Inevitable and Only

  Raven snorted. “That’s just melodramatic.”

  “Well, melodrama is another one of my best skills.”

  “And that’s why you’re the star in the school play.” Raven grinned at me and, thankfully, changed the subject. “Renata and Ruby are so excited to see you make your debut. They keep talking about it. I’m just warning you—I think they’re both going to throw bouquets of flowers at you when you take your curtain call.”

  It was my turn to snort. “Yeah … if I actually finish learning my lines.”

  “Want to come over and run lines with me after school? And then you can quiz me on my debate points.”

  It was hard to stay annoyed at Raven for long.

  Our Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? tickets were for Friday night, opening night. I gave Zephyr his ticket while we packed up our bags after drama class on Friday.

  “Sweet, thanks!” he said. “If it’s really good, maybe I can get tickets for us to see it again tomorrow. I love seeing the same show two nights in a row, don’t you?”

  “Really? I’ve never done that before.” He might want to spend two evenings in a row with me?

  “Oh, it’s the best! You get to see all kinds of things about the production’s consistency, which parts the actors were improvising. Sometimes you get to see the B cast and compare. In New York, we used to get rush tickets for three performances in one weekend sometimes, if we could get them cheap enough.”

  In New York … with his theater camp friends? Who was “we”?

  I tried to keep my head in the conversation. “So, do you want to meet there?”

  “Nah, I can come pick you up. Where do you live?”

  “Hampden.”

  “Perfect, I’m just over in Waverly. I’ll come get you at seven thirty; that should give us plenty of time.”

  I took out my phone. “I’ll text you my address.”

  “No, my phone’s dead,” he said. “Here, just tell it to me.” He was holding a pen poised over his arm.

  So I told Zephyr Daniels my address, and he wrote it on his skin. In ink.

  Oh, the melodrama! I heard Raven’s voice say in my head. Oh, swoon!

  Stop it, I told the voice. He just forgot to charge his phone.

  Zephyr capped his pen and scooped up his bag. “Great, see you later.”

  See? Definitely nothing romantic in that tone of voice.

  Robin was standing by the door, frowning at us. “Zephyr. Hold on a minute. I have a few notes for you from rehearsal last night.”

  Zephyr looked at him, surprised. “Okay …”

  I was surprised, too. I’d barely heard Robin address two words to Zephyr so far. I assumed it was because he was doing such a great job, Robin didn’t have much to tell him. And Robin was always busy correcting something much more urgent, like someone who was flailing around (cough, cough, Rina) or missing their cues (Sam), or else arguing with Peg about the costume and lighting budget (pretty much nonexistent, from what I’d overheard).

  Zephyr shrugged a shoulder at me and said, “Ciao.”

  “Ciao, ciao, ciao!” I repeated, like an idiot, and walked promptly into the left side of the double doors, the side that was always locked.

  “Are you okay?” I heard Zephyr asking behind me, but I pulled open the right side of the door and fled.

  Well, it was official. I’d definitely asked Zephyr on a date. Those seemed to be the telltale signs: when I started babbling and walking into things.

  Zeus almighty.

  I mentioned to Mom on the way home from school that Zephyr would be picking me up at seven thirty.

  “In his car?”

  “I didn’t ask. Maybe he has a motorcycle?”

  “Acadia!”

  “Just kidding, Mom. Yes, in his car.”

  “Well, we don’t know this boy at all.”

  “Mom. You’re the head of school, you know every student. You could’ve pulled his file to look up his grades and behavior record, if you’d wanted to.”

  “No comment,” said Mom, crisply.

  I glanced into the rearview mirror. Elizabeth and Josh, in the back seat, were hanging on to every word with identical expressions of shock mixed with glee on their faces. They really did look like siblings.

  “She sighed heavily,” I said, copying Dad’s Shakespearean Tragic Voice before I could stop myself. Good lord. Yes, universe, I recognize that we’re all related. Big whoop. You can stop now.

  “Cadie?” said Mom.

  “Sorry, I was conversing with the universe in my head.”

