Whatever Happens Page 16

  Her eyes drop to me. “Trust me, no one would dare. I heard once that a kid dropped a week before opening night because of the pressure and Mr. Rochester showed up at his house and forced him to go do the play.”

  “That sounds like a really exaggerated rumor to me.”

  But also, I wouldn’t put it past him.

  She narrows her eyes on me. “That’s what I heard.”

  “Then obviously it must be true,” I snap sarcastically.

  “No wonder you have no friends,” she sneers. “You’re rude as hell. Ow!” She glowers at Lydia. “That hurt.”

  Lydia holds up a pin. “Oops. Sorry.”

  Her tone and grin tells me she’s not sorry at all.

  She doesn’t know, but Samantha’s words don’t bother me. The majority of the school ignores me and those who don’t give me weird looks.

  For all the time I’ve spent with Finn.

  For keeping to myself.

  For … God knows what.

  I’m learning teenagers can dislike someone for the pettiest of reasons and it’s too exhausting to even bother trying to fathom what they are.

  Mr. Rochester claps his hands and calls for the cast to join him.

  Samantha tears away from Lydia, ripping a piece of her dress in the process.

  Lydia gasps, looking ready to cry at the big gap in the ending sequence dress she’s been constructing.

  “Oh, did I do that?” Samantha asks, knowing very well she did. “Guess you’ll just have to fix it.”

  Lydia grumbles under her breath, “Or you could not be a bitch.”

  “Excuse me?” Samantha raises a brow.

  Lydia smiles up at her. “I didn’t say a thing.”

  I give Lydia’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze before I stand up and join the cast around Mr. Rochester.

  Once we’re all there he begins.

  “Opening night is officially April first. It’s earlier than I expected and no, Mr. Collins,” he growls when a student raises a hand, “this is not an April Fool’s Day prank, though I wish it was.” Clearing his throat, he peers around at us, making eye contact with everyone. “This means we’re going to have to work even harder to be ready in time for opening night. I expect you all to work one-hundred and ten percent when you’re here. We need this to be perfect.” He slams the bottom of his fist against the palm of his opposite hand.

  Finn slowly raises his hand. He never speaks out in a large group setting like this, so to see him do so willingly is shocking to me.

  Even Mr. Rochester is surprised. “Uh, yes Mr. Crawford? What is it?”

  “You said we have to give one-hundred and ten percent, but there’s no such thing. It’s one-hundred percent or less, there’s nothing above.”

  Mr. Rochester cracks a smile. “Indeed you’re right, Mr. Crawford. It’s an exaggeration to get the point across of how hard I need you all to work at this.”

  “But…” Finn pauses, his eyes dropping to his shoes. He toes them against the wooden floor. “We can’t work harder than a hundred percent.”

  Mr. Rochester’s lips quirk with the threat of a smile. “All right, give one-hundred percent on this. I’m believing in you all, trusting you to bring this to life. Do not disappoint me. I don’t accept failure.” He looks around at all of us once more, assessing the group, and then nods to himself. “Now, let’s get to work. We have two and a half months to get this perfect.”

  Chapter Thirty

  “Be my Valentine?” Someone slides into the seat beside me.

  I grin and accept the red heart-shaped lollipop Lydia offers me. I don’t know how she manages to find me, today I’m hiding out in the library during my free period.

  “Of course.” I pull out the small box of chocolates from my purse and give them to her. “Only if you’ll be mine?”

  She takes the box and opens them. “Ooh, caramel chocolates. I’ll definitely be your Valentine.”

  “What about Husten, though?” I probe. “I’m not much for sharing.”

  She sticks her tongue out. “There’s enough of me to go around, don’t be jealous.” Her cheeks coloring she whispers, “He sent a dozen roses to my house and my mom nearly had a heart attack. She’s now planning our wedding.” She shakes her head. “I think that woman would rather have me married straight out of high school and start giving her grandchildren than see me go off to college.”

