Inevitable and Only

by Lisa Rosinsky

  “So,” I said, trying to keep my voice casual, “does your girlfriend like theater, too?”

  He shifted in his seat and didn’t look at me. Then again, he was driving, so it was good that he kept his gaze on the road. “Yeah. We met at theater camp this summer. She’s a killer actor, but she’s more into film, wants to direct. Move out to LA and all that.”

  How sophisticated.

  “What about you?” he said. “You dating anyone? Seems like the whole cast is already going out with each other.”

  I was surprised he’d noticed. It didn’t seem like the sort of thing Zephyr paid attention to.

  “No, I’m just”—I remembered one of Renata’s phrases, whenever Mom asked her whether she was seeing anyone—“I’m just doing me right now.”

  He nodded.

  That seemed to kill the conversation, to burst the bubble of excitement we’d both been glowing in after the play. We rode in silence, and soon we were back in Hampden.

  “Well, thanks again,” he said, pulling up at my house. “See you on Monday.”

  “See you,” I said, and wondered what Monday would be like. Would we act any differently around each other now that we’d spent time together outside of school, outside of Much Ado? Now that we’d exchanged more than pre-written words, and now that I’d witnessed the manic dynamo that was Zephyr at a play? What did it mean that he’d allowed me to see that side of him?

  It just means you’re friends now, I told myself. Friends who can walk in circles around the same block for forty-five minutes talking about acting technique and authentic emotion and the merits of Hamlet versus Macbeth. As friends do.

  I couldn’t sleep until the wee hours on Saturday night—too much energy still zooming around inside me. I crept downstairs and was surprised not to see Dad sleeping on the couch. Then I went into the kitchen for a glass of water and found him there instead, slumped over at the table with his cheek resting on an open book, as if he’d fallen asleep while reading. I poked his shoulder and he grunted, so at least I knew he was still breathing. I left him there, drank my water, and went back up to bed.

  Sunday morning, what felt like only a few hours later, I walked Elizabeth to church, wearing my headphones and listening to Red Hot Chili Peppers so we wouldn’t have to talk. I knew it was rude, but I was too groggy from lack of sleep to care. While she was at Mass, I went to the BMA to hang out with Heron again. I told her about the Center Stage production, but I didn’t mention that I’d seen it twice. Or that I’d seen it with Zephyr. Both times.

  I didn’t tell Raven, either. Somehow I worried the magic would drain out of the memory if I told it too many times. And I didn’t want her to jump all over it and analyze everything Zephyr had said. He had a girlfriend, I had a broken heart. I was probably rebounding. What I’d said to him was true: I needed to “just do me” for a while right now. Raven would agree. It felt strange not to tell her about it, though. All day Sunday, I kept taking out my phone to call her and then putting it away again.

  That night, as we were getting ready for bed, Elizabeth said, “Cadie—you know him a lot better than I do, of course, but—do you think Josh is okay?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, when I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth just now, he was going downstairs with his cello. I don’t think he realized that I saw him.”

  I checked the time—10:04. Huh. It was well past Josh’s bedtime, let alone his practice time. “I’m sure he’s fine,” I said, annoyed that Elizabeth had noticed and I hadn’t. A few minutes later, though, I made a big show of pretending I couldn’t find my script, and crept down the stairs.

  I didn’t see or hear anything at first—Dad wasn’t even on the couch or in the kitchen. Then I went to the basement stairs and pushed the door open a crack. Soft music floated up. Well, soft sounds—Josh was practicing something with a mute on down there, and it didn’t exactly sound like music. I listened for a few more minutes and caught snatches of melody here and there, but couldn’t figure out what he was trying to play. It sounded like he was hitting a lot of wrong notes. Judging by that and how frequently he stopped and muttered to himself, he was trying to learn something new.

  I closed the door gently and turned to find Mom standing behind me, her whole face creased into a frown. “He’s got seven weeks until the competition, and his Popper is a wreck.”

  “He’ll be fine, Mom,” I said.

  “He’s not fine, listen to that!” Mom took a deep breath, then continued more quietly. “I didn’t know he was sneaking out of bed to practice. Has he been doing it for a long time?”

