CHAPTER 25 (1)
“You were great at Leo’s last night.” I look up from my notebook the next afternoon at the Vanier library to see a slender blond guy from class leaning over my chair. “Jorge,” he volunteers. “We survived acting intensive together with Ms. Miranda Tamayo.” “Right.” I smile back. I don’t remember seeing him at Leo’s, but most of the night I was distracted—by my need to prove myself and by the one guy who could ruin my chances of doing that. “Homework?” Jorge nods to my notebook. “No, actually. Just writing.” I used to force my brain to work in logic and answers and solutions. Getting good grades meant everything needed to fit into a cogent argument. Now, I think in feelings. Emotions. I don’t know if it’s an evolution or a devolution. When I feel something, I drop it onto a page. The words flow out of me, contained by the paper. It keeps them from burning me alive, breaking me from the inside. “Thanks for the compliment about last night,” I say. “It’s easy to get lost here there are so many good people.” “I know, right? Did you see that guy, Timothy something? He was the best of the night by far.” I smile tightly. “He was pretty good.” I saw him. He waited for me backstage only to strip me bare with his hard gaze and his harder words. Then I watched him perform, reminding me he’s not only the most capable musician but magnetic enough you’d give your soul for another minute in his presence. And you practically volunteered that you aren’t supposed to be here. Chalk it up to being caught off guard. Again. It’s not enough to be in a new place trying to make my way—the one guy from my past has to be holding my secret over my head. Next time, I’ll be ready. But what the hell was he saying about me getting over him? Did he mean Jacob? Is he jealous? Impossible. “Are you trying out for the fall showcase?” Jorge’s words have me blinking. “I heard only upper years get in.” “Doesn’t mean you can’t try out.” His brows wiggle under his hair. “I’m there. Figured you would be, too—you seem like the go-better type. Auditions are in two weeks, so you better work something up.” He takes off, and I stare after him. Then I type a message on my phone. There’s a response five minutes later. Beck: Meet me in P69. It takes me ten minutes to figure out P refers to the practice rooms, not parking, but there’s no 69. It takes me another five minutes to find the closed door with a small window and P69 carved into the door. I knock on the door, and it opens an inch. Inside, Jacob’s sitting in a desk chair, feet propped on a shelf. “What is this place?” I ask. “It looks like a supply closet.” “Practice rooms are hard to come by. Sometimes you gotta grab whatever you can find.” He pulls the door open, and I wedge myself inside. “What’re you working on?” I look at his computer and the book in front of him. “King Lear. And my vlog.” He nods at his computer. “New episode every week.” I glance as his profile, my brows lifting. “That’s a lot of subscribers.” “Half wanna watch me strip. Half are actually interested in what I have to say.” He cocks his head. “But you wanted to hear about the showcase. It’s the BFD. You want to get noticed in this city, that’s how you do it. The biggest casting agents, producers, directors—everyone comes. You see the EGOT wall downstairs?” I think of the portraits in the main hall. “Hasn’t everybody?” “All of ‘em not only played the showcase but closed it. And I happen to know who’s gonna close this year.” He grins. Electricity hums through my body. “You mean your roommate.” Jacob shrugs. “The guy’s a beast with a guitar. Everyone thinks it’s going to be his year.” “What do you think?” I ask. He shifts back in his chair, braces one foot on the table he’s rigged up as a desk. “I might be more Shaw and Shakespeare than Stryker or the Stones, but even I can tell that dude’s gonna burn up a stage. And my roomie needs a break. Be patient. You’ll have your shot next year.” “It’s supposed to be an open competition, Jacob. Are you afraid I’ll take it from him?” He smirks, appreciation flashing in his eyes. “I’m not worried about you beating him head to head. I’m worried about you messing with his head.” Surprise slams into me as he continues. “I saw you at Leo’s. You were good. Thing is, it wasn’t nearly as interesting as watching my roommate watch you.” I fold my arms across my chest. “I don’t know what that means.” “Doesn’t matter. What I’m saying is Ty’s been through some shit and if anyone deserves a break, it’s him.” Surprise washes over me. “Why? What happened to him?” “Not my place to say. But he’s good people, Manatee. The best people.” An ache forms low in my gut. “Here. At least let me move this box. You’ll have more room.” He shifts over an inch, and I manage to pry a box of nails off the floor and stick them onto a shelf. When I look up, Jacob’s watching me. “You think working your ass off in a supply closet isn’t glamorous,” he guesses. “But it is, because here’s the secret.” He crooks a finger, and I humor him, leaning in. “They all wanna be us. We’re the rebels, Manatee.
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