I'm still so close to tears by lunch time that I almost decide to pull a Gina and eat somewhere else. I don't want to be that strange girl crying while she eats at the end of the table by herself. But then Patti sits across from me with her packed lunch. Without saying a word, we both start to tear up.
"Thatcher told us about the cop and the ticket situation," she says solemnly. "Why do you have to leave theater, though?"
I want to tell her about this morning, so she can understand; but I know I won't be able to get it out without crying. Instead, I shake my head, pushing back the tears, and say, "My mom. I don't want to talk about it."
"She was mad?"
I nod.
"About the ticket or theater?"
"The ticket." But that's not true. "About keeping it from her, I guess. About Thatcher being a bad influence."
Patti stares at me blankly, blinking a few times. "He isn't, though. She's met him, right?"
"Yeah. I know."
The tears won't stop welling up, and one slips down my cheek. I wipe it away before anyone else sees, but Patti definitely caught it. She reaches across the table to rest her hand on mine. "Can't you convince your mom to change her mind?" she asks. Her question borders on begging.
I shake my head.
"I'm sorry. It totally ruins our plans for Romeo and Juliet. I have no idea how you're going to make it work now. I'm so sorry."
"I told you before, that's not what I'm worried about. We'll figure it out—Thatcher, Timothy, and I have been working with what we've got all year when it comes to our performances."
"What about Grant O'Reilly, though?"
She shrugs. "My plan was to pursue my dreams before I even knew about this opportunity, and it's going to be my plan long after Grant O'Reilly leaves. I'm never going to stop trying to be an actress, that's just who I am. But... well, I don't know if you've noticed, but... I don't have very many friends." She looks away when she says this, and continues not to make eye contact as she elaborates. "And you are my friend. Probably one of my first girl friends—friend who is a girl—if I'm being honest. I've never been close with people, because I used to get made fun of a lot in elementary school. I had these huge glasses that made my eyes look enormous, and my hair was even bigger then, if you can believe it. And I didn't want to play tag, you know, because I wasn't athletic. I wanted to play pretend, and no one wanted to play with me since I was that strange girl. Aside from Timothy and Thatcher, no one else really gave me a chance before you did." She looks like she could cry as she stops herself and shrugs. "I don't want you to be in a different class. I want you to be a misfit with us until the end."
I know if I keep sitting here across from Patti, listening to her talk about how much I mean to her, I'll burst into tears, because the truth is I've never really had a good girl friend either. I get up to sit beside her at the table, and I wrap my arms around her. "I want to be a misfit too," I say.
We hold each other for a few moments before Patti pulls away, saying, "I could ask my parents to call your mom, and try to persuade her to change her mind."
I chuckle. That would never work. "That's okay. Thanks, though. My mom and Principal Howard made up their minds. The class was already changed, and I doubt they're going to admit they were wrong and change it back. My life just sucks."
"Well... I refuse to change the script. We'll figure out how to do it with one less person, but I'm going to hold out hope that you'll come back."
"You'll be waiting all quarter."
"Then we'll wait," she says.
***
Two minutes before the bell dismisses us from school, my pocket vibrates. It's a text from Thatcher: "Want to walk home with me?"
How did he get his phone back? Considering I have no idea the next time my mom will allow me to see him again, I don't hesitate to reply, "Yes! How are you texting me though?"
He responds with a smiley face emoji and, "My dad hides my phone in the same place every time he takes it away. I stole it back this morning while he was still sleeping." Then he sends a second text: "Meet me at the north exit. By where we went outside for that Romeo and Juliet scene in English."
I know exactly where he wants to meet, because that's where I first became intrigued by Thatcher, when he read Romeo's final lines.
The bell rings, so I gather my stuff from my locker and head downstairs to the north exit. The buses line up at the south exit by the parking lot and parents pick up from the east entrance where the limo dropped us off for the dance, so hardly anyone slows me down on my way to Thatcher.
