Riot Act by Sarah Lariviere

Author:Sarah Lariviere [Lariviere, Sarah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2024-07-16T00:00:00+00:00

THE SANDS ARE NUMBER’D THAT MAKE UP MY LIFE

The next night Gigi arrives early to rehearsal. Axl is standing on a ladder in the lobby, fixing some loose molding near the ceiling.

When he hears the door swing open, he looks down. “Hey. Got the show photocopied for the new kid.”

Gigi sees Xia’s copy of the three parts of Henry VI on the ticket counter, held together by a fat binder clip. “Thanks.”

She told him about Xia at school. For the video conversation, she wanted more privacy.

“What’s what? You good?” Axl asks.

“So-so. I’m pretty sure Knoxville and Derry are fucking.”

“Yowza. There’s some amateur porn I can’t unsee.”

Right? And here I thought there was nothing in that category of which I wouldn’t partake. O, Death, you and your futile revelations.

“They were in the Round Barn last night,” says Gigi. “Talking about a video Ms. Lee made.”

Axl takes a rag out of his back pocket, concentrates on wiping glue from the edge of the molding. “Wow.”

Gigi folds her arms. “Wow?”

“I mean, yeah,” says Axl. “Wow.”

“Axl. You never say wow.”

“Sure I do.”

“Dammit! You’re not telling me something!”

Axl stuffs the rag back in his pocket.

“What is it?” asks Gigi. “Come on!”

Axl climbs down the ladder, scowling like a demigod exhausted by the part of himself that’s mortal.

“Fuck it, Gigi. You’re right. There are, like, three significant things I’m keeping from you right now, for your own good.”

“Axl!”

“Because, Giselle, I cannot let anything happen to you. It’s the only goal I have left in my life. You think I couldn’t have saved Max. Or Frank. Prob’ly right about that, like you are about everything. But yes. I’m not telling you something. It makes me a happy camper. That I have the power to do this.”

“This macho hero bullshit yet again…”

“Maybe! But also, maybe not. Some things everybody can’t know. Any of them would make you vulnerable. You or someone else.”

“This conversation is both boring and old. If you want to protect me, why the fuck are we doing a play?”

“Because we’re all going to die someday. And if it’s going to be me, next—and I swear to you, Gigi, it is—I want to live before they take me out. I don’t want to go out waiting for the bad shit to happen. Bad shit will happen. I want to show up.”

“For the sake of argument, how do you plan to protect me, in this scenario?”

“I don’t know, Gigi! I won’t pretend I’m, like, being super logical. Frank’s death wrecked me. I lost him even before I lost him. Max’s death broke me permanently. Now I’m rolling alone. With you. I mean—yeah, Piper, but that’s different. I mean—no. I won’t be able to protect you if we perform Henry VI. Obviously. Or anybody else. If we do it. Which, we’ll see, you know? It’s highly doubtful. Half the Thespians will drop out first time shit hits the fan. At least half, no matter what the show is. Anyway if I said No, Gigi, we can’t do Shakespeare, can’t use my theater, you’d be all over me until I gave in.

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