Megan shifts her focus to Bridger. “So what’s the play called, Mr. Adams?”
He tugs at the collar of his tux. “Umm.” Unfortunately, Bill Nye Science Guy is good at a lot of things, but coming up with a fake title for a fake play is not one of them.
“As You Like It,” Sayla jumps in to answer for him, going with an actual play after all.
“Never heard of it,” Kylie says.
“As You Like Itisn’t an it,” Sayla quips. “It’s a play. Shakespeare wrote it.”
“That’s a lot ofits.” Kylie smirks.
Megan scrunches her nose. “You’re being weird, Miss Kroft.”
“She’s Mrs. Michaels now,” Dex pipes up.
Bridger shoots me a pointed look. A piece of hair flops down over his forehead, and he furrows his brow. Clearly, he doesn’t want anyone thinking something’s going on with us. Especially students. When I remain frozen, his gaze skids to my ring, then he puts his hands behind his back, hiding his wedding band.
Right.
Kylie follows his line of sight just as I whip my hands under my veil. She tilts her head.
Did she see the ring?
We need more distraction.
“Hey, Mrs. Michaels,” I say. “Why don’t you tell Kylie and Megan about your plan to have your advanced theater kids perform at Havenwood this fall?”
Sayla’s brows fly up. “Oh, yes. Thank you for reminding me, Ms. Cane.” She pastes on a smile for Kylie and Megan. “Doesn’t that sound like fun?”
Megan grimaces. “Performing at a hospital for old people? Not really.”
“Hard pass,” Kylie says.
Dex clears his throat. “You know students aren’t supposed to be in here while the building’s still under construction. You’re technically trespassing.”
Megan flinches. “We just wanted to see if the green room was actually painted green.” She rounds on Kylie. “Itoldyou this was a bad idea.”
“Well, now you’ve checked,” Dex says pleasantly. “So maybe you should leave before Mr. Wilford finds out?”
“Let’s get out of here,” Kylie hisses, grabbing Megan's arm.
“This never happened,” Megan yelps.
They bolt backstage, and a moment later, the back door to the theater slams. There’s a beat of silence. Then Dex spreads his hands. “Nailed it.”
“Nailed it?” Sayla smirks. “Seriously?”
“I said what I said.”
“They’re gone,” Bridger notes. “That’s what matters.”
“My point exactly.” Dex cues up the music again. “Now, where were we?”
“No way.” I squawk. “You expect us to keep dancing now?”
“Actually, I could use more footage,” Sayla admits. “I got plenty of Bridger from behind, but none of his face. Just yours. So I need the opposite angle for the montage.”
“Great,” I deadpan. “In other words, you need to film my butt.”