I say, “Swap,” at exactly the same time Ethan says, “Stay.” Then to make sure we truly embarrass ourselves, we do it again, louder.
Ethan and I stare each other down. It’s the first time we’ve really looked at each other in the past eight and a half weeks. My face and body flush with fierce heat.
It doesn’t escape my attention that Ethan’s ears have also gone bright pink.
“Fine. Whatever,” he says, waving his hand. “Swap me with Connor. That’s what she wants.”
“Oh, no, by all means, keep Holt in my group. What he wants is far more important.”
“I don’t want this,” he says as he steps closer, “but we both know it’s for the best.”
“Are we still talking about the acting groups now? Because if not, I know no such thing.”
Erika rolls her eyes and grabs her folder off the desk. “I don’t have time for this. Give me your decision by the end of today, or the groups stand unchanged.”
Ethan and I are too busy fuming to even notice her leaving.
He’s too close. My body’s involuntary craving to touch him makes me even angrier.
“Just take the swap, Ethan. You know we can’t work together.”
“Yeah, and it’s real convenient you get to work with Connor instead. Tell me, how long did he wait to hit on you after he found out we’d broken up?”
“Connor’s a friend. That’s all. Unlike other people, he actually cares about me.”
“Bullshit. He cares about the possibility of you riding his cock.”
“Whatever he cares about is none of your business. You broke up with me, remember? Just because you don’t want me doesn’t mean other men don’t.”
His expression clouds over, and his voice drops to a harsh whisper. “My breaking up with you had nothing to do with how much I wanted you. You know that.”
“You said that you loved me, then you dumped me. Even to a crazy person that would seem nuts.”
I guess this is the part where we fight about our breakup. I’d predicted it would have happened sooner, but I’m ready to come out, guns a-blazing.
“Just admit you broke up with me to protect yourself, Ethan. End of story.”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it. If we’d stayed together, I would’ve hurt you—”
“Newsflash! You hurt me anyway!”
“I would have hurt you more!”
“So you broke up in the hope we could have a chance at being friends, and yet this is the first time we’ve said two words to each other in over two months.”
He lets out a bitter laugh. “We can’t handle being friends.”
“There you go again, making assumptions about what I can and can’t handle.”
“Oh, really? You think you could handle us getting close again? Fine. Let’s workshop that.”
His expression turns predatory, and he takes a step closer. I step back.
“Do you seriously believe we could pretend we don’t want more?” He advances. I retreat. “Just imagine it. ‘Hey, Cassie. Wanna have lunch?’” He’s struggling to keep his expression casual. “ ‘How about we study together? Let’s run lines.’ ”
My back hits the wall. He’s so close we’re almost touching.
“ ‘Aw, you’re feeling bad? Let’s hug.’ That’s what friends do, right?”
His body heat is scorching. My skin is crawling with electricity.
He puts one hand on the wall beside my head and leans down. His voice is quiet and dark. “Once we get our arms around each other, we won’t want to let go. It will be an avalanche of ‘kiss me’, ‘touch me’, ‘put your hand down my pants’. ‘Take off your clothes, so I can be inside you.’”
“Stop.” I can’t breathe.
“That’s the problem. We wouldn’t stop. We’d keep going and all of a sudden we’d be neck-deep in a relationship in which my issues would fucking strangle us all over again. Would that be less torturous than what we’re going through now? Because I’d rather have none of you than little pieces that just keep me wanting more.”
I finally take a breath and look him in the eye. “So then why the fuss about swapping with Connor?”
His expression softens, and he steps back. “Because the only thing that would kill me more than touching you right now would be watching someone else do it.”
“You gave up your right to decide that. This time the decision’s mine, and since I can’t have you, I choose Connor.” I don’t realize how I’ve worded it until it’s out of my mouth, and by then, it’s too late.
He looks like I’ve punched him. “Of course you do. Fine. I’ll go and tell Erika.” He grabs his bag and heads to the door. When he reaches it, he turns back to me.
“Just out of interest, if I have to do a love scene with Zoe in my new group, would you care?”
Now it’s my turn to feel like I’ve been punched, but I don’t let him see.
“Ethan, I’ve just spent the past eight weeks teaching myself not to care every single time I see you. I’m getting pretty good at it by now.”
He nods and gives me a bitter smile. “Good for you.”
*
The campus gym.
I’ve been at this school for over eight months, and this is the first time I’ve stepped inside. It’s big. Just like everything else at this school.
The main floor is filled with cardio equipment and weight machines, and on the second level, there’s a free-weights area and various specialized rooms for things like yoga, Pilates, and boxing. There’s even a racquetball court.
It seems Eva Bonetti, whose name is plastered over the door, was a generous patron of the arts.
Ruby said I should try out the boxing room. Relieve some stress, she’d said. Stop being a mopey bitch, she’d said. Pretend the punching bag is Holt’s stupidly handsome face, she’d said.
I figure it can’t hurt. So here I am, brand-new boxing gloves in hand, resolve firmly in place. Determined to purge some of the emotional pressure that’s been building inside me for the past few months.
