by Julie Cross
He’s wearing a black leather jacket, gray scarf, and jeans that fit just right. He looks perfect and important and like someone who belongs here. I could never be the reason for taking that from him.
Alex glances briefly down one side of the hall and then the other before leaning in closer. “Are you…are you okay? Elana said you were sick for a long time.” He scans up my entire body and then his gaze lands back on my face. I know he can tell I’ve lost weight but he doesn’t bring it up. “I thought the dorms closed. Where are you staying?”
I look right at him and lie. “At Stephanie’s aunt’s place in New Jersey.”
I don’t want him to be tempted to come and see me. Though after the last time we talked, I thought he’d be too disgusted to even think about seeing me again. Or hurt. Or both.
“You’re staying there for Christmas?” he asks like this is hard to believe. I just shrug and don’t give a verbal response, then he adds, “Elana’s leaving for France tonight.”
“She told me. She seems to be in a better mood lately.”
Before they shot the fragrance campaign, I got this weird vibe from Elana’s texts and finally broke down and called her. She spilled about her and Alex not getting along and I was so afraid of her not being under his watch that I worked hard to redeem him and told her about his sister, Katie, and how he’s protective of her. That seemed to help.
Alex gives me a tiny smile. “She’s speaking to me again. That’s something. She didn’t give me a Christmas card or anything, but she did give me a Prada bag full of makeup for Katie. A sixteen-hundred-dollar Prada bag for a girl she’s never met.”
Elana’s probably been given more than one sixteen-hundred-dollar Prada bag, as hot as she is right now. Model perks. And this conversation is too friendly. It’s killing me.
“What about you?” I ask. “Where are you headed for Christmas?” I know the answer but it helps a little to pretend like I don’t know him well enough to have this information already.
“Nebraska,” he says. “I fly out on the twenty-third.”
I nod toward the waiting area. “I should get back in there. They’ll probably be calling for me soon. I wouldn’t want anyone to see us talking. Wes will be really pissed if we end up with another photo op.”
He takes a step back and his face turns completely impassive, like I’ve just reminded him of everything. “Right.”
I move past him and head toward the waiting area, but his voice stops me again.
“Eve, wait.”
I turn around and face him. My defenses fall for a few seconds, and I’m hit with the feelings I’d stuffed away these past few weeks. I miss the person I could be with him, the way he looked at me, like I was important and special and interesting just for being me and not Eve Castle. I miss him. There, I said it. Or at least I thought it. Now I need to get away from him before I break down and tell him all this. I need my life to stay in order.
“I’m fine, Alex. Just let it go.” I watch his face to see any signs of him backing off and when he doesn’t, I take one last stab, right in the gut. “You know what? I’ve already done the secret relationship thing and you know how that turned out. So this—you and me—it was a bad idea from the beginning. I don’t know what I was thinking. If I had just…” I cover my face for a second, digging for that last ounce of courage. “If I had just let things end when the CK shoot ended, I wouldn’t be here. I’d be on set with Janessa.”
His eyes drop to his feet, and he starts buttoning up his jacket, adding a forceful edge to his movements. “That’s fine. I get it. You have Wes to figure everything out for you now.”
“Just like you,” I remind him before spinning around to leave. This time he doesn’t stop me.
I only get to sit in the waiting area for about one minute before my fake name, Eve Castle, is being called by the nineteen-year-old intern who is acting as the receptionist.
“Please bring in your portfolio and two comp cards. You can leave your purse and your jacket and everything else out here.”
I take off my jacket and put my purse down on the chair I’d been sitting in and follow the intern down the hallway into the casting studio. As she opens the door, all eyes are on me. The familiar scent of judgment fills the air. In my previous modeling years, I’d developed the ability to guess if that judgment had a positive or negative charge to it.
In this case it’s the latter.
I do my best to ignore instincts and smile anyway.
“How are you guys? My name is Eve Nowa…Castle.” Shit. I take a breath and close my eyes for a second. “Eve Castle.”
“Hello, Eve Nowa Castle.” The malicious sarcasm seeps out through her smirk and monotone speech. “If you could, could you leave your book with us, take a comp card up with you, and step on the middle line.”
“Gary, please take a picture of Miss Castle.”
Standing on the line, I notice that the whole panel of people supposedly casting are otherwise engaged with some form of technology—iPhone or laptop. While I’m frowning at the lack of social courtesy, Gary says, “three.”
Damn. I totally wasn’t ready. I’ll have to wow them on the rest of the shots. As the picture comes up on the screen facing the client table, Mrs. Bossy Pants says, “Okay, I think we have everything we need! Thanks.”
Seriously? One picture?
As I walk out, no one says anything else, which infuriates me even more. Maybe it’s these people setting me off or maybe it’s the combination of them and seeing Alex again, but I’m so pissed I can’t even think straight and I end up shouting, “THANKS FOR YOUR TIME, EVERYONE!” and slamming the door.
I’m 100 percent sure I won’t be booking that job.
