The Truth About Fragile Things Page 19

  Charlotte was too quiet and I worried I’d crossed a boundary. Bryon was, after all, her dad. The list belonged to her now. Maybe she thought adding something was irreverent, presumptuous.

  “What do you think, Charlotte?” Phillip asked gently.

  She looked up at him and I saw one of her fingers twitch, wondered how badly she wanted to grab onto his hand. Her fingers looked cold and alone. “I don’t know,” she stalled.

  “Like I could say ‘coach a losing little league soccer team to victory and have a movie made about it?’” Phil asked, his eyes gathering brightness like a fire gathering flames.

  “You can’t control what people make a movie about. And if we coached it, it would definitely not end in victory.” I pointed out.

  “Could I do a cattle drive?” he asked.

  Charlotte laughed. “You want to herd cows? The whole world in front of you and your big dream is herding cows?”

  “Rule one,” Phillip announced. “If we do this, we do it. No one tells me what not to put on the list. And if you’re so brilliant what would you put on it?” he asked Charlotte.

  “I don’t know. I’d have to think.”

  “We all have to think,” I agreed. “I’m just wondering if we all agree to it.”

  Phillip and I turned to Charlotte just as our waiter set down our steaming chicken alfredo pizza. Charlotte stared at it a moment before she picked a slice and slid it onto her plate. She pulled off one thread of cheese and put it in her mouth. “I think,” she finally answered. “Maybe.”

  “So we’re agreed?” I pressed before she could change her mind. “We each add one thing, anything we want?” I turned to Phillip who had just grabbed a couple slices and my eyes narrowed. “No nudity,” I told him. “No physical intimacies of any kind.”

  “I’m not the one who said we should swim naked,” he reminded me.

  “Did she just say physical intimacies?” Charlotte choked. “Seriously, Phillip, where did you find her?”

  “See, Megan, it’s kind of bad timing to ban physical intimacies because I’m pretty sure I can get Taylor on rebound. Zirman practically runs when he sees her and I’m sure her ego will crack at some point.”

  Charlotte snorted. “What a catch. She reminds me of a biter from preschool.”

  “Is it a deal?” My voice tightened.

  “Deal,” Phillip said. His soft eyes found mine over the food and cups and called a truce.

  I smiled in return. “Deal.”

  “Well, I don’t see how we can screw it up any more than it is,” Charlotte sighed and took a bite. She stopped mid-chew when she saw Phillip and I wouldn’t rest until she said it.

  “Deal,” she mumbled just before she snorted and said, “physical intimacies.”

  It wasn’t just that we couldn’t decide on what to put on the list that kept us from pursuing our goal for two weeks. Our chances for conversation decreased steadily as opening night closed in on us. Despite spending hours together at rehearsal every day we belonged to Schatz the entire time. She pushed us around the stage like chess pieces, shoved us into the wings for last minute fittings and mic checks and to go over changes in blocking. And now that she knew everything about Bryon’s list, I think she did her best to keep Phillip, Charlotte, and me at opposite ends of the auditorium when we weren’t on stage. I suppose she figured there was no need to store dynamite next to fire.

  She’d convinced Charlotte to help with makeup and costumes and ran Phillip and me almost ragged. When Phillip’s voice started croaking during one rehearsal Schatz let out a scream of terrible proportions and ordered him not to speak for three days. She made him join us at lunch hours and forced lemon water and honey into him, along with concoctions of herbs and fish oil. His understudy, Parker, had the best three days of his life, soaking up the spotlight like it could give his pale hide a tan. That is, until Phillip returned full-voiced and so incredible he made Parker look like a prop instead of an actor.

  During one rehearsal when my character wasn’t on, my head started throbbing in rhythm to the banging hammers backstage. After a few minutes of listening to Taylor squeak her way through her lines with a cockney accent I went in search for privacy and quiet. Instead of retreating to the prop closet like usual, my feet led me upstairs to the sound booth. Braden was the only one inside, but instead of sitting at attention in front of his control board he was strumming an electric guitar. I thought he would jump up surprised when I entered, but he just raised his head and smiled when he saw me. His fingers kept plucking through the notes.

