Total pages in book: 184
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
This is the first time I’ve gotten a chance to actually sit down and focus on my makeup and costume. Since the play has an Indian backdrop—yup, I came up with the idea—I’m the one helping everyone. Not that I’m an expert, of course. I hardly understand Hindi, but I have a great tutor, Biji.
In the beginning of the semester, our professor had asked us to write a script and imagine a set we’d like to work on. Hypothetically. Because not in a million years we could’ve imagined putting on a show with the dismal budget we had. Anyway, of course I took inspiration from all the movies I grew up watching and wrote down a loose script based on one of my favorite movies. I detailed the kind of costumes that would go into it, the kind of stage setting, the background music I’d like and so on.
We had so much fun discussing it in class and doing a table read. And I thought that was the end of it. But then the dean managed to find some extra money in the budget and our own efforts brought in some cash, and together it was enough to be able to do one show.
And everyone unanimously picked my play.
Since then, we’ve been developing it—the script, the costumes, the set, everything—and since it’s largely my vision. I’m the one who’s been responsible for most of the elements.
Meadow’s eyes are wide. “You think so?”
I turn to face her, all my jewelry tinkling. “Of course. We can hit up my biji and she’d totally be down with that.”
Before Meadow can speak, Tempest chimes in, “I’ll take you up on that offer.” Her gray eyes roam over my jewelry and my red saree. “I would love to get a saree too.”
“Let’s make it a shopping date,” Wyn suggests.
My heart feels all light and warm. “Yes, I’d like that.”
Tempest beams. “Okay, now we’re going to leave you alone so you can focus, and, you know, do what you actors do before you go on stage.”
Honestly, I don’t even know what actors do because this is my first time. And I’m so thankful that they all showed up in support. Not to mention surprised because I wasn’t expecting them at all. But they all said that Shepard texted them early this morning and told them to go because he wasn’t going to be there.
He is the world’s best boyfriend, isn’t he?
I can’t wait to see him tomorrow.
I haven’t talked to him since last night and I miss him. I so, so miss my boyfriend.
But first, I have to do this.
I have to go on stage.
After all my friends leave to go find their seats, I do last-minute lines with my cast members, and then fifteen minutes later, it’s time for us to take our places on the stage. I stand on the chalked cross and close my eyes for a few seconds and open them when a bright light shines upon my face.
What happens after that, I don’t remember.
I don’t think I could ever be able to tell what exactly happens around me. Who moves. Who speaks. If the light is shined where it was supposed to shine. If the violins peaked where they were supposed to. If the audience laughed at the spots we predicted them to or if they gasped where we thought they should be gasping.
I don’t remember any of those things.
All I remember is that I’m burning.
I’m burning because I’m fire.
I’m flowing because I’m the ocean.
I’m flying because I’ve grown wings.
It’s transcendental. It’s sublime.
It’s an aphrodisiac.
It’s how I feel when I’m with him.
I couldn’t stop that thought even if I wanted to. I couldn’t stop thinking about him in this moment, his gleaming eyes and his dark hair; a cigarette dangling from his rose mouth and his deep voice calling me Dora.
So when the play’s over and the lights of the auditorium come on and I see him, I think I’m imagining things. Among the audience who just stood up to their feet to clap and cheer and whistle, he’s standing all the way in the back, by the exit, as he always does.
But somehow, I know it’s not my imagination.
Even though it’s highly unlikely for him to be here, he is and there’s no way I can look away from him. He’s the center of my focus as I take the bow with the rest of the cast members. Like I’m the center of his as he claps like the rest of the people.
Actually no, not like the rest of the people.
He claps slowly. Deliberately as if.
And he claps just for me—somehow, I know that too—and not the rest of the cast.
How’s he here?
What is he doing here?
Just as we finish taking our bows and the applause has started to die down, he turns around and leaves. He pushes open the door to the auditorium and walks out. And I have no choice except to run after him. We’ve finished with our formal bow, but people are still on the stage, waving and laughing and hugging each other, but I break away from them.