There is literally no time to waste, since Patti informs me they are performing the one act for the school and Grant O'Reilly this Friday during second period, when I now have sewing. Good thing, too, because I don't want to be there anywhere. I'll figure out how to cut it later. For now, I need to figure out my lines and the blocking I've missed, and Patti isn't going to let another second go by. She takes my hand and drags me to the bathroom.

"Do we have to do this in the bathroom?" I ask.

"The acoustics are great," she says without looking up from her backpack, where she's taking out the scripts I put together. "Plus, people don't hang out in bathrooms."

"Except for us," I say with a snicker.

"Right, except for us," she says. Then pulling a script out of her bag, she continues, "Okay, so here is the script, but we had to make some changes since it was only the three of us. Now I have an idea, let me know what you think, okay?"

"Okay?"

"What if I keep all of my side characters, and you play Juliet?"

Her eyes are wide like always, but they aren't wide in confusion. She looks like she is honestly waiting for me to reply.

"Are you serious?" I ask.

"Of course. We have to get down to business, there are only four more days until we perform for Grant O'Reilly. I wouldn't joke."

I don't know what to say, and I stumble for any words at all. "But... you wanted to play Juliet the whole time. I can't take that away from you."

Her eyes somehow widen when she asks, "You mean like how I took Thatcher away from you for Snowball? Grant O'Reilly will see me acting as Mercutio, and that will be enough for me. Besides, Juliet's lines are the most famous, so they'll be the easiest to memorize this week. Do you think you could handle it?"

I never imagined myself playing Juliet, but just thinking about being on stage with Thatcher, seeing him stand before me as Romeo, kissing him in front of everyone... it's exciting and horrifying and perfect all at once.

"Yes," I say. "Are you sure?"

"Positive. Okay, what size dress are you?"

"Why?"

"I was going to wear my Snowball dress for Juliet. We are doing a whole blue costumes mean you're a Montague and red costumes mean you're a Capulet, so my dress is perfect. Plus, we aren't going to introduce Juliet until the party scene anymore."

"I'm a size 6," I say. Gosh, I hope her dress fits me. That alone would make me want to play Juliet.

She beams. "Great, me too. The dress is actually a size 8, but dresses run small. It should fit you all right, although your boobs are a little bigger than mine."

"Okay, so, anyway," I say, smiling from discomfort. No need to talk about my boobs. "Can you bring it in for me to try on?"

"Yes, of course, tomorrow I will bring it. We will try it on and practice at lunch. I'll talk to Mrs. Permala about using the stage. I don't think she has a 6th period class, so that should be fine." She speaks quickly, like she's reading through a list she's already written in her head. "I have study hall 8th period, so I will ask the teacher if I can leave for the theater then. I'll talk to Mrs. Permala about it then and then... Oh! I know! I can record the lines for you, so you can listen to them and memorize. Right? That works for you?"

"Yeah. Wait, what do you mean? Like, will that help me or is that okay?"

Now I see her usual deer in the headlights wide eye look. "Both, I guess. You are dyslexic, right?"

I nod. It's just us in here, but it still sounds too rash, too sudden, too ill-advised, as Juliet would say, to admit it out loud. Especially with the "great acoustics" in here.

"Audio recordings are a pretty standard tool other dyslexic actors use."

I decide to ask Patti something, since I'm pretty sure she would know. "So, Mrs. Thomas told me that a lot of actors are dyslexic. Is that really true?"

"I did a lot of research about it once I realized that was what you struggled with--"

"--How did you--"

"--Timothy told me. And what I found out through my research was that drama schools report that about 30% of their students have dyslexia, which is much larger than general populations. A lot of actors have to listen to their lines on a loop before they have them memorized. So I can make you that loop if you want."

"That would be awesome, thanks Patti."

She nods and makes a note for herself in her agenda, which she has also pulled out of her backpack. I decide to ask her opinion on something else, since, again, I feel like she would have an answer to this.

"Why do you think so many people with dyslexia turn to acting?"

She shrugs, but then I can almost literally see the light go on in her brain. "Maybe it's because when you have trouble in one area, you compensate. Can't read well? What do you do? You watch the readers who can. You pay attention to the little details everyone else is too busy to notice. I don't know, though. So anyway, meet me at the front entrance after school, and I will give you my phone to listen to the recording on."

My jaw drops. "You'll give me your phone?"

She waves it away. "I have another one at home that my parents never traded in after they got me this one for my birthday. Just don't let your mom catch you with it tonight, and tomorrow I'll give you my old one for the rest of the week."

"Sounds like a plan. Thank you. I really, really appreciate all you're doing for me."

She smiles. "I'm just happy you can perform with us. Class isn't the same without you, which I know must sound silly, since we did it without you for a year and a half; but it feels like you've been with us all along." She shakes the smile from her face. "Back to business. Let's start from your entrance in scene 5."

Some things never change, I think, and for the rest of the week, Patti and I meet over lunch to practice more. The next day, Tuesday, Patti brought in her Snowball dress for me to try on in the bathroom, and oh my gosh, she was so embarrassing. She had her big, poofy dress in it's zip up bag over her shoulder, and as she dragged me through the congested hall toward the bathroom, she called out, "Make way, theater nerds with costumes coming through." I'm used to being inconspicuous in the halls, not being announced, but I guess I'll have to get used to that for Friday's performance.

When I tried on the dress, though, all of my embarrassment melted away. I've always thought blues and purples looked best on me with my olive complexion and my dark hair, but I was wrong: Red is my color. And while the top of the dress was a little snug, causing my cleavage to seem way more pronounced than it normally is, I felt oddly comfortable in it. Not physically comfortable--the top is a corset and is super stiff--but emotionally comfortable. I looked beautiful in the dress, and a thought I'd never really considered until that moment popped into my head: I'm sexy, too.

