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BOBBY: How is Louie? Ma called me.

JESS: Sleeping. They are running tests.

BOBBY:

JESS: Thanks.

BOBBY: Hey. I didn’t text back because I didn’t know what to say. I was surprised to hear that you missed me. Let’s talk later.

JESS: K

I have nothing to do in this hospital but agonize. Sometimes I wish things had worked out with Bobby, because there is nothing worse than being alone when you’re afraid. So I open the notes app again and remember the moment I knew I loved Bobby Bilancia in the first place.

I stood stageright on a riser with a cluster of girls, all of whom, like me, had pleasant singing voices. We were the chorus for the 2004 annual musical,Beauty and the Beast. None of the girls in the chorus had auditioned for speaking roles because we were too terrified to compete. But we were also thirteen years oldand seized the opportunity to defy our mothers and wear as much makeup as we wanted in public with the excuse that it was for theatrical purposes. I had troweled on so much mascara I could barely keep my eyes open. I wore pink blush and cranberry lip gloss, which up close made me look like a candy apple with eyes, but my intention was that the makeup would make me recognizable from the back row of the auditorium.

My fellow chorus girls were dressed as townspeople, in bridesmaid gowns borrowed from our mothers’ closets. Grandma Cap provided aprons from her collection, which gave us the look of old-timey scullery workers. I wore a full-skirted mint-green taffeta gown with poofy cap sleeves with a deep V in the back. No fool, I’m wearing a T-shirt under the dress, to cover the backless triangle, so I’m not exposed in the rear. My apron has the country of Italy outlined in red rickrack, with a lone red felt star marking Carrara on the map.

Sister Theresa motioned to me. “Jess, will you please run lines with Bobby Bilancia?” she asked.

The girls looked at me with awe.

“Youget to run lines withBobby?” Hannah Malpiedo swooned.

“I help him with his math homework,” I explained. Bobby lived two streets over, and around the time he stopped stealing my lunch, he began his struggles with math and I became his peer tutor. Sometimes we worked at his kitchen table, and sometimes we worked at mine. Both moms provided snacks, our choice of meatball heroes orpastina in brodoor chicken cutlet strips with marinara dipping sauce.

“I suck at math.” Piera Casciano sighed as I followed SisterTheresa off the stage and into the auditorium. “I can help Bobby with English!” she called after me.

Bobby sat alone in his Gaston costume on the floor of the hallway outside the auditorium. His mom had shredded one of his dad’s old white dress shirts at the arms and waist. He’d belted his jeans with a rope and rolled them up to his knees. His black hair was combed into a pompadour. It was so high, it looked like he was wearing a black hat. He had a number 2 pencil tucked behind his ear.

Sister gave me her script because it had all the lines in it, and my script only had the pages with the scenes that involved the chorus.

“Bobby, Jess is going to run lines with you. You have to be off book by Saturday.”

“Yes, Sister.”

Sister shot me a look and went back inside the auditorium. The heft of the script with all of Sister’s markings was impressive. I was empowered. After all, she put me in charge of the lead actor. I could not help but feel confident. I sat down next to Bobby.

“I don’t remember the lines,” he said sadly.

“You can do this,” I told him. “Come on. I’ll help you.”

He smiled. “You always make me feel better, Jess.” Bobby’s eyes matched the high-gloss sky-blue industrial paint on the school walls. The chorus girls were right. Bobby Bilancia was definitely the best-looking boy in all of Saint Rose School. He drummed the pencil against his script. He turned to me, reached up with the pencil, and twirled the lead tip through a curl that stuck out of my kerchief.

“My hair is too curly.”

“I like it.” He smiled. “Does this costume look stupid?”

“Your mom needs to soak the shirt in tea, so it looks old.”

“I’ll ask her.” Bobby looked into my eyes, which freaked me out a little. “You wouldn’t tell me if it looked stupid. You never say a bad word about anyone.”

“Would you tell me if I looked stupid in this dress?”

“You don’t.”

I blushed. “My mother wore this in 1986 when she was in a wedding. There’s so much padding, it’s like having boobs on my shoulders.”

Bobby laughed. “You’re hilarious.”