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32
DEXTER
Iusually stay backstage for my students’ performances. I hang out opposite of where the stage manager stalks around, trying to make myself useful to the kids as they deal with tantrums and wardrobe malfunctions and panic attacks.
But tonight, I watch from the audience.
With Joey.
We sit in the middle of the fourth row, closer to the stage than I would usually choose, but between Joey’s imperfect sight and her short stature, I let her choose our seats. Nobody’s allowed to save a seat in the Chamberlain auditorium.
Nobody but me.
As soon as we finished our pre-show warm-up, confidence booster, and team cheer, I made my way into the seat next to Joey. The minute I sat down, she reached over and took my hand. I have not had any desire to let go.
The show is practically perfect, and I know, because I wrote it. I casted it. I directed it. I put my whole heart into this one. I know it like I’ve never known another show. And I love it.
The lines are funny. The kids are funny. The light cues are perfect. Everyone’s entrances and blocking are fantastic. Costumes look amazing. Joey’s set is divine. There is very little that could make this moment more amazing.
My watch taps me. I ignore it. It taps me again. I ignore it, but this time, I see Joey notice. One more tap. I pull up my sleeve just enough to see that it’s from my agent, Leon.
‘They loved your online audition. Come in to the city for in-person callback next week. Congratulations.’
Joey is studiously not looking at my wrist. I tilt my watch toward her and hear her little gasp when she understands the message. I am not sure which is better—news that I have a callback, or her excitement about it.
When she squeezes my hand, I settle back into my seat and feel myself release so much pent-up emotion. I can actually feel the moment when the last dregs of my worry about what Candace once felt about my career path lifts off me for the final time. Because now I understand that Joey doesn’t feel anything like that, and Joey is the one who matters. Joey’s opinion. Joey’s feelings. Joey’s happiness. I grip her fingers tighter when I realize that Joey’s happiness matters more to me than almost anything.
As soon as the lights come up at the end of the show, I lean over and whisper into her hair, “I want to be your assistant.”
She turns to look at me, smiling but confused. “Assistant for what?” she says.
“For the chair position. For photo shoots. For chopping vegetables in your kitchen. For whatever you want me to do. I want to watch you work and learn from you and be your helper.”
She laughs, a beautiful sound—the sound of light glinting off water. The sound sparkles like she does. “That is maybe the last thing I would have expected from you when we first met.”
I shrug. “A lot has changed since then. I’ve changed.” I look at her, and I hope she can see how serious I am. “You have changed me.”
Her eyes dip away, and I can see her smile deepen in reaction, and after a few seconds, she brings her gaze back to mine. She lets me pull her hand close and tuck it into the bend in my arm.
“Moreau’s rules haven’t changed,” she says, her smile slipping a bit. But her hand doesn’t move.
“I think that whoever is appointed as the arts chair has a first item of business to address the committee.”
She laughs, but then she sees that I am not laughing.
“Seriously?” she asks, tugging on my arm.
“It’s a silly, outdated rule.” I stand from my chair and pull her up, too. “Look around us. This is Chamberlain Academy, the most perfect expression of combined natural and manmade set design in history. If people don’t take one step onto this campus and fall in love, it’s an awful waste of ambiance.”
She moves her hand from my arm and reaches into her pocket for her phone.
“What are you—” I ask.
She shakes her head and thumbs some keys. “I don’t want to forget it. Waste of ambiance.” She finishes typing and looks up at me. “Sounds like the perfect new tagline. One of us should definitely present it to the committee.” She nods. “I guess there are a few things I can learn from you,” she says, that corner of her lip curling in a way that makes it hard to breathe.
“I would very much like to see what we can teach each other right now,” I say, wondering if she can hear the pounding of my heart.
She goes up on her toes, not that it makes a big difference. I lean down and she whispers in my ear, “Education is a very sexy business.”