I give the cold December air a second to cool me off before digging for my phone and looking at the rest of my grades. My heart is still racing from Alex and the casting and my hands shake as I scroll down to view my final grade:
CALCULUS 220 (SIMON) C
FALL SEMESTER GPA: 3.6
My vision blurs from shock and tears. I got a C in calculus…I got a C in calculus…oh my God…how did this happen? I know I missed classes when I was sick, and that final was a struggle, but I thought I’d pulled off a B.
That’s it. It’s over.
I needed a 3.8 to be eligible to win the Mason Scholarship. I’m out of the running. No interview. Nothing. I don’t even need to be Janessa’s assistant anymore. I mean what’s the point? And yeah, I knew it was a long shot, but getting kicked when I’m already down hurts like hell. The GPA had never been my biggest concern. Not even close.
I lift my sleeve to wipe tears from my cheeks before they freeze against my skin. My entire body is hit with pain that has everything to do with failure. I can’t keep moving down the busy sidewalk, so I lean against a building, closing my eyes and trying to breathe without breaking into sobs.
I’m not even close to calm when my phone, still clutched in my hand, buzzes. I wipe my eyes again and groan.
“What?” I snap.
“Jesus, Evie,” Wes says. “Hello to you too.”
I start walking down the sidewalk, clueless as to where I want to go. “If this is about the casting I just finished, can we discuss it later?”
I’m about to hang up on him without hearing his response, but before I can, he says, “Nope, it’s about some of the castings you’ve been on the past few days. You booked two jobs. An editorial and a small catalog, so congrats.”
My feet slow down automatically as I process this information. I glance up at the sky for a second. Maybe there is some higher being that doesn’t get a kick out of watching me drown. And maybe it’s only a pinky toe reaching out to pull me up, but it’s something.
“I’m not getting a scholarship,” I blurt out to Wes. “My GPA isn’t high enough, so I’m out.”
“I’m sorry,” he says. “Bu
t honestly, Evie, it was a long shot, right? Stick with what you know you can do and you won’t have to deal with that level of disappointment again.”
“Yeah, it was a long shot,” I admit. “Email me the job details and send me out on whatever castings you’ve got. I’ll take all of them. I’m going to tell Janessa I quit. There’s no point in keeping that up, right?”
“No point at all,” Wes says. “Schedule’s on its way to you.”
“Thanks, Wes.”
I hang up the phone and realize my life must be complete shit right now if I’m thanking Wes Danes.
Chapter 41: Alex
December 23, 6:30 p.m.
“There’s a party tonight at Jenna Phillips’s house,” Katie says, looking right at my mom from across the table. “It’s a pre-holiday thing. Soda and board games and all that.”
“I don’t know, sweetie.” Mom’s voice emerges from the dining room where I’m about to enter. “Will her parents be home?”
“I think they’ll be right across the street at a different party,” Katie says.
Just as I sit down, my dad gives his one-word answer. “No.”
An odd and uncomfortable quiet fills the walls of my parents’ four-bedroom tri-level home, and it has nothing to do with the tuna casserole topped with crushed potato chips that my mom is famous for.
My dad is seated at the end of our dining-room table, reading the sports page. I’m sure he already read it first thing this morning. I’m also pretty sure my mom hasn’t changed her rules of no newspapers at the table, which is why she’s busy glaring at my dad. Katie’s sulking and is now completely invested in picking the peas out of her casserole and sliding them to the far side of her plate.
My brother Bradley is shoveling food into his mouth and watching Katie make designs with her peas. My oldest brother, Jared, and his girlfriend, Leslie, who I met for the first time today, are busy looking at each other as if silently conversing about how weird my family is.
“Leslie’s a vegetarian,” Mom says out of the blue, breaking the full four minutes of silence. Everyone, including me, looks up at her. “But she eats fish.”
I guess this is supposed to be an explanation for why we’re having this meal instead of steak, but tuna casserole has been on my mom’s weekly menu since I graduated from Gerber baby food. I don’t think she changed anything for Leslie’s sake.
“So, Leslie,” I say to break the awkward silence. “My mom said you’re a teacher?”
“It’s my first year teaching. I’m at St. Mary’s. Second grade.”
“Cool. Where did you go to college?”
The whole family seems to be hanging on to this conversation as a lifeline. I don’t know exactly what is up with all the weird silence and everyone behaving themselves, because I got the impression from Mom that Leslie’s been around my family enough. She spent Thanksgiving with them. So it must not be her presence that’s causing the shift, even though Jared having a girlfriend is quite a shocker for me.
“University of Nebraska in Lincoln,” she says.
“So, you’re a Cornhusker?”
She just smiles and doesn’t give another reply, because it isn’t really a question. And the conversation has died.
I think I’ve pissed Jared off or something, because he sets down his fork and looks over at me. Maybe he feels inferior because his girlfriend actually graduated from college and his college career ended with his football career.
“So, Alex,” Jared says. “Where’s your girlfriend? Emma, right?”
I force down a mouth full of noodles and mushroom soup concoction and then clear my throat. “Elana. And she’s in France with her family for Christmas, then she’s doing a runway show in Paris after New Year’s.”
My dad snorts back a laugh and opens his paper to the middle section, completely hiding his face. In the five hours since I arrived home, I’ve started to get the feeling that my dad thinks I’m gay. And it might be easier to just admit to it then to try to convince him otherwise.
