by Dahlia Adler
“You didn’t, but that sounds great.” I push some extra warmth into my smile and take his hand. “We should also just…hang out more. It was nice when you came by my trailer the other week. Maybe I could come by the studio for a rehearsal sometime?”
“I’d like that.” He strokes the back of my hand with his thumb as he says it, and it feels nice.
I can totally do this.
“And I haven’t been to your house in…I don’t even know how long,” I add. “Remember when I used to come hang out with you and the guys?” I drop my voice a little. “And…just you.” Not that we did anything more than make out when I did—mostly, we just watched recordings of the Wonder Boys’ earlier shows—but I hope it’ll stir something in him. And that whatever it stirs in him will find its way to me soon. Because I’m getting really freaking tired of being so…unstirred.
I’m eighteen. I’m hot. He’s hot. Shouldn’t we…stir? Shouldn’t we at least want to?
“That sounds nice,” he says, but his voice has gotten a little funny. He’s still holding my hand, though. And then he smiles, and I remember exactly why he has over a million Twitter followers. “Actually, as long as we’re talking about this, I had something I wanted to discuss with you. I think you’re gonna like it, and we may as well take advantage of the fact that this place is quiet.”
“I’m intrigued.” I say it teasingly, but I really am. I can’t remember the last time Zander and I talked about…anything. My first thought is that he’s going on a huge tour this summer and wants me to come with. I’d been hoping to be filming a movie, but auditions outside of the typical bit parts have been pretty minimal. It would be nice to have something to keep me busy… “What’s up?”
He takes my other hand in his and looks me in the eye. “Vanessa Park, will you take a purity pledge with me?”
My fists instinctively curl up in his hands, and he yelps as one of my sharp nails nicks his palm. “Whoops, sorry!” I blurt, relaxing my fingers. “You just…surprised me a little there.” I drop my voice to whisper-level. “You want to take a purity pledge? We’re not even having sex.”
“Which is exactly why it’s perfect. I never thought I’d find another virgin in Hollywood,” he says, his eyes and smile warming as he squeezes my hands. “You mean so much to me, Vanessa, and I think this is the perfect journey for us. You’re pure, and I’m pure, and what better way to express that than with a public pledge? Think of what role models we’ll be.”
Role models. Zander’s found my magic words. I’ve always loved the idea of people looking up to me, the way I look up to women like Lucy Liu and Maggie Q—fellow Asian-American actors who paved the way for girls like me to believe they can actually do this acting thing, who let us see characters who look like us. I’d kinda always hoped kids would see me the same way someday.
Could they now? For this?
Did I want them to? For this?
It’s not like I’m not a virgin by choice—I am. I want my first to be someone I’m really, truly in love with, and I don’t care if that’s cheesy or even if everyone else thinks it’s naïve. And I’ve always liked that Zander’s a virgin, too. I know he’ll never push me to go too fast or do anything I’m not ready for.
So, really, isn’t this kinda, sorta perfect?
“What exactly does this entail?” I ask. “We just make a statement to the press that we’re committing to not having sex?”
“Well, and obviously we’d need to get rings,” says Zander, his smile widening. I can’t remember the last time I saw his eyes glow like this. He’s clearly thought about this a lot, and though I don’t really know what it means, I like that he cares. But…rings?
“Don’t rings seem a little marital?”
“That’s the point,” he says patiently. “They’re a symbol of purity until marriage. Then you replace them with wedding rings.”
Wedding rings? “Zander, we’re so not old enough to get married, or even think about marriage.” We don’t even love each other. “Doesn’t this seem a little fast?”
His patience is dimming. “Not really. We’ve been together almost six months, and neither one of us believes in premarital sex. We should share that with the world. Besides, we’re not that young. My parents got married at twenty.”
And now they hate each other and only stay together because they don’t believe in divorce, I think but don’t say. Instead, I try to remember what conversations Zander and I have had about sex. We definitely shared that we’re virgins, that we think other people jump into bed quickly…but I don’t think I ever said I didn’t believe in premarital sex. I mean, I don’t really think about it in terms of marriage. I think about it in terms of love. When Ally slept with Liam, she was in love with him, and it was right for her. And even if she hadn’t been, I wouldn’t say I didn’t believe in it. It’s just…not for me.
But if I’m that in love with someone that I’d want to give him my virginity, I guess I’d wanna marry him, right?
Suddenly, Giunio’s feels like it’s about a zillion degrees.
“I mean, right?” Zander’s seriously turning up the smile wattage now, and he looks so sweet. And he has a point—it could be a great thing for kids to see that not everyone is doing it. Instead of being peer-pressured into sex they’re not ready for, maybe we could help them see that waiting is something to be proud of.
“Zander! Vanessa! Over here!”
We turn to see paparazzi gathering right outside the glass front of the restaurant, huge cameras in hand, encouraging smiles on their faces. Zander and I are still sitting there with our hands clasped together, undoubtedly making exactly the kind of genuine, sweet, romantic picture our fans die for.
Because we mean something to them. We matter. They admire us, and they want to be like us. The enormity of that has never struck me the way it does right now.
So as we wave and smile and kiss for the cameras, I sneak in a whispered, “Yes.”
I’d been feeling good about the decision when I agreed to it at dinner, but one lousy night’s sleep and a 5:00 a.m. call time later, I’m suddenly not so sure. The hot water with lemon I’m forced to drink so I don’t stain my teeth with coffee is totally not cutting it, either.
On top of that, I woke up to several grumpy e-mails from Ally about the fact that Liam’s barely been calling her and still hasn’t been to New York to visit. I’m not exactly thrilled with him these days, either, since he’s essentially dropped off the planet to film the Lassiter movie. Not that I’m fuming about the increased airtime or anything, but it is exhausting, and I could do without ever having to share it with Josh.
