Smash It!

by Francina Simone

  I squeeze his hand. I’ve never known what bittersweet meant until this moment. I’ve always thought of Dré as the cat that purrs one moment and scratches up my couch the next, but now that I think about it, he’s always been in my corner.

  He’s always expected me to love myself. He didn’t tell me he liked me—he told me he loved me. And I think he’s telling me now that he loves me enough to let me go. “You’re my best friend.” I mean it. I’ve grown closer to him than I’ve ever been. It wasn’t just the sex—that definitely changed things, but the more I’m changing, the less afraid I am to be honest with the people I love.

  “Yeah.” He holds my gaze. “I know that now. And I’m cool. No matter what happens.”

  My body kind of shakes and my breath keeps skipping from all the crying, but I manage to say, “That’s epically mature.”

  “Fuck yeah, it is.” He sighs. He’s kind of relaxed and maybe a little relieved that he’s got it off his chest. He squeezes my hand. “I think when it comes to you and me—we probably shouldn’t have sex again.”

  I laugh, because it stings but that’s my ego talking. I completely agree. I feel like I don’t want to have sex with anyone, because I totally screwed it up. I don’t trust myself anymore.

  He leans over and kisses my forehead for a long moment and then he sniffles, and he’s gone.

  Dré’s changed. Every time we talk, he’s showing me glimpses of a guy I’ve never seen before but absolutely admire. I want to show him that I’m changing, too.

  For starters, I can tackle the last person on my list.

  Chapter 33

  I can’t breathe. The last Friday of Feburary is upon us. It’s opening night, and we’re all hopped up on nerves, ten times more than yesterday. The veterans are cooler. Lennox, Kai, and Jackie are helping the rest of us with makeup and reminding us of our lines, and we feel like a family. We are one. A weird one.

  Even Angelina is checking my props, and she helps me zip my costume. We’re not exactly friends, but we coexist without being assholes. When you spend every day with the same people for hours on end, you form the kind of bond you don’t get from just being friends.

  Mrs. G is giving us a pep talk. “I’ve never been prouder,” she says, scanning each and every one of our faces. I’m getting teary, knowing that we got a present and roses to give her after curtain call. It’s a shirt that says Cat Wrangler and a poster-size picture of us—signed by everyone—just in case she needs a reminder of the feral cats she had to wrangle. We circle up, and she’s crying when she says, “You know what to do.”

  “SMASH IT!”

  We all mean it. We’re going to freaking rock the house tonight.

  I keep catching Eli’s eye, and he’s not avoiding me, but we aren’t talking either. I stand in the wings, watching the galley fill up. I can see my mom and Gloria. A bunch of kids from school—tons of people are pouring in. It’s noisy, in the front of the house and in the back.

  A warm hand presses on my lower back, and I expect it to be Dré, but then I realize this smell is something so familiar and warm. It’s Eli.

  “Ready?” He leans on me and looks out at the front of the house.

  “No.” It comes out as a whisper and I clear my throat. I should say more, but I’m trying not to scare him off. I’m standing with someone I know, but so much time has gone by with us not talking that I’ve forgotten how we talk.

  “Scared?”

  I can’t even face him. I’m a coward. “Completely.”

  “Then pretend you’re someone else. Someone really kick-ass and awesome. It’s what I do at gigs. Slowly, you’ll realize you’re not pretending anymore. It’s just you. And then you’ll know what everyone knew all along.” He drops his hand, and he’s going backstage.

  “Eli,” I say and turn to look at him. His hair is neatly combed but curling anyway, and his jaw is tight. I walk to him and fix the cape on his uniform. “Thanks.”

  He shakes his head. “Better finish getting ready.”

  My stomach starts flipping around and doing barrel rolls. Waiting until after opening night to apologize to Eli is starting to look like the dumbest idea I’ve ever had—well, top five at least. Running out the side door and moving to a new state still seems like a good idea. I go back to the girls’ dressing room, because I need Lennox to talk me off whatever cliff I’m on.

  As soon as I open the door, I see them. A big bouquet of flowers on my little piece of table. They’re yellow and pink and orange, and I have no idea what kind of flowers they are, because I’m terrible at that stuff. But they smell nice, and the card reads, Knock ’em dead, Livia—Al.

  I’m beaming. I didn’t know if he’d get the ticket I left him at the store.

  As I’m putting down the card, I see another small bouquet of flowers, hidden a little behind Al’s vase. Red roses—those I know. Under them is a white envelope with a message on the outside:

  Please, please don’t open until you get home.

  Until then, good luck. You don’t need it though.

  —EP

  My eyes dart around the room, looking for Eli, but I’m only met with the frenzy of everyone getting ready. I want to tear the hell out of this envelope and read what’s inside. It’s kind of thick—but the intercom sounds and we’ve got five minutes to curtain, and Jackie’s yelling for me to zip her dress. I finish helping her, put the envelope in my bag, and go help the crew with props.

  I have a dance number in act two and until I hit the stage, I’m thinking about what’s in that envelope.

