36 Skyler Considers the Human Condition

August 5th

Robin had been true to his word. He wasn't ghosting me anymore; in fact, we were texting fairly regularly now. Though he'd explained himself for his silence and apologized, it was a bit of a struggle to move past my hurt and disappointment. I should've tried talking to him after Armand's class, while the other students were leaving. But Armand had still been there, and I'd figured I could snag Robin after the following class. I hadn't anticipated that he wouldn't show up then.

A lot of our new routine was him sharing a bunch of theater gossip that I was not remotely in on and yet strangely invested in. And I would hit him back with the fascinating ins-and-outs of my beginning psychology course. He liked to respond by pretending he knew how to psychoanalyze the subjects of his theater gossip, which was wildly nonsensical but always amusing.

It was much better than him ignoring me for a week. But, to be fair, I had come dangerously close to ghosting Matt and Delia as well, so. Fair.

And I'd decided not to bring up Terri again. Robin should be able to talk about him on his own terms, in his own time.

Today we sat in the rickety theater seats, nibbling on the sugary snacks Robin had brought us as I helped him run lines. It was about a week out from his opening night, which I'd thought meant that he would have everything memorized by now. Apparently he did, but he'd explained that practicing alongside another person was necessary for his craft.

"Are you sure I'm actually helping here?" I asked, after about an hour of watching Robin bring these words to life. "You can tell me if you only wanted an excuse to hang out. You don't need to pretend I'm a good scene partner because I know the truth."

Robin rolled his eyes, his cheeks still flushed from the energetic portrayal of Peter Pan he'd just given from the comfort of his chair. His face pulled up in a performatively haughty expression. "Don't sell yourself short. I can honestly say that you're doing better than the senior they cast as Hook. You should see him in rehearsals. I'm up there giving the performance of a lifetime and he's giving me nothing."

I laughed. "I'm sure you're right. I'm no expert, but it seems like you're doing great—I can't wait to see it all come together."

Robin shifted from where he'd perched on his chair, flopping down into a proper sitting position. "So you—" he cleared his throat "—you're gonna be there?"

"Of course." I grinned, gesturing down at Robin's script for The Shadow of Never, officially the oddest Peter Pan retelling I'd ever read. "Really, though, you're kicking this play's ass."

"Psh. Shut up."

"I'm serious." I gently swatted him with the script, and grinned wider when he swatted me back with his empty box of cookie dough bites. "It's so cool that you do this. What made you want to be an actor? Did you always know, or did you figure it out later?"

It was like Robin had been waiting for me to ask—he lit up, rolling into a passionate speech about storytelling and wanting to reach people emotionally and make them feel things ... It was as captivating to listen to as it was familiar.

Somehow, right on cue, my phone buzzed with a text from Delia.

Delia: breaking news, new painting just dropped

Delia: working title is:that feel when you're stuck in an elevator and the speakers are only playing terrible electronic remixes and you really have to pee: by delia leigh

The photo she attached showed a beautiful but completely incomprehensible collection of colorful shapes and smudges.

"Is that Matt?" Robin asked, eyeballing my phone even as he popped open a bag of sour gummy worms.

I shook my head. "It's Delia. She finished the painting she'd been working on. Look—" I handed him my phone, a soft smile pulling at my lips as I watched his face; he was scrunching his freckled nose in puzzlement. "She's an artist too."

"Cool. Cool, cool, cool." Robin's face continued working for a second before he grinned, handing my phone back. "Well. It's really good. You certainly have taste when it comes to ... um. Unrequited crushes." He froze for a second. "Is it ... unrequited?"

The old familiar ache returned to my chest. "Oh, definitely." I slumped in my chair. "It's weird, though. She doesn't have any idea how I feel, but sometimes she'll say something that I'll keep coming back to, and I know it doesn't mean what I want it to ..." I rolled my hands down my face. "I just want to be able to move past this so I can go back to being her friend."

Robin was quiet for a long moment, biting his lip. "I'm sure it's possible to maintain a friendship with someone you have feelings for," he finally said. "Like, I bet she doesn't want to lose you either. And she'd be stupid to let you drift away."

I swallowed. The gentle sincerity on his face simultaneously comforted and made me feel painfully exposed. "I'll make it past this eventually. But it's my fault things shifted."

Robin picked at the crinkling old leather of the theater seat, avoiding my eyes. "Hard to believe anything's your fault. How ..." He swallowed, then followed through, "How'd it shift? What changed?"

"I did," I admitted, before I could chicken out. "Or my feelings did. The three of us were friends, even after she and Matt started dating, and everything was fine, and then—" My breath trembled. "Before I knew what was happening, I realized I felt something different for her. Obviously I never said anything, to either of them. I didn't want to make things weird just because I suddenly didn't understand myself, and I would never want to hurt my brother." I looked to Robin—for support, for reassurance, for ... I didn't know what. To my surprise, he was staring back at me, eyes wide. "I thought if I ignored my new feelings for Delia, they would go away, and everything could go back to normal. But they didn't go away. So ... I left."

I was out of breath, almost disoriented from the explanation that had tumbled out of me. "And now Matt's upset that I left without explaining why, but he won't admit it. How can I explain me needing space from them without hurting him worse? Hurting both of them?"

It wasn't on Robin to have the answers—there was no easy fix for this—but I found myself holding my breath, stiff with nerves, waiting for his advice.

"Maybe ..." he began slowly, thoughtfully, "you should ask him. Like, get it all out in the open. Not that you have to tell him the truth," he hurried to add when he saw that I'd gone a bit rigid, "but you're nothing if not caring and kind. You didn't want to hurt him, so maybe he should know that, at least. And if he stays mad at you after that, then he's a dick. No offense."

The knot in my chest, while not fully unraveled, loosened. "You know—" I nudged Robin's shoulder with mine, giving him a grateful smile "—you're kind of smart about these things. Maybe you should be the one doing psychology."

He flushed bright red and dramatically shuddered. "Over my dead body. But yes, as a soon-to-be-famous actor, it's my job to understand the human condition, to use the brilliance of my craft to bring people together, to achieve world peace, to—" He broke off with a laughing squeak as I threw a chip at him.

Robin was probably right. Not about the Matt-being-a-dick part, but I had spent a while now allowing the both of us to avoid the elephant in the room, to continue our usual banter as if everything could just quietly get back to normal without us ever having to talk about it. But Matt deserved better than that. Delia deserved better.

And maybe I did too.