Page 3 of Yes No Maybe

“Not showy. Extroverted, as any good theater teacher and actor should be. After the play, I’ll take you backstage to his office so you can see his Wall of Fame,” I suggest, thinking of the first time I saw the humble display. Dean had explained,“When I’m not teaching, I work in community theater or as an extra in TV shows and movies. I post my credits here, so kids can see that even average guys like me can follow their dreams.”

Dean’s acting dreams have not amounted to much by typical standards. Not yet, anyway. But that makes the photos more endearing. He’s played a dead body in a failed Hulu production. In DC’sSwamp Thing, he played a rowdy bar patron, later edited out, but he met Ian Ziering.“A super nice guy,”he said. Dean’s played a bum, a sheriff’s deputy, a drag queen, a redneck, and a white rabbit sex plushie with devious eyes, all featured on his office wall. When I asked if his students made fun of him—what teenager could resist teasing a teacher in a sex plushie outfit?—he admitted,“Sometimes. But that’s when I teach them a great lesson. There are no small parts, only small people.”

My favorite highlight on his Wall of Fame is a photo from his sophomore year in high school. He’d been a miserable teenager so uncomfortable with his weight that he didn’t want to be seen, evidenced by his raised hand blocking the camera—a familiar move that makes me rub my scarred hand.

“That wasn’t who I was meant to be,”Dean explained once,“so I fought like hell to change. By senior year, I was a hundred pounds lighter and a million times happier.”

This is why I love Dean.He’s beautifully honest about his weight loss with his students—and that he’s been through something difficult warms me to him more than anything could. He understands struggle; he understandsmystruggle or will someday.

“You’ll be impressed,” I promise, despite Mira’s skepticism. “And after, I’ll tell him about the little house. Thanks for letting me borrow the keys, Jane, so I can show it to him after the play. He’ll be so surprised. With the deal all but done, he won’t feel like this is a trap.”

“He should be so lucky.” Mira has universal disapproval for the men I date, a strong sisterly vibe often softened by Jane, who tends to be more gracious. Sure, there’s a short list of things I don’t love about Dean. He doesn’t read much. He’s allergic to my cat, Edgar Allan Poe. And he treats my scars like a nuclear test site—best to avoid. Still, Dean’s a prince compared to others I’ve dated, and the closest I’ve come to believing in a Mira-and-Jane happily-ever-after for myself.

Besides, there’s so much to love about Dean. He’s magnanimous, a bundle of handsome positivity—Rob Lowe meetsTed Lassoand Lin-Manuel Miranda (also one of Dean’s role models). Dean wants me at his side, regardless of my obvious imperfections. Some people wince at the sight of me, so finding an attractive, decent man who wants me on his arm feels miraculous.

“I’m surprised Dean didn’t rope you into being assistant director, Rowan,” Jane says.

“Oh, no.He’sthe drama department. He understands that I prefer being behind the scenes.”

“Or in a corner.” Mira pats the armrests.

“I like the corner.” I point to the side door where Julio retrieved me earlier. “There’s an easy escape if anyone needs it.”

“The play isn’t that bad, is it?” Mira chuckles.

The lights blink twice and then dim, quieting us.

The show goes on without a hitch. Not one flubbed line or misstep. Eddie’s massive, deflated zit is invisible from the seats, even under the bright lights. Perhaps we should’ve doneAll’s Well That Ends Well, I think, with amusement as the play draws to its lovely conclusion and the audience jumps into a standing ovation.

Jane dabs her tears while Mira squeezes my hand. “Wow, Rowan. Just… wow.”

Dean emerges from backstage, his crisp black suit making him look handsome and important. Between charming jokes about wrangling teenagers and trying to keep up with them, he highlights each subset of the production. He mentions our partnership but doesn’t make a big deal, as we agreed. Finally, it’s the actors. Ashley Morrow and Eddie Speck’s double bow receives another standing ovation before they join hands with the remaining cast across the stage.

A deep breath releases my trapped nerves. Soon, we’ll enjoy the cafeteria cast party before I show Dean the house I’m buying. My fingers wrap around the beach bum keychain in my dress pocket, imagining how loving and supportive he’ll be about me, making my dream of home ownership a reality.

But Dean doesn’t end the show as usual.

He frees the microphone and steps around the podium. Behind him, Julio appears, looking worried while holding a gigantic spray of red roses. Ashley and Eddie don devious, giddy grins as they descend stage right.

“What’s going on?” Mira’s voice cuts through Dean’s as he spouts words I can’t string together.Serendipity… companionship… love.

“I don’t know.” Panic rises through my disbelief.Is he…? He can’t be.

“Soon, the play was no longer the thing. She was.”

Ah’swave across the audience, bringing hundreds of eyes to me.

“Shit.” I sink into my chair, wishing for a black hole, a rabbit hole, or a sinkhole—anythingso I can disappear. Heat surges through me volcano-like, surely turning my face more hot-pink than usual, especially when he says…

“Rowan Mackey, will you join me up here?”

“You don’t have to go.” Mira leans in, blocking the crowd. She glances toward the side exit. “Escape door?”

“It’s a gorgeous proposal,” Jane says.

“It’s social blackmail,” Mira corrects dryly.

“It’s stage fright,” Dean laughs it off with the audience. “Rowan, please.”

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