Page 57 of Ticket to the Stars: Part One

“I can’t say that I ever really tried to do anything.” Her shoulders went up and down once. “You know the only reason I’m here is because of my stalker of a sister taping me in my room. I always loved singing, but I… I don’t know. I never really thought anything would happen. This is still so surreal to me.”

As I painted her back, everywhere she couldn’t reach herself, I tried to hold myself back. I did. I shouldn’t have said what I said next, but I couldn’t help it. I’d been holding it in for so long, it came tumbling out: “I used to know a girl, years ago, who loved to sing.” There was no point in poking this particular bear, but I couldn’t help it.

I guess pre-show jitters were still a thing.

Angel let a few moments pass before asking, “Did you?”

I nodded—not that she could see me nod. Though we stood near a mirror surrounded by lights, her eyes were fixed on the ground in front of her. “I did. We used to mess around all the time. She’d sing, I’d try to sing with her—but my voice was never as good. I started picking up instruments. I remember my dad bought me a guitar right before my parents divorced, right before I had to move away.”

It felt weird saying all this to her, but I couldn’t hold it in any longer. Maybe now wasn’t the best time, but in that respect, there might never be a good time.

“Did you ever talk to the girl again?” Angel asked, her voice light.

God. Did she really not remember? I became a little rougher with her as I hurried to finish applying the paint. I didn’t know why the thought of her not remembering upset me so much, but it did, and I couldn’t ignore it anymore.

“No,” I said. “But I did check in on her a few times. I found her profile online, saw she got a new best friend, and figured she forgot all about me.” I was almost done with the paint. Almost. Just few inches of skin left, and then she’d be done and I could leave this dressing room before I said anything I might regret.

I didn’t want to fight with her. I just… I wanted her to remember me. I wanted to know that our time together as children wasn’t forgotten, that it had meant something.

“Why didn’t you reach out? Maybe she was waiting for you to,” Angel whispered.

“Yeah, somehow, I don’t think she was.”

“And how can you know that?”

I finished her back, finally, and I dropped what was left of the tube where the rest of the paint was on the table with the mirror. “You’re done,” I muttered, tearing off the disposable gloves. I slipped my black ones on, not looking at her.

Angel turned around, her hair still collected onto one shoulder. Her painted lips were drawn into a pout. “Maybe she thought you forgot all about her, so she asked herself why she even cared about the boy she used to know.”

“Well, it turns out it didn’t matter,” I huffed.

“Yeah, I guess it didn’t matter after all.” She went on, “Because you don’t remember” the same time I said, “She’s standing right here.”

I think we were both caught off-guard at that, because neither one of us said anything. I had to take a moment to process what she’d said, just as I was sure she was processing what I’d said. She… she remembered me?

“You remember?” I asked. I thought I’d feel relief when everything was out in the open, but I didn’t think I’d feel so conflicted. Had she known this whole time? Did she thinkIwas the one who’d forgottenher?

“Of course I do! Do you?”

“Yes,” I shot back. I didn’t know why I still sounded upset. This was… this wasn’t how I thought this would go at all.

“Well, okay then!” she huffed. “We both remember. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Why didn’t you?”

Angel sent me a pouting face. “I thought you didn’t remember, and I didn’t want to look like an idiot.” She pointed at me, pushing a finger against my chest. “You should’ve said something! Why didn’t you?”

“Why would I say something when you acted like I was a stranger?”

“I’m not a stranger,” she huffed.

“No, I guess you’re not.” Whatever emotions riled me up began to fade, replaced by something else. Relief? Contentment? Calmer, I whispered, “You’re not a stranger. You’re—” I stopped myself from saying her real name. Real names were off-limits.

Angel nodded. “And you’re…” She trailed off, probably realizing the same thing I did: she couldn’t say my name. “What are the odds? It’s like—”

“Like fate threw us back together,” I finished her sentence, taking a tiny step closer to her. Less than eight inches between us now; we really were so close. The paint on her face was dry, which meant it wouldn’t smudge if I…

No, I shouldn’t. We shouldn’t. That would be crossing a line, and once it was crossed, there was no going back. Her lips did look awfully tempting, though.

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