Chapter Twenty-One
I stood in the wings, my hair and makeup perfect, my knees knocking off each other like pool balls. I peeked out into the audience. There were Dean and Shauna, just like they'd promised. And over on the side were my mother and father. They sat together, yet they'd come separately. They seemed to get along just fine as friends, and I was glad for that. For just a split second, I wished they were back together, but then I pushed that thought away. I couldn't wish something for them that wasn't good for them. It hurt, and I would chop off my right arm if it could be different, but it couldn't, and I had to learn to be okay with that.
Dylan came up behind me. "How's it going?"
"Fine. Just fine. I think I'll pass out now, if that's all right with you."
He laughed. "Nope. Sorry. But you're going to be great. Just believe me, if you don't believe yourself."
I might be able to do that. It was very easy to believe him.
The first five minutes of the play, I thought I was going to die. I could feel every single pair of eyes in that entire auditorium on me, boring into me like pins. But then the magic happened. While Matthew was driving Anne home from the train station, the audience melted away, and I had fun just interacting with Todd, who was playing Matthew. This was fun, actually, and I was starting to get why Dylan liked it so much.
Then Anne met Gilbert, and the magic intensified. We did better in that first performance than we had in any of our dress rehearsals. I could practically feel Mr. Bell's approval.
When at last the play was over, it was like having to get off the roller coaster at the end of the best ride I'd ever taken. Amanda came running up and threw her arms around me, squeezing me tighter than she'd ever squeezed me before—and that was saying something.
"You were so good, I almost forgot you were Jill!" she said, taking me by the hand. "Come on—your adoring public awaits."
Oh, that's right. I'd forgotten about the receiving line—Mr. Bell had told us to line up in the lobby and shake everyone's hands after the play. I didn't want to do it, but I supposed that since I'd just survived the play, I'd also survive this.
Dylan and I stood side by side as the audience came up to greet us. Being next to him did make it easier.
"Oh, you were just wonderful," one older lady gushed. "I'm definitely coming back to your Monday performance, and I'm bringing my friends." Then she turned to Dylan and pinched his cheek. "Gilbert, you little scoundrel!"
He and I both laughed, not sure what to make of that, and I could tell he felt the same.
Dean and Shauna came through and showered us with praise—although she did not pinch Dylan's cheek—and then it was my mom and dad's turn.
"Honey, that was incredible," Mom said, hugging me tight. "You did such a great job."
Dad's eyes were shiny with unshed tears, something I wasn't used to seeing. But I knew they were tears of pride, and that meant all the world to me.
"I'm going to get a ride home with Dylan," I told them. "I need to change and then help get everything ready for the next show."
"Take whatever time you need," Mom said. "I won't stay up."
We probably stood in that reception line for another half hour, and then it was time to clean up. Dylan headed off to the boys' changing room while I headed for the girls'. Amanda unfastened my buttons, and then as soon as I was changed, she all but shoved me out the door.
"Hurry. You need to help clean up the stage."
"Hold your horses. I was on my way."
She gave me a frustrated look. "But you need to be there now."
Why was she acting so weird? "Okay, okay. I'm going. Sheesh."
The lights on the stage had been dimmed, and everything backstage was dark. I stood there awkwardly, trying to figure out exactly who I was there to help. No one was in sight. Well, I could start by taking the props off the stage and putting them in the prop area in the wings. "Excuse me. Are you Jill Gray?"
I turned around to see a guy walking toward me holding a single long-stemmed red rose. The logo on his shirt said he was from the florist's down the street. It was pretty late in the day for him to be out and about, wasn't it? "Yeah, that's me."
"This is for you. Enjoy." He handed me the flower and then disappeared as quickly as he'd shown up.
It wasn't until I took the rose that I realized it had a string tied to it. It was long, like a kite string, and trailed off farther into the darkened backstage area. I tugged on it a little, but it wouldn't come. Kind of weird.
I followed it, gathering up the slack as I walked. After a few feet, I saw a note tied to the string. It read, "Will." Okay . . . This didn't have anything to do with Will the football player, did it?
A few feet later, another note read "you." This was starting to look like Scotty had experienced a change of heart and was asking me to Fall Fling. But I was supposed to ask someone to go, not the other way around—otherwise, it wouldn't count as the last thing on my list, and I wouldn't have kept my promise to Bruce after all. Plus, I didn't want to go with Scotty anymore. He'd pretty much ruined that.
I found the next note clear back by the makeup table. Sure enough, it read "go." I coiled up the string in my hand and then made it into a little ball. Now that I knew what this was all about, I was reluctant to go any farther.
I walked slowly toward the word "to," coiling all the way, and then even closer to "Fall." Here I stopped. I didn't want to do this. Everything with Scotty had been so awkward, and telling him no would be even more awkward, but that's what I'd have to do. He didn't know how to treat me, and I didn't have enough energy to teach him.
"Jill?" A voice called to me out of the darkness of backstage. Then I heard footsteps coming closer. It was silly, but I glanced around, looking for a place to hide. The green glow of the nearby "exit" sign give just enough light for me to see that there really was no escape.
The shadowy figure stepped into the faint light. "Hey." It was Dylan, and relief swept over me like a tsunami. He held the end of the string in his left hand and another rose in his right. "Why'd you stop following the trail?"
"Because I wasn't sure I wanted to," I said. "I thought . . . I thought Scotty . . ."
"You thought it was Scotty, so you didn't want to come?" He grinned. "That's great."
I took a step closer to him. "But . . . why are you here? And the rose and the string and the notes—what's going on? You knew I didn't have a date, so you decided to take compassion on me? That's really sweet. Thanks."
"Well, not exactly." Dylan shifted from one foot to the other. "You said I should find a girl I really liked, someone I wanted to spend time with, someone who made me crazy and drove me nuts and made me happy every time I saw her. And when I found her, I should ask her to the dance."
"That's not what I said. You're putting words in my mouth."
"Well, okay, you didn't say all of that, but it's how I feel."
What? I made him happy and all that other stuff? As much as I wanted to hear it, I couldn't quite process it. "What do you mean?"
Dylan reached out and took my fingers with his free hand. "Jill, you're the one I want to be with. You're the one I can't stop thinking about. Will you please come to the dance with me? Otherwise, I'll be sitting at home, watching reruns and feeling miserable."
"I thought you said that being happy was a choice." My heart was beating so fast, it was almost hard to breathe. I wasn't processing this at all. Dylan liked me. I mean, liked me—not just as a friend.
He took another step closer. "And I'd choose not to be happy."
I was so confused. "But I thought you liked Amanda."
"What?" His exclamation was loud, and it echoed in the dark of the area where we stood. "Amanda's great, but no, Jill. It's you. It's always been you. From the first moment when I saw you when I walked into this school on my first day." He dropped the end of the string and cupped my face in his hand, and an explosion of tingles raced from his fingertips down my neck and across my shoulders. Then he stepped even closer and placed a sweet, gentle kiss right on my lips.
Right then, everything clicked for me. I saw it all—the way he'd watched over me, taken care of me, been there for me through absolutely everything, even when I was being mean and petty—I saw how much he cared for me. He was the one I wanted to run to when things got hard, and he would always be there.
All that flashed through my mind in the five seconds of our kiss. When he stepped back, I smiled up into his eyes. "Yes," I whispered. "I would love to go to the dance with you."
In that very dim green glow, my eyes must have shown him everything else I was feeling. He grinned again and pulled me in for another kiss, a little longer this time, although still very sweet.
And my heart began to heal.