Page 46 of Don't Love the Boy Next Door
“No, it does,” I assure him. “I never thought of that. Of course you don’t know what it’s like not having a twin.”
“Right.” He leans forward to grab a few chips. “Did you wish for siblings?”
“Of course. Sometimes I was so mad at my parents for not having more kids. I used to be very jealous of Phoenix when I was younger, but her family is kind of my family, too. Her mom feels like a second mom to me.”
“That’s great.”
I take some pretzels. The only sounds in the room are our chewing.
“So I brought the script just in case,” he says. “I think I know all my lines.”
“Okay, good. What scene do you want to start with?”
He chooses the scene where Belle explores the West Wing, Beast’s private area that is off-limits to her. We climb upstairs and pretend one of the upper rooms is the West Wing. I run my hand over an imaginary red rose floating in a glass case.
And then Eric pounces into the room, and I nearly shoot to the ceiling.
“Sorry,” he says as I clutch my speeding heart. “That was a bit too much, wasn’t it?”
“Maybe a bit. Try toning it down a little.”
“I knew I’d struggle with the scene. I don’t know how to play an angry scene. Either I’m too angry or not angry enough. I can never find a balance.” He laughs sheepishly. “I guess that’s because I try not to get angry in real life.”
There’s something in his eyes, a kind of story. Like he’s spent his whole life not getting upset with someone for disappointing him or something.
“Did you try practicing in front of the mirror?” I ask.
“Miss Diaz suggested I do that, but I found the whole thing a little weird, to be honest. One time Ethan even walked in and asked who I was talking to.” He laughs awkwardly.
I laugh, too. “I know what you mean. But it helps a lot.”
He nods. “Okay.”
“Let’s take it from the top.”
He’s definitely toned it down, but a bit too much. I can see the frustration in his eyes, but he seems disappointed with himself. Like he desperately wants to get this right because he doesn’t want to mess up. Or maybe…it seems like something more. Like he wants to impress me or something. But I doubt that’s true. Why would he want to impress me?
“You’re too much in your head,” I say as I walk over and take his fisted hand, trying to flatten it out. “And tense. You have to take a deep breath and just let go.”
His gaze dips to our hands.
I drop it and step away. “Want to try again?”
It takes a few more tries until we’re both satisfied with the scene. Eric’s really grown into the character. I used to sense a lot of anxiety and fear when we first started, but he’s gotten so much better. The fear and nerves are still there, but he’s more confident than he was a few weeks ago.
We take a break and settle down on the sofa.
“I think I’ll miss the musical when it’s over,” he admits as he takes a swig of his Coke.
“You can always try out for the next one.”
“No way. As much fun as I’m having, it’s way too stressful. I’d really like to focus on the band and see where I can take it.”
“You don’t have to worry. I know you’ll be a famous musician one day.”
“Thanks,” he says. “And you’ll be a famous Broadway star.”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” I say with a laugh. “But I definitely want a career in musical theater.”