  However, when the lights hit my face, it doesn’t feel like auditions, when I stared into deafening blackness. The audience is laughing and clapping at all the right parts, and every song gets huge reactions. We’re all on fire, and backstage we’re completely high off the energy. When my scene is up, I’m nervous again, but as soon as the music starts, I’m not me.

  I’m not exactly Bianca either. I’m a real badass who is about to get her man, because in the world of Othello, the way women rule is by using what they have. It’s the best performance Dré and I’ve ever had. We’re getting whistles, and people are screaming when it’s over.

  Dré’s wide-eyed, and backstage we hug and jump up and down together.

  I get why they perform. I completely see why everyone grinds through the hours and Mrs. G’s yelling. It’s because just one moment onstage is everything.

  We get a standing ovation. We’re all out onstage, cast and crew, and Mrs. G gets her flowers and her T-shirt and she’s giving a speech about us while crying, and we’re all crying, too.

  I don’t want this moment to end.

  It does though. Soon we’re all in the front of the house, thanking everyone for coming, and the amount of applause we still get as people are leaving is incredible. When we’ve changed, we flood into the parking lot to meet our families and friends.

  We all hug, and then I’m meeting Lennox’s parents, Jackie’s grandparents, and Kai’s huge family. My mom, Aunt Rachel, and Gloria are screaming. I remember hearing them when I was onstage. And Al’s here with a big bag of candy. He’s talking my mom’s ear off about how I’m just about the most amazing person he’s ever met and that watching me onstage was like seeing his daughter dance when she was in high school.

  The night is extraordinary. It takes forever to tear me away from everyone, so we’re all making plans to get pizza next, because we can’t go home. Not yet.

  I’m begging my mom to let me go even though we’re supposed to go out to eat together; she waves me off with kisses.

  It’s a high. I never want to stop performing.

  Never.

  * * *

  We’re at the pizza place where we ate after auditions. Jackie’s singing and making a scene—actually we’re all making a scene, because the rest of us are coming in on the chorus and this is probably the next bes
t thing to being onstage—being with these people.

  I’m sitting next to Lennox, across from Dré, and he grabs the rest of my pepperoni and gives me the rest of his three-cheese slice.

  Eli’s in line getting more pizza, and I get up to go talk to him. I’ve got this feeling in my gut that if I don’t make things right in this moment, it’ll never be okay. But before I get to the line, Cleo grabs my shoulder.

  “Hey, you.” She’s smiling at me, and even though I haven’t been the nicest over the last month, she loops her arm in mine. “You were great tonight.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Eli taking a few slices over to the table with Kai and Javier. My stomach drops.

  “You, too,” I say. I don’t give Cleo enough credit for what she does. The crew ran the entire operation like invisible elves. Cleo was on lights, and without her, the magic wouldn’t have been on that stage.

  I stand with her as she fills up her plate with more pizza, and I listen to her go over all the show’s highlights and all the near screwups backstage.

  I never put Cleo on my list of people to apologize to, but standing here, listening to her go on and on about the thing she loves—the stage and the inner workings—I realize I do owe her an apology. She wanted to share all this with me from the beginning, and I let my insecurities cloud that.

  “Cleo.” I pull her back before we go to our separate tables. “I’m sorry I was an ass.”

  She winks. “You don’t have to apologize to me. We’re family. Plus...” she lets out a short breath as she smiles again “...I was kind of a dick. I should have stood up for you instead of getting on you about Angelina’s messy ass.”

  I’m shaking my head, because it still doesn’t excuse me being mean and assuming the worst of her.

  “We’re good, cuz.” She pinches my arm and goes to her table.

  I think I, too, often forget that, no matter what, Cleo and I are family. We’re the only ones who know what it’s like growing up in the trenches with our moms.

  But I won’t forget it again.

  Chapter 34

  It’s past midnight when I get home. I rode with Dré. Eli is still using his mom’s car, even though he and Dré are on speaking terms. I don’t know how they made up—I never really do—but there’s still this wall between them now. I spent our whole friendship mediating their battles of will to keep them from building the wall, and now I have become the wall. It wasn’t only my doing, but things will never be the same again.

  I’m getting out of the car when Eli pulls up. Dré looks at me and then Eli’s car before he gives me a small nod. “Night.”

  “Night,” I say.

  As Dré pulls away, Eli gets out of his car and comes over to my driveway.

  His hands are in his pockets, and he’s rubbing his feet over the cracks in the pavement. “You get my letter?”

  “Thanks.” We speak at the same time as I wave the roses. “Yeah. I haven’t read it yet.”

  He nods.

  “I noticed your mom was at the show.” I want to ask him about her. I want to know what’s going on, but we aren’t there yet.

  “Yeah, she’s been back a little while now.” He scratches the back of his head. His curls are a mess. He’s still got eyeliner under his eyes, and I don’t think I’ll ever stop finding him completely and utterly attractive. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Yeah.”

  I get this sinking feeling that whatever is in the letter isn’t going to make things better. If this letter contains the end of our friendship, I have to apologize before he knows I’ve read it.

  “Can we talk?” The flowers are getting heavy. I don’t know why I didn’t give them to my mom to take home with her, but I’m wishing I did because I don’t want to set them on the ground, and this conversation is going to be a long one.

