by Robin Talley
“Yes, but community theaters too. Everyone there has this overriding sense that we’re all in this together. The cast and crew are friends, most of the time.”
“Wow. Really? Is it like that in TV?”
“Well, no. TV’s different.”
“What about movies?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never done one before.” She shrugs. “I guess I’ll find out this summer.”
“What’s happening this summer?”
“I’m doing a shoot in London.”
“For a movie? Oh—wait.” That’s when I remember the bathroom phone call. “You got the part in that Martin Scorsese movie?”
She nods slowly but doesn’t smile.
“Wow! Congratulations!” I clap my hands. “I can’t believe I’m sitting on my porch with a real movie star!”
She laughs, but it isn’t the full, solid laugh I earned back in the basement. This one is short and almost fake-sounding. Like she’s . . . acting. “Thank you.”
“Oh—are you, um.” I’m suddenly conscious of just how cold this porch is. I grab the blanket and pull it up over my shoulders. “Are you not . . . happy about it?”
“I am, of course.” She shrugs. “But it’s more terrifying than anything else. I’m positive I’ll get there and everyone will see in an instant that I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing.”
“That can’t be true. They wouldn’t have given you the part if you couldn’t do it.”
“You’d be surprised. Meanwhile, my agent’s already trying to leverage it into other roles. Last year she wanted me to do more theater, and she was always after me to set up a YouTube channel of singing clips, but now all she can talk about is movies and TV. There’s a Netflix series she wants to put me up for, but I’m not sure that’s what I want.”
“What do you want?”
My phone buzzes. More texts. I’m about to reach for it when Odile clears her throat. “So is Les Mis your favorite musical of all time?”
It’s obvious she’s trying to change the subject. But I go with it, since she’s changing it to one of my favorite subjects ever, and she’s gazing right at me with those deep brown eyes.
“Probably, but I have a bunch of other favorites.” I tick them off on my fingers. “Spring Awakening is incredible. And Hamilton, even though that’s such a cliché. How about you?”
“Hadestown might be my all-time favorite. When I was a kid, though, it was The Lion King.”
I don’t even try to hide my delight. “Me too! I even named my cat Nala. What’s your favorite straight play?”
“I’m always going back and forth. I really enjoyed Steel Magnolias, actually. I didn’t know much about the show before we did it here, and I still don’t know much about the South other than what I learned when I was researching it, but it was a lot of fun to be part of.”
I like that she says to be part of, not to star in. Even though she was literally the lead. “I liked that one too. Ms. Marcus only picked it because of the all-female cast, though. We never do shows with enough good parts for girls.”
“Can you believe some of the guys had the nerve to complain?” She rolls her eyes. “They should really stop talking now that we’re doing Shakespeare and Les Mis in the same year.”
“True.” I laugh. My phone’s still buzzing, but I tuck it away. We’ll go back in soon enough. “Were you sad you didn’t get to play Juliet?”
“I wish I could’ve been in the show, but I’d rather have played the Nurse. There’s so much more you can do with that role.”
“Really? But Juliet’s the ingenue.”
“Ugh, I despise that word.”
She shudders, and I laugh again. Odile really is nothing like I thought.
“It must’ve been fun going all the way to Iceland for that Game of Thrones show, though, right?” I ask her.
Her voice goes smooth and flat, the same way it did when she thanked me for congratulating her before. “Sometimes.”
“You . . . don’t sound all that convincing.”
“Well.” She gives me that subtle smile again. “It turns out Iceland’s a long way to go by yourself.”
“Your parents didn’t go with you?”
“Not this time. When I was younger, one of them would come when I worked out of town, but now I’m eighteen, so it’s legal for me to not have a chaperone.” She glances out into the moonlight shining across the lawn.
“Isn’t that kind of cool, though?” I wonder if I sound naive. Odile’s been in this business since she was a kid, and the only acting I know anything about is the kind that happens in our school auditorium. “Being experienced enough that you can do it on your own?”
