manicpixiedreamgirl by Tom Leveen Page B

Pete hauled me to Mrs. Goldie’s office, where I discovered my hair was sticking out about an inch farther from my skull than usual. I crashed on the couch in the office. Ten or fifteen minutes later, I decided all my muscles were responding appropriately to my commands. I went back to work and got a round of applause from the tech crew and calls of “Hey, Sparky!”
    I waved back at them, embarrassed, and checked to see if Becky was paying attention. She was. Grinning, she wriggled her fingers at me from across the stage, and I saw her mouth make the sound
“Bzzzt!”
    That kind of made it worthwhile.
    Then opening night arrived. The cast ran around all crazy and nervous. I had butterflies myself, worried I’d somehow manage to screw up pushing the big
go
button on the light board at the correct time, or that the whole damn system would crash right as we started and leave us all in the dark and it would be my fault. The guy in the booth running sound, Ross, promised it wouldn’t happen.
    Even Becky showed signs of stage fright. She was freaking adorable dressed as Scout Finch in overalls and a brown newsboy cap.
    “Good luck,” I said to her as we passed each other in the hallway behind the backstage area.
    A dozen people froze and glared at me. Becky took my hand—oh dear god, thank you—and pulled me close.
    “
Bad
luck,” she said in a low voice. “Always say ‘Break a leg’ or something. Never say ‘Good luck.’ Okay?”
    “Oh,” I said. “Sorry, I didn’t know.” I could barely get the words out; every nerve ending in my body had migrated to my palm.
    “Now you do, Sparky,” she said. I still thought my new nickname was dumb, a constant reminder of my ineptitude.
    But coming from her, it was great.
    And then, as if her holding my hand wasn’t enough, Becky stood on her tiptoes and kissed my forehead. “
That’s
for luck,” she whispered. “Break a leg.”
    “Likewise,” I managed to spit out.
    I didn’t have to try very hard to invest her gesture with more than she probably meant. I mean, it was a
kiss
. Nomatter how you looked at it, Becky Webb had kissed me. Right?
    This new wrinkle in our relationship—our friendship, to be more precise—panicked me as I made my way to the booth before the play began. I could barely see the light board in front of me through my delirium.
    Happily, the show went off without a hitch, unless you counted Boo Radley missing his first entrance by about ten seconds because he’d fallen asleep in the dressing room. Other than that, it was great. And when Becky came out for the curtain call with the tall kid playing Atticus, the entire house—that is, all the people in the auditorium, which was full to capacity because we only had three performances total—stood and applauded. A standing ovation.
    I sat in the dimly lit booth with Ross, beneath a red glare cast by the colored film we’d put over the lights, leaning back in my chair, grinning. I was so proud of her. And a small spot on my forehead still tingled from her lips.
    After the curtain closed, I waited anxiously for all the audience members to file out of the auditorium. But I had to wait until they were gone before Ross and I could shut everything down and lock up the booth.
    I rushed through the house and made my way backstage, which emptied into the drama department hallway. People were all over the place; the cast included more than twenty students, and everyone’s family and friends were crammed into the hallway, holding flowers, talking,hugging, congratulating. I didn’t see Mom, Dad, or Gabby anywhere yet, but I knew they’d make their way back.
    Eagerly, I scanned the hallway for Becky, and spotted her newsboy hat a few yards away. I figured this was a great time to scam a hug from her. I mean,
everyone
was hugging everyone back there, so why not?
    I almost called her name, but then figured she wouldn’t be able to hear me over all the noise. I started shoving past people to get to