  “Tomorrow. If you still want to.”

  I blink. Of course. Not now when I have this huge weight on my chest about to snuff me out of existence.

  He gives me a small wave and starts walking to his house.

  The pit in my stomach tightens, and I only have one thing left to do...

  I’m inside and listening to my mom tell me the highlights of seeing me onstage. I’m hearing her, and I’m really glad that she’s beaming and so proud of me. She’s even tearing up and crying. I’m appreciative, but the envelope is burning a hole so deep into my bag I can practically smell it smoldering.

  I finally get to my room, and it’s in my hands. I’ve wanted to read it all night, and now I can’t even open it.

  But I’m not a coward anymore, so I tear it open and start reading.

  Liv,

  I don’t even know where to start. You’re probably thinking the beginning, but I don’t know where that is.

  I guess, for me, it’s the day you moved in. I didn’t know it—not for at least a few years after—but that’s the day I always go to when I think about the past. My beginning doesn’t start in kindergarten or the first time I can remember some birthday party. Those are the times without you.

  Everything started for me when I let Dré talk me into spying on the girl wearing hot pink pants and a Batman shirt carrying boxes into the room across from mine. My memories are of the times we didn’t have phones. Do you remember when you were grounded and we used paper and markers to write messages, and your mom threatened to nail the window shut? Or the time you ran your fingers through my hair and told me my bedhead was “way too cool” to be real?

  I’m not making sense. I know I’m not making sense. I can’t get shit straight in my head, and I’ve been trying. For weeks, I promise I’ve been trying, but somehow, I went from life with you to life without you again, and I’m living in this upside-down world where nothing makes sense.

  You know my dad cheated. He says he didn’t, that it was just emotional or whatever, but that shit is the same to my mom and me, so she left and stayed with her cousins for a while.

  As you know, me and the fam aren’t that cool, so my mom and I had to meet at these restaurants, and she’s been a wreck because—they were it, you know, the full-on deal. I never thought this would happen to them. To us.

  My mom says I’m a romantic, and maybe I am, but how do two people in love hurt each other? I guess I know now. One of them acts like a complete prick and shuts the girl he loves out of his life because he can’t deal with the fact that his parents aren’t soul mates and are probably getting a divorce. Simple. Ha. (Actually, that’s not funny, but this is pen and I’ve already written too much to start over again.)

  I know it’s a long shot to ask for your forgiveness, but I want you to know I’m sorry. For everything. Shutting you out has been the biggest mistake of my life. You don’t owe me anything, but I owe you the truth.

  I love you.

  I love your laugh, your smile, and the face you make when you’re mad.

  I love your smell, the warmth of your body next to mine, the way you say my name.

  I love your eyes, the sound of your voice over the phone.

  I love that you’re kind, smart, and amazing, without making anyone else feel small.

  I love you, Liv.

  I know I’ve pretty much pissed you off into hating me until the end of time, and I can live with that. I’ve had a lot of time to make peace with it. But you deserve the truth. You deserve the world, and if I could give you both, I would.

  I’m writing this before the show tonight, but I know you’re going to do great. I know you’ve probably stopped drinking water because you’re scared you’re going to pee onstage, but I hope tonight is everything you’ve ever wanted.

  I want you to be happy, Liv. So no matter what happens, know it’s okay. You’re this brave, amazing girl and I’m a better person because of you.

  I love you.

  —Eli

  Chapter 35
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br />   My hands are shaking and my heart is in my throat. He thinks I’m still mad. He thinks—

  He loves me.

  I knew it before, but the way that it fell out was on a street corner and—my god, I love him so much it hurts. My body, my heart, my soul. It all aches like he’s been ripped from me—but he’s right here, in this letter.

  I go to my window and open the blinds and he’s there in his bed with the light on, looking at me.

  I grab my Bio II binder and rip out some paper and a marker from my desk.

  I’m sorry.

  I push the paper up to the window, and he’s nodding, but he looks like I’ve punched him in the gut. I hold up my hands and write on another paper.

  For being an ASS

  I underline it three times, and then I’m on to the next paper when my phone buzzes.

  “We have phones now, Liv.” He’s breathless, and he’s staring at me.

  “I love you, Eli.” I’m laughing and crying. My eyes hurt so much from crying today, but I don’t care. “I love you.”

  “Liv.”

  “I’m so sorry.” My voice is cracking. I’ve said so much horrible stuff that I don’t even know how to turn it all around. I thought he was a monster. I told everyone he was this horrible guy, going around calling me a slut, when he was just heartbroken. I feel like an ass for being too cowardly to tell Eli how I felt.

  “No. Don’t cry, Liv.” His hand is on the window and we are such dorks because I’ve got my hand on mine. “I love you, too.”

  * * *

  We stay up all night talking. The sun is coming up, and I’m lying on my bed, watching him watch me. We’re ridiculous, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. My eyes are heavy from crying and not sleeping for almost twenty-four hours. But no matter how many times I yawn, I won’t hang up. It’s Saturday, and we’re not supposed to be at the theatre until noon, but I want to spend every one of those minutes with Eli.