When We Met

And I didn’t know what it had been—my mood, our closeness, how we seemed to bridge the gap between us by sharing personal information, or the begi

He looked momentarily dumfounded before relief washed over him, relaxing his features. As if I’d said the one thing he’d been dying to hear.

And then as though maybe I would change my mind, he gripped my arms and said, “I dare you to go see a theater performance with me.”

“Um . . . sure,” I said, relieved it was something that needed to be pla

“Right now.”

chapter six

Chloe

It’d been a long time since I let a guy lead me anywhere. But there we stood in front of a tiny lopsided playhouse that looked like it might collapse in a heap at any moment.

“I think you’ll love it,” Blake said, clutching my elbow and steering me to the ticket window.

I looked around the dreary and deserted streets and wondered just who in their right minds would want to come to this theater. “What is this place?”

“It’s a different kind of live theater,” he said almost in awe. “It’s amazing. You’ll see.”

He led me through doorway into a very dark room, and next thing I knew, I was being jostled by this crowd of people milling around and looking toward the ceiling. No seats to be had, it was standing room only, and I felt very out of my element. Nervous about what I was about to experience. “Can’t you at least give me a heads-up?”

“There’s no way to describe it.” His eyes were glowing with excitement. “You just have to experience it.”

But as soon as the first trapeze artist came floating down from the ceiling quoting Shakespeare, I was utterly mesmerized. For the next hour these thespians-artists continued to impress me with their capabilities of swinging, tumbling, and hanging upside down all while reciting their lines. My heartbeat was erratic, my cheeks were flushed. It was like nothing I’d ever experienced before, and truth be told, I loved every minute of it.

Blake moved us into the far corner against a wall. He stood behind me, as if in protective mode. I felt safe with him, but also completely turned on. I could feel the heat of his body and I welcomed every nudge or bump—whether by accident or on purpose, I didn’t know.

Regardless, I wanted more of it. As he explained what was happening above us, his hot breath fa

It’d been ages since I’d had this kind of feeling about a boy. Every time his fingertips came in contact with my body, my skin broke out in a fresh trail of goose bumps.

At the end of the performance, he gave me a heads-up that the artists were about to spray water into the audience and then his hands formed a shield to protect my head. But in a daring move that came from some other girl trapped inside me, I slipped from beneath his shelter. Not because I wanted to get away from him, but because I had this undeniable urge to be free, bold, alive.

I held out my arms and turned my face to the ceiling as water splashed down upon me. It was shocking and liberating and it helped douse the flame burning me alive from the inside. When I looked over my shoulder, Blake was gri

We spilled out of the theater in a sea of people, laughing and joking and wet. Well, at least I was wet. Blake only had a few beads of water in his hair. For the first time in forever, I realized I hadn’t even looked over my shoulder to see if I recognized anybody from campus or from my mother’s circle of co

“Wasn’t so bad, was it?” Blake asked, almost tentatively.

I gri

Suddenly I wanted to know more about him. Much more. “Do you miss it?”

His steps faltered. “What?”

“The stage,” I said, feeling bold again. “I could see it in your eyes—the way they lit up.”

“I do miss it, but I don’t stress about it,” he said in a low voice. “Because I know I’ll be back . . . someday.”

I liked his optimism. He didn’t hang on too tightly to one emotion or idea, it seemed. Given his family situation, he probably needed to be ready for the unexpected. I could use a similar lesson. My life felt too scripted—too suffocating—and though there had been a time that I’d reveled in that security, lately I felt too molded in place. Too pi

The only thing I could look forward to was breaking away next year. Even the idea of that scared the hell out of me. Would I really go through with it?

Maybe next year, there would be room for a boy like Blake, when I’d be venturing out on my own in a new city and trying to make a life for myself. I had Blake to thank for showing me what I might have to look forward to—but I knew I needed to wait until the time was right. Because now? The time didn’t seem right, for either of us.

A kind of melancholy set up camp, heavy in my chest, but I ignored it.

“Is set design the kind of career you’ve always seen for yourself?” I asked.

“I think so,” he said, turning the corner to where his car was parked. “Maybe on a Broadway set or in a smaller production around here.”

I couldn’t imagine Blake leaving his family to seek out Broadway any time soon. Maybe we’d keep in touch after our project was over with. I’d like that.

We lapsed into a comfortable silence, each lost in our own head. I looked at my phone and saw two missed calls from my mother and was transported back to reality too soon.

“Thanks for a great night,” I said after he drove me to my car, which was still parked in front of Threads. “Next time it’s my choice—you get to come see a classic movie with me.”

Heat crawled up my neck. I couldn’t believe I’d voiced that hope out loud. Without practicing how it would sound first.

“Deal,” he said without any hesitation.

And a couple of nights later that was exactly what we did. We saw the ten o’clock show at the Cedar Mountain Theater and ate buttery popcorn while I explained how much I loved all the vintage clothing in those productions. He didn’t even raise an eyebrow at me.

Every time his thigh brushed against mine, I felt the urge to turn and practice one of those old-fashioned kisses that I was so fond of in these movies.

In fact, during the kissing scene, I held my breath as my imagination took over. In my side view I noticed how Blake’s gazed skimmed over my face and then landed on our hands, which were so close together I could feel the electricity between our skin.

But it was so ridiculous to have those fantasies when our lives were so different—so scripted by our families, in completely different ways.

I’d even seen one of my mother’s society ladies near the concession stand before the movie. I immediately pulled out the notebook I carried everywhere, just in case, and fabricated the idea of a class project. I told her the assignment involved the study of costumes and that we were meeting more of our classmates near the entrance, the exact place where Blake had set up residence.

He pretended to study the door in order to spot our friends arriving and didn’t even question me about it afterward. It was as if we’d come to an understanding that our time together wasn’t real; it was just the tucked-away moments we shared while working on this project and there was no use wasting time discussing it any further.

chapter seven

Blake