princess mackie

Before I can get his attention, I make eye contact with a frantic Will, as he shuffles around waiting for Sloane to appear.

He's clearly not my best friend, not by a mile, but if I have a chance to slow everything down, to give her a second to breathe, I'll take it.

I make a 'rewind' signal with my hands and point to Sonny. I pray to Jesus Christ himself that he'll get what I'm trying to say. Somehow, even though we have never agreed on anything in the time our paths have crossed, Will gets the message. I have never been more thankful to know Will Franklin.

Will shuffles over to Sonny, whispering something in his ear before running back to the green room. From my view at the top, I can see Sloane peering out into the audience. All I want is to go and relieve some of that stress for her.

Close to the bottom of the "stage", I can see Rachael's red hair gleaming against the chair. She's sitting so lazily, almost opposite of the prim-and-proper Rachael I've grown to feel very…strongly about. She's too confident in her ability to fuck with Sloane's head, and unfortunately, the only thing I can do in this moment is to bet against her.

Sonny finally speaks. "So, while we wait for Sloane—which, take your time, we are here for you, not the other way around—I figured I'd open up the floor to anyone who has any questions."

Rachael's hand shoots up. Fuck. Sonny nods, giving her the floor. "Why are we allowing someone who clearly isn't prepared to perform? From an educational standpoint?"

I hear Tucker's anger ring out from the green room. He's supposed to play guitar for anyone that needs it, so I haven't actually got a good look at him, but I know he's pissed off.

I'm praying, once again, that Sonny doesn't take the bait. He's a smart guy, if not a little emotional. "I'm sorry? Maybe I don't understand the question."

"It's just that," Rachael straightens up. There's that frozen, statue-like posture. "I'm not so sure that someone that runs off the stage should get a chance to perform. There are plenty of other performers who would love the chance."

"Like whom?" Oh God.

Rachael latches her arm around the guy next to her. A blond guy. "My boyfriend Darren would be a fantastic candidate. His repertoire is ready to go, and he can play a larger range of characters than Mackintosh can."

Sonny takes one look at him. "Darren Cooper?"

Darren's annoying blond head nods. "Yes, sir."

"Yeah, no. I don't think I'm going to hear from the guy that tried to beat up my baby brother." Sonny finally looks right up at me. "Leopold, what do you say?" Welp. Guess I get to testify today.

Rachael and Darren flubber at the exact time, turning up as Will expertly faces the stage lights right at me. "Ehhhhh, I'm not sure. I think Sloane's worth it."

Sonny tips his imaginary hat as the lights focus right back onto him. "I figured. Peanut Gallery?" Tucker tips his head through the green room door and nods. "Yeah…I'm all set. Thanks, though."

Somehow, even though she's still scared shitless, Sloane's comedic timing is stellar. She finally peers her head out, before smoothing down her dress and walking her fine ass right back out onto the floor.

If I was Rachael, I'd puke from the tension alone. But I'm not, so I'm very excited to see my girl—sorry, Sloane—shine. My dad's sitting next to me, which is usually a sign that I should behave properly, but even he's getting a kick out of this whole production.

I'm not sure if it's a good sign when Michael Scott likes you, but I'm glad he won't roll over and die if Sloane and I ever, somehow, end up together.

Sloane fluffs up her hair before parking right next to my brother. "I have an odd request, Sonny."

"And it is?" If the two of them weren't mentor-and-student, they'd make a killer living at being a magician and his assistant. (Seriously, the stage presence of the two of them combined could win America's Got Talent.)

"I want 'em out." She doesn't even look at Rachael and Darren when she says it, instead staring out into the abyss. If I wasn't so sure that she couldn't see me, I'd think she was staring directly at me. I smile anyway, a hesitant one. She should know that I support her. No matter what.

Sonny claps his hands together, satisfied with Sloane's assertive-ness. "Done deal, Sloanie girl." He turns his attention back to the happy couple and makes a "shoo" gesture.

"What? You can't just kick me out—" Rachael shrieks. Darren's already defeated, clearly out-showmanned by my brother.

"Oh, but I can. Nice to meet you, Rachael."

Rachael shakes her tiny, not-even-a-little-threatening wrist at Sloane. "This is her fucking fault—"

"Oh, it sure is," Sloane sighs. A 110-pound weight has officially been lifted off of her shoulders! Hallelujah! "See you soon!"

