Understudy

His steps are heavy as he plops his Nikes on the asphalt, heading toward my house with an odd swagger to his step. He runs his hands across his face and pulls a cell phone out of his pocket.

My phone beeps with an alert for a new email. Before I can grab it out of my backpack, Greg hears the sound and looks up. “Barlow.” He kicks a rock in my driveway. “You’re waiting for me.”

“Something like that,” I say, stepping off the porch to meet him in my driveway. The last thing I need is Mom seeing us sitting on the porch; she’d have a field day drilling me about him. And I don’t like Greg. I don’t.

A grin spreads across his lips. His eyes are glossy, his expression cocky and yet somehow relaxed. I sigh. “You’re drunk.”

“And you’re just the girl I’m looking for.” He reaches out and touches my shoulder, letting his hand slide down my arm before I shrug him off.

“What do you what?” I ask, crossing my arms. “You better not be planning to drive anywhere tonight.”

“Nah, I’m crashing at Jason’s.” His smile grows wider. And cuter. But, not that it matters. “I have something to ask you.”

My eyes narrow. “Okay…”

“I think you should be my girlfriend.”

“That isn’t a question,” I say as a burst of some unidentified emotion flows through me. Greg doesn’t just want to randomly make out with me—he wants to date me. I could have never seen that coming.

“Aww, come on Wren. I want you. Let’s date.”

My unidentified feelings shift into negative ones. “That isn’t very romantic, Gregory. I don’t know what you expect me to say.”

He leans forward, flashing me a cheesy grin that I imagine is supposed to be seductive. “Say you’ll be my girlfriend.”

As shocking as it is to have Greg admit he has feelings for me, feelings that go deeper than making out, I mean, it’s a total turn off that he’s not being the least bit romantic about it. Girls don’t exactly daydream about drunken guys all but demanding they date them.

Greg’s eyes meet mine and he doesn’t glance away quickly like Derek always does. I know I’m going to turn him down, but I can’t help but entertain the idea that floats through my mind: Dating Greg sure would take my mind off Derek.

I pull Greg into a hug, my nose curling at the strong stench of liquor on him. “I’m sorry,” I say, as his hands fumble around my waist to return the hug. “I don’t think we should date.”

His face twists in confusion. He shuffles on his feet, but it’s probably more from being dizzy than my rejecting him. “Something tells me I’ll be pissed off about this in the morning,” he mumbles, shoving his hands into his pockets.

A guy across the street taps his drumsticks together four times and the garage explodes with the grunge rock sound of an electric guitar and Jason’s voice as he yells into the microphone.

“Maybe you won’t remember it at all,” I say, slapping him on the shoulder.

He nods like he’s going to forget this event even if the alcohol doesn’t do it for him. “Yeah, maybe I won’t.”

Back inside my house, I shower until the water runs cold. My whole body shivers before I notice the absence of hot water and jump out, my teeth clacking painfully together as I towel off and hold the blow dryer to my face in an effort to warm up.

I can’t stop thinking about what happened this afternoon. Greg freaking Hammond asked me to be his girlfriend. He’s only a million times more attractive, popular and smarter than any guy I’ve ever dated. And although he might try to forget the night he took a gamble on me and got rejected, I will never forget this day.

The day I turned down a wonderful guy for one I’m not even allowed to like.

Greg announces that he has to miss rehearsal the next day, stating that he has an important AP Chemistry project that needs his full attention. Ms. Barlow overhears him in first period and uses the opportunity to make her own announcement.

“Class, there will be no rehearsal after school today.”

Muffled confusion filters through the room and my heart sinks at the idea that I won’t see Derek today. Ms. Barlow takes off her glasses and rises from her desk, her arms floating at her sides as she makes her way to the front of the classroom. “I have a surprise for my actors. We are going to Lawson Community College tonight to watch their theatrical performance of Fiddler on the Roof!”

“I’ve seen that like a thousand times,” Gwen mutters, and I’m pretty sure we’re all thinking the same thing. Lawson’s community college theatre tro

upe is a standard go to for school field trips. If you’ve seen one play on LCC’s falling-apart stage with terrible acoustics and lighting, you’ve seen them all.

Ms. Barlow’s fingers twine together in front of her chest. “I have arranged a special Q and A session with the cast after the play. I do hope all of you can make it. I can speak to parents if need be.”

I raise my hand. “Yes, Wren?” She points to me, guessing that I’m about to object. “Ah, you and the other stagehands are welcome to stay here and work on the play. Now what is everyone sitting around for? Line rehearsal, go!”