  She frowned at me. “I was saying that I would like to meet this boy before he whisks you off in his car. I’d like to at least feel that I’ve done my duty as a mother to determine whether he’s a reliable driver. I try to keep my work life and my home life separate, you know.”

  “All right, Mom, fine. We’ll pretend you’ve never met him before, and I’ll invite him in to say hello before we leave.”

  “Gracias.” Mom managed to slather that one word with sarcasm, letting me know that I hadn’t won any ground.

  Dad called and said he was going to work late tonight, and we should have dinner without him. So Mom went and picked up Thai food.

  I ate in a hurry and then went upstairs to get dressed. I’d picked out three options the night before, but now none of them seemed right. Finally I settled on an olive-green sweater-dress with a wide brown belt and rust-colored cable-knit tights, since it was chilly at night now.

  “Do you mind if I come in?” Elizabeth asked, poking her head in the door as I was brushing my hair in front of the vanity.

  “Of course not, it’s your room, too.” The words came out sounding abrupt and rude.

  “Um,” she said, hesitating in the doorway, as if she might need to make a quick escape, “I wanted to ask you something.”

  “Shoot.”

  “It’s, um, it’s about Farhan.”

  “I said, shoot.”

  “He asked if I wanted to go see a movie next weekend.”

  “Great.” I brushed faster.

  “So—you’re okay with that?”

  I slammed the brush down on the vanity table harder than I meant to. “Yes, I told you I’m fine with you going out with Farhan. You don’t have to ask permission.”

  “Okay, I just thought—never mind.” She disappeared and closed the door behind her.

  Farhan was an idiot. I no longer liked him. I’d relinquished any claim on him. So why did my stomach twist when I thought about them, Elizabeth and Farhan, going to the movies together? Holding hands, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder. His warm lips near her ear, whispering to her the way he’d whispered to me at the dance …

  The doorbell rang, and I flew down the stairs. “I’ll get it!”

  I opened the door, and Zephyr was on my doorstep, in his usual brown leather jacket and jeans.

  “Hey,” I said, trying to catch my breath, “I’m so sorry, but my mom wants you to come in for a minute before we leave. She’s nervous about letting me drive somewhere with someone she doesn’t know.”

  “Your mom’s Head Laredo-Levy, right?”

  “Yeah. Just—would you mind coming in?”

  “No, of course not.” He stepped in, swept his gaze over the living room. I took in what he was seeing: the upright piano against one wall, its keys coated in a fine layer of dust. The saggy red couch and threadbare ottoman. The exposed brick wall that Mom’s friends always get so excited about: “Oh, Melissa, you have exposed brick! I love exposed brick!”

  Mom came bustling down the stairs.

  Zephyr adjusted his jacket and rubbed his chin. “Hi, Head Laredo-Levy.”

  “Hello, Zephyr. Thank you so much for picking up Cadie.” Mom was using her honey-sweet voice, reserved for people we didn’t know very well. But she had a real smile on her face, not the pasted-on one. Maybe she really was glad that I was going to the play without Dad. Why do you have to make everything be about the war between Mom and Dad?

  Bec
ause everything is, I answered myself. And was Dad really working late? Or had he just stayed at the bookshop so he wouldn’t think about missing opening night at Center Stage? A twinge of guilt tightened the twist in my stomach, but I forced myself not to pay attention to it.

  Mom asked Zephyr a few questions—how long he’d had his license, where we were planning to park—and I thanked him a million times in my head for answering patiently. Finally she nodded and said, “Well, have a good time,” and I zipped out the door before she could change her mind.

  Zephyr followed me, slid into the driver’s seat of his orange Volkswagen Beetle, and twisted the key in the ignition. The car coughed to life as I climbed in. Raven would flip when I told her about it—owning a Beetle was one of her life goals.

  “Thank you so, so, so much for doing that,” I said.

  He laughed. “No problem. Kind of fun to see another side of Dr. Double-Hockey-Sticks.”

