She smiles down at me from her perch. “You’re not going to bail on me this time, are you?” she asks.
Not that I’ve forgotten that I skipped the Harvest Ball, but I might have convinced myself that she’s forgotten. She’s never said a word about it.
Until now.
I look around the room. Kids are busy. Nobody is watching us. “Do you want to talk about that right now?” I hope my voice doesn’t sound defensive. Because I can talk to her about that right now. I want to, if she does.
With a grace I wasn’t expecting, Joey steps several rungs down on the ladder and then turns to sit where her feet were, placing her face just inches from mine. She tucks her knees in close to her chest in what has to be a protective gesture. “I want to talk about it whenever you want to talk about it,” she says.
One of my hands holds the ladder above her head. “It’s kind of a secret,” I say, my voice low.
If she had said the words, “Please tell me your secrets; they’re safe with me,” it wouldn’t feel more obvious that she wants to know. Her face is open and eager, her torso leaned just a tiny bit forward on the ladder.
She smiles. “I can keep a secret,” she says, and I believe it.
“There’s a summer audition that I found out about that night.” I watch her face for a reaction and realize I’m holding my breath. Will she roll her eyes? Make some kind of sound of contempt?
Will she, I realize I’m wondering, behave like Candace?
Instead, she leans improbably closer. Smiling. I put my other hand to the ladder, and now she’s between my arms.
“It must have been a while since you’ve been able to do a real show,” she says, her full gaze directly on my face.
Not for a lack of awful, forgettable auditions, I think.
I nod. “Too long. And the script is brilliant,” I say, knowing that it will be very easy for me to get carried away. I take a bracing breath and say what I should have said long ago. “I read it and got totally swept up in it, and I missed the Harvest Ball and I’m so sorry.”
She starts to say something, and I don’t want to be the guy who talks over people, but I need to finish. “Wait, please.”
She nods and sits back a tiny bit.
I bend my elbows to bring our faces closer, still holding on to the ladder on either side of her. “You carried every part of the Harvest Ball like a total pro, and you didn’t rat me out when you could have. I owe you.”
I adore you,is what I want to say.
With the same smile and a little shake of her head, Joey raises her eyes as if to ask me if I’m finished. I nod.
“We planned every part of the dance until it was practically a machine. It was going to go perfectly no matter what. The being there? That was kind of like frosting. Extra.”
“If frosting is extra, you’re doing cake wrong,” I say, giddy with her easy forgiveness.
“I’ll give you that,” she says, her smile lessening a bit in intensity. “But for you to get a chance like this? A summer show? This is incredible. When is your audition?”
How is it possible? How can she take my mistake and turn it around to make it sound like the best possible opportunity? If she’d studied Candace for a year and then planned to do everything exactly opposite, she could not have done better. Every second she is underscoring the idea that Joey is so, so right for me.
She reaches out her hand and pushes a piece of my hair off my forehead. I feel the electricity of her touch travel all through me, and I wouldn’t be surprised if my hands make sparks on the ladder. I lean closer.
Joey’s smile changes, and she darts her eyes from mine to a space just over my shoulder. Her mouth freezes in the new smile, but it doesn’t look relaxed anymore, or even pleased. It’s the smile of being caught and not knowing what to say.
I feel so confident after the past few minutes that I can take on any student’s misunderstanding. I turn, ready to make a joke and win over whatever kid is hovering behind me.
Dr. Moreau stands there, hands on her hips. Feet planted. Perfectly arched eyebrows firm.
Without the twitch of a smile, she says, “I thought I would take advantage of the pleasant weather to come see your gallery.” Is that the longest sentence she’s ever directed at me? Long enough for me to feel myself shrink into the floor.
Joey jumps up from the ladder and pushes past me. “We’re so glad you’ve come,” she says, her voice a little higher than normal, but her words believable. “Briley,” she calls, “can you show Dr. Moreau what we have set up?”
She puts one foot back and presses it against my shoe, prodding me gently. Oh. Right. I can take a step toward saving myself from looking like a complete fool.