Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 43837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
My little brother is all but thrumming with excitement as he pulls himself up to see over the box’s balcony with his chin on the polished wood, brimming with happiness as the curtains open again.
He’s so into the play, just like me.
It’s during the start of intermission when I see her, and my heart sinks in my chest, making me feel a bit nauseous. I’m so very thankful that Eddie was the one to take my little brother to the bathroom deep in the theater, hurrying him a little as Stevie tried to pretend that he hadn’t been holding it in for the last ten minutes of the show.
He had argued that he didn’t want to miss anything, and I knew the feeling well. I know that Eddie is standing outside the bathroom waiting for him right now, and I can’t wait for them to get back to me.
I’m just waiting for them both, lingering by the entrance to our balcony seats and wringing the half-crumpled playbill in my hands.
Of course, it has to be her that ended up on stage where we went tonight. She’s the lead in my favorite play.
That’s just my stupid luck.
It seems I always had the worst time of it.
“Kathleen Hendrix? Is that you?”
I freeze where I stand in the hall waiting for Eddie and Stevie.
I know I’ll have to look at her and talk to her, but I don’t want to. All I can see is the both of us on stage in the drama club, vying for the front and center role. In her, I can only see my disappointments and my dreams that went up in smoke.
“It’s Henderson,” I tell her. “But yes.”
“Oh my God, it really is you, isn’t it?” she states as she moves closer to me as if she can get a better look at me from where she stands. Her golden hair is perfectly curled, and her smile is like a cat with a bird in its mouth. “Wow, you look a lot different.”
“Megan,” I say, keeping my voice light and airy. I take in her Macbeth costume and I want to laugh when I see that she’s still wearing her microphone. What a rookie move on her part. “So great to see you again.”
“How have you been? Has life been good to you?” Megan asks me with a slick grin, not bothering to try to make light of our history together when we were still in school.
She never did pretend to forget things. The difference between us is that she went places, and I fell down a deep hole.
“Oh yeah, it’s been good,” I answer her, nodding my head as if I’m telling the truth. “What are you doing over here? Meet and greet with the fans?” I’m being sarcastic, but Megan preens like a peacock with new feathers. She always was a sucker for a good compliment.
“Oh, yeah, of course, of course. There are some important watchers up here that need my attention,” Megan offers up, not bothering to divulge just who she needed to talk to. “They are all vying to talk to me. An actress’s job is never done.”
I want to laugh, but I keep it to myself. It’s not so much that I wish for Megan’s life. Acting on stage was fun back in school, but I never really considered it a viable career option. It was just another in a long list of things I might have been if things were different when I graduated.
I might have been someone else, someone new.
“Yeah, sure,” I say because I really have nothing to lose, and I don’t care to be nice to someone like Megan Stark.
I let out a sigh of relief as I lean around her to look down the hallway that leads to the bathrooms.
I’m almost hoping that Eddie has taken my little brother to get a drink at the snack bar or something like that. I don’t want Megan talking to my little brother, and I don’t want to talk to her either.
“Well, what brings you here to our great theater then?” Megan asks me, touching her hair and smoothing the golden strands down. They look greasy to me, though.
“I just wanted to come see the play again after so long,” I tell her, looking away. “And my brother’s birthday is coming up pretty soon, so this is for him as well.”
“Oh really?” Megan asks me, pursing her lips as if she’s trying to remember a lowly peasant like me is such a bother for her to keep up with. “Is that so? I thought that was a few months ago. I could have sworn I saw something about it on your profile. A few people said happy birthday. Like two.”
“No, that was my birthday,” I tell her in a tired-sounding voice. I want to be done with this now. I don’t really care what she thinks of me or what she believes about it.