The crowd, as if on some SNL-style cue, erupts into applause. Maybe it's not just us that dislikes her. Go figure.

I can see Sloane and Sonny conversing as the crowd roars. I'm not a mind-reader, or a lip-reader, actually, but I know it's time.

I sit up straight as Sloane speaks, clear as a bell. "Now that that is out of the way, I'm terribly sorry for that, by the way…My name is Sloane Mackintosh. I'm your sophomore Musical Theater representative, and today, I'll be sharing two songs from the perspective of Dawn from Waitress' perspective. Her own song, 'When He Sees Me', and the great Barbra Streisand's 'He Touched Me'."

A different man—I think Sloane's voice coach—appears from the wings with the sheet music. He gives a reassuring smile as Sonny takes Rachael's now-vacant spot.

"So. Dawn is our practical observer. She spends most of her time over-explaining and justifying her feelings to various characters, including love interest Obie, who waxes poetic about how he knows she's scared of being left and telling her that he will, indeed, not leave her," Huh. Sounds like me. "and is scared of the uncertainty of romance. Of not having all of the scenarios and answers and experiences right in front of her. 'He Touched Me' would arguably exist in between 'Bad Idea' and 'I Didn't Plan It', where Dawn is finally opening up herself to romantic experiences. She allows herself to feel something, for Obie, and this would open up the floodgates."

"Sounds like you have it all down," Sonny jokes from his seat. The gallery quietly laughs, and Sloane's face falls flat. "What do you think…what do you think works the best? Is there another option? For her character?"

"Uhm…I do. I have another option. It's a popular song—"

"By all means, I love hearing that."

Sloane turns to her coach and dismisses him. She motions for Tucker and his shiny, cherry red acoustic guitar to come out, and brings two stools to the middle of the floor. "Okay. Uh, this is terrifying to do, but this 'The Only Exception'? By Paramore?"

She's always got a bag of tricks. Always going to surprise me, and clearly, surprise everyone else. It seems like Tuck's the only one to really understand what's going on.

Sonny leans in, "Do you have any monologue prepared?"

"Uh, actually, I kind of do?" Sloane pulls off a crinkled piece of pink paper that I've never seen before that has, what I can only assume to be, a set of lines and hands it to Sonny. "You can be my Jenna, right?"

He laughs and takes the paper from her. "Sounds good to me."

Sloane takes a deep breath in and motions to Tucker. He starts strumming, and in a much thicker accent than I have ever heard from Sloane, she frantically begins. "It's so not fair to call me scared, Jen. So not fair. Not when 40%—"

Sonny sighs, getting into character. "40% of marriages end in divorce. Yes, Dawn. You told me this when I got divorced."

The audience laughs, but I'm way too captivated at how easily she lets this character control her every move. Her feet are swinging up against the stool, her right hand rubbing her elbow. This isn't acting for her. I mean, it obviously is. She's playing a character, but Dawn is also just her with a thicker accent.

"I just…I am not pouring my heart out for it to not work. I mean, it's why I spoil TV shows for myself." That is a piece of Sloane. I heard her say that to MJ once, when she asked why she didn't want to watch a new show. That she needed to know the ending before she even watched the beginning.

He chuckles. "Really?" I figure that Jenna's just supposed to sound defeated, but I think Sonny's just straight-up impressed.

Sloane pays the audience no mind as she begins to sing. Her tone is so crystal-clear that I can understand everything she's saying to me, even as far back as I am.

She lifts herself off of the stool as she continues, smoothing down her dress again. "And that was the day that I promised, that I'd never sing of love, if it does not exist."

Sloane floats when she sings. I mean, she always looks otherworldly, but even in her anxious state, she commands the stage. She looks out into the audience, and I swear on everything I own that she makes eye-contact with me as she sings, "But darling, you are the only exception."

I can't tear myself away from her. Seriously. Not a single soul has ever been more beautiful than Sloane at this very moment. No one ever will be.

She goes to sit next to Sonny, facing away from the crowd, and I can still hear her. "Maybe I know somewhere, deep in my soul, that love never lasts." I shouldn't be able to hear her. But somehow, I hear every single word that comes from her. It's pure fucking magic.