It’s Friday night, so the place is practically empty. Of course, most college students have more exciting things to do on the weekend than punch out their frustrations. I’m not one of them.
As I approach the boxing room, I hear grunts coming from inside. Dammit. I hadn’t considered someone else would be using it. I reach the door and peer in through the glass panel.
My breath catches.
It’s him.
Broad shoulders in a wife-beater, his arms pumping as he pummels the bag. Jabs and upper-cuts blend into thumping roundhouses. His riotous hair drips with sweat.
Every time he hits the bag, he grunts, his face intense and angry. Time and again the gloves thump and smack. I can nearly feel the force of it through the door.
A cold shiver runs up my spine.
He looks desperate. Like he’s fighting for his life, hitting over and over again and seemingly getting no satisfaction from it. It should make me happy to see him suffering so much, but it doesn’t. Instead, it stirs emotions I absolutely don’t want to feel.
He continues punishing the bag, arms flying, body pivoting to give him more power. Then he kicks it, knees it. Uses so much force, I feel the vibration through the floor. He gets faster and faster, and his noises become more frustrated, until at last he stops and grips the bag as he gasps for breath. His face morphs into an expression of total defeat.
“Fuck it,” he groans as he presses his forehead into the Everlast logo. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
I’m desperate to know what’s going through his mind. I long to tell him he’s making it too hard. That it could be so easy and right between us if he’d just give in.
But I know he wouldn’t believe me and it’s too late for that anyway. At this point, we’re beyond repair.
Whe
n he rips off his gloves and throws them at the wall, I sling my gym bag over my shoulder and walk away. Every part of me begs to go back.
I don’t.
By the time I reach the stairs, the grunting has started again.
*
“He misses you, you know.”
I didn’t think anyone knew about my secret reading corner at the far edge of the drama block, but I should have realized Elissa is part bloodhound.
I close my book, not sure what to say. She helps by flopping down next to me and filling the silence. “I know you think he’s an asshole or whatever, but I’ve never seen my brother so ruined over anyone before. He’s like a ghost of who he was when he was with you.”
Bitter laughter bubbles out of me. “Maybe he shouldn’t have dumped me, then.”
She picks at the grass next to her. “He thinks he’s protecting you.”
“Well, he’s wrong.”
“What if he’s not?” She holds her hand up to shield her eyes from the sun’s glare. “What if he’d stayed and all his issues forced you to be the one who walked away? Would that have been less or more painful?”
I shrug. “I guess we’ll never know, will we?”
She’s quiet for a moment then says, “He’s not a bad person, Cassie. He’s just damaged. Scared.”
I blink and pick at the grass too, trying to stay calm. “I know. And now, thanks to him, I know what that’s like.”
She doesn’t reply to that. I don’t expect her to.
She stands. “Do you at least miss him?”
More than I’ve missed anything or anyone in my short and unremarkable life.
“I’m trying really hard not to.”
“How’s that working out for you?”
“Miserably.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Elissa, you have nothing to apologize for. Your brother, on the other hand . . .”
She nods. “Do you think you’ll ever forgive him?”
I sigh. “I honestly don’t know.”
It’s the truth. I’d like to think I could get past all of this, but I don’t know if I’m strong enough.
“I hope you do,” she says. “You two are meant to be together. I can feel it in my bones.”
The thing that frustrates me more than anything is that I know she’s right.
I just don’t see how it’s possible.
*
It’s performance day.
We’ve been rehearsing our excerpts for four weeks. Ethan and I have hardly spoken the entire time.
Avoidance has become an art form for both of us.
My group is performing scenes from A Streetcar Named Desire. Connor’s playing Stanley. I’m Blanche.
I know now why Erika initially wanted Ethan to play Stanley. He’s perfect for the role—moody, intense, full of turmoil and passion, unsure of himself and aggressive because of it. Connor’s doing a good job, but Ethan would have been spectacular.
Blanche is a challenge for me. She’s an aging Southern belle. Distraught over the suicide of her husband. Haunted by having walked in on him having sex with a man. Embarrassed by her sister’s violent oaf of a husband, and fighting her primal attraction to him.
As we prepare to go on, I sneak a peek into the auditorium. All of our classmates are there, as well as the second-year actors. I see Ethan, tight-jawed and restless in his seat, trying to look interested in something Lucas is saying.
Just as Erika announces our scenes, Ethan stands and strides out of the theater.
Even though I’m a little hurt, I’m also relieved.
Now I can pour everything into my performance without being self-conscious about him watching me with Connor.
It also makes me feel not so bad about hiding in the bathroom when he did his love scenes with Zoe earlier. I just couldn’t watch them together. Even thinking about it made my head pound with rage.
Yep, this not caring about each other thing is going well.
*
Ruby points to a third-year drama student with shaggy hair.
“Kiss him.”
“No.”
She gestures to a guy I’ve never seen before but who bears a striking resemblance to a young Matt Damon. “What about him?”