  I blinked. I knew kids called her that, but no one ever said it in front of me. I decided I liked how Zephyr didn’t treat me like The Head of School’s Daughter.

  “So,” I said, “is your mom that overprotective?”

  “Uh, no. I don’t have a mom, actually.”

  “Oh.”

  He didn’t explain further, and I searched for a new topic. “So, nice car!”

  “Thanks, a buddy of mine works at an auto shop and cut me a sweet deal on it.”

  He had buddies who worked at auto shops? Who cut sweet deals? So this was what it was like to go out with a senior. Or maybe be friends with a senior. Zephyr wasn’t acting like this was a date. He hadn’t opened the car door for me, or tried to hold my hand, or anything like that. Of course, I could open a car door perfectly well myself, and it wouldn’t be safe for him to hold my hand while he was driving.

  I tried to make a little conversation about play rehearsals, but it was a quick drive, and before long we were at Center Stage. He only had to circle the block once to find a parking spot. Dad always parked in the garage.

  I felt older walking into the theater with someone other than Dad. It was a rush, like I’d been cut free from a tether. Like anything could happen.

  Our seats weren’t great—in the first row of the balcony at stage left, so we had a skewed view of the stage. But at least we didn’t have to worry about seeing over anyone’s heads. And Zephyr didn’t seem to mind. “These are great seats!” he said.

  In fact, Zephyr was enthusiastic about everything from the time we walked into the theater. “I love this play,” he kept saying. “I can’t wait to see what you think. I promise not to nudge you at all the good parts. I’ll try, anyway.” I didn’t think I’d ever seen him this animated, except on stage.

  Watching Zephyr watch the play was like a whole show in itself. His mouth never stopped moving—either whispering lines along with the actors or grinning a huge cheesy grin at the funny parts, and sometimes at the sad parts, too. His eyebrows shot up and down. Even his ears wiggled a little, he was moving his face so much. I realized, watching him, that I’d never actually seen him smile. I’d certainly never seen him do this many facial expressions, not even on stage. I couldn’t tell if he was aware of what he was doing or not—he certainly wasn’t aware of me watching him. It was like he was in his own private bubble. But every once in a while, when his delight overpowered him, he’d turn the grin on me, as if to say, Look! Are you seeing this, too?

  “You know,” I commented, as we made our way out to the lobby at intermission, “some people might find you incredibly annoying to sit next to at an event like this.” His goofiness seemed to have unlocked my tongue—I had my powers of speech back. Hallelujah.

  Zephyr stared at me. “What did you say?”

  “Oh, come on. You seriously don’t know you’re doing it?”

  “Doing what?”

  “The silent cackling! Whispering lines along with the actors! The absolutely psychotic glee you’re manifesting out of every pore!”

  He smiled uncertainly. “Is that a good thing?”

  Oh my god. He really didn’t know he was doing it. “It’s a joy to watch.”

  “You should be watching the stage, not me.” Now he was grinning, a lopsided smirk, and I felt my face flush.

  “So,” I said, trying to change the subject, “you said you had a long story to tell me.”

  He frowned. “What long story?”

  “Why you didn’t go to the Fall Ball—you said it was a long story?”

  “Ah.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked around, as if searching for an emergency exit. “Cadie, that’s what people say when they don’t want to talk about something.”

  “Of course.” My face burned hotter. “I’m sorry, forget it.”

  “No, no. It’s okay. It’s not a big deal. Oh, look, brownies.”

  He made a beeline for the snack table, and I excused myself to go to the bathroom. There was a long line, of course, and by the time I got back, the lights were flickering.

  “Here,” he said, holding out something folded up in a paper napkin, “I got you a brownie, too.”

  “Oh! Thanks,” I said, slipping it into my purse, where I was sure it would shed crumbs all over everything. I couldn’t very well cram it into my mouth in the two seconds we had left before going back in for the second half, though. Why was everything so much more complicated on a date? Were we on a date? I still wasn’t sure. How were you supposed to know whether it was a date or not?

  Zephyr took my elbow to steer me back toward the theater. A jolt of static electricity zapped my arm, and he snatched his hand back. “Ow!”

