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6

JIMMY

We exited the dining hall into the humid August heat and turned left. What was happening? My head was spinning, but I was helpless to do anything but follow. That seemed to be a theme when I was in TJ’s presence. See also: losing the ability to think rationally or make basic conversation.

He’d tried to get me to open up several times throughout the week, but I’d been unable to come up with anything other than short answers to his questions. Mandy and Drea had pulled me out of my shell in the last couple of years. They’d initially done it by the force of their personalities, but it had eventually felt more natural until I’d become more comfortable with making conversation. I’d even been friendly with a few of my classmates back in Brinkley. But anytime I was in TJ’s presence, it was like all of that had disappeared and I was back to being that shy, awkward, nerdy kid who didn’t know how to make friends. I’d taken to avoiding the dorm room when I thought TJ might be there just to escape the awkwardness.

When he’d asked me about my book, for a moment, all of that had fallen away, and I’d felt like me again. The me I’d become, anyway, and it felt good. It was why I’d agreed to lunch with him, even though I’d declined his invitation all the other times. But, of course, my conversational abilities had seized up again the moment we’d sat to eat our sandwiches.

I could tell it was frustrating him. You didn’t grow up in a house with a drunk mother and a moody brother and not learn how to read people, so even though TJ tried to play it off, I could see his patience wearing thin. But I didn’t know how to unlock that side of myself. The one that was confident and self-assured. I didn’t know why he kept trying, honestly.

We stopped in front of a brick building that I’d passed a couple of times this week but hadn’t really given much thought to since I didn’t have any classes there. I hoisted my backpack a little higher, repositioning the weight, as a bead of sweat ran down my back.

“This is the theater building. For the last three years, it’s been my second home.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me forward. I tried not to think too hard about the smooth skin beneath my palm or the way my stomach swooped at the gesture and followed him inside.

We were in what appeared to be a lobby area that ran the length of the building, with high vaulted ceilings and natural light streaming in from the windows behind us. Along the wall in front of us were a couple of sets of doors. The set to my left had a sign above that read Julia J. Hastings Theater, and the sign above the doors on the right read Black Box Theater. Directly in front of us, placed between the two sets of doors, was a large bank of display cases that looked like they held artifacts from previous shows. He pulled me over to the case in the middle and began pointing out various items while I did my best to keep up.

There was a colorful coat that appeared to be made up of various materials with textures and colors so vibrant they almost hurt to look at. I’d never seen anything like it. TJ explained it had been worn in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, of which he was a member of the ensemble his freshman year. There was a marching band-style hat—a shako it was apparently called—from The Music Man . TJ had played Professor Harold Hill, which I was told was the lead, but since I’d never seen the show, that didn’t really mean anything to me. There were bejeweled microphone props from Mama Mia !, in which he’d played Sam just last spring. That one I was familiar with and was impressed he’d played the same character Pierce Brosnan had in the movie.

“What show are you going to be in this year?” I asked, my eyes still trying to take in and process the memorabilia, some of which looked like it spanned decades.

“They haven’t announced it yet. We’re supposed to find out after Labor Day. Come on. There’s more I want to show you.”

TJ grabbed my hand again and pulled me toward the doors under the sign that read Black Box Theater . It was immediately apparent where the name came from when we stepped inside. The square room was done entirely in black, including the ceiling and the floor. Along one wall were heavy black curtains with the stage in the center and lights hung from a track mounted to the ceiling. Chairs were placed in rows on three of the four sides of the square stage, giving it an intimate feel. The only stage I’d ever seen had been the one in the auditorium of Astaire High School, and this looked nothing like that.

We walked toward the low stage, just about eighteen inches off the ground, but I balked when he tried to pull me onto it.

“It’s okay. You can come up here.”

I shook my head.

“I promise it’s alright.”

I let out a breath and stepped up beside him, feeling uncomfortable but also a little…curious.

“What kind of shows do they put on in here?” It definitely didn’t seem like the type of space to hold a large-scale musical.

“Smaller plays. One acts. Once a month, the English and Theater departments team up to host a poetry slam.” His face lit up almost comically, as if he was a cartoon character and a light bulb had just popped up over his head. “You’re an English major. You should do a reading!”

I smiled. I couldn’t help myself. His energy and enthusiasm were contagious, making me momentarily forget my shyness. “I’m going to let you in on a little secret. Not all English majors like poetry.”