When Patti stopped adjusting the skirt of the dress and looked at me in the full length mirror, she said, "You look amazing. I swear, this is a magical dress."

On Wednesday, we met in the theater instead of in the bathroom, though Patti didn't ask Mrs. Permala to give up her lunch to supervise so she wouldn't realize our plan and turn us in. By then, I've spent every night listening to Patti's recordings of Juliet's lines on a loop. Not just at night, either, I listen to the recordings while walking home, eating dinner, getting ready in the morning, and working in sewing class. By Wednesday, Patti and I are running lines and blocking with barely any hiccups.

Thatcher and Moth supposedly know that I'll be joining them, but I haven't seen either of them all week to confirm. They've been going to Patti's house right after school, and Thatcher's supposedly really stressed. I hate that I'm so disconnected from them, but especially from Thatcher. I'd text him from Patti's old phone, but the SIM card is out. All I can do is listen to the recordings. I can't even connect to the internet at my house, because then my mom would see that another device was on. So all I can do is pass notes through Patti.

"I miss you," my first note read.

The note I received in response read, "Meet me in my shed Wednesday night. Dad works late on Wednesdays, comes home, gets drunk, and passes out. 8pm?"

I tell Patti to let him know I'll be there. Who cares if Mom catches me? What else can she take away from me? But I will need help.

That's why, on Wednesday night, at 7:50pm exactly, a knock sounds on the door. My mom gets up from where she's reading a book, post-dinner, on the couch. I'm "studying for science," though I'm really just looking over the review packet with the lines playing in my ears. She shoots me a confused look, so I take out my ear buds.

"Are you expecting anyone?"

"No," I lie.

She stands up and moves to answer the door as another knock sounds. I hear the door creak open, and then I hear the sniffles.

"Oh, hi Gina," Mom says.

"Hi Ms. Collins. Is Janie home?"

"She is, but she's still grounded. What do you need Gina?"

I hear her crying intensify before she responds. "I just got dumped, and I really need someone. Janie is the only person I can turn to. Please, can I please just see her? I just really need my break-up ritual."

My mom groans. She knows exactly what Gina means by her break-up ritual, since I've had to console her through so many break-ups by now. It starts at an ice cream place, usually Dairy Queen or Baskin Robbins, but in the summer sometimes we'd go "healthy" with Rita's. From there, we spend at least an hour going through all of Gina's pictures on her phone and delete them. It takes a while, and it is dramatic. We tried to do it at my house once, but my mom found Gina to be way too dramatic and insufferable to allow the ritual to happen there ever again. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

"Janie," Mom calls. "It's for you." I start off the couch as she reminds Gina, "You two aren't really in a good place right now, though, Gina. She might not want to help you, and I wouldn't blame her."

Once I'm in the foyer, I see Gina nod in acceptance, and then she acknowledges my presence by extending her arms out for a hug. "Janie, Greg dumped me."

I want to laugh, picturing Layla Monroe's lap dog Greg ever dating Gina, but I have to stay in character if this will work. I step into her arms and hug her. She wails in my ear. "Please, I need you," she cries.

She doesn't let go of me, but I manage to turn my head back to ask Mom, "Can I?"

She frowns, but agrees. "Go. Be home by 10, it's a school night."

"Thanks, Mom," I say, stepping away from Gina and grabbing my coat before following her outside.

Gina continues to fake cry until we get into her car and pull away, when her tears turn into laughter. "I knew I could act," she says.

I laugh. "You could, my goodness. That was one of your most convincing performances yet." She gets to the end of my street. "Turn right," I instruct her. "Hey, listen, thank you so much for doing that for me. You'll turn right again onto Chestnut."

"Sure, no problem. It's the least I could do after all the real break-up rituals. I'm glad you asked for my help, too. It makes me feel better about us."

I had found her in the hall earlier in the day and pitched the idea to her, and being dramatic Gina, she loved it.

"I'm still not ready to be as close with you as we used to be--his house is the next one down--but I think we could maybe go back to being friendly at least."

She puts the car in park in front of Thatcher's house, and smiles at me. "Agreed. Just let me know when you're ready to be close again." She tucks her hair behind her ear, before continuing, "So, I'll pick you back up at, like, 9:45?"

"Yeah, that would be perfect. Right here is fine. I'll just wait at the stop sign down there."

"Got it. Okay, now get out and go see your boy."

Smiling, I say, "Thanks Gina. See you then."

I close the car door behind me and hurry into the backyard toward the shed. I know that Mr. Gorsky isn't going to home, but Thatcher's brothers are and I don't want them blowing my cover. At least most of the snow has melted by now so that my footprints won't give me away.

When I reach the shed, I pull the handle, but before I can open the door, Thatcher does it for me. He grabs my arm and yanks me inside, pulling me into an embrace. I don't know how, but he closes the door behind us, and the world is at peace again.

"I miss you so much," he whispers, but with my ear pressed to his chest, his words consume all other sounds.

"I miss you too."

He pulls us to sit down in the shed, wraps the blanket over me, and kisses my forehead. "I don't have any idea what we should do."

"That's okay," I say. I'm so happy to see him, I feel tears start to come up at the thought of having any time at all with him.

"We could practice our lines now that you're my Juliet."

"I've always been your Juliet."

He kisses my forehead again, which is all he can reach now that I've snuggled into the space between his chest and his arm. "We could watch a movie."

"Ugh, bad memories."

"Or we could just sit here together and never let go until you have to go."

"I like that plan," I say.

And for the next hour and forty-five minutes, that's exactly what we do, and it's worth every second spent lying to Mom.