pretended to humor me, then asked to borrow my duffel. And it’s not that I mind him using it for a cat carrier; I just didn’t count on temporarily storing my bras and underwear under his backseat.
I wait for them to catch up, watching as Kyle holds the bag gingerly. “If you keep walking like that, someone’s going to think you have a bomb.”
He makes a visible effort to loosen up, and I laugh. “An overprotective dad,” I say to Arm as I squat down. She’s sniffing at the mesh around the sides. “Good luck getting any dates, kitty cat.”
When we get inside, parents and siblings and friends are grinning in every corner of the small, rectangular foyer. Somaybe I was wrong about the play sucking so much. Or, what’s more likely, these people don’t care. Any of these women could be Ethan’s mom—I imagine she’s the one grinning the biggest.
The guy at the box office window offers us a student discount—no word on any smuggled-cat deals. “I’ve got this,” Kyle says, all gallantly, pulling out a ten-dollar bill. I’m set to tease him, but after he hands me my ticket, his hand gently brushes my back, and my lips snap shut.
Inside the auditorium, a girl about our age waits to exchange our tickets for programs. When she moves, I smell her cotton-candy perfume. It’s only then that her eyes graze over me, then Kyle, and for the first time it occurs to me that people might think we’re a couple. It makes me feel like I’ve swallowed tissue paper.
I walk away first, forcing Kyle to navigate his and Arm’s way down the center aisle alone. Then I drop down onto a seat in our assigned row and flip open the program.
Kyle eases in beside me and carefully slides Arm’s duffel underneath his chair. We’re sitting close, closer than in the Xterra. I press the program to my face and hope the cotton-candy-perfume molecules are somehow more powerful than whatever Junior Mint-y freshness comes from Kyle.
“What part were you in the play?” Kyle says, shifting his legs around the little space they have. “When you were in second grade?”
“A hummingbird.”
“For real?” Kyle laughs.
“There was this huge tree onstage; it was in the background,behind the dwarfs’ cottage, for almost the entire play. I was the only forest animal who wasn’t scared to sit in it, so they made me an owl. I negotiated them to hummingbird.”
“Why a hummingbird?”
“They eat half their weight in sugar every day.” I shrug. “And they’re the cutest, obviously.”
“Obviously,” he repeats quietly, with a small smile.
It scares me how aware of him I am, even when I’m not trying to be.
“Ashlyn got a speaking part, though. It was only her first year in Bend, so it was a big deal. Kiera Mahoney was pissed .”
Kyle turns his head, his smile getting broader. “Who did Ashlyn play?”
“Young Snow White. She kind of let it go to her head, to be honest.” I smirk so he knows I’m kidding. “I told her she got the part because she had black hair.”
Then I pretend to pick at my nail polish, and Kyle pretends not to fuss over Arm, until the lights go down and the show starts.
There is a lot of Snow White singing about being perfect. And the actress playing the Evil Queen is putting on this pseudo-British accent that I guess is supposed to make her sound royal but instead makes her sound as if her tongue is swollen.
But none of that matters when the dwarfs finally come onstage. Beside me, Kyle stiffens, and without realizing it, I’ve scooted to the front of my seat. Sneezy—Ethan—is in a deep green, belted tunic with a matching pointy hat, and his nose is streaked with rosy makeup that makes him look more red-nosedreindeer than allergy-ridden dwarf. He is small compared with the other kids. Is it because he was so sick? Will he get bigger now that he’s not fighting to stay alive? Ethan cuts across the stage with the others, and Zoë’s theory flickers through my mind. Whether I like it or not,
I wait for them to catch up, watching as Kyle holds the bag gingerly. “If you keep walking like that, someone’s going to think you have a bomb.”
He makes a visible effort to loosen up, and I laugh. “An overprotective dad,” I say to Arm as I squat down. She’s sniffing at the mesh around the sides. “Good luck getting any dates, kitty cat.”
When we get inside, parents and siblings and friends are grinning in every corner of the small, rectangular foyer. Somaybe I was wrong about the play sucking so much. Or, what’s more likely, these people don’t care. Any of these women could be Ethan’s mom—I imagine she’s the one grinning the biggest.
The guy at the box office window offers us a student discount—no word on any smuggled-cat deals. “I’ve got this,” Kyle says, all gallantly, pulling out a ten-dollar bill. I’m set to tease him, but after he hands me my ticket, his hand gently brushes my back, and my lips snap shut.
Inside the auditorium, a girl about our age waits to exchange our tickets for programs. When she moves, I smell her cotton-candy perfume. It’s only then that her eyes graze over me, then Kyle, and for the first time it occurs to me that people might think we’re a couple. It makes me feel like I’ve swallowed tissue paper.
I walk away first, forcing Kyle to navigate his and Arm’s way down the center aisle alone. Then I drop down onto a seat in our assigned row and flip open the program.
Kyle eases in beside me and carefully slides Arm’s duffel underneath his chair. We’re sitting close, closer than in the Xterra. I press the program to my face and hope the cotton-candy-perfume molecules are somehow more powerful than whatever Junior Mint-y freshness comes from Kyle.
“What part were you in the play?” Kyle says, shifting his legs around the little space they have. “When you were in second grade?”
“A hummingbird.”
“For real?” Kyle laughs.
“There was this huge tree onstage; it was in the background,behind the dwarfs’ cottage, for almost the entire play. I was the only forest animal who wasn’t scared to sit in it, so they made me an owl. I negotiated them to hummingbird.”
“Why a hummingbird?”
“They eat half their weight in sugar every day.” I shrug. “And they’re the cutest, obviously.”
“Obviously,” he repeats quietly, with a small smile.
It scares me how aware of him I am, even when I’m not trying to be.
“Ashlyn got a speaking part, though. It was only her first year in Bend, so it was a big deal. Kiera Mahoney was pissed .”
Kyle turns his head, his smile getting broader. “Who did Ashlyn play?”
“Young Snow White. She kind of let it go to her head, to be honest.” I smirk so he knows I’m kidding. “I told her she got the part because she had black hair.”
Then I pretend to pick at my nail polish, and Kyle pretends not to fuss over Arm, until the lights go down and the show starts.
There is a lot of Snow White singing about being perfect. And the actress playing the Evil Queen is putting on this pseudo-British accent that I guess is supposed to make her sound royal but instead makes her sound as if her tongue is swollen.
But none of that matters when the dwarfs finally come onstage. Beside me, Kyle stiffens, and without realizing it, I’ve scooted to the front of my seat. Sneezy—Ethan—is in a deep green, belted tunic with a matching pointy hat, and his nose is streaked with rosy makeup that makes him look more red-nosedreindeer than allergy-ridden dwarf. He is small compared with the other kids. Is it because he was so sick? Will he get bigger now that he’s not fighting to stay alive? Ethan cuts across the stage with the others, and Zoë’s theory flickers through my mind. Whether I like it or not,
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