CHAPTER 23 (2)
Avery: AND HOW WAS SEEING HIM??? So many emotions flood me I don’t know how to respond. Annie: Weird. Horrifying. Exciting. Scary. The third word slips out without me meaning to type it. Avery: Tell me he grew out of the hot badass look. I bite my cheek. Avery’s brows rise up her forehead, and she kicks my calf lightly. Annie: He grew into it. Maybe you’ll see his girlfriend. I flash back to the girl I saw in his lap the day of auditions, and my gut twists sharply. She must be a student, too, but she wasn’t with him at assembly. They could’ve broken up. Or they could be married. It can’t matter. Timothy Adams can date whomever he wants. He left because other things mattered more than me. I should be grateful for the lesson—it taught me to focus on my dreams and not my heart. This year, I won’t fall for anyone. Especially not him. When class finishes, we pack up and I check my phone. “I have English at one thirty, and you have history. Want to get lunch?” She lifts a shoulder. “Absolutely. I’m thinking of running for student government, and I need your opinion on my platform. But first, I got you a present.” We head to her dorm, and she opens the door to her single with a flourish. “Behold!” My gaze lands on the twin goldfish bowls on her desk. “You got us twin fish?” “Because we might not be at the same school but we’ll always be friends.” Gratitude washes over me. “The best.” She grabs me in a hug, then we both turn to study the fish. “What should we call them?” I cock my head. “Something that speaks to our enduring love. Like… the world may change around us, and we might grow old and die, but we’ll always have these fish.” “To be clear, they live five years.” A lightbulb goes on. “I’ve got it. You want Heath cliff or Cathy?” Avery snorts with laughter. “Oh my God. You take Heath.” “Deal.” I grab one of the fishbowls in my arms, and we head toward the dining hall. “So, are you going to at least talk to Timothy?” Avery asks once we’re outside. “You don’t think he’d tell your Dad you’re here…” I suck in a shallow breath, adjusting my new pet in my arms. “When Timothy left, he left all of us. Dad would’ve said something the last year if they’d kept in touch.” “You have to tell your Dad eventually.” “I will. But not yet. I need a chance to show him he was wrong about me, and Vanier.” By the next morning, I’m learning a few things about my new environment. One, my roommate appears and disappears at all hours of the night. When I went to bed after hanging out with Avery for most of the day, doing homework in the library at Vanier, and finally meeting Andie and some other girls from our floor for a late dinner, there was no sign of her except for her trunk and dolls in our room. When I got up to use the bathroom at 4 a.m., Rica was sprawled across her bed, fully clothed down to her white sneakers, and snoring. By eight, when I get up to shower and dress, she’s under the covers. I catch a glimpse of her schedule printed and lying on her desk and frown. Apparently, she has Entertainment Management Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays with me and Andie. I cross to her bed and prod her shoulder. “You getting up?” Nothing. I shrug and head outside to grab Andie for class. The professor is a young woman who reminds me of Miss Norma from Oakwood except she’s wearing a black blazer over dark jeans. “In this class, we’ll be talking about how to manage a career. The arts aren’t only about talent. Plenty of talented people will never pay their bills using those abilities.” “So, once I pull down these silver jeans,” Andie says, mimicking the prof’s friendly tone from the seat next to mine, “you can practice kissing my ass. A skill that will serve you well in the years to come.” I swallow the laugh and return to taking notes. I’m most excited for the remaining two classes—my private music lessons, scheduled with my faculty supervisor on Fridays, and my elective. I chose a studio acting class, which is Wednesdays. I go to class with Andie, where maybe fifteen students are sitting in desks arranged in a semicircle. The woman at the front has me lifting my brows. She looks like a librarian, with pale hair twisted up in a knot on her head and a printed floral dress. Her face is wrinkled, but her eyes are sharp beneath her reading glasses. “Good afternoon, I’m Ms. MirandaTamayo. Welcome to my studio intensive. You’re all acting students, which means this is what you—yes?” she asks, irritated by my raised hand as I look around. “I’m in contemporary music, not theater. This is my elective.” Her gaze narrows. “Is anyone else here in contemporary music?”
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
