Open When I'm Gone

32. Red Rover.

"Alright students!" Lana exclaims, clapping her hands expectantly, "We open in forty five minutes, for the love of everything good and holy in the world, get your costumes on, now please."

I can't help but laugh, running my fingers through my hair. The way that everyone laughs and talks and pushes through each other just to get to where they want– not need– to be, feels like a dream playing on repeat.

"Come on," Jolie tugs on my fingers gently, pulling the two of us past the rows and rows of chairs.

Everything still feels the slightest bit strained between the two of us, the way that her hand doesn't grip mine as tight, her eyes don't hold my gaze for as long.

But it doesn't matter. I'm going to fix it.

I will fix it.

But right now I take in the way her fingers are intertwined with mine, holding me as we walk to the backstage dressing rooms.

"Are you nervous?" She murmurs when she finally stops walking.

Her sunburn from the previous week and a half has turned to a dark tan that makes her freckles bright. The stage lights that bounce from the auditorium make her hazel eyes look like the perfect shade of gold.

I kiss her quickly, barely even brushing her lips before answering even quicker, "I'm so excited I don't think there's even room for nerves."

She grins at me, kissing me on the cheek so lightly, a brush of butterfly wings against my skin.

"Good luck Prince Charming," She grins at me.

"Break a leg, Jolie."

I watch her as she pushes through the crowd, her dark vest and pants contrasting with the pastel ball gowns twirling around the auditorium.

***

"Guys!" Andrew rushes in, a smile stretching his usual placid face. "They just opened the doors! We open in thirty minutes!"

The handful of us in the mens dressing room all clap, the excitement of the cast filling the backstage like a fog.

The rest of the boys hum through our vocal warm ups, all crowded around the mirrors to fix their hair and makeup. My stage makeup is thick and sticky on my face as I reapply my mascara, making sure that everything is perfect.

It's honestly one of my biggest fears, to go somewhere or do something completely unprepared. It's why I rarely leave my house, where my anxiety comes from.

"So you've just decided executively that you're too good for us, is that it?"

I turn around in my chair, knowing who I'm facing long before I see the bitter smirk he's throwing me.

Sterling almost blends in, with his high collared shirt and dark trousers, his hair slicked back with most likely an ungodly amount of gel. But, even through his thick makeup, I can see the sarcasm, feel it coming off him in blasts.

"Leave him alone, Sterling." Blake interjects, but of course he doesn't listen.

"Just because you're dating a drug addict doesn't make you better than us." he spits out, a smirk curling up his lips. "In fact, all that it makes you is a charity worker."

"She's not a drug addict." I mumble weakly as I cross my arms over my chest in a feeble attempt to protect myself from his harsh words.

"She told us she overdosed." He snaps back smugly, "And I'm no WebMD, but I'm pretty positive cough medicine and vitamin D overdoses don't end you up in the ICU.