"So, no comforting hugs to give?" Robbie asked him.

Perry shook his head. "Sad girls are clingy; happy girls just grab you, squeeze the breath out of you and then run off. Oh, and I'm in the play, too. I'm Moth, one of the faerie servants. What sort of name is that?"

"Chin up," Robbie said. "You and your lady friend are two of the faeries; you can run lines together."

"Really?" he asked.

Robbie nodded and Perry looked infinitely cheered. Then his face darkened. "Wait. Am I going to have to wear tights?"

Both Lindsey and Robbie laughed at his horrified expression.

"You'll manage it," Robbie said. "Some girls find them very attractive."

Perry didn't look like he believed him.

"Dylan could use your help in back," Lindsey said.

"Fine," Perry said, and he marched glumly past them.

The doors opened again and Ms. Cole entered. She looked utterly composed; Lindsey couldn't tell if they were about to have a lemon breakdown or not.

Ms. Cole walked passed Lindsey and Robbie and assumed her usual post at the circulation desk. She slipped her reading glasses onto her nose and began checking in the stack of books that had been abandoned by Ann Marie. Lindsey glanced at Robbie, and he shrugged.

"Do you have anything you want to share, Ms. Cole?" Lindsey asked.

"No."

"Do you need some time to compose yourself?" Lindsey persisted.

Given the severity of Ms. Cole's demeanor, Lindsey was afraid the woman hadn't gotten the part and would be even more difficult to work with than usual. The thought made her shudder.

"Why on earth would I need that?" Ms. Cole snapped.

Lindsey blinked and then turned to Robbie, hoping he could offer some comforting words of encouragement. But no, the big wuss was backing up toward the door.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"I have a . . . thing," he said.

"For an actor, you are a terrible liar."

Robbie shrugged and continued to slide toward the door. Lindsey glared at him and he made his right hand into the shape of a phone with middle fingers folded and his thumb and pinky out.

"I'll call you," he whispered.

"Chicken!" she hissed after him.

"Bock, bock," he clucked as he walked away with his knees bent, flapping his arms as he left the building.

Lindsey squashed her laugh. She needed to think about her staff. Poor Ms. Cole. Not getting the part had to be a crushing blow for the woman, who as far as Lindsey could tell, had virtually no life outside of her job at the library.

"Listen, Ms. Cole," Lindsey said as she came around the counter to stand beside her. "You are an exemplary employee when it comes to never taking a moment for yourself, which is why if you're feeling a little emotional, I completely understand if you want to take some time to regroup."

Ms. Cole turned from the stack of books she was checking in to face Lindsey. She carefully removed her glasses and let them hang on the chain from her neck while she met her boss's concerned gaze.

"I'm going to need some time off," she said.

"Of course, anything you need," Lindsey said.

"I'll need the week that the play is running," Ms. Cole said. "I will simply be too exhausted playing Titania to come into work that week."

"Ah!" Lindsey gasped. "You got it? You got the part?"

Ms. Cole bowed her head in acknowledgment.

"That's wonderful," Lindsey cried. Anyone else she would have hugged, but Ms. Cole was not a hugger, so Lindsey held up her hand, and said, "High five."

Ms. Cole frowned at her.

"That's when you slap your hand with mine," Lindsey said.

"Why?" Ms. Cole asked.

"It's a theater thing," Lindsey lied. "It means, 'Yay you.'"

"Oh." Ms. Cole patted her hand against Lindsey's.

It was quite possibly the single most awkward exchange of high fives in the history of the high five. Lindsey wasn't sure what to do with her hand afterward, so she crossed her arms over her chest in what she hoped looked like a casual pose.

"I'll just go make a note of your vacation days."

"Do." Ms. Cole turned back to her stack of books, and Lindsey made a mental note never to attempt a high five with the lemon again.

6.

Lindsey had to admit there was a certain tangible energy in the theater. She didn't know if it was Robbie or Violet or the cast and crew combined that made the auditorium crackle with electricity, but there was no denying the fact that there was a buzz in the air.

She had Beth, Dylan, Perry and Heather lined up in front of her while she and Nancy took their measurements. Lindsey wasn't much use with a needle, but she could accessorize the heck out of any outfit.

"Nothing too girly," Perry was saying.

"You're wearing tights," Nancy said as she measured him around the waist. "And if you give me a hard time, I'll make them hot pink."

Perry blanched, and the others laughed.

"It could be worse," Lindsey said. "If you'd been cast as Nick Bottom, you'd have to wear a donkey's head."

"That'd be okay with me," Dylan said. "He has a really cool part."

Nancy frowned at him and put her hand on his forehead. Then she made a tsking noise.

"What?" Dylan asked.

