Wish You Were Her(47)

Allegra made a hasty exit, leaving the party without saying goodbye to Simon. He was in full host-mode and Allegra always felt acutely different from her peers when it came to goodbyes. She liked slipping away without a word. She was also worried that he would spot her unease and ask about it.

The night air was a cool stroke of the cheek to Allegra, as she slipped out of Simon’s little mansion. She made for town, scrolling through her mess of messages (completely ignoring her email inbox) only to find a text from her father, informing her via his new (and first) mobile phone that he would be late at the festival site with some authors. He asked if she had her keys.

She confirmed that she did, just as she reached Main Street, with Brooks Books ahead and in her sights.

She missed walking. She didn’t get to do much of it in the city, she was ferried from location to car to location to plane to hotel or apartment. She was never allowed to spend more than a few seconds on the pavement at a time.

Natalie and Allegra’s agent were worried about her being in Lake Pristine without a security detail; both convinced that her new location would be leaked. Her father’s speech from earlier in the night had left Allegra with a bad taste in her mouth. The daughter in her was thrilled but the actor was afraid. Allegra had assured her team that the town was discreet, and that most of its population did not understand social media, let alone partake in it. That service wasn’t great. That town gossip was considered as ubiquitous as groceries, but most residents had very little interest in communicating with the outside world.

She let herself into Brooks Books, turning on a couple of lights but making sure to check that the “Closed” sign was facing out toward the street. She moved over to the front desk, hoisting herself up onto it and opening her inbox.

There were countless emails, most of them chains that ended in Natalie saying, “Leave it with me, kid!” in her adorably harried fashion. There were people reaching out for meetings and self-tapes. There were lunch invitations.

Then she saw one, sent recently, and it stopped her breath and her heart.

[email protected]

to: [email protected]

RE: Hello

Hi. I hope this isn’t alarming. It’s me. Disgruntled bookseller, or [email protected]. I thought I would email from my personal account—even though you didn’t show. If this is unwanted, please tell me or just block accordingly. I just felt like being brave because I’ve been a bit of a coward tonight.

I wish you had come. I don’t really know what you told Allegra when she answered the phone at the shop and took your message. Did you know you were leaving a message with a supernova? Probably not.

“Why didn’t you ask Allegra?” I hear you ask.

Because I can barely speak to Allegra. And that inability to speak in her presence eventually comes out as meanness. And I hate meanness. I hate people who try to make others feel small, but I tell myself that I’m not doing that with her. It’s self-defense, it’s protection, whatever. She can give as good as she gets, but she’s entitled to hate me. I’m an embarrassment around her. She takes away all of my sensible qualities and puts me in fight or flight mode. And I always pick fight because flight would mean no longer being around her.

Anyway. I was alone, waiting for you, when she delivered your message. It’s me. I’m Jonah. The bookseller you’ve been emailing. I hope we can meet one day. I hope I’m not a huge disappointment.

I hope, I hope, I hope.

Have a great evening. Wish you were her.

Jonah

Allegra stared at the last sentence before his name and then a PS suddenly appeared in the thread.

PS SORRY ABOUT THAT, STUPID FINGERS, WISH YOU WERE HERE. HERE. I WISH YOU WERE HERE.

JONAH.

She was typing before reason could take hold.

[email protected]

to: [email protected]

Subject: Hello

I’m so sorry, Jonah. I should have been there.

She pressed SEND on her phone but before the small notification sound was even over, a knock on the bookshop window jolted her out of her reverie. She looked up to see Jonah and for one mortified moment, she foolishly wondered if he had worked out what she was doing. She shoved her phone away. He nodded to the door and she nodded back, silently telling him that it was unlocked.

He moved inside and she finally allowed herself to concede that he was extremely handsome, tall as he was with his dark curls and long lashes. She felt the tension in the room settle into something serious. It was the same way, sometimes, with a scene partner. Sometimes, just sometimes, the arduous setup, the rewrites, the blocking and the rehearsal were all finalized and then they dissipated to leave her and another actor with nothing but the beauty of making art together.

When Jonah walked toward her with an intensely focused expression, she knew that this was not their usual play. He eyed her appearance with a hint of hunger and Allegra didn’t trust herself to speak. They were terrible and full of bluster when they spoke to each other. Two eighteen-year-olds who were ahead of their peers in so many ways, and so guarded and afraid of adulthood in so many other ways.

She slid off the desk and he came to stand in front of her, the two of them surrounded by tables of books in a dimly lit shop with no one else around. He was still in his suit and she in her dress, which suddenly felt like liquid that could be pulled away very easily.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, before she could think of a thing to say.