Although I also feel certain it’s not good-bye forever.
I look around at all these people, some I’ve come to know, some who are still strangers, all of them here because they love theater and want to spend their summer immersed in it with other theater-loving types. I’m still amazed that this kind of miraculous wonderland exists, and that I somehow never knew about it for so long. I guess I just didn’t have friends who went to sleepaway camp, and my parents didn’t really know about it, and so I never had a reason to investigate. Thank goodness for Ryan. Well, not just for this reason, obviously. It’s just one more reason in the already very long list of reasons why I am grateful for him.
As I’m looking around, I notice Susan loitering suspiciously near a corner. I peer at her, trying to figure out what she’s up to. Ryan sees me peering and joins me. “Is that your friend Susan?”
“Yes.”
“What’s she doing?”
“I think,” I say slowly, noting who is approaching her position from the other side of the corner, “that she is about to pounce on that cute oboe player currently heading in her direction.”
“Ah,” Ryan says. “Should we . . . try to stop her?”
I think about this for a second. “No. I think we should let her go for it. And see what happens.”
“Where did she even get this idea?” He is giving me one of those delicious lopsided smiles now. Which makes me smile back uncontrollably. Still. Always.
“I may have said something. As a joke. About how to break the ice when you have a crush on a boy.” His grin widens, and I hasten to add, “But I totally did not tackle you on purpose that time. You know that, right? I was running to try to find Annie and you just happened to be in the way.”
“Sure,” he says. “Whatever you say, Cyn.”
“Ryan, I’m serious!”
“Okay.”
“Say you believe me.”
“I . . . don’t believe you. Sorry.”
I kiss him to make him shut up. And then I keep kissing him, because . . . well, it’s Ryan. It’s hard to stop.
But then a thought occurs to me.
I pull back a little. “Do you say things to annoy me just to get me to kiss you to shut you up?”
“Of course not,” he says. “Hey, do you want to hear about this sexy dream I had last night about someone else?”
“Watch it, mister.”
“Make me.”
I do.
As usual, many lovely people helped me along the way as I wrote this novel. Special thanks to Brent Felker and Bridey Flynn, who read drafts and asked good questions and noticed very important things. Thanks also to Melissa Posten for Scarlet Pimpernel reference; Suzanne Fine, Andi Fleisch, Evan Levy, Jennifer Rosenkrantz, and Eliot Sirota for helping me remember things about theater camp; Alan Florendo and Jessica Hillman-McCord for musical theater recommendations (past, present, and future); Adi Rule and John Rule for eleventh-hour physics assistance; and Kristin Cartee, Tina McIntyre, Jennifer Rosenkrantz, Stephanie Santoriello, and Jenny Weiss for very-much-appreciated general support and encouragement, book-related and otherwise. Finally, none of this would be possible without my amazing agent, Jodi Reamer, and my wonderful editor, Sarah Ketchersid — thank you both for continuing to put up with me and for believing in my books!
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2017 by Michelle Knudsen
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, taping, and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.
First electronic edition 2017
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number 2016951636
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