Sloane Mackintosh is pure magic.

Sloane puts her hands on her face, her head between her knees as she continues to sing. "And I've always lived like this, keeping a comfortable distance. And up until now, I had sworn to myself that I'm content…with loneliness." It's almost like she's lived this moment every day, practiced to perfection. Because that's what it is. Perfection.

She continues, finally getting up to stand next to Tucker who plays as she speaks again. "I'm scared—I'm scared, okay? I finally feel somethin'...this wasn't the plan, Jenna." Fuck.

"I've got a tight grip on reality, but I can't let go of what's in front of me here." I have actually never felt more stupid in my life. "I know you're leaving in the morning when you wake up, leave me with some kind of proof it's not a dream."

Not to sound conceited, but I, Leo Scott, am pretty damn sure that I am the only exception. Fuuuuuuck.

I get up to go to her before remembering where we are. That, technically, she's completing a school assignment.

I can see her recognize my shadow, that I'm the one moving in the back of the crowd, but it's too late. I'm rushing through to get to the stairs, pushing past the (very kind) freshman usher and almost falling down to get to the door of the green room.

I don't even know what I'm supposed to say. Fuck, what do I even say? That I know? Now? That I actually can't take back anything I've ever said to her, because I'm totally, absolutely, carnally in love with her?

I can hear applause, and Sonny speaks again. Good god, these walls are not soundproof.

I'm ready to just pace around when the side door to the hall opens and Will scurries out, clearly frustrated with the way that everything has turned out. Sloane told me a few days prior that this was his first time fully music directing and running something for the school of music. That this is an assignment for him too.

He's ready to head right past me when he realizes who I am. What I want.

"Thank you, for that," he chokes out. I don't think I've ever heard him say a nice thing about me. "You knew what she needed."

I grin, "I just get her."

Will snaps out of the gratitude in a flash. "I realize that you have…realized some things. I swear, if I ever find out you that fucked with her—"

"I won't. I'm her 'lap dog', remember?"

"What about that week you two didn't speak?"

"I was giving her space. The guys—"

Will shakes his head, raking his…surprisingly large hands through his mop of black hair. "They don't know shit when it comes to women. Disrespectfully."

I sigh, "I have…I've learned that."

Will laughs before patting me on the back, "Go get 'em, tiger. Seriously, you're about to make her the happiest girl alive."

( SLOANE POV )

How is one supposed to react after you totally, absolutely pour your heart out to a crowd? …Probably not by running away as quickly as possible?

I mean, I let the audience react—I swear to god that Leo ran out the moment I finished—and even let Sonny give me valuable coaching that I will promptly forget the moment I leave this building.

But I just want to leave. Leo knows, now. He didn't have any particular reaction or any crazy love confession scheme up his sleeve. I'm fucked.

As Tucker and I leave the stage, arms locked like we're on our way to see The Wizard, I finally take a second to breathe. Of course, my medication didn't do shit to absolve me of any of my strong reactions, so I feel like the wind is knocked out of my lungs.

God, I wish I was at home right now. Not even in Cherry Hill, but home.

"Great job, Sloane," Schiff nods to me. She's powdering her face up against the mirror, still cursing the theater gods that put her last in the line-up this year. "Seriously, that was some great character work. I wouldn't have pegged Dawn as a character for you, but…you did the work, girlie."

I barely get a second to thank her when I hear a knock on the door. Schiff laughs, "Oh. Right, you have a visitor, Mackie. Your hockey boytoy has been very impatiently waiting for you since you finished."

"Wha—" Tucker unlatches his arm from mine to practically push me to the door. Just as she said, Leo's waiting. For me. And he looks as stressed out as I do. Jesus.

I open the door hesitantly. "Hi?"

Leo tips his head in and nods to Tuck. "Can we go some place more…private?"

"Office is open. Right directly behind you both." Tucker interjects without a second thought. Brilliant. I tilt my head in curiosity. "Okay, that wasn't me, that was Will. He texted me that he unlocked it. Just in case."

I feel the tears forming, "Thanks, Tuck." I bite the inside of my lip as I take Leo's hand and bring him to the Production Department office. I brace myself to find a couple making out or Steve, the head of the department twiddling his thumbs, but it's empty.