"You've got it bad," she said.

"Is he getting sick?" Heather asked as she stepped away from him.

"No, he's just got the bug," Nancy said. "The acting bug."

Dylan grinned at her. "I do, don't I?"

She nodded.

"I can't help it," he said. "When I step on that stage, I just feel alive."

Lindsey studied the handsome teen's face. He looked as if someone had plugged him in.

"Faeries!" Violet called from the stage. "Front and center!"

The four of them hurried down the aisle, and Nancy looked at Lindsey and said, "About that donkey head . . ."

"Yeah?" Lindsey asked.

"You have any idea on how we're going to pull that one off?"

"Papier-mche?" Lindsey suggested.

Nancy slapped her on the back, which pitched Lindsey forward a few feet.

"Thanks so much for volunteering to be in charge of it," Nancy said. "You might ask Ian if he has any of the supplies you'll need to make it."

Before Lindsey could rally a protest, Nancy was striding off in the direction of Milton and Ms. Cole.

"Oberon and Titania, I need your measurements!"

Lindsey glanced at Mary, who was sitting in the back row with a sketch pad, doodling ideas for character costumes.

Mary looked at her and raised both of her hands as if she was a scale.

"Measure Ms. Cole," she said, and lowered her right hand. "Or make a papier-mche donkey head." Then she lowered her left hand.

Lindsey frowned and turned and went in search of Ian. Surely making a donkey head could not be that difficult. The back of the theater opened up into a large loading dock.

It was here that she found Ian and his set crew sawing wood and banging together a wooden shell that she assumed was going to be the two-level set with stairs and a cave from Nancy's sketch.

Lindsey saw Sully hammering the steps into place and quickly looked away. She hadn't spoken to him since the awkward evening outside the theater when he had found her talking to Robbie. She had avoided him ever since. Not because she felt guilty, she assured herself, but because she didn't want to see any concern in his eyes-which was unwarranted, but would make her feel guilty nonetheless.

She wanted to tell him that he didn't need to worry about her and Robbie, but given that Sully had offered her nothing but friendship, it seemed presumptive on her part to say anything. Amiable breakups were not nearly as easy to navigate as hostile ones. Sometimes it was just easier to hate your ex, but she didn't hate Sully. Far from it.

"Lindsey! Hello, earth to Lindsey."

She turned her head to find Ian standing beside her. Oh, no, how long had he been there? Had she really been staring at Sully like a lovesick twelve-year-old?

"The set is really coming along," she said, hoping he'd think she'd been scrutinizing their progress.

"Yeah, I have a solid crew," Ian said. "Especially that fine young man working on the steps there."

He had a twinkle in his eye when he pointed to Sully, which Lindsey chose to ignore.

"So, what do you know about papier-mche?"

"For the set?"

"No, for a donkey's head."

"Hey, now, I know you're sore at Sully and all-" he began but Lindsey interrupted with a laugh.

"No, it's for the character Nick Bottom. You know, the one that Puck sees in the forest and gives the head of a donkey," she said. Then she grinned. "If it was for Sully, I wouldn't be making the front end, if you get my drift."

Ian busted up with a laugh of his own and Lindsey joined in. At least she could joke about it. When Sully appeared on her other side, Ian took one look at his friend and laughed harder. Lindsey, on the other hand, felt bad and abruptly grew serious.

"You okay, Ian?" Sully asked.

Ian nodded, and visibly tried to pull himself together. "Could you show Lindsey the supply closet?" A snort escaped as he added, "She has to work on an ass."

Sully frowned and looked at Lindsey.

"I need to make a papier-mche donkey head," she said.

"Ah." Sully nodded. He sent his friend one more concerned look and said, "Follow me."

The supply closet was tucked into a corner backstage. Sully opened the door and yanked on a string hanging from the ceiling. A single lightbulb lit the enormous walk-in closet and Lindsey's eyes went wide at all of the stuff crammed onto the shelves.

Half-empty paint cans, drop cloths, miscellaneous props, ladders, rolls of chicken wire and bags of plaster filled the space, with no rhyme or reason. The closet was just begging to be sorted, and Lindsey's inner librarian clamored to be let loose.

"Whatever you need, should be in here-somewhere," Sully's voice trailed off doubtfully.

"Thank you." They were standing side by side in the tiny room, which seemed to shrink the more aware Lindsey became of Sully. She would have taken a step away from him, but there was no place to go.

"So, uh, holler if you need anything," he said. He ran a hand through his hair, leaving finger trails in the thick, mahogany curls. He looked as if he wanted to say something but thought better of it.

He left the room and headed back toward the loading dock. Lindsey stood in the doorway and watched him go, feeling forlorn.