  “Did Schatz send you up?” he asked. “Does she need something?

  “No. It was just getting noisy down there. It seemed like it would be more peaceful up here.” I looked down at the people in the theater, attentive, hustling, talking, and felt like I was a hundred miles away. It suddenly looked like an ant farm—busy in a way that is utterly artificial to the watcher. He set the guitar in his lap and I studied the golden stripes running through the blue finish. “I didn’t know you played.”

  His cheek twitched, holding back another smile. “I’ve played in the jazz band for three years. We were second in the state last year.”

  I sat down in the empty rolling chair across from him, hiding my embarrassment by turning to the light switches. “Now that you say that it sounds a little familiar. I can’t believe I totally forgot. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s nothing,” he said with a genuine grin. “You ready for opening night next weekend?”

  “I think so. Are you?”

  “Better be.” He glanced down to make sure Schatz didn’t need him for anything yet. She strutted across the stage, showing Jeremy how to act like the frustrated director. It wasn’t a stretch.

  “I always wonder if she’ll survive one more show,” Braden half-joked. Then he rested his guitar carefully against the wall and leaned forward in his rolling chair. “Can I ask you something?”

  My shoulders tightened, but I couldn’t tell if it was dread or anticipation. I nodded before I could analyze it.

  “Do you ever get nervous out there?” He glanced to the stage and for a strange moment I had a feeling we were both picturing the same thing—me, standing in the spotlight instead of sitting in the dark booth.

  He looked so quiet and safe and I wanted to tell him the truth; I had never gone out there. No one has ever seen Megan on a stage. No one expects to. All they want are the characters. It is the place I am safest because people think I am revealing so much when I am hiding everything. “I really don’t,” I told him. “I mean some nerves before, sure, but when I’m out there I don’t even think about it.”

  He smiled like he’d learned a secret and instead of resenting it I collected his expression, to remember later. “Do you ever get nervous playing guitar out there?” Before he had a moment to answer I interrupted. “I am so sorry I didn’t know that, Braden. That is awful of me. I can’t remember you ever telling me.” I looked over the theater and saw Phillip and Charlotte talking under the green light of the exit sign, his head bending over hers. “I didn’t think to ask.”

  “It’s just band. And usually I’m just sitting in a chair by the piano so people don’t really notice.” He shrugged, thoroughly unconcerned.

  “Do you wish they noticed?”

  “No,” he laughed. “I think I like playing for this empty room better. Unlike you, I get nervous out there.”

  “You do?” My words were too fervent, too intense. He stopped fidgeting with the arm of his chair and met me with his dark blue eyes. He had the most colorful face I’d ever seen. Ruddy cheeks red beneath dark freckles, black lashes fanned out over blue eyes. He was brown and pale, dark and bright, warm and cool. I knew I’d looked too long but I didn’t know where to put my eyes, wasn’t sure how to turn away without admitting my mistake. “Then why did you take drama both semesters last year?”

  The smile dropped off his face and he swallowed in a tense way that made me sorry for him. “It seemed fun.”


  I calculated that we had only moments before Schatz needed one of us. “Did I interrupt your playing? Does it make you nervous if I’m here?”

  From the tilt of his head I knew he’d heard more in my question than I meant to say. I shifted my shoulders, feeling strangely exposed. I’d asked a question. I’d stripped off a layer in front of him.

  His cheek twitched uncomfortably. “Not really.” He looked up to see if I believed him before he added in a low voice, “Not in a bad way.” I knew it had cost him, knew he had stripped off something as well.

  There was too much nakedness in the small room even if it had nothing to do with bodies and skin. It was worse. And better. I rose to leave.

  “Megan…” His voice stopped me at the door and I remembered the stray compliments he had dropped throughout the year, suddenly realizing that with a person as deliberate as Braden, nothing is accidental. Not one word. When I looked back at him he was grinning, soft, easy again. “You can hide up here any time you want. I won’t tell. And I don’t mind. We all need a place.”

