Misfit Theater Company 2

21. We'll Have Homecoming

Flat.

That's how Mrs. Permala described my performance today during our first full run through. I lie on my bed, staring at the ceiling, hearing the word play over and over again: flat.

I've been so focused on Hollywood and Paige and Thatcher that I haven't put much effort into my acting. Sure, I know my lines, but that isn't enough anymore. No wonder I am the only misfit who hasn't been contacted by an agent yet. 

The comment only made my offering to the group seem more lame than I had already worried it would be. My stomach turns even now thinking about it.

Emma and Sean stood up and thanked everyone for a great run through, despite all the critiques Mrs. Permala had. I was so taken aback by Permala calling my Puck flat that I forgot about the box of patches Mrs. Larkin created for me. Not only that, but I completely forgot that I told Emma and Sean I wanted to pass them out today.

"Please welcome our own Janie Myers up to the stage for a special treat," Emma announced.

I heard my name, but didn't really process what was happening--I was too embarrassed--so I'm not quite sure how I made it to the stage, but I did.

"Hey guys, so, um... I had this idea, but it seems really stupid now."

Permala checked her watch. "One minute, Ms. Myers."

"Ok, sorry. So everyone, Mrs. Larkin made us patches. Well, so, I asked her to make us patches. They say Ensemble Theater Company on them, because, like, last year Thatcher, Patti, Moth, and I were the Misfit Theater Company; but now, we're all together in a bigger group. I don't know, it seems so dumb now, but I thought it could be something we could do to be united. Especially with people leaving for however long."

Emma grabbed a patch from the box and examined it before passing it to Sean. I had no idea what they were going to say. If they didn't like these, I was going to just be too embarrassed to exist anymore.

Sean peered up at me from beyond the patch in his hand and smiled. "These are great."

The bell rang.

"Everyone take one before you go! We're wearing them with our corsages and boutonniere tomorrow for Homecoming!" Emma shouted.

That was my second shock: Everyone took a patch and planned to wear them for our group pictures tomorrow before Homecoming. They all actually liked them. I couldn't believe it. I smile for a second just thinking about it.
But my short-lived smile falls remembering what happened next.

Thatcher was the last to get a patch, even after Emma and Sean left the stage. He held the last patch in his palm and sort of tossed it, as though he were testing its weight.

"Do I need this?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"For Homecoming? Are we going still?"

My third shock. I knew that I felt angry and I knew that I needed time to think about everything. I didn't know he was thinking about everything too. I had no idea how to answer, so all I said was a stupid, "Take it. It's your patch."

As I think about it now, my chest begins to feel like it's swelling, and not in a good way. I oscillate between feeling sad that Thatcher is questioning whether or not we are going to Homecoming and feeling angry that Thatcher is leaving me to go to Hollywood and trying to leave me alone for Homecoming too. If I call right now, I think I'll end up yelling, and that's not what anyone wants. So I text him instead.

Janie Myers (4:17pm): Hey

Now I wait, and my emotions swing back to anger. If Thatcher says we won't go to Homecoming together anymore, I will truly be angry, especially since Moth offered to stay home from his auditions in Hollywood this weekend to be my "date" in case Thatcher wasn't up for it. I shouldn't have a guy friend willing to do more for me than my boyfriend. That isn't right.

Thatcher Gorsky (4:19pm): Hey, what's up?

Janie Myers (4:19pm): I need to get something off my chest.

Thatcher Gorsky (4:20pm): Ok

Ugh, that response is obnoxious. Still, I type away.

Janie Myers (4:21pm): I feel upset that you questioned if we would go together to Homecoming and that you talked to Paige about us before you talked to me and that you won't be with me the whole year. I miss you and I love you but I'm mad at you too. I don't know how to feel right now.

The three dots appear and linger there for a while, until I receive his reply:

Thatcher Gorsky (4:22pm): I'm sorry.

He's sorry? That's it? That's all he had to say? After those dots were there for so long? I don't know how to reply via text, but I can't help but start crying in real life. What is that answer all about?

Janie Myers (4:24pm): It's fine.

I don't know what else to say. It isn't fine. I'm hurt, I'm sad, I'm lost. I toss my phone across the bed and bury my head in my pillow to really let the tears flow. Mom can't know how hurt I am. I doubt she'd forgive Thatcher. She is way too protective of me to forgive anyone who even remotely hurts me.

What will I do tomorrow if Thatcher doesn't want to go with me anymore? I can't ask Moth to stay back just to stand next to me, and what would all our friends say if I went alone? How awkward would that be? I just won't go. I'll make up some sudden illness.

My text notification goes off, so I wipe my eyes and reach for my phone.

Thatcher Gorsky (4:30pm): I'm outside your window. Sorry, there was no way to write that without sounding like a total stalker creep. But I am.

My heart skips a beat. I still love Thatcher so much. I'm angry, but I love him. I clear my face of tears and wipe away any mascara smears so he doesn't realize I've been crying before I step toward the window.

It isn't the sort of window you can open. This is an old house, and a long time ago someone painted it shut. So I stand there and look down into the street where Thatcher stands in the middle of the sidewalk. He looks up at me with glassy eyes. I think he's been crying too. He waves with just one quick flick of the wrist. I do the same back to him.

Neither of us take out our phones.

Neither of us gesture for the other person to come to them.

We just look at each other in the golden light of sunset. He smiles weakly, and I do the same.
Finally he takes a step forward toward my front door, keeping his eyes on me. He takes another step and smiles.

I'm not sure what comes over me, but suddenly I'm running--not walking--downstairs to my front door. I jump the last few steps and stumble my way to the front door before throwing it open. My body doesn't stop until I'm buried in Thatcher's arms, that is, after practically tackling him to the ground. But he steadies himself and holds me close.

"I meant what I said when I gave you that ring," he whispers. "Whatever happens, whatever you want to do, we will always be connected. You make the decision. I'm the one who has messed everything up. Do you still want to go to Homecoming with me?"

I nod without looking at him, really just nuzzling my head deep into his chest.

"I love you," I say. "Let's at least have Homecoming before Hollywood."

He steps back and cups my head in his hands to kiss me. Better and more passionately than he's ever kissed Paige during rehearsals. I'm still his.

When our lips part, I smile. "Don't forget to bring your patch."

He kisses my forehead. "I won't." Then he backs up and heads home, keeping his eyes on me until I have to close the door to stop the cool air from coming in.

At least we will have Homecoming.