Just as Will and Tuck promised.

Leo doesn't let go of me as he closes the door. He doesn't even break eye contact. "Tell me I'm not going insane."

"What?"

"That's me. Right? I'm…" Well shit.

"The Only Exception?" I supply.

"Yes. That. Sloane, please tell me it's not just me. Sweetheart, please," he pleads. His brown eyes are tearing up, hands shaking as he locks my hand in his.

And here I was, with a giant plan. "No, it's not. God, it's never just been you. Even at Halloween—"

"What?"

"What do you mean, 'What?' I told you…"

"I don't remember. I don't remember that party, outside of the costumes, and the drinks, and my teammates said—"

Oh, Jesus Christ. He actually has no idea. "Leo," I grasp onto his denim jacket. "I told you I love you, I never…this has never, ever, been one-sided. We kissed. Several times, actuall—"

I'm cut off by Leo crashing his lips into mine. Whatever I was going to say to him is lost. Replaced with wanton yearning and finally understanding. This isn't all too different from that drunken kiss we shared on Halloween, but this is a kiss of hope.

A kiss of life.

He pushes me up against Steve's desk—which will need to be reset when we're done—and I let out a moan as I try to stabilize myself. He uses that opening to snake his own tongue in. We spend what feels like minutes here, as I grip onto his…incredibly large bicep and he pulls me in using his grip on my neck.

I have to pull away, unfortunately. I think Leo's willing to die of suffocation while kissing me, but I need to make sure that we have a lot more of…this to experience.

"I'm actually going to kill the guys," Leo huffs, foreheads pressed together. I try to move us, a little, so I'm sitting on the edge of the desk versus leaning against it, and he lifts me delicately and pops me right on it. "Fuck, baby, do you mean that this entire time I had you…"

I nod slowly, "Yeah. The entire time. I just, I couldn't take advantage of you when you were so drunk…"

Leo leans forward, resting his head on my shoulder like that night at the party. "God, I am actually the most idiotic person on the planet…"

"You know now," I place a kiss in his brown curls. "And I am never, ever, letting you forget it. I seriously thought that you didn't want me anymore—"

He cuts me off by dropping to his knees. "If you ever think that, I need you to get Maria to kill me. ASAP. I want you any way you'll have me; boyfriend, friend, fuck, even class partner. I just need you in my life. I can't imagine you not in it. I was made for you, Sloane."

"I love you, Sloane. I do." Leo just keeps on repeating this, slurring as he takes steps down the hill over-and-over again and I just want to collapse in the damn street. Maybe if I just laid down and played dead, he'd sober up enough to realize that I do not want to hear him wax poetic when he's drunker than Peters and Robby combined.

I made the executive decision to leave the party and take Leo home after he threw up on my shoes, and I am sincerely regretting everything that ever led us to this. For him to ever say this to me, for him to kiss me, for him to get this drunk.

I know it's the alcohol talking, for one. He didn't kiss me in my apartment when we watched Empire Strikes Back. He's just horny and drunk. He'd probably hook up with anyone that asked when he's this wasted.

Screw this stupid hill. Delta Chi is not even a mile away from Leo's, but trying to go down the hill with a 6 foot drunken hockey player is harder than it sounds.

He keeps on nudging me, trying to get me to look at him while he makes this kicked puppy facial expression.

"I really mean it, Mackintosh. I swear to you," he keeps on going, like the fact that he's not willing to say it to me sober basically gets rid of all conviction. I just want him to shut up.

"I know you think it's because I'm drunk—which I'm not—" I laugh a little. That's the craziest lie I've ever heard, and Finn once asked a girl out at hockey camp, pretending to be 17 when he was 13. "But I love you, so so much. I'm too chicken to tell you, but you gotta believe me."

I roll my eyes, finally turning to face him a bit more. "I'll believe it when you're sober, Lee. C'mon, it's cold as fuck and I don't have a liquid blanket on like you do.

Leo practically tumbles down the hill when I speed up. He's not willing to let this go.

"Please, you can't tell me you've never thought about this—us."

I sigh, "I have. That's the issue."

