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I KNOW PEPPER WON'T BE AROUND during the final showing of her musical

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I KNOW PEPPER WON'T BE AROUND during the final showing of her musical. That's why I can breathe as I approach the box office and show them the ticket I bought ahead of time. Though my heart sinks a little upon seeing Rebekah collecting tickets at the end of my line. Why is she out here? I mentally curse myself and contemplate jumping into another line. A quick swivel of my head shows each line is twice as long as the one in front of me. Worry bubbles in my stomach. Is it worth it?

Last I heard, she and Tiffany still give Pepper shit about ridiculous rumors surrounding us and Lucas. No matter how many times I or Pepper herself have tried to shut them down, they keep on poking at her, waiting for her to snap. They have no idea how much I want to snap for them merely existing.

The time for contemplation ends and I'm up next.

"Mason?" Rebekah drags beneath her Southern accent and appears thoroughly thrilled that I'm in line. "I didn't know you liked musicals."

"I don't," I mumble and wait for her to rip my ticket off.

"Ooh." She leans on the booth and drums her fingers along her cheek. "Are you surprisin' Pepper? Should I tell her you're here?"

"No." I huff and shift my head slightly to glance around her. "Aren't you supposed to be helping with costumes?"

"Oh, you know Pepper. Always showin' off." She flaunts her wrist as acid drips from her tone. "She takes over everything."

"That's because she's good at what she does." I shrug and stuff my hands into my pockets. Can you give me my ticket now?

"I'm sure you'd know." She offers a delicate smile as she rips my ticket off. "Bein' the baby daddy and all. Or was that Lucas?" She cocks her head to the side and offers my ticket.

Snatching it from her fingers, I declare, "I wonder how lonely you must be for someone else's life to be more interesting than yours. If you focused on yourself as much as you focus on stupid rumors, people might actually like you as much as they like her."

Not giving her gaping face a chance to rebuttal, I stride past her and into the auditorium. The lights are dim and pre-show music plays drifts like a breeze from the orchestra pit. Groups of families and classmates are piling towards the front middle seats while smaller groups sit along the side rows. Determined not to be seen, I pick the last seat in the very last row in the darkest part of the theater. The last thing I need is Pepper freaking out and gushing over me attending the show. She'd probably declare that I like theatre and try to make me see every Broadway show and local musical with her.

Opening the program I received at the entrance, I flip through the bios until I can find Pepper's. Hers is on the shorter side, perhaps saving her longer message for their last musical next year. "Pepper Young...head costume designer...senior..." 'This is Pepper's thirteenth play and musical...' "Wow," I mumble. "And she calls me the overachiever." 'She would like to thank her parents and friends for always supporting her and tolerating her bizarre theatre lifestyle. (Including using them as mannequins on occasion.)'

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