“No.”
“Here, have some more tequila.”
“It’s not going to make me want to kiss random boys.”
“Yes, it is. Trust me.”
I sigh and slump into the couch. “Ruby, I don’t want to kiss anyone.”
“Yes, you do, but you want it to be that douche who dumped you freaking months ago, which is why I’m staging this intervention.”
“Okay, taking me to a party and getting me drunk enough to mack on strangers is not an intervention.”
“It is in my book.”
“Also, I do not want to kiss Ethan.”
She rolls her eyes. “Sure you don’t. That’s why, in the five months since you broke up, you haven’t even looked at another guy.”
“That’s not true. I’ve looked.”
“Yeah, you just haven’t touched.” She throws up her hands. “Cassie, don’t you understand that the best way to get over one guy is to get under another?”
“I just don’t feel like getting into anything, okay?”
“I’m not saying you have to pick out china patterns or anything. Just have some fun. Kiss. Grope. Fuck. It doesn’t have to be with the love of your life. You’re nineteen, for God’s sake. You can’t just swear off all men because Holt broke your heart. Men are like vibrators. Just because they’re dicks, it doesn’t mean you can’t use them to have a good time.”
She hands me another shot of tequila and I down it, mainly because I can’t be bothered arguing with her.
I’m starting to feel blurry. Like the room is filled with Jell-O and everyone’s moving slowly.
Ruby’s still talking, but I’ve tuned her out. I don’t want to be here. Also, I know she’s right.
I am afraid of getting hurt again.
Part of me wants to take Ruby’s advice and hook up with someone, purely to feel wanted again. To remind myself I’m attractive, and desired, and not as hollow as I feel. But I know I’ll always feel the twinge of what Ethan did to me. It will always hold me back.
I get up. “I’m going home, Ruby. I’m sorry. You stay. Have a good time.”
She stands and hugs me. “Well, me having a good time is a given. I just wish I could help you get over Mr. Dickface.”
I laugh. “I am getting over him. I swear. I haven’t fantasized about punching him or fucking him for weeks now.”
She strokes my cheek. “Awwww, I’m so pwoud of you.”
I smack her hand away and hug her again. She really does give the world’s best hugs.
I head toward the door. Just before I get there, I see a familiar shape silhouetted in the hallway, tall and broad, chaotic hair. I slow down and lean against the wall for support as I contemplate squeezing past him.
To my relief, when he turns around I see that it’s a guy I’ve never seen before. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Kind of gorgeous. He gives me a smile and moves back against the wall to let me pass.
“Please tell me you’re not leaving,” he says, obviously a little drunk. “It would be a total crime if the most beautiful girl at this party went home before I got a chance to talk to her.”
I shrug. “Sorry. I have some very important sitting around to do. Can’t waste my whole night partying.”
He holds out his hand. “I’m Nick, by the way. Third-year visual arts.”
I put my hand in his, and when we shake, I’m surprised it gives me a small thrill.
“Cassie. First-year actor.”
“Very nice to meet you, Cassie.”
“Likewise, Nick.”
He doesn’t let go of my hand, and I don’t remove it. There’s something about the way he’s looking at me that makes me feel less empty. I know we’re both a little drunk, but it’s nice to know someone finds me desirable.
“KISS HIM!” Ruby yells down the hallway.
I pull my hand free and cover my face.
Nick looks at Ruby, clearly bemused. “Uh, is that a friend of yours?”
“Not anymore.”
He laughs. “Does she often scream at you to kiss people you’ve just met?”
“Yeah. More often than I’d like.”
He steps closer. “Well, she seems nice. I’d hate for her to be disappointed.”
Before I register what’s happening, he leans down and presses his lips against my cheek. My skin tingles in a not-unpleasant kind of way, and I instinctively grab his shirt. He pulls back and smiles.
“I hope that was okay.”
“Yeah,” I say, a little dizzy. “That was okay.”
I wait for the guilt to hit me, but when it does it’s far less potent than I expect.
Maybe I am getting over Ethan after all.
Or maybe it’s just the tequila.
Whatever the reason, when my cab pulls up and blares its horn, I say goodnight to Nick and feel a lot more confident about my romantic future than before I arrived.
Being sort of attracted to someone means I’m on my way to being completely indifferent to Ethan, right?
*
I’m in the costume cage down on the basement level of the drama block. It’s cramped and dusty, and innumerable costumes from hundreds of productions have been squeezed onto row after row of floor-to-ceiling racks. Students are allowed to borrow them but finding exactly what you want is always tough. I’ve been looking for something for my monologue from Twelfth Night for almost an hour, and the stale air is making me feel light-headed.
When all the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, I know I’m not alone. Sure enough, I turn around to find Ethan watching me.
“I didn’t know you were in here,” he says, seemingly annoyed.
My heart rate speeds up. “Yeah, well, I am.”
Stop it. You’re indifferent, remember? He has no effect on you anymore.
He exhales and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Are you nearly done?”