“I don’t know.” She shivers.
“It, uh . . .” I offer her the blanket, and she looks at it longingly for a moment, then shakes her head. She’s wearing a puffy gray coat, the kind rich people buy at Neiman Marcus, so maybe she really doesn’t need it. “It doesn’t sound as if you like doing TV and movies very much.”
“No, it’s not that. It’s just that I . . .” She draws in a breath and meets my eyes, her chin trembling. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen her look so open, so vulnerable. It feels like another victory.
Then she bends forward and bursts into tears.
“Oh crap! Oh no, I’m so sorry!” I don’t know what to do. If one of my regular friends suddenly started crying, I’d hug them, right? But I’ve never hugged Odile. I settle for awkwardly patting her shoulder while she sobs into her hands. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry I said that. Can we please go back in time and pretend I didn’t? Can we be in Harry Potter so I can grab a Time-Turner?”
Odile doesn’t move, but I can hear her laughing even while she’s crying. She mumbles something I can’t understand.
“Sorry?” I realize my hand has gone still on her shoulder, and I pull it back. But I hate to just leave her there, so I spread the blanket over her back instead. “I didn’t catch that?”
“I said, yes, please.” She sits up, turning her back to me and wiping her eyes. “I mean—you didn’t say anything wrong, it’s just—I’m so sorry. I haven’t yet told anyone I got this movie, except my family, and I—” She pulls a tissue out of her pocket and blows her nose. “Sorry. Oh, this is so embarrassing.”
“Hey, no, it’s okay.” I push the blanket up over the shoulders of her expensive puffy coat. Then, instead of pulling away, I lean into her back, trying to hug her without really hugging her.
She just seems so alone.
“You, um . . . you can talk to me, if you want to,” I say. “If you just need to tell someone what’s going on.”
“I don’t even know what’s going on.” She turns toward me, and my face shifts onto her shoulder. When she starts talking again, her voice wobbles into my ear. I didn’t know her voice could wobble. “All of this used to be fun, you know? I loved doing shows. But Iceland wasn’t fun at all. I’d signed so many nondisclosure agreements I was barely allowed to leave the hotel. Not that I wanted to leave anyway, since it was so cold and dark out. And I had to stay up all night to film my scenes, so when it was light out, I was inside, sleeping. And I couldn’t stop thinking about how I was missing part of my senior year to do it.”
“Yeah, that . . . that does sound kind of miserable.”
“It was.” Her voice is starting to smooth out again. I hope she’s feeling better than she was, but selfishly, I also kind of hope that she keeps wanting to tell me things that matter. It makes me want to tell her things that matter, too. “It’s all so different from how I thought. I got into this because I like to sing, and now all of a sudden I’m in this movie about spies murdering each other. I have to take lessons on how to use a hunting knife. They haven’t finished the script yet, but I think I have to stab someone.”
“Ew.”
She leans back, and I tilt my head against the back of the couch. We’re sitting side by side again. I lift my chin off her shoulder, but I don’t move to put space between us. My
phone keeps buzzing in my pocket.
“Why’d you agree to do the movie?” I ask her.
“Agreeing or not agreeing never seemed to be a question.” She shrugs again. The gentle lift of her shoulders makes her skin glow. When I cry, my whole face turns into a red streaky mess, but the only clue that Odile was crying a few minutes ago is a slight shine to her eyes. “Everyone kept telling me I could get film work if I tried, and it just seemed to be assumed that that was what I wanted. That that’s what anyone would want. My agent was so thrilled when I got invited to audition, I could hear her bubbling over the phone. There was never a conversation about whether I should do it, only whether they’d pick me.”
“Were your parents excited too?”
“I suppose?” She pulls the blanket farther onto her lap and runs her fingertips across the seam. The movement makes me want to reach out and grab her hand.
But that’s a dangerous thought. I should shove it deep in my jeans pocket, too.