I zip up my coat as I push the doors open and see Thatcher waiting for me at the bottom step. He extends his hand out for me to hold. "Hey," he says.
"Hey," I reply. We both sound so depressed, and if I'm honest, I really feel it too. I barely ate lunch, mostly just poked at it while Patti and I talked, and the only thing that makes me want to move at all right now is the fact that Thatcher will be moving with me. I know as soon as I get home, I'm going to slump into my bed, and whether I'll be able to get out of it will be questionable.
He leans his forehead against mine. "I'm just so, so sorry," he whispers. "This is all my fault."
"I actually don't want to talk about it," I say, trying not to let any tears sneak down my cheeks again. "Could we just enjoy each other's presence while we can? I'm pretty sure my mom is installing an anti-Thatcher security system as we speak."
He scoffs. "Then I'll wear a disguise. Easy."
I smile. It's the first time I've smiled all day, and it sort of strains the muscles in my face. "Ow," I say, holding my jaw, "it hurts to smile after being so sad all day."
He smiles and immediately holds his jaw too. "It does, you're right. See? This is exactly why we can't stay apart for too long. How are we supposed to smile without each other?"
He's trying to be silly for me, but he has a point. How will I be happy without Thatcher? He's unlocked a whole new part of me I never knew existed, a part of me that is so deliriously happy that now, even the things that used to make me smile pale in comparison. No matter what happiness I feel without Thatcher, I'll always know that it could be that much more joyful if he were with me.
The thought forces my smile to slip as we start walking toward our neighborhood, just down the main business district in Riverside about a mile and a half away from the school. My mom might worry, but I'm honestly done trying to appease her. She clearly doesn't care about my feelings, why should I care about hers? Especially now that she's taken everything that I care about away from me. Except my phone, I guess. I better guard that.
"So, how was theater?" I ask.
"Terrible," he says. "We need you. Not just for the scene, but because we're a team."
I take a deep breath to push away the sadness. "Okay, new topic. How was the rest of your day?"
He tells me about his classes in excruciating detail, probably to distract us both from the situation in front of us. But I wonder if he's trying to distract himself from the other thought that I can't push out of my mind: Will we have to break up now? We only just started dating and already our parents hate each other and we can't see each other.
I decide to get at my concern with a different line of questioning. "Have you thought about how similar our situation seems to Romeo and Juliet's now?"
He pauses for a moment, scoffs, and says, "Yeah, I guess so. We can't be together."
"Our parents hate each other."
"And you've killed my cousin."
I jokingly punch his arm. His coat is so thick he couldn't have felt it anyway, but he still acts like it hurt him. "I'm not the Romeo in this situation, you are," I tell him.
"Sorry. I've killed your cousin, then."
"My mom is the Prince then, banishing you."
His smile drops. "Does she really hate me now?"
"Well," I stall, trying to think of a nice way to answer him, "she thinks you're a bad influence on me."
He sighs. "I've been called many things in my life, but a bad influence is definitely a first."
"For what it's worth, you've been, like, the best thing that's ever happened to me."
He smiles, and I'm pretty sure he blushes, though it's hard to tell if it's because of me of the cold.
"I feel the same way," he says, but then a smile sneaks across his face. "Just promise me you won't take any sketchy potions that are supposed to make you appear dead, okay?"
I smile. "I promise."
We continue to talk and joke around the rest of the way home, and it almost makes me forget the day. Almost. It all comes rushing back to me when we get to my street corner, and Thatcher has to leave me, both to get home and to avoid my mom realizing that I can still see him on my way home from school.
"I'll text you, okay?" he says.
"Okay," I reply, but there's still something final about this moment. I don't want him to leave.
He leans toward me, stopping just before my lips. "We're going to be okay," he whispers, as if to answer the question that's been gnawing at me the whole walk.
"Okay," I say. "You're right."
"I like you a lot."
"I like you too."
