my own for days, sometimes a week, with a knife and nothing else.”
“But, how?” I sputtered. “By yourself? How old were you?”
“Ten the first time he sent me on my own.”
“Didn’t you get cold at night?”
A dry humorless laugh filled the truck cab. “Yeah, even in the summer it gets chilly at night up in Canada. He’d taught me how to live off the land.” He let his head fall back on the headrest. “But it wasn’t exactly father-son bonding time. It was training.”
“Training for what?”
“He wants me to go to West Point next fall. He’s already got everything ready for me.” He shook his head. “He has my whole life planned out and it involves guns, fighting, and killing—not singing and dancing.”
I jerked back. My spine stiff. “He wants you to join the military?”
“Same as every oldest son for the last ten generations.”
I leaned toward him. “He can’t make you do anything.” The irony struck me. Here I was trying to think of ways to break up with Sam to do what my family wanted yet I was telling him to do whatever he chose. “You have to live your life.”
“I never really cared much until I met you.” He pulled a folded and wrinkled piece of paper from his pocket. It looked as if he’d been carrying it around for days. He handed it to me. “I got this last week.”
Recognition set in as I took in the emblem at the top of the page. Stanford. It was almost identical to the acceptance letter I’d gotten. But with Sam’s name at the top. My mouth fell open. The initial rush of joy at the thought of being at the same school as Sam was doused by anxiety. My betrothed was going to Sanford as well, as a graduate student—one of the few facts I knew about him.
Our parents arranged for us to attend the same school, so our supposed meeting and relationship would be easier to explain. Plus, it allowed for some time to get to know each other before the wedding.
My mind stumbled over the word wedding. I hadn’t let myself go there. But the reality of my situation was about to come crashing down. Hard.
“I didn’t think I’d get in with my application being late, but I guess the letters of recommendation my old coach and Mr. Goldblum sent were impressive.” He watched me out of the corner of his eye. “I was hoping you’d be happy.”
“I am,” I gasped, a little too fast. “No. I really am. This is so amazing.” I gathered excitement and forced it to the surface. “Your dad can’t possibly object to Stanford and if he does, well, he can stuff it.”
Sam let out a gale force sigh, but a genuine grin finally creased his face. “With you, I can do anything.” He pulled me to his chest.
I wrapped my arms around him and stared out the window at the gathering dusk. Two more days and I’d have to break up with him.
The make-up people swarmed around me, reminding me of a hive of bees. Hands moved across my vision as they worked on my face. By this point having my hair brushed and pulled while they slathered stage make-up all over my face was the norm.
“What dye did you use on your hair?” one of the make-up girls asked. “I can’t believe how natural it looks.” She met my gaze in the mirror. “It’s so hard to go from brunette to blonde.”
I’d re-spelled the color three times as my dark roots grew out. “The salon off Dry Creek and University did it for me.” I lied. “I can give you their number if you want.”
“Thanks.”
I nodded and let myself fall back into the hypnotizing routine of preparing for a show. We’d performed the musical four times in the last two days. This was the final performance. The last time I’d kiss Sam.
I’d thrown myself into the role of Sandy to cover up the soul-sucking-vortex consuming me when I thought about breaking things off with him. Blaming my inability to think or speak on nerves worked for the most part.
But my mom wasn’t buying it. She’d recognized the despair in my eyes the moment I’d come downstairs this morning. All she did was hug me and I’d burst into tears—not the pretty kind from movies—the gulping-snorting-flood-of-sobs kind that left me in a puddle on the floor of our living room.
I was doing better now. Every ounce of water in my body was gone, leaving me a dried-up husk. No tears left to cry.
“You’ll do great,” the make-up artists said. “Every performance has gotten better.”
“Thanks.” I moved my head to meet her eyes in the mirror but got a reprimanding tug from the girl doing my hair.
“Ten minutes people,” exclaimed Mr. Goldblum while he clapped his hands and rushed around backstage like an excited chihuahua. “How is my amazing Sandy?”
“I’m great.” I put my Sandy voice into full force.
“This will be our best show yet,” he sighed and rushed off.
Closing my eyes, I went through the opening scene, pushing thoughts of Sam into a bottle and securing the cap. The girls finished my hair and makeup then fussed over my costume. The curtain fell and Mr. Goldblum’s voice carried backstage as he greeted the audience. At my feet my phone buzzed, then buzzed again, but I ignored the distraction.
