Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 137572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 688(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 459(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 688(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 459(@300wpm)
“Sorry for chasing us out of the house,” I say between bites.
Toby winces. “Glad you said something. I was afraid to ask.”
“It’s just … after I slipped up with the ‘boyfriend’ thing, I felt weird as hell. I’ve never actually brought any kind of guy home to my parents before.”
“Any kind of guy …?” Toby quirks an eyebrow, apparently finding my wording odd. “You mean, like a boyfriend?”
“I’ve never really had an actual boyfriend before. They’ve all just been …” How do I put this so I don’t sound like a totally horrible, soulless monster? “… guys who don’t like to spend more time with me than just a single night so they have something hot to go and brag about to their friends?” I cut another bite of crêpe with my fork, scooping up some melted chocolate with it. “No one’s ever really respected me before. Not like you do.”
I was hoping he’d be flattered by that. Instead, he looks hurt.
I set down my fork. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No.” Toby shakes his head. “I just can’t imagine the kinds of crowds you’ve kept in the past, who would think so little of you. I don’t want to imagine them. Why wouldn’t they respect you? It’s human decency. You’re such an amazing person, Vann.”
“Well, give it time.”
“You’ve used that joke before,” he calls me out, catching me by surprise, “and I have given it time. And you’re still amazing.” He reconsiders. “Well, except for the snoring.”
My jaw drops. “Snoring??”
“Just a little.” He winks at me, then goes for another bite.
I watch him indignantly as he eats. Ten whole seconds pass by as he gives me that smug look. “I do not snore.”
Toby snorts, then turns serious again. “No matter who you’ve spent time with in the past, I know you know I will never treat you like that. And maybe you should get used to me being around your parents a little more.” He puffs up his chest. “I happen to think the two of them have already taken a liking to me.”
“Yeah, alright.” I take another succulent bite, then smirk at him. “Then I guess it’s my turn next. With your stepdad.”
Toby stops chewing.
I grin. “Oh, and not to mention … opening night is just a week away. In case you forgot.” I stuff my face with another tasty bite, now being the one with the smug look. Toby is still frozen in place. “So I’ll definitely be sure to meet your stepdad, since I met your mom and stepbrother already. I’m sure they’ll all be sitting right up there in the front row, watching their sweet, innocent boy kiss the scary new kid in town, onstage, in front of the world.” I lift an eyebrow. “What’s wrong? Lost your appetite?”
Toby’s glassy stare indicates I’ve more than just taken away his appetite. I’ve damned near made him turn to stone.
Mission accomplished.
Trouble is, when we’re back at school, it isn’t me who gets the last laugh. The last week of rehearsal is a nightmare leading up to Friday’s opening night. Everything that can go wrong, does. A very sudden “throat thing” takes out Frankie, who is then reduced to mere croaking and hoarse whispers despite the piping hot honey tea he chugs. One of the guys in the booth breaks a knob on the soundboard, which blows out the left house speaker somehow. Toby’s friend Kelsey, who plays the quirky waitress at the café, has a new excuse every day for why she should be replaced by an understudy—until realizing there is no understudy for the role of the waitress. Toby has to keep talking her down with encouraging words about her dads, who will be “so proud to see her up on that stage”. He is trying to be the glue that holds the cast together, despite all of the discouragements and freak-outs. I admire that commitment about him, smiling as I watch him talk sweetly to the stage manager, working out a fast costume change he has to do between the first two scenes. And despite every day throwing some new outlandish problem at us, we make it to Friday, opening night, our crazy final dress rehearsal behind us, and all that awaits is the rising of that curtain in front of our first real audience.
And that’s when, in the dressing room, Toby grabs hold of my shirt, pulls me to a corner behind a makeup cabinet, and breathes, “I don’t think I can do this.”
I should comfort him. Instead, I hold back a laugh. “Toby …”
“It isn’t funny. This isn’t funny. I can’t do this. Why did I agree to do this? I’m such a self-sabotaging masochist, ugh!”
“Because you’re brave. Because you wanted to try something new. Because you love me and I love you and all that crap.”