  His crimson cheeks were so red I could trace the outlines of his blush. I had a new desire to reach out and see if his face felt as hot to the touch as it looked. “Thank you,” I told him. There were other words spinning through the air. If either of us opened our mouths they might have fallen onto our tongues, come to us like breathing, but we were both still. Finally, another person who knew how to be still. “I better get back down,” I told him.

  He gave a dial on his soundboard a small twist and grinned like we were sharing a joke. “Okay.”

  CHAPTER 31

  Charlotte and I were both standing in the band room two days before dress rehearsals started, our stomachs sucked in to avoid puncture wounds as our costume director, Callie, did our final fittings. Girls who had already been fitted guarded the doors, ensuring no wandering trombonist walked in on us while our bodies were being squeezed and measured and carelessly exposed. The prop committee had hunted down two tweed skirts at a thrift store for Charlotte and me but they needed extensive tailoring to fit each of us.

  “This is a waste of time,” Charlotte complained as Callie straightened her hem. “Megan isn’t going to get sick. You don’t need to make me an entire costume.”

  “Always be prepared,” Callie replied stiffly, due to the three pins in her mouth.

  “Don’t talk,” I instructed. “No one wants to see you get a pierced tongue.” My eyes roamed over the unfamiliar room, resting on the piano and the chair next to it.

  Callie pulled in my waist band and rechecked the numbers scrawled in her notebook. “Did you lose weight, Megan?” she mumbled, removing one pin from her mouth and jabbing it into the fabric.

  “What’s to lose?” Charlotte sneered. “She’s perfect.”

  Callie yanked on the skirt, making sure it was seated correctly. “This fit two weeks ago. Now I need to take it in almost an inch. Go have an ice cream after rehearsal or something.”

  “It’s forty degrees outside and I was kind of sucking in because your hands are cold.”

  “Well then puff out or do whatever you are going to do on stage.”

  By this time every girl in the room was studying my stomach, which I don’t like anyway because I am the only person on the planet with an outie belly button. “It’s good. It fits,” I said, inching down my sweater so there was less to see.

  Somebody pounded on the side door of the band room. Alicia clamped her hand down protectively on the handle and yelled through the door, “Who is it?”

  “Phillip. Is Megan in there?”

  The handle jerked beneath Alicia’s fingers and she wedged her foot against the door just as Phillip managed to crack it open.

  “This is a dressing room today. We’re in the middle of fittings,” she informed him.

  “Well, cover up if you must. I’m coming in.” And then as an afterthought, “Is Charlotte in there, too?”

  “Phillip, we’ll be done in ten minutes,” Charlotte called out. Everyone had already stopped working to see what he wanted so I smoothed down my sweater and started walking toward the door.

  “I’m counting to three,” Phillip warned. I stopped just behind the door and rolled my eyes at Alicia when he shouted, “One…”

  I scanned the room to make sure everyone was decent. One girl hurriedly buttoned her pants and Taylor was propped against the piano in her lingerie costume which was really just a short, strappy dress decorated with copious amounts of lace. She didn’t look the least bit concerned. Maybe her crush was meandering away from poor Braden to more attainable conquests.

  “Two…” Charlotte’s eyes flashed with delight, anxious for a scene. I signaled Alicia to move her hand and I took the handle and opened the door calmly just as he yelled, “Three!”

  He stumbled as he lost resistance and opened his eyes that had been squeezed shut. After a quick scan of the room he straightened up and then shifted his eyes back to Taylor who smiled smugly. Apparently the illusion of lingerie is quite enough.

  “Yes?” I asked.

  He looked over my shoulder and smiled at Charlotte who approached us. “I want to sink a shot from half court.” He beamed like he was waiting for a round of applause.

  “That couldn’t wait?” Charlotte asked, obviously disappointed in the big finale.

  “I want to sink it on my first try and I want it on camera,” he elaborated.

