Page 23 of Bring me Back

“We have all fundraisers scheduled this year. It’s not something we can decide last minute,” Sharon argued.

Daniel rolled his shoulders back. A smile bordering on mockery came to his lips as he turned to Delilah. “Hope last year’s costume fits you.”

There was no way I’d ever let them reuse thoseRomeo & Julietcostumes for such a different play, but the Campbell women didn’t know that. Delilah’s mouth fell open and she flashed her mother a murderous look. It was so entertaining, I almost missed Daniel’s lips twitching as he said to my ear. “See you tomorrow, Cricket.”

And jogged away.

“In himself he is; but in this kind, wanting your father’s voice, the other must be…”

Adam scrunched his nose and brought the script closer to his nose.

“Worthier,” Mrs. Carr helped.

He hummed, tasting the word between his lips. “Worthier.”

“No, Adam, your full line please.”

Adam rolled his eyes. He didn’t want to be there. By his frame, I assumed he was a jock. By his wandering eyes, I guessed he was there to meet girls.

I sat in the shadows of the backseats this time. We had a full house and backstage bursting at the seams was the worst place to work. I was lost in thought, stitching a single silk flower and hearing Adam butcher Shakespeare’s words. I had a vision for Titania’s costume. As the queen of the fairies, I wanted her dress to carry flowers at the bottom, like she was flora itself. To accomplish that, I needed to be patient and sew as many little flowers I could make from a cheap imitation of silk.

After an hour of work, muscle memory kicked in, and I relaxed into my task. Something fell with a big thump upstage, drowning Adam’s words, and I glanced at the front in time to see Daniel moving about, dismantling Juliet’s old balcony. My cheeks warmed just from the sight of him. His sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the tension on his arms as he moved the wood around, oblivious to Mrs. Carr’s frown. His muscles bulged as he worked, jaw set in concentration. My mouth watered, and I squeezed my eyes closed.

This was getting out of hand. It was one thing for me to logically see he was good looking; it was another to let him have such a powerful effect on me. I felt the silk between my fingers, wishing the soothing rustling of fabric could bring me back to my body.

He called me Cricket.

I was dying to ask why, but I wouldn’t dare. For a fleeting second, I almost wondered if he forgot my name. But I was breathlessly aware of all the times he called my name. I bit back an annoyed groan, it was pathetic to feel like that.

I forced my eyes open and finished my work. When I had one flower done, I reached for the next. Wincing every time I heard the set move, I kept my eyes down and promised myself not to watch Daniel too much. My eyes blurred with the pressure of looking at the flower and the flower alone. I brought my thoughts to the edges of each flower and the loose thread rising because of the rough cut of the scissors. I was going to need to burn the edges, but I couldn’t play with fire in the middle of the school.

Somewhere by the stage, Mrs. Carr’s voice turned sour as she became exhausted. She was still kind, but I could hear the edge on every exclamation. Eventually, she gave up and told the kids rehearsal was over.

They cheered, of course.

“One last thing…” she uttered, mildly unsure.

I stopped my stitching and looked up.

“There’s a competition we can enter,” she told them with a grimace, like it was bad news. I held my breath. “I don’t want to put anyone on the spot or anything. Winning would be good for the department. But it’s up to you.”

That was not how we should’ve delivered the news. I glanced in Daniel’s direction, wondering if he felt underwhelmed by that delivery as well. I spotted him upstage, his arms crossed over his chest and I tried hard not to think how perfect his forearms looked in this light. I licked my lips and concentrated on his expression. He was scowling.

“What kind of competition?” Tommy asked.

“I don’t believe in competitions,” Mrs. Carr told them without answering. “Theater is supposed to be the expression of the soul, and true art is unique every time that is performed. So what value would a competition bring?”

Daniel cleared his throat. “Money for costumes and set design.”

Mrs. Carr flicked her wrist in acknowledgement of his words. “Yes, I suppose that is something. But one has to wonder if it’s worth the money for an answer that should never be given.”

“And what’s the answer?” Delilah asked, looking as confused as I felt.

“What art expression is the best.” Mrs. Carr blinked at her.

A few kids hummed distractedly, some kicked invisible rocks, a second away from bolting. I didn’t blame them. Mrs. Carr wasn’t making it appealing.

“How about a camp?” Daniel asked.

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