romeo remeemed

chapter 15

ariel

His voice is still beautiful—even more beautiful, though I wouldn’t have thought that possible a few days ago—but it isn’t Dylan’s. It’s higher, sweeter, and so pure it makes my bones tingle and the hairs on my arms stand on end. Listening to Romeo sing is a full body experience. It would be even if I hadn’t spent the day dreaming about how I want to spend what I pray isn’t our last full night together. My toes curl in my shoes, and my hands shake as I load my paint supplies into the cart I’ll wheel back to the art room tomorrow morning. I can hardly wait for him to come down off the stage, take my hand, and run with me until we find someplace where we can be alone. Together. Together together. Me and Romeo. Tonight. Just thinking about it is enough to make me want to spin in giddy circles. I can’t decide if I’m more terrified or excited, but everything I know about fairy-tale curses points to this as a potential solution. In the stories, love is always the answer. Love breaks the spell and turns the frog into a prince, the beast into a man, and would have kept the Little Mermaid on land with legs and the man of her dreams if the stupid prince hadn’t fallen in love with someone else. Romeo and I have certainly shared true love’s kiss—shared it well into first period, in fact, and got yelled at by Mr. Stark for coming in late to English—but I still haven’t said the words. I can’t. Not yet. There’s a part of me that refuses to believe this is real, a snarky voice inside that insists I’ve finally gone off the deep end. But I know how to silence that voice. Tonight, when Romeo is as close to me as another person can get, when I look up into his eyes and see straight into his soul, I’ll know there’s no reason to hold back. I’ll tell him then. That I … love him. Because I do, I really think I do. Being with Romeo makes me feel more alive than I’ve felt in my entire life. Before I met him, it was like my skin was completely made up of scars, a numb shell too afraid to give pleasure a chance. But now my skin is awake and wild and as determined as the rest of me. I lift my eyes, find him standing center stage, commanding the attention of the room. His last note hangs in the air, filling the cafeteria, catching and holding every listener captive. The rest of the choir stands motionless at the base of the stage, the cafeteria ladies have stopped their after-school cleanup in the back rooms, and the teachers and students working the decorations committee for the dance are frozen—tissue flowers and gossip forgotten. In the silence after the music fades, we’re as quiet as residents of a graveyard for one breathless moment before first one and then another person sighs in relief. It’s awful that it’s over, but in a way we’re glad. It can be painful to listen to something so perfect for too long. The silence gives way to enthusiastic applause and a “whoot, whoot” from someone in the choir, but Romeo either doesn’t realize the effect he’s had or doesn’t care. He just slips the microphone back into its stand, glances at Mrs. Mullens —who gives him a shaky thumbs-up—and grabs his jacket from the floor of the stage. He hurries down the steps as I tuck the last clean brush into the cart. “Hey.” His voice is full of the same wonder that has made me feel like I’m floating a few feet off the ground all day. “Hey.” I smile. “You ready?” He holds out his hand. “Completely.” I twine my fingers through his and let him lead the way out of the cafeteria, feeling more sure of my decision with every step. His hand feels so right in mine. I know everything else will feel just as right. Perfect. As magical as Romeo himself.