Free Everyone's a Critic by Rachel Wise

notebook. I did the same. He was sitting to the left of me, and he laid his right arm on the armrest between us. His arm was now an inch away from me. The lady to my right had her arm on her left armrest. Suddenly all I could think about was Michael’s arm so close to me and where in the world I was going to put my hands. I scrunched them in my lap and held the notebook on my thigh.
    Well into the second act, I noticed Michael lifting his arms up and stretching. Okay, now I had a little room to stretch out too. Then Michael put his arm on the armrest again and brushed against my arm. I felt electricity shoot through me. Was that on purpose or byaccident? I gave him a glance out of the corner of my eye. He was staring straight ahead. I quickly switched my gaze forward. How was I going to concentrate on the play? Now I was in a full sweat. Perfect. I’ll bet professional arts reviewers don’t have to deal with these things.
    Somehow I managed to pay some attention to the rest of the play. Allie was great, as usual, but Julia Gowen seemed as off as she had been the first night. One part of the city backdrop kept falling down, and they still had problems with the spotlights. Maybe I was being too critical? At least I was reviewing the play with Michael and we could compare notes.
    At the end, the cast came out for a bow, and the crowd went crazy. I yelled, “Go, Allie!” and Michael did too, even louder than me, which I thought was a bit strange. It was the last performance, and I could see relief on the director’s face as he came out for his bow. I watched Allie bask in her final moment as Anita and I wondered how she felt. Was she happy that it was finally over and she hadn’t messed up any lines or dance moves, at least asfar as I could tell? Or did she feel kind of sad that it was over, along with all the excitement and the attention that came with it? That’s kind of how I felt after a big story of mine ran in the Voice . But I also felt happy that it was done. I certainly was glad the play was over. I’m happy Allie did such a great job, but it would have been nice not to be trying to sleep while she belted out “America” in the next room.
    As the lights came on and we stood up, Michael and I looked at each other. Now what? I heard Hailey’s voice in my ear: Let him fill in the blanks. I smiled and kept my mouth shut. Michael smiled back and started walking out. I followed. He stopped when we were outside. People were everywhere—coming out, getting into cars, yelling out plans to each other.
    â€œHow’d you like it?” I asked him. I had to say something.
    â€œIt was okay. Pretty similar to the matinee. So, um, want to go to Slices and talk it over? I’m starving.”
    â€œOh, sure. Definitely.” I nervously startedplaying with the little tassels at the end of my scarf. Now did this count as an official date? I had to restrain myself from calling Hailey right then and there. I texted my mom, and she texted right back “Have fun!” with a smiley face. Mom seemed just as excited as Hailey.
    We walked over to Slices Pizzeria, the most popular local pizza joint in our town. Their pizza was popular for a reason. The crust was superthin and crispy, and the secret recipe for the incredible marinara was said to be kept in a safe, according to Leo, the owner. When we walked in, I looked around, and I swear half our school was stuffed in there. It hadn’t occurred to me that we probably wouldn’t be the only people getting a slice after the show. I saw some of the guys from the baseball team at the same table, sharing a pie.
    â€œHey, man!” Jamal Williams said, high-fiving Michael as we walked past. Then he waved hi to me. A couple of other guys at the table did the same. I waved back.
    â€œWhat are you guys up to?” Jamal asked, with a twinkle in his eye. Everyone at the table wassuddenly listening really hard. Michael and I