CHAPTER 28 (1)

“Where you going this early? Breakfast at Vanier?” Jacob’s voice comes from the kitchen Thursday morning. “Nah, I can make use of the now-functioning fridge,” I reply. “There’s some non-moldy cream cheese in there.” I pack my guitar in its case and give myself a quick once-over in the bedroom mirror on the badly painted dresser that came with the apartment. My shirt is not only clean but ironed, and my hair’s doing more or less what I want. I’ll take it as a win. “Yeah, but there’s nothing to put it on. Except an overripe banana.” Jacob peers inside as I pass him, guitar in tow. “Figured you’d be into that,” I say as I head for the front door. “Overripe is a problem,” Jacob says. “I prefer them young. Firm.” “And I will never ask again.” I drop my guitar case and set my phone on the counter to grab my jacket. The fridge has been fixed since Monday, but we haven’t gotten anything resembling groceries. We’ve been busy. Jacob landed a string of auditions and even won a commercial. I’ve started working on my showcase audition in earnest. I have a song in mind, but I’m not satisfied it’s what I need to land the closing spot and score the visibility and ten grand that would put a dent in my dad’s hospital bills. My phone buzzes, and Jacob grabs it before I can. “Timothy: ‘Got a line on a rehearsal room at 8 a.m.’” I shrug into the coat, his gaze cutting back to me. “Wait,” he says, “You not only scored a rehearsal room but you’re willing to share it with someone?” I reach for my shoes. “It’s not a big deal.” “Emily: ‘Long as it won’t cramp your style to practice with the competition.’” Jacob hollers. “Oh, you’re trying to move in on my girl.” One shoe on, I snatch the phone back. “I told you, she’s not your girl.” “You’re so far into her it’s a wonder you can speak. Because your lips are glued to her ass,” Jacob explains at my blank stare as I tuck the phone away and put on the other shoe. “Or other places.” A week ago, Jacob would’ve been right. I was fighting the attraction. Her dancing with me on Jacob’s birthday—even if she did it to prove a point—meant I couldn’t fall asleep all weekend without jerking off to the thought of her. But the night at Comedy Palace changed things. “I understand why you left, but if you think for a second it didn’t tear me up, you were wrong.” The way she looked at me, the way our hands brushed when we walked side by side on the way home, gave me something I haven’t felt in a long time. Hope. Since vowing to win back my contract, I’ve been running on determination, conviction, even a need for vindication. I didn’t realize how dark those feelings were until I had something bright to compare them to. “We’ve been texting all week,” I tell him. “And we’ve had lunch twice at Vanier.” “Sounds serious.” He flutters his eyelashes. “She’s the first girl I ever fell for.” I reach for my bag, but Jacob’s groan has me look up. “Slow your roll,” he says. “I knew you knew her before this year. A high school girlfriend from Philly?” “No.” I exhale hard. “She’s Eddie Carlton’s kid.” His jaw hits the floor. “Well, fuck me. She’s the one who messed you up before you came here. I get it. She’s pretty fucking great.” His response has the hairs on my neck lifting. “But I’m not gonna go there, because you guys have some major unresolved shit.” “It’s past tense.” “Really? Because I saw how you looked at her the other night,” Jacob says. “That wasn’t a ‘past tense’ kind of look. That was a ‘present perfect’ kind of look.” “You don’t know what that means.” “Sure, I do. You’d like to have been getting some for the last two weeks.” I shake my head as I start out the door. “Just eat the banana, Jacob. I’ll catch you tonight.” Our neighborhood’s not the safest, but in daylight it’s fine. I don’t notice any of it this morning on my way to Vanier. Instead, I’m thinking of Emily. Jacob’s right. The past tense feelings are blurring with the present tense ones. The more I talk to her, the harder it gets to convince myself there’s nothing between us. But just because I’m attracted to her doesn’t mean I’d jump into a relationship with her or that she would with me. I have to think twice before letting someone in again. I fucked up my career when I moved to New York last fall and spun out, and while some of it was about what happened with my dad? A lot of it was about her. I can’t afford to set myself up for that again. I head to school, and an hour later, I’m in the rehearsal room running my audition song when a knock comes. I get up from my stool, guitar in one hand, and open the door. My breath sticks in my throat. Emily’s dark hair is piled up on her head, a few pieces loose from the bun I want to tug out just to see it fall in waves around her shoulders. Her cheeks are flushed. She’s wearing leggings and a denim shirt with the top two buttons undone, and the way her backpack straps tug on the fabric reveals a tantalizing glimpse of the curve of her breasts. A chain disappears beneath the clothes. I want to follow it with my tongue. “There’s a price to enter,” I say, my voice remarkably level. She angles her chin up. “I’m not going to blow you.” All the blood in my body goes south. I take back every thought about wanting to rewind time, to get back the girl I knew a year ago. I want this Emily Carlton, the one with dancing eyes who says she’s not going to blow me as if she’s actually considered letting me stick my cock between those beautiful lips. As if the right circumstances might make her consider it again. Oblivious to my thoughts, she holds out one of two coffees. “My final offer.” I take one with my free hand and let her in. She crosses the room, dropping onto the piano bench. “I thought we could pause the competition thing for an hour. I could play my piece, and you could play yours. You know, give each other notes.” I shift onto the stool. The rooms aren’t big, so I’m only a few steps away from her and the piano. “Deal,” I say. “You start.”