“Anyway, I wanted to thank you for being there. And for—”
“Willow,” I said. “I’m going to leave Harmony.”
She flinched a little, her brows coming together. “I know you are. It’s your dream…”
“It’s more than that. My entire life, I’ve been tossed around. My mother dying, my father turning into an alcoholic asshole. Being poor as shit and struggling every single day. I have to make some money. Some real money. For my dad, and the theater. And I have to make a name for myself that’s not connected to this place.”
“I understand,” she said, looking away. “You have to leave and I want to stay. I know it sounds crazy, but I need this place.” Her voice dropped. “I still can’t sleep in my bed. I still wake up sweating and unable to breathe, reaching for a black pen…” She waved her hands. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—”
“You should.” I moved a step closer to her, my hands itching to touch her. “You should talk more, Willow. Tell your parents what happened.”
She shook her head. “No, I can’t. I’m not ready and… We should concentrate on the show, right? The casting agents are coming to see you. You need to be ready. No distractions.”
“Right,” I said. “No distractions.”
Her expression looked as heavy as I’d felt, saying those words.
“Okay, so… I should go. Lorraine is waiting for me. Thank you again, for the other night. And for being one of the good guys.”
She walked away. I waited for the relief to hit me that my life was going to get back on track. No more dancing, no more holding hands, no more holding her.
I kept cleaning up the theatre. I found a piece of paper on the floor, near the back. Hamlet’s love letter to Ophelia in Martin’s messy scrawl.
Doubt thou the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move,
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt I love.
I started to crumple it up and throw it in the trash. Instead, I folded it up and slipped it into my empty wallet.
Willow
Saturday afternoon, Angie and her mom took me to the mall in Braxton for a girls’ day out.
“You looked like you could use the pick-me-up,” Angie said.
We walked with linked arms, both of us with clothing bags from Urban Outfitters banging against our thighs. All of her smart-ass T-shirts were in the wash, so Angie’s shirt was plain today. But she’d bought a new one that said, If I was a bird, I know who I’d poop on.
Bonnie had gone to buy a new set of pots and pans at Pottery Barn, and said she’d meet us at the food court.
“So what’s the story with Isaac?” she asked. “You guys are still just friends? After everything that happened?”
“Yes, nothing’s changed. He’s leaving town as soon as he can and… That’s it.”
She gave me a look. “That’s it.”
“We’ll have the play, so long as my dad doesn’t fuck it up for us. Isaac has casting agents coming to see him on opening night. Did I tell you that?”
“Only about a hundred times,” she said. “I’d say you were being smart about this if you didn’t look so sad.”
“I’m not sad.”
I loved Ophelia.
God, Isaac’s voice in that moment. I’d never heard anything like it. It drew me from my false death and when I opened my eyes, the expression on his face…