Eli spends five minutes of the break wanting to talk to Zara Evans and the other five trying not to talk to her.
The girl she thought would climb the curtains is right here, slipping out of the studio, disappearing into the bathroom. She comes back with paper-towel scratches like claw marks on her cheek.
Zara Evans has been crying.
It punches Eli in the gut: she hasn’t cried yet. She’s been too busy. Her entire family has been on the phone, talking to her, leaving messages. Her mom: We’ll send flowers to the church. Her dad: Is that theater safe? ¿Estás segura? Both of her brothers called, although they clearly had no idea what to say.
The visit from the police this morning didn’t help. They had a list of questions for Eli that seemed to go on for hours. They were mostly interested in whether Roscoe and Eli had been sleeping together.
“He was my boss,” she told them as they did an inspection of the lighting booth, grabbing random pieces of equipment and calling them evidence. “Also, he was thirty-four years older than me.”
They looked at her like those statements made it more likely, not less. So she added, “I’m a lesbian, officers. Actually, a lesbian and a half.” The policemen scowled at her. Eli enjoys outing herself sometimes. This was not one of those times. “Do you have any idea what actually happened? Because I know he didn’t fall.”
“You don’t believe what happened to Roscoe was an accident?” one of them asked.
“No,” Eli stated.
The policemen exchanged tight-assed looks. They didn’t want to figure out what happened to Roscoe. They wanted to give her a hard time, fill out their paperwork, call it an accident, and go home.
The stage manager claps her hands, bringing Eli back to the studio.
Read-through time.
Eli does everything she can to focus on Echo and Ariston instead of Roscoe and more Roscoe. She follows along with every word in the script. When they hit Echo’s first scene, Eli thinks about Zara and her paper-towel-scratched cheeks, and Eli can’t stop herself from sending a spark of encouragement across the table.
Zara looks up at her.
Again.
Zara’s eyes are warm and brown and Eli is in trouble. She reminds herself not to do this. Things play out badly for Eli: siempre, siempre. She crushes too hard and then falls on her ass. That’s how it went with her not-quite-a-girlfriend in high school. That’s how it went with the assistant stage manager who eyed Eli all summer, took her down to the techie love nest under the stage, then stopped the makeout just long enough to let Eli know she had a girlfriend in Maine. That’s how it went with Hannah. When Eli met her, she was playing Juliet. That should have been a hint. Juliets want to run around the city acting rebellious and turning every feeling they have into poetry, but they don’t stay with a girl after the curtain goes down. Hannah liked having Eli around — blissful, stupid, in love — until she didn’t. Even then, she swore that her feelings for Eli were real, but they weren’t enough.
Zara’s voice fills the studio.
“I have done your bidding these many years,
But this I will not do.”
Eli shovels Roscoe’s old notebooks on top of her script. The police looked through them, but when they saw the thicket of math — nothing that looked like a suicide note — they gave the notebooks back to Eli. What she needs to do now is use them as a template to come up with a better lighting design. It’s like spitting on Roscoe’s grave to even think about changing his plan, but she doesn’t have a choice. Leopold hates it. He gave her a week to revise it and submit a light plot.
Which is impossible.
Eli stares at page after page. Her brain is a mess of grief and equations. When her eyes are almost dead from strain, Eli closes them and lets the rest of the play wash over her. Here comes the famous love scene, which sounds weird with the stage manager reading Ariston’s part. Like half a love scene, which is really nothing at all.
And then —
Echo, caught by the soldiers. Echo, pitching herself into the sea. Echo, wreathed in saltwater and drowning.
And then —
The read-through is over.
Eli is left sitting at the table, holding back the tears that wouldn’t come all day. Roscoe should be here next to her, muttering and making those enormous gestures, his hands flying around the room like two drunk birds.
Zara did a good job with the read-through. That’s all Eli is feeling. She’s just responding to what Zara can do with her voice, with her body. Ay, maybe don’t think about her body.
The cast and the crew break up. Zara stays at the table and lingers over her script, setting down a few notes in the margins. Eli wants to offer herself — she’d make a good margin. Zara could write on her in that careful, slanting script.
Shit.
Did she really just think that?
Eli makes for the door. She’s halfway down the hall before she realizes Zara Evans is following her. Eli’s entire body celebrates and panics at the same time.
The girl is clearly rushing to catch up. It would be rude not to slow down. So that’s what Eli does. Zara catches up and slows down and then just — stares. Warm brown eyes, all over Eli. “I wanted to say that I’m sorry.”
“For what?” Eli asks. She can’t think of any way that Zara Evans has wronged her. And she’d like to keep it that way.
Zara blinks hard, like maybe those blinks are powerful enough to keep her upright. “Roscoe.”
Eli shrugs. “Why? You didn’t know him.” Her voice is ice. She doesn’t like the sound, but it’s a necessary precaution. Otherwise she’ll warm up way too fast.
“I was there,” Zara says. “Not . . . when he fell, but . . . I found him.”
“God,” Eli says. The first thing she feels is sorry for Zara. Then another feeling hits, so strong it almost cancels out the first. She’s glad Zara was there. Glad that Roscoe wasn’t alone. “So when Leopold said that thing about your arrival . . .”
Zara nods.
Kestrel’s voice wafts out of the rehearsal studio. “Zara Evans! Paging Zara Evans! Do people even page people anymore? Oh well! Zara Evans!”
Zara shrinks toward the wall.
“What does she want?” Eli asks.
“I’m staying with her,” Zara says. It doesn’t take much digging to hear the stress in Zara’s voice. “You know how we have a week before rehearsals really start?” Eli nods. “Well, I convinced my parents that I needed to stay here. But now I have to spend the whole time in Kestrel’s apartment.”
Eli feels a path opening up in front of them. She needs to learn what happened when Roscoe died. Zara needs an escape. “We should hang out tomorrow.”
Kestrel catches sight of Zara and waves madly at her from down the hall. “I’ll grab your bag!”
Zara says quickly, “As long as it’s a real tomorrow.”
“What else could it be?” Eli asks.
“In plays, they’re always saying, ‘We’ll meet tomorrow. We’ll see each other soon. We’ll run away in the morning.’ ” Zara’s eyes widen, like that last part hit her ears sounding different than she thought it would. “They never actually do.”
Eli drags one of her curls into a long, slinky spiral, which means she’s flirting. Wait. Who authorized this flirting? She flicks the curl away. “Yeah,” she says. “Let’s make it a real tomorrow.”