  “I have no idea.” I felt as miserable as she looked. How long had Josh been practicing in the basement in the middle of the night? How could I not have noticed before?

  “I’ll talk to him about it in the morning,” Mom said. “I don’t want him to think I’m spying on him.”

  The music stopped for a moment, and we both jumped as we heard something crash downstairs. It sounded like Josh had thrown his rock stop across the room. “Mom, why can’t he just play one of his Bach suites for the competition? He sounds fantastic on those, and he practices them all the time. He loves them.”

  She shook her head. “Those aren’t competition pieces. There are certain pieces assigned to each age category, and we’re trying to show how far above his age level Josh is. That’s why we picked the Hungarian Rhapsody.”

  “We?”

  “Yes, me and Olga. If he wins this competition, or even if he places well, that would open all sorts of doors for him for high school—Interlochen, or—”

  That sounded familiar. Josh had told me something about Michigan last weekend, hadn’t he? “You’d send him all the way to Interlochen? Mom, that’s in Michigan, right?”

  “We’ll have to do what’s best for your brother’s career,” Mom said, and turned to go up the stairs.

  “He’s just a kid, Mom, he doesn’t have a career!”

  “Not yet. But you wait and see, Cadie, that boy is going to be something special.”

  And what about me, Mom? I thought. Why is it always about Josh, Josh, Josh with you?

  Monday morning, I woke up with a fluttering stomach. It took me a few minutes to remember why. Ah, yes. Drama class.

  Zephyr smiled at me when I walked into the Shed, but other than that, he didn’t treat me any differently than he had pre–Center Stage binge weekend. Which meant he didn’t go out of his way to talk to me at all, unless we were working on a scripted scene together. So much for having a new friend?

  “Cadie,” Robin called, snapping me out of my reverie. “What are you doing in this scene? What’s your objective? What do you want?”

  We were still working on our Crucible scenes in class.

  “Sorry,” I said, “I forgot how I did it last time.”

  Robin waved his arms as if hailing help from a sinking ship. “No, no, no! How many times have I said this? We don’t ‘remember’ anything on stage. Conscious forgetting, people. Every time you step into a scene, your reactions should be new and real. Forget, forget, forget!”

  “Then I’m doing a great job,” Sam muttered. He’d forgotten three of his lines and missed two cues already.

  “Wipe the slate clean.” Robin clapped his hands. “Try again.”

  I took a deep breath and tried to forget the blocking, the cues I was expecting, to relax my body enough that all of that would come naturally. Inevitably. Trying to make it look like I wasn’t doing any work at all. Easy peasy my ass.

  Robin had us run the scene two more times, and then we sat down and watched the next group. He stopped them even more frequently, with more arm waving and even some Shakespearean cursing thrown in.

  After class, I lingered over my backpack, just to see if Zephyr would come over to talk. He didn’t. In fact, it seemed like he packed up and left extra quickly, ignoring the fact that Robin was trying to wave him over. Robin looked extremely annoyed. He flagged me down by the door instead and sa
id, “Cadie, if you happen to see Zephyr before tonight’s Much Ado rehearsal, would you please remind him that he has been running late for his scenes? Actors are expected fifteen minutes before their call times.”

  “Um, I don’t really see him outside of class. But sure.” My face was burning, and, although I told myself I was imagining it, it felt like Robin could see right through my lie. Why would he care, anyway, that I’d spent the weekend at Center Stage with Zephyr? It wasn’t like we were dating. And anyway, even if we were, plenty of the cast was already going out with each other.

  He muttered something that sounded like, “Too much talent to waste,” as I walked away. “Not you,” he said quickly, as I turned back to look at him, “you’re doing a wonderful job, Cadie. Making lots of progress. Sorry I snapped at you today.”

  My mood soared. “I am? Making progress?”

  “Oh, yes, most definitely. Actually, if you have a few minutes before your next class, let’s talk about that scene we’re going to rehearse tomorrow night—I have an idea I’d like to run past you.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “I knew this would happen,” I moaned, collapsing on Raven’s bedroom carpet. “Ever since we saw the Shakespeare Theatre production with my class.”