“They’ve never really understood how any of it works.” She shakes her head. “I gave up trying to talk to them about it in any serious way a while ago. Last year I was debating whether to change agents, but they never talked to me about how to handle it—I had to figure everything out on my own. My mother’s a doctor and my father’s a lawyer, and as far as they’re concerned, real jobs are the kind you go to school for. All they ever say about my work is that I have to keep my grades up no matter what.”
“Ugh, I know what you mean. My dads want me to major in biology or something, even though I’ve told them over and over that I’m going to be a professional SM. Studying something else is pointless when I already know what I want to do with my life.”
Odile’s eyes flick back toward me, and I’m glad the moonlight is too dim for her to see my cheeks flushing. At some point we must’ve started sharing the blanket, because it’s spread out across both our knees now.
“I thought they supported you doing theater,” she says. “They help with the sets, don’t they? And the parent committee?”
“Yeah, it’s not as if they’re anti-theater. They just don’t seem to get that this isn’t some random fun after-school activity for me. It’s my whole life.”
Odile nods, her expression solemn. Wow, her cheekbones are really quite striking.
“They know you’re bi, right?” she asks. “Sorry, I suppose that’s a silly question.”
I laugh, but it’s a nervous laugh. We’re in uncharted conversational territory now. “Yeah, it wasn’t exactly difficult. I think the first time I told them I had a crush on a girl, I was about six.”
She smiles. It’s a soft, unsure smile, and it makes something inside me uncoil.
“I haven’t had that particular chat with my parents,” she says, quieter now. “I think they suspect, but they’ve never said anything. I doubt they will unless I bring it up.”
Yep. This conversation now feels actively treacherous. Even so, I take a deep breath and ask. “So you’re queer?”
“Something like that. I’m not totally certain of the details yet.”
Well, that’s awfully fascinating.
I want to ask if she’s ever hooked up with a girl. I want to ask really, really badly. But I’ve already asked one question that felt impossible to voice, and I don’t know if I have another one in me.
Odile’s looking right at me, her eyes roaming across my face. Suddenly, the desire to kiss her is so strong I can’t believe I haven’t already done it.
There’s something going on here. Something I don’t have a name for. It’s thrilling and frightening at the same time.
I lean forward, and she meets my eyes, and—
The curse.
I jerk to my feet. She turns away just as quickly, coughing into her hand.
“I’m sorry. I, um—” I try to think fast, but my brain doesn’t seem to be functioning. “I thought there was a bug.”
Great. Very convincing, Melody.
Odile covers her face with her hand. “I should apologize.”
“No, you shouldn’t.” I sit back down, making sure to leave a solid foot of space between us.
All right. So this isn’t a regular crush. I’ve had plenty of those, and they’ve never felt like this.
The problem is, I don’t know the word for what I am feeling. Maybe it’s nothing more than a very strong crush with a healthy dollop of physical attraction on top.
Better safe than sorry, though. Especially with my friends right inside.
“I should apologize,” I say. “I . . . I didn’t really think there was a bug.”
Odile lowers her hand and rolls her eyes. It’s a surprisingly genuine gesture coming from her, and if I didn’t feel so pathetic about what just happened, I’d be pleased. “You’re kidding.”
“It’s just that I, um . . .” I bite my tongue to keep from saying I have a love curse, but I really like you anyway out loud. Odile doesn’t believe in superstitions, and if I start trying to explain the nuances of Jasmin’s theory, she’ll probably forget all about whatever miracle made her want to open up to me in the first place. “I’m sorry. I have no explanation for what just happened. The bug thing was the best I could do under the circumstances.”
“Mel . . . can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Exactly how many of your current friends are also your exes?”
I blink. I don’t know what I was expecting her to ask, but it wasn’t that. It feels like another abrupt subject change, except . . . maybe it’s not. “Um. I mean, not all of them. I never went out with—uh, Gabby.”
I’m trying to make her laugh again, but it doesn’t work. Instead, her piercing brown eyes catch mine and hold on. It feels impossible to hide from those eyes, and I have a weird, sudden certainty that no matter what image I’m trying to present at any given moment, Odile can see right through it.
