Everyone in the theatre waits. We’re holding our breath. The seconds seem to stretch on forever. But he doesn’t go on to the next line. Val looks from Cole to Willa. Then to me. She doesn’t know what to do.

But I know.

I get to my feet and move to where Cole is sitting. He’s so still. But I kneel down in front of him, and I put my hands on his knees. I press my lips to the top of his head. Those beautiful dark waves.

He raises his head to look at me, and he whispers that he’s sorry. It’s so soft I can barely hear the words. They drift across my skin like fog. And I pull his face toward mine. I want to tell him without words that it’s okay. That he doesn’t have to save me. That I’m fine. That whatever is happening, I can handle it. All I want is for him to find a way to save himself. That’s the only thing I need. But I don’t know how to say all that, so I kiss him.

Cole’s lips are so soft, and the kiss is deep. It’s long and warm and lingering. And when it’s over, everyone is staring at us. Of course.

I’m not sure what to do, but Willa steps in and saves both of us. “That’s what good theatre does, my lovelies. It makes us feel,” she says. “And that is never a bad thing.”

And I love her so much in that moment.

Everyone applauds, and my face turns bright red. I find my way back to my seat, and Lex slips his arm around me. “You good?” he whispers, and I nod. But I’m not really sure that’s true. Cole gives me a little smile, and I do my best to smile back. Because we each need the other one to be okay. Even if it’s just for a little while.

Cole and Val go on with the scene, and they run it a few more times before we move on to something else. I’m not onstage in any of the scenes we work, and that’s okay with me. I’ve already been the center of attention for way too many nights.

I open up my script to go over some lines. I flip to the back. The very last scene. And a few tiny flowers fall into my lap like purple snow. They’ve been pressed flat between the pages. I pick them up and hold them between my fingers.

I look around the theatre, but no one seems to have noticed the overwhelming smell of lavender. Or the fact that I’ve stopped breathing.