Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 94687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
When the overhead lights dim and the spotlights hit the stage, a chorus of “shhhs” quiets the energetic crowd almost instantly. Henry’s thumb strokes the back of my hand as we listen to the school principal and the drama teacher greet families, thanking the multitude of people who helped with everything from costumes to posters to a fundraising campaign.
The curtain finally draws open.
The classic tale begins as I remember, with an artfully painted backdrop of a forested scene that Violet said the art club spent three weeks working on. A senior male student—with the deepest voice in the school, according to her—sits on a stool, narrating the opening, just as she described he would.
Characters are introduced as the story unfolds in a quirky script with a few bows to today’s times, bringing plenty of laughter from the crowd.
Henry’s hand tightens within mine as Violet strolls out in a bright red ballgown and matching wig, her face a stony red, white, and black painted mask that reminds me too much of a mime’s. She looks incredible.
I soon realize there’s no need to be nervous for this girl. She fills the entire stage in an instant, as if she belongs there and the show is hers to lead.
Her gaze flickers out to the crowd, landing on us—on Henry—almost immediately.
With a deep breath, she belts out her first lines.
Violet emerges from backstage ten minutes after the play ends, still in her dress, but missing the wig. Her makeup has been hastily wiped off, leaving faint smears of red.
“You were the best Queen of Hearts this stage has ever seen!” Gayle exclaims.
“Thanks, Gramma.” Violet towers over the old woman as she hugs her. “But I know you have to say that.”
“Oh, shush, I certainly do not.”
“She’s right. You were marvelous.” Howard hugs her. “Your mother would be so proud.” Their hug seems to tighten over those last words.
When Violet turns to us, the corner of her bottom lip is pulled between her teeth. She does that when she’s worried, I’m learning.
I beam. “That was amazing. You were amazing. Did you hear the audience when you took your bow?” Tears pricked my eyes as she stepped forward and the crowd grew noticeably louder.
She gives a half shrug, like it wasn’t anything.
“You should be so impressed with yourself.” I throw my arms around her to pull her into a hug—the first I’ve ever given her.
She stiffens but only for a second before melting into my body.
“Also, Becca Taylor messed up her lines three times,” I whisper in her ear.
Violet giggles as she pulls away, her smile turning sheepish as she looks at Henry. “So? I know it’s not like your Hartley private school plays, but hopefully, it wasn’t too painful?”
She’s feigning indifference to Henry’s opinion, but I know better. No matter where she was on the stage, she was checking the front row, as if monitoring his reactions.
Henry sighs heavily—he’s too smart and perceptive to not have noticed this too. “You don’t belong on that stage, Violet.”
Her face falls instantly.
He settles his free hand on her shoulder. “You’re too good. You made the entire show. There was no one else on stage when you were there.” With one arm, he pulls her into his chest and whispers something in her ear that I don’t catch but that makes my heart stutter all the same.
The moment is over as quickly as it starts, Violet breaking free first. She takes a deep, shaky breath.
“These are for you.” Henry holds out the roses for her to collect.
“Thanks.” She grins. “For the flowers, Abbi.”
“Are you suggesting I can’t be thoughtful?” Henry’s face is a mixture of amusement and annoyance. “Abbi, tell her how thoughtful I can be.”
“He once rush-ordered a replacement vest for me when a grizzly bear tore mine apart.”
Violet’s expression twists with horror, making us both laugh.
“Excuse me.” The drama teacher who stood on the stage at the start of the play appears next to Violet, her thick blond braid draped over her shoulder. “I’m Ms. Draper. I wanted to introduce myself and extend my condolences.” She has a soft, almost airy voice. I can’t picture her onstage, but Violet said she was on Broadway once, long ago. “I taught with Audrey at the elementary school for years before I moved here. It’s a very sad thing, what happened to her.”
Gayle and Howard offer their standard thank-yous.
“You two are cousins, is it?” Ms. Draper asks.
Word travels fast. As I expected. There isn’t a room Henry can step into without garnering notice.
She frowns at him. “You look so familiar. I can’t place it.”
He smiles easily. “I guess I have one of those faces.”
I stifle my snort. Yes, one of those stunning, enigmatic faces that makes people stumble on the sidewalk as they catch a long look. My insides are tightening as I hold my breath and wait for it to click in her head.