inch of skin between my shirt and leggings and I shiver. He notices. Every. single. time.
At the end of rehearsals, once Thomas dismisses us, I make a mad dash for the safety of my dorm room. Derek occasionally asks me over to have dinner at his apartment or to join him at Cal’s, but I decline swiftly and sharply. It’s imperative that I put distance between us now more than ever, because—and this will be a surprise to no one—ding ding ding! Derek’s right! I want him to kiss me. Desperately! I also want a million dollars in cash! So what? Wishing and wanting don’t matter. I decided a long time ago to put the dream of being with Derek away. It’s locked in a safe. I’ve tossed away the key and burned the piece of paper with the combination on it.
With everything I have going on during the weeks of rehearsals, I find exactly two minutes of free time each day. I use them to scream into my pillow. Then I’m off again, running from my shifts at Elena’s Castle to Costuming, to rehearsals, to Cal’s, then back to the dorm for residence hall duties. Carrie and I each lunch while she forces me through fittings for my (I mean, Elena’s) wedding dress.
At the end of every day, I crash like I suffer from narcolepsy. Flopped on my bed with my legs dangling off, still in my clothes, I splay out on top of my comforter and am dead to the world within seconds. Then at 3 AM, I jump to my feet, worried I’m already late for work or rehearsals.
Ryan texts me often and I wonder what it would be like to have time to think about texting someone. He sends me funny memes or just simple one-liners—Hope you’re having a good day!—and though I usually don’t remember to reply until hours or, if I’m being honest, days later, he’s always really nice about it.
Part of me wonders if I’m being unfair to Ryan by stringing him along, but it’s not as if I’m giving him false hope or trying to use him to make Derek jealous. Not at all. Derek is not mine to make jealous. If I were playing the odds, I’d say it’s much more likely that at the end of all this, after Derek finishes his time playing His Royal Highness and resumes his lofty position as heir to the Knightley Company, I will end up with Ryan.
He’s the one who fits into my life. He’s the far safer bet.
I’m doing a poor job of replying to my family’s texts as well. They’ve been hounding me more than usual because of Avery’s opening night in three weeks.
Mom: You’re still planning to come up to New York, aren’t you?
Dad: We bought your plane ticket. Your sister really wants you to be here.
Mom: Here’s a photo of Avery in costume! Doesn’t she look like a star!?
Avery: Helllloooo. Why aren’t you answering my phone calls? Are you still alive? Mom and Dad said they bought you a ticket to come visit. Please come! You don’t have to see the musical—though it is really good! We can just hang out and explore the city together, just you and me. Think about it and stop ignoring my calls! Love you. XX
I don’t even have brain space for my family at the moment, so I reply to all of them at once.
Whitney: I’ll be there. Can’t wait.
The second I send off the text, I feel queasy. Why can’t I just be someone who says, No, you know what? I’d rather swallow a nail than go to New York. Life would be so much simpler that way…except that’s not really true. I do want to see Avery, but there’s no seeing Avery without seeing my parents too.
The night before our first parade, after we wrap up our final dress rehearsal, Thomas thanks everyone for their hard work and forces us all to gather round in a circle and put our hands in the center, like we’re a football team about to burst onto the field for the championship game. Everyone grumbles about it being silly, but they do it anyway. I can’t quite fit with everyone crowding in, so Derek reaches back and grabs me, tugging me in front of him so I’m part of the circle. His hand is around my waist, holding on to me as Thomas leads us through a “One, two, three, go team!” chant that makes