Then he leans closer to kiss me, and it warms my entire body. I wish Mom could understand how much this boy means to me, because if she did, she'd never insist on us being apart. But she doesn't, and she won't. She's stubborn.
We step apart and go our separate ways, and I have to just keep walking, otherwise I'll start bawling right here on the street. But the thought disappears when I catch sight of my front stairs. Gina is sitting there, waiting for me. She waves as soon as our eyes meet.
When I'm close enough for her to hear me at my normal speaking volume, I ask, "What are you doing here?"
"I wanted to check in with you," she says, as if I'm an idiot for not already knowing why she would be here. "You seemed really upset in theater today. So, you're back in sewing, then? I'm not stalking you, I just overheard your group talking about it after you left with campus security."
"Yeah, I am."
"I'm really sorry, I can't transfer back in. Not now when I have a part, you know?"
"It's okay, I didn't ask you to."
She stands up to meet my eyes. "I know, it's just... I figured that you'd want a friend, and that was our original plan. We can try again for a class together next quarter."
What is she talking about? I don't have the patience for her right now, and as much as I want to take the high road, I also want to get inside, out of the cold, and fall into my bed.
"We're not going to try again next quarter, Gina, because we're not friends anymore."
She looks confused. "But you're not with the theater group now."
"That doesn't mean they're not my friends anymore. They still are. Friendship doesn't work like that, you don't just use people until you need them. I hope we're both in theater next quarter as long as you're enjoying it, but I'm not going to be in your group and I don't want to be close with you again. We weren't good for each other."
"You're just upset, Janie."
"No, I'm fine. I actually just want to be alone right now," I say, walking up the stairs past her.
"Are you serious right now?" Her famous Gina attitude is loud and clear in her question.
"Yeah," I say, walking into my house. "Good night, Gina."
I close the door behind me and collapse onto the ground, bracing myself on the door so I don't just fall. I thought my body would be able to hold on until I could make it up to my bed, but the drama of the day all caught up to me with that one exchange. The tears won't wait anymore either. I cup my hands over my face and sob. Mom's not home yet from work, apparently, since no one is lecturing me about being too dramatic, so I let myself sit there and sob for as long as I need. Thank god Friar Laurence and his crazy potions aren't real, because I could definitely use a full forty-two hours of sleep right about now. This was the worst day ever.
***
When my mom comes home, neither of us speak. I've picked myself off the floor by then and dragged my body onto the couch, where I'm watching whatever's on TV. Usually, I'd put on A Call From Midnight, but even that makes me too sad now.
When dinner is ready, Mom orders me to the table, and I somehow manage to carry myself to the table. I refuse to ever speak to my mom again, so dinner is painful. I pick at the veggies on my plate, and then I scrape the rest in the trash before going to my room.
"Janie," mom calls after me, but I don't stop. "Janie, we need to talk."
I'm never talking to you again, I think, and I stick to that for the rest of the night. Even while Mom comes up and tries to ask for my forgiveness.
"I'm just doing what's best for you."
Lies. You're doing what's best for you by keeping me under your thumb, like always.
"Thatcher isn't right for you."
No one is right for me according to you. Everyone is a disappointment.
"Theater wasn't the right class for you either. You're so shy and to yourself, and putting yourself in a situation where you are so far outside of your comfort zone while also trying to improve your grades isn't a good idea. Academics are most important right now, and now that you know you're dyslexic, you need to focus."
This is the speech that almost forces me to break my vow of silence. Almost.
I was shy and to myself, because I wasn't confident in anything I did. I had a mother who never let me do anything on my own, so I never learned how; and I had a best friend who would constantly put me down and make me feel small. It's amazing I even have a voice outside of my mother and Gina.
My academics are improving because of my theater company, and how confident they make me feel, not to mention the emotional and academic support Thatcher specifically has given me. I'm focused because I have a good support system.
When I don't respond to anything, Mom rolls her eyes, muttering, "I tried. Continue hating me."
Will do, Mom. Will do.