  “That was your fault!”

  “Was not!”

  We both laughed.

  Maybe it was a date?

  “So anyway,” he continued, as we found our seats, “about the Fall Ball. It’s not a big deal. It’s just that my girlfriend lives in New York, and she didn’t want me to go without her.”

  The lights went down over the audience, and a spotlight illuminated the actors already on the stage.

  A good thing, because my face was burning again, and I didn’t want Zephyr to notice.

  Of course. His girlfriend. Ava, I remembered suddenly. The girl whose call he’d answered at the Shakespeare Theatre.

  What kind of an idiot was I, asking out a senior who already had a girlfriend?

  And yet, he’d said yes. So what if it wasn’t a date? I didn’t have tons of guy friends, but maybe this was totally normal for Zephyr. I’d just play it cool. Of course he had a girlfriend. Maybe he assumed I had a boyfriend, too.

  And we were having a good time. A great time. His face was about to crack open with joy again, watching the stage, and I was having fun for what felt like the first time in ages.

  So just take this for what it is, Acadia Greenfield, and be content for once. Stop always wanting more.

  Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? was unlike any play I’d ever seen before. There were only four characters: a middle-aged couple, George and Martha, and a younger couple, Nick and Honey. Only one setting—George and Martha’s living room. The whole thing took place over the course of one evening. The way the characters manipulated each other, and the audience, had my head spinning—every time you finally figured out whose side you were supposed to be on, someone would reveal a new horrible secret and turn the tables. George and Martha were more complicated and intense than any characters I’d ever seen on stage, more honest and deceitful and humble and arrogant. They were larger than life. They were hilarious and excruciating and mind-bogglingly real. I fell in love. So hard that I said yes instantly, without even pausing to think, when Zephyr asked if I wanted to see it with him again the next night.

  Dad was surprised when I came home that night and told him I was going to see the play a second time, and even more surprised when I still didn’t ask him to go with me. He mentioned that Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? was his favorite Edward Albee play, that he hadn’t seen it performed since college. I igno
red him.

  On Saturday, I slept late and then lolled around in bed, filling up the hours before going back to Center Stage by working on my Much Ado lines. I had them almost all down. What I wouldn’t give to run them with Dad … but he was out somewhere with Elizabeth. They were probably off exploring Baltimore, or going into raptures over dusty old books. Mom and Josh and I ordered takeout for dinner again, and just as we were finishing, the doorbell rang and Zephyr was there with his Beetle to pick me up.

  At Center Stage, we sat on the opposite side of the theater this time, but otherwise we did a repeat of the previous night: me trying to figure out how these four actors were causing such a tornado of emotion on stage, and Zephyr drinking it all in next to me and whispering, nodding, chortling silently. We were both in a daze afterward as we stumbled out into the lobby.

  “I think they did an even better job tonight,” I said.

  “You just picked up more this time, probably. You knew what was coming.”

  “No, I liked not knowing what was going to happen next last night, the freshness of all the surprises. But tonight—I don’t know, it seemed like they dug deeper—”

  “Twisted the knife,” he said, miming it.

  “Makes Much Ado seem a little boring.”

  “Yeah, it’s not my favorite Shakespeare, to be honest. Hey, want to walk around the block a couple times? I don’t think I can focus on driving yet.”

  He was right. He was giddy, stumbling, drunk on Albee.

  So we walked around the block a couple times and then a couple more times, and then a couple more, talking about George and Martha and Nick and Honey, and which Shakespeare play we liked best, and I realized afterward I hadn’t thought about Elizabeth or Farhan or Mom or Dad once all night. I thought I heard Zephyr’s phone buzz in his pocket, twice, but he didn’t answer it.

  “This was a great weekend,” he said, as we finally buckled ourselves into our seats in the Beetle. “Thanks again for inviting me.”

  “Thanks for inviting me to see it again. I don’t know how I’ll ever settle for seeing a play just once after this.”

  He grinned. “It’s a slippery slope.”