stage, many of them congratulating me on my performance as I passed them on my way backstage.
My eyes brimmed with tears while I crammed my belongings into a canvas tote bag. I’d put this performance on the family calendar when the show dates were confirmed. Posted the school flyer on the fridge for Dad to see in between business trips. I’d even programmed Jeeves to send my dad a reminder a week prior. Even after our conversation last night, there was a part of me that thought…maybe.
But he didn’t come.
The loose tissues on the top of my bag grew wet with my fallen teardrops. I dabbed my eyes with them so my mascara and liner wouldn’t smear.
Faking a smile, I squeaked brief goodbyes on my way out.
“Nice job, Kate!” Randall, the lighting and sound engineer, saluted as I walked past.
Two of the freshmen in the ensemble gave me hugs. “You were so good! Congratulations!”
“You were way better than the other Eliza,” Samuel, the choreographer, whispered to me.
I smiled and responded with an enthusiastic “Thank you!”
As I clip-clopped down the hallway in my painfully high chunky heeled loafers, someone called out to me.
“Pardon me, Kate!” Mrs. Andrea, our veteran theater director, waved me down. Soft-spoken and a grammar stickler, she exuded formality with everything she did. She never laughed, ever.
“Did you enjoy yourself tonight, dear?”
“Yeah. I mean, yes. I did. Ma’am. Thank you for the opportunity, Mrs. Andrea.”
She nodded. “Your performance tonight was exceptional. Simply outstanding.”
Blushing, I dipped my head and smiled. “Thank you. I practiced a lot.” So did Jeeves. He ran my lines with me. At least he was good for something.
“This evening, a fire burned in you that I hadn’t seen in a long time—bright, lovely, and warm.” A wry smile twitched on her lips. “Your best performance yet. Enjoy the rest of your weekend. You deserve it, dear.” She paused, considering, then added, “If by chance you need a letter of recommendation for college applications, I would be happy to help you.”
Wow. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Andrea. You spent time in New York, doing theater there, right? Could I stop by after school next week to ask you about that?”
Nodding slowly, she said, “Could I, or may I?” There was that grammar stickler thing. “Yes, please stop by after school anytime. I’d be delighted.” With a slight bow of her head adieu, she adjusted her silk scarf and headed back to the auditorium.
Giddy from her praise, I pushed open the emergency exit door closest to the auditorium. The buzzer blasted above my head as I escaped into the crisp autumn air.
The door also hit Raina smack in the ass. She turned around and pressed a huge bouquet of exotic flowers into my chest. A fancy one, without any carnations. “Well, Eliza Doolittle, that’s the last time eh do anything nice for yeh.” Worst English accent ever.
“Awww, you shouldn’t have,” I said, the tears coming back in full force. But these were happy ones. Not daddy-issues tears this time.
Raina grabbed my shoulder. “I knew you’d try to sneak out. You killed it tonight. Your mom would be so proud.”
I hugged her tight. Mom would’ve been front row center, cheering and clapping the loudest.
“Can’t. Breathe,” Raina gasped. I loosened my grip. “I can take you home if you want. I’m parked in the fire zone. Probably illegal but whatever, maybe not on a Saturday night.” She ran ahead of me and opened the front passenger door. “’Ere you go, mah lady.”
“Oh God, stop it!” Laughing and crying, I sank into the seat, pulling the canvas bag onto my lap. When she came around the other side, she asked, “Wanna go celebrate?”
Just minutes before, I’d fled out the back door of the auditorium because I wanted to go home and be alone. But turns out I’d actually wanted the opposite of that.
“Yes! But no roller-skating.”
She paused to think. “If you’re hungry, we can make ice-cream sundaes and nachos at my house.”
There really was no better