“Aren’t you worried about her hooking up with some French dude,” Jared says.
My mom moves her glare from Dad to Jared. I don’t know if she’s glaring because she doesn’t want my feelings hurt or because the term “hooking up” isn’t on her list of polite dinner conversation words.
“I’m sure she’ll be fine. We’ll be fine,” I add as an afterthought just to keep the hoax alive.
Bradley decides to speak up for the first time tonight. “Does she even speak English or is it all physical—”
Mom slams her fork against her plate. “Bradley!”
Katie starts laughing. I kick her in the shin from under the table. “Yes, it’s all physical,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Just hours upon hours of making out and sex. Lots of sex, thanks to the giant box of condoms Dad bought me.” Dad drops the paper below his eyes and raises an eyebrow. “And despite the language barrier, I have picked up a few French words, but none of them are appropriate for the dinner table.”
Leslie’s face turns bright red, probably due to her second-grade mind-set. My mom still looks pissed at Brad for starting this whole conversation.
“Oh, come on,” Brad says. “Don’t tell me all of you weren’t dying to ask him that. She was like topless and all over him in those Calvin Klein pictures. And then he was hooking up with that other model, the hot brunette who’s sleeping with his agent to get work.”
My eyes are probably massive right now. I look from Brad to Katie, and Katie gives me a weary smile and says, “He’s on Twitter.”
I stare at my older brother in disbelief. Both of my brothers are the polar opposite of me—dark hair, stocky build, just under six feet—and then there’s Katie and me, the scrawny blond kids. It’s always been us against them, so it’s not like I ever expected any amount of acceptance from them, but this is worse. They’re embarrassed by me. I can tell. That’s why no one is saying anything. That’s why the usual texts teasing me about various industry items have stopped these past few weeks.
I pick up my plate and carry it to the kitchen sink. I walk past the table again, muttering, “I’m tired. I think I’m gonna take a nap.” Then I head down the basement steps to my old bedroom.
• • •
It’s nearly eleven at night when I wake up again. I’m starving, because my tuna casserole went half untouched. I walk up the steps and hear Brad and Jared’s voices. They’re playing cards at the dining room table and drinking Dad’s beer. I can also just make out the soft muffled sound of my parents’ upstairs bedroom TV telling me they’re already in bed, watching the evening news, like always. It’s a little weird that Jared is still here and Leslie isn’t, considering they have an apartment about ten minutes from here.
“Hey,” I mumble as I walk past them, into the kitchen.
“What? No suitcase?” Jared calls from the dining room as I’m pulling random items from the fridge in preparation for making a monster sandwich.
“We figured you’d be tired of us by now,” Bradley adds.
“Just getting a snack.” I continue to pile cold cuts and cheese onto a slice of bread, topping it with spicy mustard and another piece of bread. I return everything to the fridge and then join them in the dining room, standing against the wall. “Jared, I thought you lived at Leslie’s place?”
“Not at the moment.” He doesn’t look up at me, his eyes on the cards spread across the table. “Her parents are visiting for the holidays. She doesn’t want them to know we live together.”
“Won’t the smell give it away?” Brad says.
Jared half stands up in his chair and reaches across the table and slugs him in the shoulder. “She’s fucking Catholic. You know how they are.”
They both crack up and relax back into their chairs. Brad glances at me and then back at his cards. “Alex knows all about that. He’s waiting for marriage,
right? What was that magazine we read that in…GQ or maybe it was US Weekly?”
I set my sandwich down and grip the back of my dad’s chair at the head of the table. “All right, Brad, what do you want to know? Let’s just throw it all out there so you can quit getting your information from Twitter.”
He tosses a card onto the table and looks over at me. “You don’t tell us shit. Where else are we supposed to get information from? I got tired of running into people around here and having them tell me what’s going on with my own brother.”
My knuckles are white from squeezing the chair so hard. “What do you want to know?” I repeat, emphasizing each word.
He and Jared shake their heads and go back to their game.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that it was my responsibility to warn you before any fashion gossip popped up on the Internet,” I snap. “I’m sorry that Mrs. Hensley next door saw me on a billboard in underwear before you did.”
I’d heard this one from my mom last week. I figured it had come up in a family discussion.
Brad pushes his chair back and lets out a frustrated sigh before turning to Jared. “I’m getting another beer. You want one?”
“No, I’m good.”
He’s got the top off the new bottle of beer before he responds to me. “I think the underwear was probably the easiest to deal with.”
Sarcasm drips from his voice, and I know he’s about to really let loose on me. “Have you seen the picture of this Eve Castle chick making out with your agent?” He’s flipping through his phone, scrolling through Twitter and then holding up a picture of Eve kissing Wes. I’d read that there was photographic evidence a while back, but I’m relieved to see that Eve’s wearing the clothes I recognize from our last rainy run. Wes had said they would be leaving my building together. This was part of his plan to save me. And even though them kissing might have happened more than once, so far I hadn’t been given any proof of that.
I have to look away from the picture after only two seconds. It feels like the worst punch in the gut I’ve ever gotten in my life. How did Eve stand looking at pictures of me and Elana?
