Look Both Ways

by Alison Cherry

  “Whose turn is it?” Kenji asks.

  “Mine,” Zoe say. “Never have I ever kissed a girl.”

  Everyone but Livvy, Kenji, and I raise our cups. Zoe drinks, and I wonder if her kiss was for a show or a party game or just because she wanted to. I feel bizarrely let down that she hasn’t told me that story yet in one of our late-night conversations.

  “Never?” Todd’s saying to Kenji across the circle.

  “Babe, why would I kiss girls when I can kiss you?”

  “I don’t mean now. What about before you came out?”

  “I came out when I was ten. You know that.”

  “I kissed a girl at a Halloween party last year,” Pandora announces, though nobody asked her. “We were both dressed as sexy Hermione Granger.”

  I turn to Zoe, trying to think of a nonchalant way to ask who she kissed, and I find that she’s already looking at me. It’s probably the weird glow of the blue LED light, but her eyes look a little brighter than usual, a little more mischievous. Before I can speak, she reaches out and puts her hand on the back of my neck, her fingers cool and wet from the condensation on her cup. And then, before I can process what’s happening, her mouth is on mine.

  I’ve played Spin the Bottle before, and the kisses are always either quick and perfunctory or incredibly showy performances designed to get a reaction out of the group. For a second, I’m positive this is the second kind of kiss; everyone around us starts whistling and screaming the way you do when you’re slightly drunk and everything is way funnier than it should be. Zoe doesn’t seem like the kind to beg for attention, and for a second I feel used and start to pull away. But she holds me in place, and I’m suddenly not sure whether she’s kidding or not. I can’t even figure out whether I want her to be kidding.

  Zoe finally ends the kiss and opens her eyes. For a few seconds, she hovers a centimeter away from my lips, still so close to me that her false eyelashes brush my cheekbones when she blinks. I inhale the smell of her foundation and her grapefruit shampoo and her vodka-cranberry breath, and even though my heart is racing, there’s nothing in me that wants this moment to end. Across the circle, people are still whooping and hollering, but it feels like there’s a barrier between us and them, like their voices are on the radio or underwater.

  “There,” Zoe says in a quiet voice meant only for me. “Now you’ve kissed a girl.” She takes her hand off my neck and sits back up like nothing unusual just happened.

  Because I have no idea what else to do, I pick up my cup and drink.

  And then the world moves forward, like Zoe’s kissing me isn’t a monumentally big deal. Livvy takes her turn, telling us that she has never hooked up with someone older than thirty, and then the girl on her other side says that she’s never lied during a game of Never Have I Ever. But I’m not paying attention anymore. What did Zoe’s kiss mean? Did it mean anything? Would I be disappointed if it turned out to mean nothing? Livvy hasn’t kissed a girl, either, so why didn’t Zoe kiss her? Was she looking for an excuse to kiss me?

  I grab my phone, turn on the flashlight, and stand up. “I’ll be right back,” I say.

  Zoe touches my ankle, and even that seems to mean something now that it wouldn’t have meant two minutes ago. “You okay?” she asks.

  “Yeah, of course.” I hurry toward the bathroom, and she doesn’t follow me.

  Once I’ve made sure I’m alone, I set my phone on the metal ledge under the mirror and point the light at the ceiling so it casts a diffuse glow around the room. I’m breathing so fast, I’m starting to feel a little dizzy, and I brace my hands on the sides of a sink and force myself to calm down. I have no idea why I’m so worked up; I have no problem with girls kissing each other. Women kiss in front of me all the time. Theoretically, I believe nobody is totally gay or totally straight. It’s just that I’ve never applied that idea to myself before. I’ve never even thought about kissing a girl. I certainly didn’t expect to enjoy it.

  Am I taking this whole thing way too seriously? Maybe Zoe’s kiss only seems earth-shattering because it feels amazing to be chosen by someone so important to me. But maybe it wasn’t about me at all; she could be the kind of person who will kiss anyone when she’s a little drunk. In the morning, maybe she won’t even remember that she did it. Or what if it was some sort of joke, something another apprentice dared her to do before I got to the party? I’m not sure I could stand that.

  It didn’t feel like a joke, though. It felt like she really wanted to kiss me. And if she wanted to do it again, I’m pretty sure I would let her.

  I tell myself there’s no way that’s going to happen. The whole thing was probably a throwaway gesture; everyone here is overly affectionate with each other. Plus, Zoe has a boyfriend, and she’s totally happy with him.

  But it happened. I’ll always know it happened, even if it never happens again.

  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 m
y 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.”

  We’ve been at Allerdale almost three weeks now, and I’ve settled into the routine. Drag myself out of bed at eight every morning. Slog through nine hours of boring manual labor with the lighting crew. Gulp down some food in the noisy dining hall. Sit backstage with a headset on and watch Midsummer for the billionth time. Drag myself back to my room. Lather, rinse, repeat. But the only part of the day that actually matters is from ten-thirty on, when I get to see Zoe. Sometimes we sprawl on blankets on the lawn with the other apprentices or watch movies in other people’s rooms, and I know I should enjoy being part of the group. This is exactly the kind of bonding my family has been raving about my whole life. But I’m always relieved when everyone splits up at the end of the night and my roommate and I get to spend a little time alone. Life at Allerdale is starting to feel like one of those nature photographs where one antelope is in focus and the entire background is a blurry wash. Everyone else here is the grass and the trees and the sky. Zoe is my antelope.