The music began. The rest was a blur of songs, dances, and costume changes until the finale came, and I rested in Sam’s embrace. I couldn’t help but look into his eyes as we kissed and wondered if it really was the last time I’d feel those lips. Maybe I’d wait a day or two to break it off.
The roar of applause yanked me back to reality and I stood with the cast as we took bow after bow to the standing ovation, attempting to look normal, as if my world wasn’t ending. I spotted my parents in the front row, clapping with everyone. But the expression on my mom’s face looked as fake as mine felt.
Katie brought out a bouquet of roses and congratulated me, her words lost on my deaf ears. I tried to meet my mom’s gaze, but people surrounded me. My pulse hammered in my head and faces blurred together. There seemed to be no oxygen in the air. I pushed through the crowd to get off the stage.
I’d never seen that look on my mom’s face. My first thought was Maddie. Something happened to Maddie. But they would have told me. My insides twisted on themselves into a knotted mess of organs.
Sam followed close behind me. “Clara.”
I stopped, gasping for breath.
His strong arms wrapped around me, supporting my weight as my legs shook, brittle as twigs. “Hey, I’ve got you. Just breathe.” He waved off concerned onlookers. “Too much adrenaline. Got her a bit dizzy.”
I leaned on his strength until the room stopped spinning. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened.”
“You’ve been rushing around, hardly eating or drinking, probably not sleeping, and it caught up to you.” He took my chin and kissed my nose. “You were amazing out there but don’t go passing out on me.”
I wrinkled my nose and laughed. “You were unbelievable. This was definitely your best show.”
He fell into his Danny cool guy pose and shrugged. “Well, ya know, it was okay.”
The dark polish covering his light brown hair and his fifties costume brought a real smile to my lips.
“I say we get out of these costumes and get out of here,” he said and pulled me close. “I’d rather not deal with my dad tonight.”
I hesitated for a split second. “That’s kind of rude to your parents.”
He nuzzled my neck in a way that made my eyes want to cross. “Come on, let’s celebrate tonight and deal with the world tomorrow.”
The look on my mom’s face came to mind. Putting off reality sounded good to me. “Deal.”
A commotion started at the backstage entrance then suddenly went silent. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as the feel of mag
ic washed over me. Someone used a spell. My brain raced, Nora wouldn’t need to use one, everyone knew her. Why would my parents—
The thought stopped short in my brain as my mom and dad walked through the crowd. It wasn’t them being there that turned my breath to cement in my lungs. It was the look on my mom’s face. Her mouth pressed into a tight line, and her eyes screamed to be careful.
Another couple followed my parents. They were younger, closer to fifty rather than my parent’s sixty. The man looked pleasant enough, but the woman’s eyes narrowed at the sight of Sam’s hands on my hips.
Nora pushed through the crowd and hooked her arm in mine, not so playfully yanking me out of Sam’s grip. “Wow, what an amazing show.”
Sam’s brows pulled together while his gaze moved over the group approaching us.
Nora leaned in and whispered, “I tried to warn you they were here.”
“Who?” I hissed back.
She didn’t have time to answer before the group was upon us.
“What a lovely performance, Clara,” Mom said and nodded to Sam. “You have quite the voice there, Sam.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Stark,” Sam replied.
Nora planted herself firmly between Sam and me.
I gritted my teeth to keep from screaming for someone to tell me what the hell was going on. Who were these people who had my mom so nervous and used magic to barge in backstage?
I caught a look between Nora and my mom.
“Hey, Sam,” Nora whispered conspiratorially. “Could you introduce me to someone? I’m a sucker for a guy in a leather jacket.”
The kiss of magic blew over my skin. Sam’s excuse died on his tongue and he nodded, under the influence of Nora’s spell. “Sure.”
The two disappeared into the crowd of drama kids riding the after-show high. I frowned and bit my lip to keep a few choice comments inside. Using magic to control Sam was not cool.
Just as I was about to ask what was going on a guy stepped out from behind the glaring woman. He looked to be in his early twenties, blond, tan, blue eyes. Your basic hunk. He straightened and pulled his shoulders back.