glances at his watch, and then curls his mouth into the smallest smile. “I should probably get going, actually. But if you want to write an outline for another scene, I’ll follow your lead. Just tell me what you want me to do.”
I want you to kiss me again.
I want this program to be another eight weeks, and maybe another eight after that. I want us to live in the same city, or for us to be at college together, anything for this not to end.
“Okay,” I whisper instead, and watch him walk out.
“I messed up.”
I’m pacing back and forth across my room at almost seven at night, and Alice long since stopped responding to my comments.
Because I keep saying the same thing over and over and over again.
I messed up.
It’s more than J’ai fait une erreur. Because I didn’t just make a mistake. I messed everything up.
“Abby, stop.”
“Alice!” How can she not understand this? I can’t just apologize because—
“Abby.” Alice’s voice is harsher than I remember it being. I swing around, my limbs still tense from all my pacing. “I appreciate that you want to fix this. I’m happy to figure out how to help you do it. But I’m trying to prepare to go onstage for a major poetry reading. And I know that last time I looked like I had it all together, but this is going to be bigger, and I’m working on some totally new material, and truly I adore you more than anyone but I need you to stop.”
I stop moving and stand there, totally still, because she’s right. I hate this and it’s not fair, but I don’t need everyone else to suffer along with me.
“I didn’t mean physically stop,” Alice chastises, slipping into a seated position. “I meant, stop worrying. You’re a smart person; you’ll figure it out.”
I’ll figure it out.
“I have to create one last scene for this presentation.”
“Do the Eiffel Tower,” she suggests.
“Too cliché.”
“Make it a romantic dinner in front of the Eiffel Tower.” She laughs. “And there can be—”
“I wish it could be at a baseball field. That would be more appropriate.”
“Words I never imagined hearing you say. So do that. But stop pacing. And stop interrupting me.”
I swoop down to where she’s still lying on her bed and plant a wet smack on her forehead. “You’re the best.”
“Leave, please,” she mutters, and she’s twirling her pen in her hand, which means I’m about to lose her.
Except I think I know what I need to do. Though it could be a total disaster, which is bad since it needs to be done before the presentation.
Merde.
I text Zeke, carefully composing the message to seem both totally casual and maybe a little bit important.
Any chance we can meet at 7:30 a.m. so I can show you what I worked up?
That would give us about half an hour at the field, which is not enough time if this works well, and too much time if it’s terrible.
There’s only a split-second delay before I can tell he’s texting me back.
Does it have to be so early?
I won’t get through the presentation if we don’t do this first. I’ll be too nervous and I’ll forget all my lines and . . .
No worries. I can do 7:30. Dorm entrance?
Colin steals the A to Z Tours sign from Zeke’s room, and then helps me draw the rest of the ones I need. Alice is too nervous for her performance to be any help, but she listens to my idea for a full ten minutes and then gives it the seal of approval.
At seven twenty, I’m pacing in front of the dorms, convinced this will be a disaster. I should cancel. I should tell Zeke not to—
Just then the door opens and it’s Alice. “I brought you a cup of tea. I wanted to put it in the mug you made me but you’re too jittery and I don’t trust you to bring it to me whole in this state.” She hands me a warm travel mug, and a small package wrapped in paper towel. “Dark chocolate with sea salt on top. Feel free to eat the whole thing if you need to. Or share it.”
I carefully put down the mug with the chocolate on top. “I love you,” I whisper into her hair.
“Good. Because I’m going to need all that love to get me through Friday night’s poetry reading.”
“Am I interrupting something?”
I open my eyes to see Zeke framed by the open door. I squeeze