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“Where are you headed to?” he asked.
“You don’t need to help,” I said. “I’m sure you’re busy. You have way, way more important things to do than help me carry things to the theater.”
“The theater it is,” he said, smiling. “Here, I’ll take that.”
Reaching around me, he grabbed the canvas and folded it back up easily. He was so close I could feel his breath on my cheek. His cologne was warm and spicy, and I felt like I could slather it on my pillow and sleep forever, happily.
Graham stood, somehow carrying everything in one arm and holding the other out to me. The light behind him on the ceiling made a halo around his head, and for a moment, he looked like a hero from one of those comic book movies. He might as well have been. Graham Miller, baseball superhero from Gotham… or something. I was a bit behind on big explosive summer blockbusters. It wasn’t like anyone was taking me to the movies, so when I went, it was to whatever romance chick flick I wanted to see.
I took his hand and felt like my knees might just not work when I got upright. Thankfully, they had just enough to hold on, and when he let me go, I briefly thought about how I might just stand around and look at my hand for a while later. He had held it. With his pitching hand no less.
“So, what’s the play about?” he asked. “I keep meaning to go to one, but I’m always so damn busy.”
“The play?” I asked, suddenly going completely blank. Then it hit me. I was having a conversation with him. A real, one-on-one, real-person conversation. Not one where I was making up the whole thing in my head while I daydreamed about him, but one where actual words were going to have to come out of my mouth. Lovely words. Words that showed interest in me and what I do.
Hell, I would take any words at the moment. He was looking at me and waiting. Panic struck my throat, and I tried to force something out. Anything.
“Death,” I said.
Nope, that wasn’t it.
“Death?” he asked. “Kinda morbid, but cool.”
“I mean, it’s about death, but also struggle. It’s a classic, but not many people know about it.Camino Real. I play a small character this time around.”
“Cool,” he said. “You do a lot of acting?”
“I try,” I said. My cheeks were burning, and I knew the smile on my face probably looked crazed, but I couldn’t help it. We were halfway there, and I felt like time was slipping away so fast. Before I knew it, we would be there, and then the conversation was going to be over. Why couldn’t I think of something interesting to say?
“You should try out some time. You would have been perfect as Kilroy,” I said.
“Me? Nah,” he said. “I’m no actor. I bet you’re great, though.”
My cheeks pinked quickly, the heat crawling up my neck intensely, and I opened my mouth to say something else when his head turned as Debbie Lee, the prettiest girl in the school walked past. She was smart and beautiful, and all the boys wanted her. All the girls wanted to be her. And she looked at me like I was personally violating her eyes.
“Graham,” she said. “What are you doing here? You’re going to be late to practice.”
“Oh, hey, Deb,” he said casually. Of course it was casual. People like him moved in circles with people like Debbie Lee. They even called her ‘Deb.’ “I was just helping her get some stuff to the theater.”
“Well, you need to hurry,” she said. “Marcus said your practice got moved up because of the rain coming in. There’s a scout here today too. That’s more important than”—she looked me up and down— “whatever this is.”
“I’ll be there, Deb,” he said.
“No, now,” she said. “Marcus made me promise if I saw you, I would deliver you personally. He wants you to make him look good like you promised.”
“Marcus is a catcher,” Graham said offhandedly to me.
“Oh.” I nodded. He might as well have told me he was a triangle in a banana suit for all it meant to me. “It’s fine, I can handle it on my own. You should get to practice.”
“Sorry,” he said as I took everything out of his hands and staggered away a step. “Good luck with the play!”
I smiled at him but sighed under my breath. As Graham walked away, Debbie Lee took an extra second to look me over one last time before she pranced off behind him. She was undoubtedly going down to the field to watch practice herself. I knew enough to know baseball didn’t have cheerleaders, but in the case of someone like Graham, I was sure she was looking for a way to change that.
I made it to the theater workshop and dropped everything on a table. As I did, I sighed to myself one last time. I guessed the only way to not think about all that was to throw myself into the work. It was always the best remedy to dissuade my thoughts.
2
GRAHAM
