“What do you want now?” Gisele asked,
her gaze fixed stonily on the textbook before her. We were in one of the study
nooks of the library. It was largely empty on the Friday afternoon.
“I wanted to apologize for the
situation I put you in last time.”
“Just leave me alone and we’ll
call it good,” she said, leaning closer to the book as though wishing she could
disappear into it to escape my presence.
Wincing, I forged onward; “I
already told you I can’t. You’re my lead.”
She faced me, unable to mask her
anger. To see her so furious hurt because I really was sorry.
“Casting me as the lead will
ruin your production,” she said before turning away again.
“Because you really do have
stage fright?” I asked. “Or because of something someone else did?”
Her hands clenched so tightly
into fists to suppress their shaking, her skin paled. Tension seized her body
and she refused to look at me. “What do you know about that?” she asked softly.
“Nothing really,” I said, taking
the empty seat on the other side of her. “It’s all speculation.”
“Keep it that way.”
“I’ll need to know if I’m going
to help you.”
“I don’t want your help,” she
snipped, glaring at me.
“You will if you’re going to be
ready to perform.”
“What makes you think I want to perform? I haven’t performed in
over two years and I’ve been perfectly happy.”
“That’s a lie. You aren’t
happy.”
“You don’t know me well enough
to make that judgment.”
“Either way, you were born to
perform. You come alive when you perform.” I was prepared to fight her every
step of the way; I had mentally readied myself to deal with any emotional
breakdown she might face. There wasn’t anything that could happen I couldn’t support
her through if she let me.
“That sounds as convincing as
saying you were born an angel of good intent.”
“I wasn’t. I never said I was,
either.” Gisele glared harder at me. It’s hard to say I hadn’t deserved it. “I’ll
be with you every step of the way.”
“Because that’s so comforting to know.”
“It may or may not be, but it’s
true. Your rehearsals start in a week. The practice room, for now,” I said, not
wanting to add to her hostility any more than I already had.
“My rehearsals?” She cocked her
eyebrows.
“You’re my lead. The first
month will be private rehearsals. If you don’t show up, I’ll drag you there.”
“How can I convince you you’re
wrong? That you need to cast someone
else?” she asked, better concealing her anguish.
“I’m not wrong,” I assured her,
standing. “I’ll help you see that.”
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