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“Hey, Ian, do you have just a second?” she asks.
“Yeah, sure.” I shrug and follow Anastasia out into the hallway.
I’d hoped to catch a glimpse of Jade, but there’s no one out here but Anastasia and me.
By the time I turn back to Anastasia, I realize she’s already started talking.
“. . . been meaning to say something, I just never found the right moment, and now that the final performance is tonight, this seems like as good a time as any. So I was thinking, after the show closes tonight, maybe we could go out sometime. Just you and me. As, like, a date, you know.”
I blink a few times, trying to process what she’s saying. She’s said all of it without any trace of an accent, so it must be real, but it seems like a joke. Date Anastasia? Is she really that oblivious to what’s happening right under her nose with me and Jade? Or is she seeing our chemistry and thinking it’s really just . . . acting?
Did Jade say something to her?
Anastasia is waiting for me to say something, her eyes eager and expectant.
“Listen, I’m . . . That’s really nice of you, Anastasia, but I . . . I don’t think it’s a good— I’m not— I already have . . . Jade and I . . .”
Understanding dawns on Anastasia’s face, and she turns a deep shade of red. “Oh gosh, of course. Yeah. No worries. Break a leg!” she says and then disappears.
I let her go, and even though my anxious mind would love to dwell on this, my brain is already too crowded tonight.
I make my way through the bowels of the theater toward the black box stage. I need to check my own props, and I want to tryto get in a word with Jade before the show. The performances have already started, and Jade and I are toward the end of the lineup. There’s time. Not a lot of it, but some.
The room off the side of the black box theater that serves as the wings, the tech booth, and the prop space is dark except for a blue lamp that dimly lights the room, but there’s enough light to check my props. Everything is where it should be, and even though Jade has to check her own props, I check hers too.
The soundboard operator waves at me. She can’t chat while there’s a performance on, but I stand by the sound booth under the loft anyway. The light board operator for all the one-acts and the stage manager for this one-act are up in the loft above us, calling cues. I thought I’d be envious of them doing the job I usually do while I have to perform, but I’m not. I’m unexpectedly excited to show off all the hard work Jade and I have put into this one-act.
Movement in my peripheral has me checking to see if Jade is walking in. She is, and even in the dim light, I can see she gives me another tight smile before sitting down at an empty table with her script.
Man, she really must be nervous. Or maybe something is wrong . . .
I take the seat next to her so I can speak as quietly as possible.
“Are you okay?” I ask, quieter than a whisper. Even a normal whisper the audience can hear. Almost everything that comes from the two side rooms connected to the stage can be heard in the theater.
She nods and waves me off, turning back to her script.
“Talk to me,” I say, laying a hand on her arm.
A flash of annoyance crosses her face, and she gestures to the wall between this room and the stage and shakes her head.
“Jade,” I say, but I say it just a little too loud. The stage manager shushes me from the loft. I hold up my hands in apology.
The audience claps, the lighting on the stage changes, and the actors join us in the backstage area. They barely notice us, silently celebrating their performance. A stagehand follows shortly after, carrying a wooden block off the stage. The stage manager in the booth climbs down from the loft, and the next one goes up.
There’s a quick transition onstage, a scuffle of actors and set pieces, and then the lights are up and the performance has started.
All the while, there’s a gnawing in my stomach that won’t let me forget that something is off. Something is wrong. And I won’t be okay until it’s resolved.
“Jade,” I try again once the show has started, this time quieter. I tighten my grip on her arm ever so slightly, trying to communicate that this is urgent.
Jade huffs and stands, taking me by the hand and dragging me out into the hall and back down toward the dressing room, away from the stage. We’re next to perform, but there’s still some time before their one-act is over.
She finds a small nook, out of the way and private. It’s somewhere between the stage and the dressing rooms, and she steps back into it, releasing my arm.
“What is your problem?” she asks. Her defensive tone takes me by surprise.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to ask you,” I say. “You’re acting weird. I just want to know if you’re okay.”