  “Ugh, college,” I groan, dread filling my tone.

  I didn’t apply for early admission anywhere like my dad wanted, but I did manage to get applications out regardless.

  “You don’t want to go?” she asks, sounding genuinely confused.

  “No, I do,” I sigh. “I just ... I feel too young to be making that kind of decision.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean.” She nods along as we watch students pass in front of us. “I guess we just have to see where things lead us.”

  My heart lurches. “It’s that lack of control that scares me the most.”

  She gives a soft laugh. “Violet, when it comes to life, there is no such thing as control.”

  The bell rings and my body fills with dread that I have to head off to Physics. I have the stupid class every day and it’s my least favorite one. It wasn’t so bad when I was talking to Finn, but now that he ignores me it’s the worst fifty minutes of my life and I have to repeat it five days a week.

  I stand and sling my backpack over my shoulders, gathering my papers in my arms and the lollipop from Lydia.

  “See you later,” I tell her as we head our separate ways.

  I barely make it into the classroom before the bell rings and I hurry to my spot beside Finn. He’s already there, head propped on his hand, looking directly at the black tabletop so he can ignore my presence.

  Jack’s head lifts from the ground as I sit down and he gives me a sad look.

  I miss you too, buddy.

  Mr. Lambert closes the door to the classroom and gets straight to today’s lesson.

  I wish it was easier to pay attention to him, but my body is always hyper aware of Finn. My arms tingle with his nearness and I yearn to look at him, but I don’t. I can’t. He’s not mine anymore, not my boyfriend, and not even my friend.

  I ruined everything and I don’t even know how.

  That’s the most frustrating part.

  But because I care about Finn, I’m doing my best to let it go. I know if I bugged him about it, it would be nothing but upsetting for him, and he doesn’t deserve that.

  Even with this, I still care about how he feels.

  Maybe that makes me pathetic, but I think that’s how love works. Sacrificing your own happiness for someone else.

  When the fifty minutes is up I stand to gather my stuff. Normally, Finn runs away as quickly as he can, but instead he pauses and bends down, adjusting something on Jack’s collar.

  I look away, shuffling my papers on the desk into a neat pile before picking my backpack up off the floor.

  “Happy Valentine’s day, Finn,” I whisper, making the briefest of eye contact with him—on his part, not mine, because God does it hurt to look at him.

  He doesn’t say anything back, but I feel his eyes on me as I leave the room.

  * * *

  I arrive home from school, exhausted from rehearsals, and ready to fall apart.

  I toss my backpack on my bed and get Will Ferret from his cage, cuddling him to my chest.

  “Hey, buddy, I missed you.” I kiss the soft top of his head as I close the blinds in my room. If they’re closed I can’t be tempted to look next door.

  I let Will run around while I shower in my attached bathroom and change into my PJs.

  My damp hair hangs around my shoulders and I open my backpack to switch out my books for the ones I’ll need tomorrow.

  A small Valentine’s card like the ones we used to get in elementary school falls out, dropping to the floor, and I bend down to pick it up.

  I open it and my heart stops.

  It’s co
vered in yellow stars, with a rocket ship, and those interconnecting lines that form constellations.

  You’re out of this world, it says.

  On the back, it says to Nebula from Finn.

  I look toward my closed blinds, knowing on the other side, across the way, is Finn.

  Maybe it’s dumb, but the silly valentine gives me hope.

  I hold it against my chest and close my eyes.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “Seriously, you have to stop pining. You’re making me all kinds of sad and shit. It’s not cool,” Lydia jokes, though I’m sure it’s not a complete joke, as she works on perfecting my yellow ball gown for the dance sequence. “Just talk to him.”

  “It’s not that simple,” I mutter under my breath, forcing my eyes away from Finn about six feet away while another student works on his costume.

  “Boys are infuriating,” she agrees. “That’s why I like Husten. He’s a man.”

  I laugh at that. “Do boys ever really become men, or are they just older boys?”