"What. So I'm just a fantasy boyfriend? Am I not good enough to be the real thing?" His hair is fucked up from when we were dancing in the frat, and his eyes are so glassy and needy. All I've ever wanted is him and it takes every inch of self control to not give in. Fuck.

"I'm not talking about this with you. You are drunk, Leo."

"That's a copout." Apparently, his coordination gets worse but he becomes a lot more perceptive. "You're afraid of opening up to me!"

I give up. "Of course I am! Are you kidding me? This is the most I've ever felt for another human being! I've never had this kind-of experience, or feelings for anyone. Of course I'm fucking scared."

"Then why won't you let me love you?"

"You're drunk. I'm not—you're not sound of mind. I'm not talking to you about this."

We're both clearly…frustrated (sexually, probably) but neither of us will end this conversation. Leo will say something correct, I'll try to shut him down, and his drunk ass will read me like a book.

Rinse and repeat several times.

"But I know you. I know you so well that it scares you. I know you drunk, I know you sober, and I love you no matter what."

It's kind-of unfair how well he knows me. That he's stumbling around in a film-accurate Han Solo costume and I've never felt more seen in my 19 years on planet Earth.

I blink at him as we finally make it to the bottom of the hill, arms crossed like it'll offer any protection. The fake blaster at the side would probably do a better job of scaring him off. (We both know neither of us would want that to happen.)

"Is it because you finally kissed me? You finally realized that I might be willing to sleep with you?" At this point, I'm ready to start crying, too.

Leo backs up, practically falling over. "Wha—"

"Think about it. I've been hinting to you that I see you as more than a friend for what, weeks? At this point? I fucking suggested to do a couple's costume, Lee. You could've said something when we had our marathon, or like, any time before now."

"You think this is sex-based?" I nod a little bit and he's making a face that, for once, I can't discern what it means. "Fuck. God, I mean, you're perfect, and so so beautiful and I dream about you, but no. God, how can I even prove this to you?"

I stop in front of his house, heading on the porch to let Leo in. "Tell me this sober. You have no idea how I want to hear this coming from you, but I need you to be sober."

I can hear him crying—or at this point, maybe the tears are coming from me—as I turn back around and knock on the door. I hear a disembodied voice yelling to come in, and practically grab onto Leo's shoulders to corral him in.

I glance through to make sure Leo can make it into the house one last time. "Tell me it sober, Lee. Please. I want you, so badly, but I need you to be able to tell it to me sober."

I can't even leave before he runs back to the porch, keeping the door open with his foot. He crashes into me one last time and I feel like I've actually just died on the spot.

I know I shouldn't, but I succumb to that pea-brained, animalistic part of me and rest my arms on his shoulders, wrapping my hands in his hair as I lean in, reciprocating the second kiss of the night that I know never should've existed in the first place.

Instead, I melt into him, like we're two halves of one whole being.

He still tastes like cherry vodka and that ciabatta loaf I made him scarf down before we left, which should be a terrible, terrible combination, and yet I want to taste him for the rest of my life. I've only been kissed by 3 other people, but I know for a fact that this, sort-of drunken and full of yearning, is the best I'll ever get. It's messy, and arguably carnal in the way that I feel like if I ever let him go I'll lose him to some otherworldly force but it's perfect, too.

We have to breathe at some point, which we do, but as I collapse into him, chests heaving from the combination of two beings into one, I just want to kiss him more. But I have to be the adult in this. I'm the sober one. I want him so badly, I feel this want practically burning in my core, but he's drunk. He won't remember this interaction in the morning. How my lips are red and swollen from two kisses, and my pupils are probably blown out.

"Please," he whines, pressing our foreheads together. "Just one night, please, let me prove it to you, that I love you, Sloane."

I shake my head. "I want to, so badly."

"Baby, please." I have to break away from him and in any other scenario, in any other state of consciousness, I would've given in. I would've given him anything he asked for. But I'm too damn sober to do this. Not tonight.

"Tell me when you're sober, Leo. Please." I beg, turning away from him one last time to go to Betsy, parked right off of the sidewalk in front of his house.

Right. I have to act like this never happened and drive home and never tell Em a word of this.

I shouldn't look at him again. I shouldn't. But as I open the door to my polka-dotted Volkswagen beetle, I do. I sneak a look at him, drunkenly sobbing on the step of his porch. Fuck.