  I wasn’t called for any scenes tonight, so I’d gone home with Raven after school and told her about Robin’s “idea,” and then I’d finally told her everything about my weekend, too—“All the beans,” she’d said, snapping her fingers, “spill ’em.”

  “Having your first kiss on stage is not the end of the world,” she said, but the way she said it, she could’ve been pronouncing the imminent demise of mankind.

  “I could say no,” I said, for the hundredth time. “Robin said to think about it and let him know if I was comfortable with it or not. He said I don’t have to do it if I don’t want to. He can re-block the scene instead. And it won’t really be kissing. He’s going to show us how to stage it so it’s just an illusion.”

  “You said all that already,” Raven said. “But I still don’t understand how it works. How will the audience not notice that Zephyr’s kissing his thumb instead of your mouth?”

  “He’ll have his downstage hand on the side of my head, and—”

  “Okay, whatever,” Raven interrupted. “The point is, do you want to do it or not?”

  “I think the scene will work a lot better if we do it,” I admitted. “As long as it’s not horribly awkward.”

  “Zephyr’s been in lots of plays, I’m sure he’s done plenty of stage kisses before.”

  “And it doesn’t count as my first kiss?”

  “Definitely not,” Raven said.

  “Okay. So why do you have that look on your face?”

  “Because you went on two dates with this guy over the weekend, and you didn’t tell me about it until today.”

  “They weren’t dates! I told you, he has a girlfriend. And I’m still in mourning for Farhan. Or something.”

  Raven shook her head. “It’s just weird, dude. We always tell each other everything.”

  “Well, I told you about the Friday night plan, dude. The Saturday night one was kind of last-minute.”

  “And?”

  “And … nothing. Everything’s so intense right now at home. It was nice to have a distraction.”

  Raven nodded. “Okay, okay, fine, I forgive you. Now, speaking of distractions, I have to study for my history test tomorrow, my math test on Friday, and my debate tournament in two weeks. Pick one and quiz me.” She plunked a stack of notebooks down on the carpet next to me.

  “Right. What’s a friend for?” I rolled my eyes at her and let out a Dramatic Groan. But I did feel a little better.

  Maybe my dad had a secret past I’d never known about and my parents weren’t speaking to each other or sleeping in the same bed. Maybe my surprise sister was stealing my dad and the boy who’d been my one true love since forever. Maybe my brother was sneaking around and even more withdrawn than he’d ever been, which meant he was basically turning into a human snail. Maybe I wasn’t a senior, or a New Yorker planning to move to LA to direct movies, but Raven thought I was sophisticated enough to handle a stage kiss.

  Sure. A stage kiss? No big deal.

  Zephyr certainly didn’t act like it was a big deal. Robin had us come to rehearsal early Tuesday night to practice before everyone else got there, so we wouldn’t have to try it for the first time with an audience of teenagers. In my head, I flapped my arms wildly to make sure the gods were watching, so they’d reward Robin appropriately in the afterlife.

  Although, Robin was the one who was making things awkward. He was describing how Zephyr should hold his hand, and the exact angle we should stand from the audience to create the illusion. But he was doing all this from the first row of seats. Ordinarily he didn’t hesitate to get up on stage with us during rehearsals, sometimes physically moving us around like chess pieces or giant dolls if we were struggling with the blocking and he got fed up with verbal instruction. Tonight, though, he was simply waving his hands in the air to explain what he meant.

  Finally Zephyr said, politely, “Mind if we just try it? I remember how. I’ve done this before.”

  Robin said, “Yes, yes, of course,” and waved his hands again, as if to clear away all the instructions he’d just given. “Of course you have. Take it away.” He folded his arms. I couldn’t figure out why he seemed so uncomfortable.

  Zephyr placed his hand on the downstage side of my head, just like Robin had explained, slid his thumb over my mouth, and leaned in to touch his lips to his thumb.

  I closed my eyes. It wasn’t a kiss. It didn’t even feel like a kiss. It felt like a boy putting his hand on the side of my head and kissing his thumb in front of my face.

