What if everyone thinks they’retogether?
What if he forgets they’renot?
What if he’d rather be with herthan—
“You fall asleep in here?” Dad hovers in thedoorway.
I startle, tugging on the hem of the pajama pants I changed into earlier. “Nope. I’m coming.” I retrieve the popcorn from the microwave, dump it in a bowl, and return to the livingroom.
“Rehearsals going well?” Dad asks as he stretches out on the chaise section of the leather sectional, tugging a blanket overhimself.
I stare at him. In light of what’s happened tonight, the musical feels like a million milesaway.
I sigh. “Have you ever felt so shitty you couldn’t think aboutperforming?”
Even with my legs out, there’s an expanse between us, and I set the popcorn in some democratic middlezone.
“No.“ He reaches for a handful, and I wait him out while he chews and swallows. “That’s when all you want to think about isperforming.”
I turn that over as we watch themovie.
A few weeks ago, that seemed possible. Realistic even. Now, I can’t imagine forgetting what’s happening in favor of my moment in thespotlight.
Somewhere during the movie, Haley walks in thedoor.
“Did you destroy ‘em?” my dadcalls.
“Not that kind of meeting,” she calls back. I hear her boots land on the floor, and she pads down the hall to us. “Did I miss PaulRudd?”
Dad rubs a hand over his face. “The guy turns into an ant,Hales.”
“And you turn into a musician. I get that the appeal’s inconceivable.” She winks at me as she enters the living room, but her smile fades when she takes in my expression. “What’s wrong?” Her gaze cuts toward the back doors. “Have you seenTyler?”
The lump in my throat is back, burning. “He went toprom.”
Her expression fills with compassion and something I can’t read before I train my eyes on the TVagain.
She squeezes my shoulders. “I’m going to check on Sophie before bed. You guys need anything, let meknow.”
It’s after midnight when a noise outside has me jerking straight up. Dad’s fast asleep, and for a second, I think I’ve imagined thesound.
Until I hear itagain.
The frontdoor.
My spinstraightens.
The light creak of footsteps has me leaning toward the hall, peering around thecorner.
Tyler’s in the foyer, his hair messed up. He shrugs out of his tux jacket and vest, something falling from the pocket and hitting the floor with a clatter as he hangs both in thecloset.
A brokencrown.
Fitting.
He shoves the pieces into his jacketpocket.
Tyler’s tie’s long gone, the top button of his shirt undone. He rolls up the sleeves of his shirt as he starts towardme.