TJ blinked, seemingly nonplussed by my teasing, but recovered quickly and gave a dramatic gasp, flattening his palm across his chest, his face drawn up in mock outrage. “That’s got to be blasphemy!”

I chuckled at his antics, enjoying bantering with him. “I don’t hate poetry, but it’s not my favorite. I definitely don’t see myself getting up on stage and reciting something in front of an audience.” The idea of it nearly had me breaking out in a cold sweat.

“How are you going to teach an English class if you can’t be in front of an audience.”

“Being in front of students and my peers are two entirely different things.”

He started pulling me forward again, walking backward across the stage so he could face me. “Is it like a phobia for you? Or is it just something you’re not comfortable with?”

I considered his question. “I suppose somewhere in between. It doesn’t make me vomit or anything, but my stomach ties itself in knots and my palms get super sweaty.”

He turned back to face the direction we were walking, though he still hadn’t released my hand, and pushed through a door at the back of the room that led to a hallway. The walls here were covered in framed posters, I assumed from various plays that had been performed. Before I could get a good look at them, we stepped through another set of doors and into a darkened room.

He let go of my hand, fading into the darkness, and I shivered at the absence of his body heat in the overly air-conditioned space. I heard the soft squeak of his tennis shoes across the floor, and moments later, a light flickered on above me. I squinted against the bright light and turned my head, taking in my surroundings.

We were on the side of a much larger stage than the one in the black box, and I figured this must be the main stage where they did their larger shows. A couple more lights flickered on, lighting up the stage itself. I watched as TJ executed some fancy footwork and then leaped through the air, landing gracefully in the center of the stage on one knee with his other foot planted on the ground in front of him, his hands stretched out in a grand gesture. He turned back and grinned, his face alight with mischief.

I shook my head but returned his smile and strode toward him. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m happy.”

“Are you ever not happy?”

“Sure. I have tough moments, just like everyone else. But this is my happy place.” He stood, turning his body to face me. “But even more”—he tapped my cheek—“it’s good to see you smile.”

I felt my cheeks heat and automatically shifted my eyes away from him, looking down at my feet, uncomfortable under his scrutiny. I’d spent most of my life trying not to be noticed. I didn’t know what to do with the attention.

He tucked one finger under my chin, bringing my eyes back to his face. “Uh-uh. Don’t hide from me, okay?”

“I can’t help it. Being around you is like… It’s like looking directly at the sun.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“I don’t know.” I stepped back, needing to put some distance between us. “It’s…intense.”

His face fell, all the levity from the moment before evaporating, leaving me feeling like we were right back where we’d started. Why did I have to be so bad at this?

“I’m sorry,” he said, taking another step back, increasing the space between us. “I’ve always been a little…extra. It’s the theater kid in me.” He tried for a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

I felt awful. Like he was a kid and I’d popped his balloon. I hated that I’d put that look on his face, but I didn’t know how to undo it.

TJ pulled his phone out of his pocket, checking the time. “We should probably get going. I have a class in twenty.”

He brushed past me without waiting for a response and headed toward a box on the side of the stage. He punched in a code, then hit a couple of buttons, plunging the stage into darkness, though the side of the stage remained lit, allowing us to see our way to the exit.

We wound back through the hallways, taking a different route that didn’t cut through the black box, and stepped out a door on the side of the building, back into the August heat.

“Thanks for humoring me and touring the theater.”

“It was interesting,” I said, and I meant it. For a few moments, I’d relaxed enough to let my guard down. I wanted that feeling back. And I wanted to put that smile back on his face where it belonged. “Will you be around tonight? We could, um…” I wiped my sweaty palms on my shorts. How was it possible to have your mouth go bone dry while simultaneously sweating through your shirt? I tried again. “We could eat…together…at the union together.”

Wow. For an English major, I really had a poor grasp of the language.

“I’m teaching tonight at the dance studio.” If it was possible, he looked even more bummed than he had before.

“Oh, that’s right. You said that earlier at lunch. So then, I’ll see you later tonight, I guess?”

“Yeah, though it’ll be later, like ten-thirty-ish.”

“Oh. Um. Okay.”

I hadn’t thought things could be more awkward than they’d been at lunch, but here we were, staring at each other on the sidewalk, neither of us speaking.

Finally, he offered me a small smile, though I could tell it was forced, and said, “I better go. Later, sunshine.”

I didn’t even respond, just watched him walk away, wondering what in the hell had just happened.