Standing for Weirdo

Chapter 28

The next time Trevor had to come to theater practice, I sneaked a surreptitious glance over at the pit as soon as we entered. He gave me a small smile before heading over there to set up his stuff, as if he could read my thoughts and see my permanent worry.

He looked better since the incident I privately referred to as The Scare. Still a bit too pale, and I thought he might be slightly thinner, but no more freak-outs had occurred.

Then again, he'd not played again.

This rehearsal, a bit like a grand general where we'd go over the whole play before going live in a couple of weeks, would be like an experiment. Both Trevor and I hoped that the results said that playing guitar was not a health hazard, and I prayed to whoever was willing to listen that he'd not have a seizure while performing. Rationally, of course, we had nothing to fear, but... Things hadn't been very rational that Monday night at his place.

Besides, theater class was a microclimate, like a small family. Everyone cared about the recent rift affecting us seniors. While the school was split between people who listened and people who didn't give a rat's ass, theater definitely fell in the first category. Not because it was gossip, or it affected our reputations, but because it affected our performance. They kept glancing at me and then to Trevor, as if expecting us to explode in epic Romeo and Juliet proportions to Ashley's Machiavellian laughter.

Go figure. All my life worrying about what the rest of the students thought, worried about the façade I'd present in school... and the masses can't be bothered to care.

On the bright side, since my fall from grace with the golden crowd didn't concern them, they didn't feel the need to go out of their way to make me miserable.

However, they all walked on eggshells, aware of the hostility and scared that they might be caught in the crossfire. They acted skittish, picking up on my distress and believing that I was worried, not because of Trevor's issues, but because I was to face off against my nemesis during the play.

She seemed to be as oblivious to my real concerns as everyone else. She acted aloof and was clearly ecstatic. The only fraction of normalcy resided within my own team, Stella and Alex. Both of them were nonchalant enough to keep her at bay, to calm the class, and to keep Mr. Hedford blissfully ignorant of the whole drama going on in the sidelines.

Bless them.

"Well, class," Professor Hedford clapped his hands, breaking my train of thought. "Let's begin. All the way from Act I till break. No comments, no prompts. Act as if it was the real thing. Is everyone in place?"

Alex and I opened the play with our dramatic scene, so we hurried to the stage turned into a drawing room. Trevor flipped a couple of switches and gave a thumbs up, signaling that the mics were ready. The seats were slowly immersed in darkness, and the spotlights turned the stage into its own secluded world.

There was no music for this part, but I could remember every note Trevor had played during the early stages of the rehearsal. I could bring forth every single emotion, and suddenly Lady Windermere's Fan was going full blast, a roller coaster of twists and mistrust and love amidst the fake pleasantries of the upper class of nineteenth century England. We glided into Act II without a hitch. The curtain fell and rose, this time with Trevor's plaintive guitar building up in the background and blasting us all the way back to a Season ball. The theme was the right one, the nocturne he had composed, and I allowed myself to breathe in relief when the piece kept falling from his fingers with its usual grace. I thought there was more technique than soul this time, but if I was right, I was the only one who noticed.

Stealing a glance to the pit when Act II was coming to an end, though, I almost faltered. He was frowning in concentration, shoulders tense, and sweat pearled upon his brow, as if it took a physical effort to move his fingers in the right pattern.