Misfit Theater Company (Wattys Winner 2018)

32. Your Juliet

On Wednesday, we met in the theater instead of in the bathroom, though Patti didn't ask Mrs. Permala to give up her lunch to supervise so she wouldn't realize our plan and turn us in. By then, I've spent every night listening to Patti's recordings of Juliet's lines on a loop. Not just at night, either, I listen to the recordings while walking home, eating dinner, getting ready in the morning, and working in sewing class. By Wednesday, Patti and I are running lines and blocking with barely any hiccups.

Thatcher and Moth supposedly know that I'll be joining them, but I haven't seen either of them all week to confirm. They've been going to Patti's house right after school, and Thatcher's supposedly really stressed. I hate that I'm so disconnected from them, but especially from Thatcher. I'd text him from Patti's old phone, but the SIM card is out. All I can do is listen to the recordings. I can't even connect to the internet at my house, because then my mom would see that another device was on. So all I can do is pass notes through Patti.

"I miss you," my first note read.

The note I received in response read, "Meet me in my shed Wednesday night. Dad works late on Wednesdays, comes home, gets drunk, and passes out. 8pm?"

I tell Patti to let him know I'll be there. Who cares if Mom catches me? What else can she take away from me? But I will need help.

That's why, on Wednesday night, at 7:50pm exactly, a knock sounds on the door. My mom gets up from where she's reading a book, post-dinner, on the couch. I'm "studying for science," though I'm really just looking over the review packet with the lines playing in my ears. She shoots me a confused look, so I take out my ear buds.

"Are you expecting anyone?"

"No," I lie.

She stands up and moves to answer the door as another knock sounds. I hear the door creak open, and then I hear the sniffles.

"Oh, hi Gina," Mom says.

"Hi Ms. Collins. Is Janie home?"

"She is, but she's still grounded. What do you need Gina?"

I hear her crying intensify before she responds. "I just got dumped, and I really need someone. Janie is the only person I can turn to. Please, can I please just see her? I just really need my break-up ritual."

My mom groans. She knows exactly what Gina means by her break-up ritual, since I've had to console her through so many break-ups by now. It starts at an ice cream place, usually Dairy Queen or Baskin Robbins, but in the summer sometimes we'd go "healthy" with Rita's. From there, we spend at least an hour going through all of Gina's pictures on her phone and delete them. It takes a while, and it is dramatic. We tried to do it at my house once, but my mom found Gina to be way too dramatic and insufferable to allow the ritual to happen there ever again. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

"Janie," Mom calls. "It's for you." I start off the couch as she reminds Gina, "You two aren't really in a good place right now, though, Gina. She might not want to help you, and I wouldn't blame her."

Once I'm in the foyer, I see Gina nod in acceptance, and then she acknowledges my presence by extending her arms out for a hug. "Janie, Greg dumped me."

I want to laugh, picturing Layla Monroe's lap dog Greg ever dating Gina, but I have to stay in character if this will work. I step into her arms and hug her. She wails in my ear. "Please, I need you," she cries.

She doesn't let go of me, but I manage to turn my head back to ask Mom, "Can I?"

She frowns, but agrees. "Go. Be home by 10, it's a school night."

"Thanks, Mom," I say, stepping away from Gina and grabbing my coat before following her outside.

Gina continues to fake cry until we get into her car and pull away, when her tears turn into laughter. "I knew I could act," she says.

I laugh. "You could, my goodness. That was one of your most convincing performances yet." She gets to the end of my street. "Turn right," I instruct her. "Hey, listen, thank you so much for doing that for me. You'll turn right again onto Chestnut."

"Sure, no problem. It's the least I could do after all the real break-up rituals. I'm glad you asked for my help, too. It makes me feel better about us."

I had found her in the hall earlier in the day and pitched the idea to her, and being dramatic Gina, she loved it.

"I'm still not ready to be as close with you as we used to be--his house is the next one down--but I think we could maybe go back to being friendly at least."

She puts the car in park in front of Thatcher's house, and smiles at me. "Agreed. Just let me know when you're ready to be close again." She tucks her hair behind her ear, before continuing, "So, I'll pick you back up at, like, 9:45?"

"Yeah, that would be perfect. Right here is fine. I'll just wait at the stop sign down there."

"Got it. Okay, now get out and go see your boy."

Smiling, I say, "Thanks Gina. See you then."

I close the car door behind me and hurry into the backyard toward the shed. I know that Mr. Gorsky isn't going to home, but Thatcher's brothers are and I don't want them blowing my cover. At least most of the snow has melted by now so that my footprints won't give me away.

When I reach the shed, I pull the handle, but before I can open the door, Thatcher does it for me. He grabs my arm and yanks me inside, pulling me into an embrace. I don't know how, but he closes the door behind us, and the world is at peace again.

"I miss you so much," he whispers, but with my ear pressed to his chest, his words consume all other sounds.

"I miss you too."

He pulls us to sit down in the shed, wraps the blanket over me, and kisses my forehead. "I don't have any idea what we should do."

"That's okay," I say. I'm so happy to see him, I feel tears start to come up at the thought of having any time at all with him.

"We could practice our lines now that you're my Juliet."

"I've always been your Juliet."

He kisses my forehead again, which is all he can reach now that I've snuggled into the space between his chest and his arm. "We could watch a movie."

"Ugh, bad memories."

"Or we could just sit here together and never let go until you have to go."

"I like that plan," I say.

And for the next hour and forty-five minutes, that's exactly what we do, and it's worth every second spent lying to Mom.