  But Zephyr’s hand was pleasantly cool against my warm face, and it smelled like cocoa butter and soap, and the touch of his thumb made my lips feel like they were swelling. I didn’t want it to end.

  “Hold—and—yes, that’s it. That’s very good,” said Robin, clapping his hands twice, all businesslike. “Excellent. Let’s break until the others arrive.”

  And that was it. My first stage kiss. Zephyr stepped away from me and picked up his script, slouched into the wings to practice his lines. I wandered into the audience seats and, with my back to Robin, touched my own thumb to my lips. It didn’t feel the same.

  Rehearsal that night was glorious. We were mostly off book, at last, and the scene picked up a rhythm it hadn’t had before. It was the wedding scene—the first wedding scene, where Claudio and Hero are supposed to get married, halfway through the play. But Claudio has been tricked by Don John, the villain, aka Sam Shotwell, into thinking Hero is dillydallying with other men behind his back. At the altar, in front of everyone, Claudio accuses her of cheating. Then he storms off, Hero faints, and Beatrice and Benedick are left to figure out how to fix the whole mess, with Beatrice furious at Claudio for humiliating her beloved, innocent cousin.

  Benedick finally declares his love to Beatrice and tells her he’d do anything for her. Cue stage kiss. Then she tells him if he really loves her, he should go kill Claudio.

  Raven would love this part.

  Tori Lopez was doing a great job as Claudio, storming around and preening like a male peacock, and Priya Pashari, playing Hero, did a very credible swoon. But our stage kiss took the cake—everyone hooted and whooped from the wings, and even Zephyr was blushing when he pulled away.

  “People!” Robin yelled, clapping his hands for quiet. “All right, all right. Benedick, Beatrice, please proceed.”

  We ran through the rest of the scene, on fire from all the excitement in the room. Everyone was watching us, holding their breath, it felt like, to see if we’d do it again. We didn’t—Robin had only blocked in the one stage kiss—and everyone stopped making a big deal about it by the end of the night, after we’d run the scene two more times.

  “That’s a wrap for tonight,” Robin said, at last. “Go home, sleep, r
un your lines. Simultaneously if need be.”

  “Hey,” I said to Zephyr, as we packed up our bags, “good job tonight.”

  “Yeah, you too.” He smiled at me. “That wasn’t too awkward, right?”

  “Nope, not at all. Hey, I was wondering if you, um, wanted to go get ice cream?”

  “Right now?”

  “Yeah, it’s on the way to my place, if you don’t mind driving. Unless you have to be home by a certain time—”

  “Oh, no, I don’t.” Zephyr seemed flustered. I’d never seen him flustered before. “It’s just—I didn’t drive tonight, and my ride is leaving—what about tomorrow night instead?”

  “Sure, sounds good.” Who had he driven to rehearsal with? I didn’t remember him coming in with anyone. And we’d both gotten to rehearsal early—Micayla had agreed to drive me over early, since she had extra work to do on the costumes.

  “Oh my god,” she groaned, coming up behind me at that moment.

  I spun around. “Oh, hey.”

  “Sorry,” she said, “was I interrupting?”

  “No, it’s fine.” I turned back to Zephyr, but he’d slipped away. I scanned the room but didn’t see him. He and his ride, whoever it was, must’ve scooted right out the door.

  “Anyway,” Micayla said, “I screwed up Priya’s dress and I have to start all over again. Can you help me carry some stuff out to the car? I want to take this dress home and work on it more.”

  “Sure,” I said, and filed the Zephyr mystery away to think about another time.

  That night, there was another giant bouquet of flowers on the table—peonies, this time. Mom’s other favorite.

  So she and Dad were still fighting. Or whatever they were doing. Or not doing. They’d waited for me to have dinner, which meant that everyone was grumpy and starving when I got home. Mom and Dad sat at opposite ends of the table and bowed their heads while Elizabeth said grace. Mom was clasping her hands together so hard her knuckles went white. The peonies were perched in the middle of the table like an awkward grin. Once the meal started, Mom didn’t say anything except for asking me or Josh or Elizabeth to pass things to her. Dad tried floating a few conversation openers her way, but she managed to avoid responding directly to him. How much longer could this go on?