“Here is your line, Helen,” I say encouragingly. “Speak.”
But Ellie runs offstage, her red dress billowing behind her.
“All right, everyone,” I say. “Take five.”
I float out into the hall, where I find her sitting on the floor against the brick wall. Clutching her knees to her chest. Head in her hands. Weeping, presumably. This is the moment when normally I would crouch down to the floor. I’d say, What’s wrong? What can I do? But these words, even though I mean to speak them, I want to speak them, don’t leave my lips.
Instead I just stare down at her hunched pathetically on the floor.
She becomes aware of my shadow falling over her. Looks up.
“Miranda,” she says at last through her tears. “I’m so sorry.”
It’s all right, Ellie. Of course it’s all right, I should say. But I say nothing. My lips stay closed, smiling. My silence has the effect of making her gather herself.
She stops crying abruptly. She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Professor,” she says again. “I just don’t know if I can do this.”
“Do what?” I say. And I’m surprised to hear that my voice sounds cold, threatening, impatient. She looks at me like I’ve slapped her. Then she looks back down at her knees. Shakes her head sorrowfully. “This is all my fault. All of it.”
“All your fault? I don’t understand.”
“I shouldn’t be in the play anymore.”
I crouch down low before her. I lift her chin up to meet my eye. Her face looks punched. Her colorless eyes are swollen. Snot is trickling from her nose down to her lips, which are crackled and trembling.
“Please don’t make me play Helen, Miranda. It’s too much.”
“Ellie, of course you’re going to play Helen. You are Helen.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
I reach out my hand and trace her face with my finger. She doesn’t flinch. She closes her eyes at my touch. This is what she wanted. All she wanted in the first place. My consolation. My understanding. Fresh tears stream down her cheeks. Oh, the pain of loving this idiotic boy.
“Ellie, sometimes pain is a gift for an actor. And we can use it to deepen our performances. Pain can make us better. It’s actually made you a better Helen, it really has.”
“I just feel terrible. Taking this part away from Briana,” she whispers.
Oh god, really? How her offstage anguish about this bores me now. But I attempt sympathy.
“You didn’t take the part away, Ellie. That’s absurd. She got sick. People just get sick, sadly.”
She laughs, a little miserably. “Do they?” She shakes her head. “I don’t know about that.”
“What are you saying, Ellie?”
Then she looks at me seriously. “I wanted something like this to happen, Ms. Fitch,” she whispers.
“What do you mean?”
She shakes her head at her knees. “I just wanted this role so badly.” And then she bursts into tears again. I picture Ellie lying in her dorm room—probably painted purple or black—surrounded by waxy red candles, tears leaking out of her cat-lined eyes, wishing Briana ill.
“Ellie, wanting something isn’t a crime.”
“What if you want a terrible thing?”
“Sometimes we wish for terrible things, things we deserve. How could we not wish for them when we deserve them? And sometimes the heavens hear us. Something hears us. And our wishes come true. Should we feel guilty? Of course we shouldn’t feel guilty, why guilty? Why guilty when we deserve it, when maybe, just maybe, it’s a question of justice?” I smile. “Anyway, it all worked out in the end, didn’t it? Briana’s back.”
“She looks awful.”
“She looks wonderful. Doing better than ever before, really, as an actress. You could almost say she’s been given a gift.” I smile encouragingly, but Ellie looks miserable.
“She’s getting worse, Miranda.”
“She’s not getting worse! She’s just playing it up for the role.”
“I just feel—”
“Ellie, listen to me: this is a ridiculous conversation. You are Helen. You will play Helen. It’s what you wanted, and, miracle of miracles, you got it. We’re one day from opening night and you are not going to back out now, do you understand me? It’s too late now. Too late for guilt, too late for tears. And as your director, as your teacher, as your friend—and I do like to think I’m your friend, Ellie—I will not allow your guilt to stand in the way of what you so completely deserve. I will not allow guilt to dog you like this. People get sick and people get better and it’s nothing to do with us. The wheel of fortune, Ellie. The wheel, the wheel, always turning. Look at me.”