I close my eyes and wait for sleep, hoping it will come to me quicker than my Honeycomb.
“—so he grabbed meagainin the wings,” Stevie says, shaking her head, “and I stood there, saying nothing. I just kind of let him hug me.”
“Did he know what a grip was supposed to do before this?”
“Let’s be real.” She flicks her wrist, making her fork dance in the air. “If he knew ‘grip’ was my job description, he wouldn’t be acting like it’s a general instruction.”
She tilts her head up and looks far away and a little dreamy for a second. Then she shakes her head and huffs out a laugh. “I have no idea why he thinks actors need emotional support people in the wings, but at least it means I get a daily hug.”
“Is he even interested in drama?”
“Nope,” she pops out.
“Then why’s he doing it?”
“Because he lost a bet with one of his buddies on the lacrosse team. He told us this in his audition, but the second the director heard him sing, he said they didn’t care why he was here; we needed him.”
“And he hasn’t quit?”
“Nope. He said in lacrosse you never quit, so he’s going to see this through, which means I’m going to get a cuddle from the prince before every show.”
I nearly spit out my coffee. “Does anyone know this is happening?”
“Oh, everyone knows. That’s the worst part. The director keeps looking the other way because Ryan has been nailing the blocking, and the stage manager keeps making this face like—” she pulls her mouth into a pained, helpless grimace. “Like someone who’s watching a slow-motion car crash and can’t do anything about it.”
“Well, why haven’t you said anything to Ryan?”
“Mhm. I have said several things to Ryan.”
“Aboutthe cuddling?”
She pauses. “...Those specific words have not been exchanged, no.”
I laugh so hard it echoes around the dining hall, drawing the attention of a couple of freshmen in the corner. I smile sheepishly before turning back to Stevie, waiting for an explanation.
“In my defense,” Stevie says, pointing her fork at me, “it would be a much easier conversation to have if he weren't so—” She gestures with both hands, a vague but comprehensive gesture that covers height, shoulders, the general situation.
“Hot?”
“Hot.” She confirms with a nod and a pained expression. “When he wraps his arms around me, I just... I feel things. I know I shouldn’t, but it’s like having a lovable, blanket keeping me warm.”
“Are you sure it’s not just his cape?”
“Oh, it’s definitely not the cape, I promise you. Last night when we were rehearsing, he held my hand, and I felt it physically shaking. He’s scared, and I worry that if I tell him that it’s not appropriate, he’s going to lose his nerve and quit right before the start of the show.”
“So your current strategy is to say nothing, let him keep grabbing you, and hope it resolves itself naturally?”
She takes a bite of her lunch and finishes swallowing before answering. I know a girl who’s stalling when I see one. “No. My current strategy is to give it until opening night. I’m hoping that when he goes out there and performs in front of everyone, he’ll realize he can do it, and then he won’t be so scared. Once he’s over his stage fright, I can have the conversation without him bolting.”
“That’s a good strategy.”
“I know.” She smiles smugly. “I surprised myself too.”
“What if it doesn't work?”
She waves her fork. “Then I enjoy the arms until closing night and reevaluate our situationship at the end.”
I shake my head, but I’m smiling, enjoying this conversation more than I should. It’s just so... normal, and that’s what I was missing all this time.