  She sticks her tongue out at me. “You have a point. Now turn.” She swirls her finger in the air and I swivel around in the heavy dress. Finn and I have the dance number nailed but dancing in this dress will be a definite challenge. It’s huge.

  “He misses you, you know. I see it in the way he looks at you.”

  I snort. “Finn never looks at me anymore. It’s like I’m a blank wall he can easily pass by.”

  She shrugs. “Maybe you’re not looking when he is, because believe me, I catch him taking peeks at you all the time.”

  I want to believe her, and she has no reason to lie, but I don’t want to get my hopes up. It’s nearly March and he hasn’t spoken to me since the incident at the diner, beyond telling me to leave him alone and the brief encounter Christmas day.

  Out on the main stage Mr. Rochester works with other cast members and I listen to what he’s saying because it helps me to better ignore Finn.

  Lydia continues to work for a while until finally directing me to get down off the short platform I was standing on. She guides me to a mirror and I gasp as I look at my reflection in the mirror. I might look a mess, my dark hair barely tamed and my eyes tired, but the dress is stunning. It’s a work of art.

  “Lydia, it’s a crying shame if you don’t go into the fashion industry. This is incredible.”

  Her cheeks turn pink in her reflection behind me. “Thank you.” She pulls a loose thread on the sleeve.

  I then change out of the dress and back to my regular clothes and prepare to run through the scene where Belle begs Beast to live.

  It’s also the scene where I’m to kiss Finn.

  We’ve never practiced the kiss, but today that changes.

  It shouldn’t bother me, I’ve kissed him after all, but this feels wrong.

  I meet Finn on the stage and find him tugging on the sleeves of his shirt. They’re already down to his wrists but he keeps trying to pull them further down. I can feel his frustration vibrating from his body several feet away from him. I don’t know what to do to help him, and I doubt he’d want my help anyway.

  “Okay, you two,” Mr. Rochester marches over, “we’re going to run through the full scene. Start to finish. I’m going to…” He closes his eyes and takes a steadying breath. “Do my best not to comment or critique. I want to see how you guys perform.” He takes another moment to gather himself. “We’re going to start with Beast on the ground after he’s been shot by Gaston. You’re going to run to him, Violet, and—”

  “Mr. Rochester,” I interrupt before he can go on a tangent. “We’ve got this. Trust us.”

  He pinches his brow. “Don’t disappoint me you two.”

  He climbs off the stage and takes his place in a seat in the front row.

  Finn and I go to our designated places. Taking a deep breath I steady myself and close my eyes as I allow myself to transform into Belle. It might sound dramatic, but I find the process of essentially stepping into her character in my mind to work the best for me. It allows me to become her and not just recite lines by heart. I feel everything she would feel if she were real.

  I hear Mr. Rochester tell us to begin and I leave Violet behind.

  That’s not Finn. It’s Beast, and he’s hurt.

  I run over, falling to my knees.

  My lines roll out of my lips and I cup his cheeks in my hands. His eyes are closed in feigned death and I let the tears come to my eyes, spilling over.

  “I love you,” I whisper. “Come back to me. I love you, do you hear me? I love you.” I lower my head and press my lips to his softly. Mine are pillowed against his and he doesn’t move. He’s not supposed to, not yet anyway.

  But then he does.

  His fingers curl into my long hair at the nape of my neck and his lips begin to move. He kisses me back deeply, his tongue finding the seam of my lips. I open for him and suddenly I know he’s not the Beast anymore.

  He’s Finn.

  I’m Violet.

  And we’re not acting.

  I can’t hear the voices of the others, nothing else exists at all. It’s just the two of us. Even the past few months flee my mind as he kisses me. It feels so right.

  I don’t know how long passes until we break apart. I stare down at him in surprise. His blue eyes are so dark they’re nearly black. His fingers stay clasping my hair and his eyes dip to my swollen lips.

  “Whoa,” someone says behind us.

