For Her (The Girl I Loved Duet 1)

“No. You’re not. You think that I haven’t noticed, because you have barely stopped to notice, but you’re running yourself into the ground. You’re exhausted, and it’s showing.”

I press my lips together. It would be hypocritical of me to get mad at him for being observant when my observation skills are basically the whole reason we’re together.

Mr. Davidson couldn’t be at this final rehearsal, but I know that he wouldn’t be happy with this. He’s a big advocate for keeping a healthy balance in your life, and this would be upsetting.

“Don’t say anything,” I tell Peter. “You can’t say anything. I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

“Peter,” I beg. “I have one more day until it’s all done. That’s it. This is all gonna be over and I can sleep as much as it takes for me to get back to normal. You can even sit in my room and make sure I do if it makes you feel better, but I have to do this.

So please just don’t say anything.”

Peter searches my face, and I can tell he’s mulling over every option that he has before he says anything. Finally he says, “Okay.”

“Thank you.” I throw my arms around his neck and lean into him. “Thank you.” I kiss him, and he kisses me back, but it’s not the way he normally kisses me. This feels hesitant, and worried. I’m feeling better already, more energized by the fact that this is all going to work out. It’s going to go perfectly and then together we’re going to take the world by storm.

“You’re done for the night though, right?” he asks.

I hadn’t planned to be. I can think of a hundred details that I want to check and recheck, but if it will keep all of this from derailing, I can try to relax. I suppose there’s not much that’s going to change with those details. At least not much that I can change in twenty-four hours.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m done.”

“Okay. Can I stay with you tonight?”

I know that he’s asking because he’s worried and he wants to keep an eye on me. He’s been staying with me more often than not the past few weeks, and I sleep better with him there. “Yeah,” I say.

He helps me up, and I’m perfectly steady now. But he doesn’t let me go, hands hovering, touching my shoulder, my hip, my lower back, like he can somehow transfer strength to me from his touch. It’s sweet.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” he says, but his eyes are still filled with worry, and I can’t help but wonder what that means.

19

Peter

12th Grade

I can hear her voice through the door of the office. She’s yelling. I don’t know exactly what she’s saying but I don’t have to. It’s clear that Amber is furious. I cross my arms and wait. That’s all I can do.

Wait for the aftermath, because I’m the one that did this.

I didn’t mean for it to go this way, but I can’t take it back now. At Amber’s house last night, she passed out so quickly I was shocked. I snuck down to the kitchen to get a snack and her mother was there. She was making gift bags for the crew working Amber’s show, and she asked me how everything was.

I’m an okay liar—something acting has gifted me—but Amber’s parents can smell a lie a mile away. So I just mentioned that Amber didn’t seem like she was feeling well, and that didn’t satisfy her. Finally, everything came out. The way Amber almost fainted again, how tired she’s been, and the things that Amber doesn’t seem to remember: she’s been falling asleep in strange places for a few minutes, backstage, doing homework, almost like mini-faints.

I don’t know what to do because she claims she’s fine but she’s not. However, I know that this show means everything to her, and if she thinks that she can hold on one more day, then I believe her. But it all came pouring out in that kitchen, and I could see it settle in her mom’s face.

It wasn’t until everything was already out that I realized the mistake I had made. I shouldn’t have said anything, or should have made something up about finals and graduation. Anything. Anything but this.

She quietly asked me to leave. She said she wasn’t mad, but she and her husband were going to talk to Amber in the morning, and she thought it was better if I wasn’t there. She thanked me for telling her.

I never thought a thank you could feel like a knife in the heart.

Amber didn’t come to classes this morning, and I heard from a friend that she went into the Principal’s office with her parents and Mr. Davidson. So that’s where I am now, listening outside the door, trying to pick up any of what she’s saying. She’s still yelling, and even though she still sounds furious, she’s also heartbroken.