Chapter Twenty
After I went to the hospital and half-heartedly chewed Bruce out for sending his friends after Scotty, I felt a little better. I couldn't be too mad at him—his actions had been sweet, although horribly misguided. Then I concentrated on feeling things out, seeing how I felt.
Amanda and Ethan were pretty tight. I didn't see any signs of an impending breakup. Did that mean I was supposed to tell Dylan how I felt, or not? It was all too confusing.
In the meantime, I became hyper aware of every single thing Dylan said, did, ate, wore . . . I was stalking him in my brain and couldn't figure out how to stop. It was embedded in my memory that he wore his blue shirt on Tuesday, the one that made his eyes pop. They weren't quite as poppy as Colby's, but that was all right. They were poppy in their own way. And on Wednesday, he drank chocolate milk. See? Stalking him. Stalking him!
As time went by and we became more and more invested in the play, I became more invested in him. All these hours we were spending together couldn't be good for me. It was getting to the point where if I went a weekend without seeing him, I'd have withdrawals.
Finally, it was the week of the play, so we were putting in more rehearsal hours than ever before. I wondered if Dylan had any idea what was going on inside me. He seemed the same as always—laughing, easygoing, relaxed. I, on the other hand, was a big ball of stupid nerves.
After practice that Wednesday, he pulled me aside back stage. "Can I talk to you for a minute, Jill?"
"Um, sure." What did he want? Something good? Something bad? What?
He reached out and took my hand, much like Gilbert took Anne's. My heart leaped up into my throat. "Listen, Jill. I know you're stressed about the play, but you're going to do great. You really are. You're a natural. I've never seen anyone take to the stage like you have. You've just gotta believe in yourself, okay? Loosen up. Have fun with it. Just imagine me off stage pulling silly faces at you the whole time, okay?"
I giggled, more as a release of tension than anything. "Pulling faces at me?"
"Yeah. Like this." He stuck out his tongue and demonstrated. "It's all going to be okay."
"Thanks, Dylan. Yeah, I think this is going to be a really good play."
"Of course it is. We're the leads. They can't possibly go wrong." He nudged me with his elbow. "You gonna be all right?"
I inhaled. "I think so. Yes."
"Okay. Now let's go get some rest so we can do it all again tomorrow."
Right after school the next day and before our evening's practice, I had an appointment with Shauna next door to get my hair colored. She had been a stylist years before, and I figured she was my best bet. I had to be a redhead, and a good one, for cheap. I couldn't afford one of those fancy-schmancy salons. I took Amanda with me, and we made ourselves comfy at Shauna's kitchen table.
"Have a snack," she urged while she draped a towel around my shoulders, and then a cape. I didn't mind if I did—she'd placed a whole plate of chocolate chip cookies within arm's reach, and they smelled delicious.
What did not smell delicious was the hair dye. As soon as she began to apply it, I was gasping and wheezing. Amanda got up to open the windows, and then the back door. Nothing we did got rid of the smell.
"This is just part of the pains we take to be beautiful," Shauna said. "The smell will fade away in a couple of days."
"If I live that long," I said, my eyes watering.
Dean came into the kitchen, holding his nose. "If I'd realized you were playing beauty parlor today, I would have left the house," he said. "Now it's too late. You've burned off all my nose hairs."
Shauna playfully swatted at him. "I did not. Now get out of here or I'll dye your hair too. Cover up all that gray."
He turned and disappeared into the back room, which doubled as his office.
She chuckled and turned back to me. "Now, where were we? Oh, that's right. And have another cookie."
I walked into dress rehearsal with my newly red head held high. The chemical smell was still hovering around me like a cloud, and I hoped it wouldn't kill off any of the cast members. My hair looked good, though—really good. It wasn't long enough to do the traditional Anne braids, but that didn't matter.
Dylan gave a low whistle when he saw me. "Now that's what I'm talkin' about," he said, grinning.
Heather crossed her arms and glowered at me. "I'm not sure. I think she looks like a neon sign."
I ignored her and spoke to Dylan as though she wasn't even there. "Dylan, have you considered that maybe Heather got the wrong part in this play? I think she'd make a perfect Josie Pye."
"The thought hadn't crossed my mind, but now that you mention it, I can see the resemblance," Dylan replied. Heather just scowled harder.
Dress rehearsal went well. I had been practicing changing my clothes really fast at home, and it definitely came in handy. Amanda was there to do all my buttons, which saved my life, and I didn't miss a single entrance cue.
We'd done the whole play from beginning to end before, but now, with the set and the costumes and everything, it felt real. I really was a little orphan girl trying to find her place in this world. I teared up more than once as the emotions hit me—would Marilla consent to keep me? Why did Matthew have to die? At times, it was hard to force the words out, but when we were done, Mr. Bell didn't mention it. Instead, he praised us all, and told us to do it exactly that way the next night.
I changed out of my last costume and put on my regular clothes, a little reluctant to become Jill again. Being Anne was fun.
"Hey, Ethan and I are going for ice cream," Amanda said, grabbing her backpack off the floor. "Wanna come?"
"Actually, I'm really tired, but thanks for the invite." I grabbed my bag too and turned off the light of the classroom we were using as a changing room. "Have fun."
"Okay." She giggled, and looped her arms through Ethan's. They really did make a cute couple.
I turned and saw Dylan standing in the hallway behind me. He was watching Amanda leave too, but I couldn't read the expression on his face. Was he upset at all? Regretful? No—he looked complacent. Maybe he'd given up on liking her. That was good for me, right?
"Hey, want a ride home?" he asked, tossing his keys in the air and catching them.
I realized just then that sure enough, I had ridden over with Amanda, and I didn't have a way home unless I wanted to walk, and I really didn't, because it was dark and there might be bad guys and kidnappers. "Sure. Thanks."
I threw my stuff into the backseat of his car and climbed in as though I'd done it a thousand times, which I sort of had. Then I watched him as we drove home. He hadn't washed off his makeup yet. They hadn't done a lot to him—just powdered his face and touched up here and there with a little bronzer—but he looked pretty good. Not that I wanted him to wear makeup all the time. I mean, it looked good for a guy's stage makeup.
He rolled down the car window. "No offense, Jill, but your hair is pretty stinky."
"I know. And I'm sorry. I was supposed to get it dyed last week, but then stuff kept coming up. Am I killing you?"
He glanced over at me and grinned. "I think I'll survive. Hey, I was talking to Mr. Bell, and he says he's doing a theme of all classics this year. The spring play will be Little Women."
"Really? I love Little Women."
"I was hoping you'd say that because I thought we could try out together."
"What?" I looked at him in alarm. "Isn't one play torture enough? Do I have to do two?"
He shrugged. "You don't have to. I just thought it would be fun. I've had such a great time doing this with you, I wanted to do it again. No big deal."
Crud. I'd hurt his feelings. "I'm sorry, Dylan. I didn't mean that I don't want to be in another play with you. I meant, I don't want to be in another play at all. Nothing personal. I like hanging out with you too." My cheeks grew a little warm. I hope he'd think my blush was just my stage makeup.
"Oh, yeah?" he asked.
"Yeah. You're not so bad, you know."
He grinned again and slugged me on the shoulder. "Thanks. You're not so bad yourself."