  I jump away from Finn, brought abruptly back to reality as I realize we’re not alone.

  My heart races in my chest and my cheeks redden with embarrassment at making out in front of the entire theatre production.

  “I-I have to go,” I stutter, turning sharply on my heel and running away.

  My feet slam against the steps as I run down them. I feel eyes watching me as I sprint up the aisle and out the large doors into the center of school. I keep running outside, letting the main doors slam closed behind me.

  I bend over then, hands on my knees, as tears choke me.

  Why does this hurt so much?

  I cry for me, for Finn, for Luna, for every single thing. I let the pain bleed out of me.

  The doors close sharply again and I whip around coming face to face with Finn. His dark floppy hair is blown back from his forehead and his chest rises and falls sharply with each breath.

  “You ran after me?” I accuse, wiping frantically at my wet face. “Why?” I take a step forward, my tone harsh. “Why, when you left me? You left me just like Luna did. You both had a choice and you still left me anyway!” I shout at him, my voice raw and anguished.

  I guess that’s the root of my problem.

  I’m so Goddamn angry.

  At Luna for choosing to take her life.

  At my parents for running away.

  At Finn for leaving me.

  At myself.

  Mostly at myself, because I feel like I should’ve done more, been more, for the people around me and no matter how hard I try it’s not good enough.

  “Nebula—”

  “No!” I hold up a hand. “You don’t get to choose to talk to me now. Not when I’ve been trying so hard for months. You broke my heart, Finn. Don’t think you can just hold it together for a few seconds with pretty words and everything will be all right. It doesn’t work like that.”

  He glances down, but not before I see the hurt flash across his face.

  “I wasn’t good enough for Luna to stay, and I’m not good enough for you either,” I sob, clutching my chest as I struggle to get enough air into my aching lungs. Spreading my arms to my sides I continue, “All I have to offer is me, and clearly that doesn’t cut it.”

  He opens his mouth again but I shake my head, cutting him off. “Just don’t.”

  I turn and walk away.

  Maybe I’m being dramatic. I’m only seventeen after all, but I’m exhausted. Giving my heart to people isn’t easy, and constantly having it torn apart is killing me. Enough is enough.
>
  Sometimes we have to choose ourselves over others, and that’s what I’m doing.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  I stir my cereal around and around. Lifting the spoon I watch the milk spill off of it and back into the bowl.

  “I want to see a therapist,” I announce.

  My parents both look up rapidly from their own bowls of cereal and my dad sets his iPad down where he was reading the paper on an app.

  After Luna’s suicide my parents broached the idea of me going to a therapist but I turned them down. They went to a few sessions on their own, but I wanted no parts of it. It felt like failure to me to admit I needed help in that way. Now, I wish I had.

  “All right, I’ll see if I can get you in with someone.”

  I’m surprised by mom’s ready agreement. Not that I thought either of them would say no, but I did expect a lot of questions.

  Like, why now? Or, did something happen?

  “Thank you,” I quietly murmur the words into my cereal bowl like it’s the one that’s going to make my appointment.

  I’m not sure therapy will solve all my problems, the hurt and anger I’m only beginning to realize I’ve held onto so tightly, but it seems like a good start.

  I feel my parents exchange a look rather than see it. I don’t want to worry them, but I know deep down this is something I need to do in order to heal. Luna’s death will always be a part of me, but the anger doesn’t have to be forever.

  * * *

  My mom is able to get me in with a therapist two weeks later.

  The office is surprisingly warm, and not the sterile cold thing I expected. It’s painted a soft brown color and instead of the standard waiting room chairs there are several comfortable couches. My mom sits beside me, clutching her purse in her lap. She looks more nervous than me.

  I wait for my name to be called and when it is I give her a reassuring smile before I stand, smoothing my hands down my jeans, and head back.

  “I’m Dr. Lee.” The cheery dark-skinned woman in her forties greets me. “Take a seat wherever you’d like.”