Page 77 of Everything's Coming Up Rosie

He seems to be trying not to look smug, but he’s failing. “Oh, you have?”

“Yeah, a little. I just...” I open the door to my heart a crack. “I have a hard time talking to people in my real life, so I thought this might be different.”

He frowns. “Isn’t this your real life?”

I half laugh. “No.”

The frown deepens, and I worry that I’ve offended him. This ishisreal life—not just some pit stop on the road to hopefully bigger and better things.

“Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean—” No, I meant it exactly the way it came out. I make a mental note to stop being a big, fat jerk. “I think you made a good point when you said you were safe because after this summer we won’t ever see each other again.”

At that, his face falters. He quickly recovers. “That’s not exactly what I said.”

“Well, that’s what I heard,” I quip. “Don’t let your facts get in the way of my argument.”

He chuckles.

“Maybe I just—” I look away. “I’m used to, you know. Acting.”

He smirks.

“Real-life stuff, emotions, they’re... messy.”

“And that’s bad?” he asks.

“Not... bad. Just. I don’t like to dwell.”

“You don’t like to feel.”

I go still. “I’m an actor. All I do is feel.”

And right now, I’m feeling safe and vulnerable at the same time.

Chapter 20

Later that day, after recovering from the Invasion of the Chipmunk, grabbing a shower, and discovering that I do, in fact, have a gash on my shin in the distinct shape of an end-table leg, I find myself itching to get into the theatre.

There’s something about just being there. By myself. Getting used to the space.

It’s more so I can prepare and not mentally break down.

Instead of off-roading in my cart, I decide to walk. It’s early afternoon, and it’s so green here. This place exists on the opposite end of the spectrum in so many ways from New York, including the color wheel.

Not long after I start out, I see Booker standing by his cart up ahead, and I take note of the way my mood changes at the sight of him. He’s talking to a few old guys, pointing and laughing. It looks genuine, and I wonder how I can become as well adjusted as he seems to be.

It makes me wonder if we’re the same in a way, not exactly being ourselves and holding people at arm’s length.

Is he safe? Probably.

Will I be gone at the end of the summer? Yes.

Is there a good chance that if I start discussingthoughtsandfeelingsthat I’ll start to fall for him?

I don’t answer that.

He sees me from a ways off and gives a single overhead wave. I wave back and watch as he pats one of the guys on the back, hops in his cart, and starts to drive over to me.

I slow my pace as heat rushes to my cheeks.Be cool, Rosie, I tell myself.

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