Page 77 of Demon of Dreams

Wait,toes? Why was I barefoot? And where was I?

“Cory? I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Curtain’s up in fifteen minutes.”

My eyes snapped open. A gorgeous guy dressed in velvet and silk walked towards me across a dimly lit room. He was tall and lanky, with blond hair that just reached his chin. His blue eyes gleamed brighter than they should have in the dusky atmosphere. He looked like a young Leonardo DiCaprio.

“Curtain?” I said as the guy approached me.

I was completely disoriented, and a feeling of dread spread through my stomach when I realized that not only did I have no idea where I was, I had no idea where I’d been a minute ago, or ten minutes before that.

I knewwhoI was, but any memory of how I’d gotten here was just…gone.

I looked to my left and saw a heavy maroon curtain with thick folds five feet away. To my right was a set of steps and plywood arches, painted to look like stone. A cloth backdrop with a picture of rolling hills and olive groves hung behind that.

“What, did you forget what we’re doing here tonight?” The guy said, coming to stand right in front of me. His voice was light, and he laughed as he gave my shoulder a pretend punch. “I’m jealous. I wish I could get rid of my nerves like that.”

We were on a stage, I realized. Wait a second, not just any stage, but the one in my high school auditorium. For our production of—

“Romeo,” I breathed, the guy’s velvet doublet suddenly making sense.

The guy smiled, took off his hat, and ran a hand through his straw colored hair. “I mean, you could just call me Chad, but Romeo works too, I guess.”

I shook my head, trying to figure out what was going on.Romeo and Julietwas our fall play during my senior year. I was assistant stage manager. But wasn’t Neil was the lead inRomeo and Juliet? So where was he, and who the hell was Chad? I couldn’t remember meeting him before tonight.

“Sorry.” I shook my head again. I was so confused. Was I having a stroke? I needed to sit down. “Opening night jitters. Maybe I should go and—”

“Wait, wait—” Chad caught my arm as I turned away. “Before you go. There’s something I wanted to say to you.”

I looked back to see his eyes on me, intense and focused. His lips were parted like he was about to ask a question, and it softened the otherwise arrogant cast to his face.

On the other side of the curtain, I could hear murmurs as the audience took their seats and the rustle of paper as people flipped through the program.

God, I felt weird. Why couldn’t I remember anything? Did I need to see the nurse? No, that was stupid, the nurse wouldn’t be here for an evening performance. But I needed to see someone. My dad wouldn’t be in the audience—not when he hated my involvement inqueertheater productions. But maybe I could find Franny or Neil before the show began.

“What?” I said to Chad, my heart thumping loudly in my throat.

“Come here,” he said, his fingers still on my sleeve. He drew me to the back of the stage, right in front of a plywood arch painted with granite stones and terra cotta urns.

“Boys!” A new voice cut through the empty stage like an axe.

Both of us turned to see Steven Manfredi, my senior year English teacher, standing in the darkened wing, stage left.

“Thirteen minutes ‘til showtime!” Mr. Manfredi said, pitching his voice so it wouldn’t carry to the people in the audience. “Make sure you’re ready.”

“Yeah, thanks!” Chad gave Mr. Manfredi a thumb’s up. “We will be.”

Mr. Manfredi’s form flickered, reappeared, then flickered again, like a television screen with bad reception. His body distorted for a moment, getting pulled sideways, before resolidifying into the man I recognized.

But that didn’t make any sense. People didn’t flicker like that. God, maybe I was having some kind of stroke, or heart attack, orsomething.

Mr. Manfredi checked his watch. “Twelve minutes and thirty seconds, now,” he said, before slipping back into the darkness offstage.

“Maybe we should go,” I said, turning back to Chad. “I think I might need to see someone about—”

“In a second,” he said, and when he swallowed, I fixated on his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. I felt like I’d stared at that for months, aching to touch it, and with that thought, a rush of memories flooded back.

Me watching Chad audition and sighing at the pure, loving look in his eyes as he stood across from the girl reading for Juliet. Me watching Chad rehearse, laughing and joking with Mercutio, play-wrestling with Tybalt. Me watching Chad during late night run-throughs, pacing and murmuring his lines as though he hadn’t been off-book since our second week.

And the whole time, I had ached and yearned. Wanted to joke with him. Fought the urge to reassure him. Wished desperately for his eyes to look at me like—well, like they were looking at me now.

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