Page 34 of Forbidden Romeo

“To be honest, this whole time, the director has been a bit of an asshole. So, we all decided to strike,” Roisin finally concludes.

“You’re striking a musical? I thought you weren’t getting paid anyway?”

“This is about working conditions, Aimee,” Roisin replies. “Also, there’s a party at Coney Island tonight, and we all really wanted to go.”

I hold my head in my hands. “I can’t believe you.”

“You should come!”

“I have work,” I point out. The “some of us have to” is implied by my tone.

Ever oblivious, Roisin counters, “You don’t; Dr. Lous called and said your lanyard has been delayed again.”

“Again? Those sloths in admin, I swear to God.” I’ve already been off work for two days. What am I supposed to do with myself now?

Roisin leans back on the couch and closes her eyes. “I don’t see why you’re so adamant about changing your name anyway.”

“It’s just a precaution, Roshe. You know me.”

“I do; that’s why I just want to make sure you’re being rational.”

“I’m fine.” I look down at my hands. “I was thinking, though, maybe you should start going by a stage name?”

She cracks an eye open to look at me. “That doesn’t sound very rational.”

“I just… With Juilliard and Jack showing up… What happens when you get famous, Roshe?”

“We buy a better apartment.”

“I’m being serious.”

Roisin sits up again, anger beginning to show on her tight lips. “What’s wrong with Roisin Maguire?”

I sigh.

There’s only one way she might listen to me, and as much as I don’t want to play this card, I know it will be for the best in the long run.

“Roisin Maguire spent two and a half months in rehab.”

Roisin recoils slightly, and I instantly regret being so harsh. “I just mean, I don’t want people to find out the wrong way and then hurt you because of it.”

“Are you ashamed of me?”

“No!”

“Because I’m not!” She jumps up and starts pacing across the floor. “If people find out, they find out. I’m not hiding from my past.”

“I’m just trying to—”

“Drop it, okay? This isn’t something you need to protect me from.”

When I don’t reply, she storms away to her room—only to hesitate at the door. I watch as her shoulders rise and fall, and she takes back control of her breathing.

I take the opportunity to say quietly, “I don’t want to be in a fight.”

When she turns back to look at me, she looks completely exhausted. “Look… I’ll consider it, okay?”

“That’s all I ask.”

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