“Well, I feel like a bit of a fail,” she says, sounding charmingly British as she folds her hands in her lap. “I’ve only ever dated one person in my life.”
“That’s impossible,” I say, because once again I am incapable of verbal restraint in this girl’s presence.
She tilts her head, half smiling. “It must be, because it’s the truth.”
“David Patel?”
She nods. Well, that answers my question about whether she’s hooked up with a girl yet. “Are you and him broken up for good?”
She nods again. “Since last summer.”
“But you’re still friends, right?”
“Of course. He’s really my only friend at school, now that Sebastian’s in college.”
“Your only friend? But you’re the most famous person at BHS! You walk around the halls like a queen!”
She laughs and scrunches up her face. It’s a delight to see her look so normal. “You make me sound like a snob.”
“Sorry. I don’t really think you are.” It’s the truth. Now, at least. “Besides, all the actors like you.”
“Some of them, maybe.” She shrugs again. “But . . . sometimes I wonder if it’s really me they like.”
I nod. Most of the actors at our school seem to be in one of two camps when it comes to Odile. Either they’re terrified and keep their distance, like Alejandra, or they fawn over her, like Leah and Christina. Probably hoping she’ll hook them up with her agent or give them their big break.
“I’ve never really been sure of how school, well . . . works.” Her voice is slow and serious, and the shine in her eyes has faded. “I always feel like I’m acting, even when I’m only trying to get through the day. I’ve traveled so much over the past few years that it’s hard to get a foothold. Whenever I’d finally get the hang of things at school, I’d leave town for weeks at a time, and when I came back, I’d have to start over from scratch.”
“That sounds really rough.”
“I finally just stopped talking much. That way everyone can ignore me. Besides, no one ever seemed to want to really talk to me in t
he first place. Most of the seniors think I’m weird.” She shrugs again, staring down at her Converse sneakers.
“I don’t think you’re weird.” I lean down to meet her gaze so she’ll know I’m serious. “I think you’re—”
The front door swings open behind us, and I slam my mouth shut. Which is good, because I was about to say something super awkward.
“Mel? Is that you?” Dad sticks his head out. “You must be freezing out here. Gabby’s looking for you, if—oh, hello.”
“Hello, sir.” Odile stands up smoothly, her whole demeanor shifting in an instant. She holds out her hand. “It’s so nice of you to have me over. I’m Odile Rose.”
“Of course you are.” Dad smiles and shakes her hand. “Sean McIntyre. My husband told me he let you in, but I didn’t realize you were out here too.”
“Yep, she is.” I stand up, trying to intervene before Dad can embarrass me. “What were you saying about Gabby?”
“She came upstairs a while ago. I thought you’d gone to your room, but she checked there and she said she couldn’t find you.”
“Huh, I wonder why. She could’ve just texted me.” But when I reach for my phone, I see a bunch of texts from Gabby, and my other friends too. Odile and I must’ve been sitting out on the porch for longer than I would’ve guessed.
“Wow. Okay.” I put down my phone. Dad’s eyebrows are lifted. “Well, I guess I’ll go downstairs and get everyone started on the, um . . .” I can barely remember my own agenda now. It’s almost as if I didn’t spend weeks planning out every minute of this party. “I’ll just go see where things stand. Do you want to join us, Odile?”
“I probably shouldn’t.” She smooths back her hair. She looks cool and detached again. Like when she was walking down the hall to her audition. “I’ll call an Uber.”
“No need for that.” Dad jingles his keys. “I’d be happy to give you a ride.”
“Oh, you don’t need to go to the trouble.”
“I was about to make a run for more chips anyway. Besides, it’ll be nice to get out of the house. No offense, but kids your age are easier in small numbers.”
Odile smiles the same wide, bright smile she used on the football players at the bake sale table. “Then thank you, I appreciate it, Mr. McIntyre.”