  Callie joined us, the menacing pins still thrust between her lips. “Girls only when this is a dressing room.” She was one of Phil’s fifty one-time kisses.

  He patted her arm and gave her one of his most humble smiles. “So, so sorry. Everyone looks great. You are an artist.”

  I exhaled, hoping Callie didn’t get in trouble when she punched him. Schatz would hate him to go on stage next week with a black eye, because our makeup crew didn’t show any grand promise.

  He turned back to Charlotte and me. “So that’s my pick. Do we need to write it down or have a candle ceremony?”

  I groaned. He didn’t overlook the fact at least ten people listened to every word, their brains vibrating with curiosity, he counted on it.

  “What in the world are you talking about?” Alicia asked.

  “I’m not discussing this here,” I whispered.

  “I thought you said cattle drive,” Charlotte said just as loudly as Phillip. “I was really looking forward to that.”

  “What cattle drive?” Callie pulled the pins from her hands and glared harder.

  “Inside joke,” I announced with a nervous laugh to the room at large. “Schatz will kill us all if we don’t finish up and get back on stage. Phillip,” I leveled a look at him that made it perfectly clear what I would do if he kept speaking, “you need to go so I can get my clothes on.”

  “Half court. First try. I want witnesses,” he repeated as he took a few steps backwards.

  Just when I thought we were free of him Charlotte piped up, “What if you miss?”

  “One try every day until I do it,” he told her, flipping his hand up above his head as if taking a shot. He knocked on the door jamb as he continued to back up and managed to wink theatrically at Taylor before Alicia closed the door inches from his face.

  “Too bad,” I told her. “You almost got him.”

  “What the heck was that all about?” Alicia asked.

  “What is Phil ever talking about?” I shook my head and yelped because one of the pins in my waist found my skin. I sucked in and gingerly unzipped the skirt, annoyed that I had to have this conversation at all, and especially in underwear and tights.

  “Charlotte?” Alicia wheedled when she saw I wasn’t offering any information.

  “What? The boy wants to make a shot from half court. Like he said.” Her unruffled sneer made me proud.

  “And a cattle drive?” Callie pressed.

  “Look, are we all going to try to figure out what is going through Phillip’s unfathomable head or are we going to save our butts and get out the
re before Schatz comes in here and kills us?” My sharp voice was punctuated with pauses as I shimmied into my jeans.

  Every girl in the room replied only with silent, suspicious eyes. It was easy to tell they would always choose any option that included Phillip. I sighed as I pushed open the heavy door and left them. Or maybe I had never, in my entire life, joined them.

  “Are you worried?” Charlotte asked as I pulled into her driveway. My throat was sore, my eyes heavy, and I had three pages left to write for my English essay.

  “About my homework or the play?”

  “Oh yeah, homework. They shouldn’t give us that this week. I meant the play.” Her tired gaze shuffled to her front door, but she didn’t move. “There were still a hundred things going wrong today. People messed up lines eight times. I counted.”

  I ran my fingers along the bottom of my black steering wheel. “That’s normal. It always goes like that. By Thursday we’ll be ready.” I pulled my gearshift into reverse to signal I was ready to leave, but she didn’t take the hint. When I realized she was trying to say something I leaned back and didn’t move, hoping not to frighten the words away.

  “Do you want to come inside,” she asked her door handle, “for dinner or something?”

  It took me a moment to respond because the true answer was no. Everything in me wanted a hot shower and home and my familiar bed—not Melissa’s accusing eyes and the house full of pictures of the young and dead. But I knew the invitation had been difficult for Charlotte. “Maybe for a little bit.”

  I stepped in cautiously, and was greeted with the smell of garlic and laugh tracks on the television. From the kitchen came quiet sounds of cooking and conversation: murmurs, agreements, the clatter of a lid, and running water. Charlotte walked too fast, navigating the darker hallway until we emerged into the light and heart of the home where Dave was setting the table while Melissa opened the oven.

  “I brought Megan over,” Charlotte announced in the tone of a person who expected a fight and expected to win.