Liam doesn’t roll on to set that day until two, and when he does, he looks like complete and total crap. “Yikes, are you okay?” I ask. The circles under his eyes are dark and deep, and I know Toya’s gonna be working double-time.
“Fine,” he bites out. “I gotta get to makeup.”
He certainly does. “You talk to Ally this weekend?” I ask to his retreating back.
He freezes. “What the hell is up with this conspiracy of people telling me to talk to my own girlfriend? Yes, I talked to Ally this weekend. Happy?”
“Don’t mind him,” Josh says, walking over. “This is what happens when you work two jobs and don’t get laid.”
“Oh, shut up,” Liam mutters, even though Josh is obviously right. “I don’t need shit from both of you. Hell, I don’t need it from either of you.” He stalks off toward his trailer, and Josh and I exchange looks.
“What’s wrong with him?” I ask Josh. “I can barely get anything out of Ally, but she sounds pretty miserable. But of course, ‘It’s fine. Everything’s fine. He’s just busy. And so am I.’”
“Yeah, I talked to her, too. She sounds shitty. But he had a rough weekend—give him a break.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, I heard he spent his weekend up in Napa, with James Gallagher practically begging him to take the lead role in his next movie. That sounds terrible.”
&nbs
p; “Hashtag LiamProblems,” says Josh, and I crack up. “I think he just needs to bail on filming for a weekend and get his ass out to New York. He’s barely had a minute to breathe. He won’t even commit to coming to my party tomorrow night.”
“Well, I for one am very much looking forward to it,” I admit. “I could use a little more fun.”
“Not having enough with your boyfriend? Sure seemed like it on CelebriTeens this morning.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware you read gossip blogs. Does Holly sound out the words for you? Or do you just like the pictures?”
“Hey, no need to be a bitch.” He holds up his hands in surrender. “I was just gonna say that the two of you look very happy. It’s truly adorable. I hope he’s coming to the party. I look forward to getting to know him better.”
Like I trust that for a second. I wonder what Josh would make of the whole “purity pledge” thing. He’d probably die of laughter.
For the billionth time since Ally moved to New York, I wish I had my best friend back.
“He’ll be there,” I tell Josh firmly, even though I never actually told Zander the party was happening. It’s a cast-and-crew party, and it never really occurred to me to bring a plus-one. Nor would I have thought Josh would be open to my doing so—especially one of the boy-band-member variety.
“Excellent. I was thinking just a casual thing, but maybe he and the rest of his superhero band can perform. You know how I love my ballads.”
I’m tempted to snap back, but it’s not worth it. Josh and I can go on like this all day, and none of that will help with what I really want and need—a way to clear my head and really think this through so I can be confident I’m making the right decision. No doubt Jade will have some epic date planned for us for Saturday night, and I need to know if I’m all in before I let Zander put that ring on my finger.
“I’ll mention it,” I lie instead.
Josh actually looks a little disappointed for a second, but he covers it up quickly. “Good. If my mom keeps being a bitch about the house, this may be my last party there. I still may need to get a new place. One that’s actually mine.”
Huh. Now there’s something Josh and I actually have in common. Not that my parents are blackmailing me to stay home or anything, but the way they have me freaked out that Daylight Falls may be the very last well-paying job of my career definitely makes me think twice about leaving. Even if our situations aren’t exactly the same, it’s kinda nice to hear someone else have this problem. Maybe Josh and I aren’t such total opposites after all.
“I know what you mean. I need to get out of my parents’ house, but it’s so hard to make myself. I’m not sure I’m ready.”
He laughs. “Christ, K-drama, you still live with your parents? What are you, twelve? Man, you need a new place even worse than I do.”
When he walks away, he’s still laughing, his shoulders shaking.
Asshole.
I go straight from filming to the gym. I’m early for yoga, but I’m eager to get some of my aggression at both Liam and Josh—and myself—out on a punching bag. (Plus, I’m planning on wearing strapless to the Wonder Ball, and I love what it does for my arms.)
This one’s for making my best friend doubt you, I think as I give it a series of punches for Liam. And for getting movie roles thrown at you every second while I’m still struggling.
And this one’s for being a general pain in my ass. I throw a right hook, imagining Josh’s smug smile. And for calling me K-drama, you racist prick. And for laughing at me about my house. Even though I sort of deserve it and am sick of being a freaking child.
After half an hour, my muscles are screaming, and when I hear a familiar voice behind me calling my name, I give it a rest, taking a deep breath and a long chug from my water bottle as I turn to face Bri and wave with my free hand.
“Having an angry kinda day, huh?” she asks with a smile. Her hair is pulled up into a high ponytail, and she’s wearing short black shorts and a matching Nine Inch Nails tee. Clearly, we do not share taste in music.
I pull back the water bottle. “How’d you guess?”
“The full workout before yoga’s even started was kind of a clue. Or are you skipping tonight?”
“Nope, I’m going.” The workout helped, but I need the total brain-clearing that only yoga provides. Plus, the idea of going back to my house right now holds zero appeal. I like being surrounded by people, even if we’re just sweating in dead silence.
“Good,” she says with a dimple-highlighting grin. “I’ve gotten spoiled, having you there.”
I feel the same way, but I feel silly saying it. I like knowing she’ll be here on Thursday nights, that we have a sort of standing date, even if it’s not really on purpose. I like knowing I’ll see a friend at least once a week. It feels especially good to see one tonight.
“Do you wanna talk about whatever’s bugging you?” she asks, her eyebrows knitting together in concern far more genuine than I’ve seen in a long time.
The thing is, I do. But she seems so comfortable… sexually. It’s cool that she’s out and proud. And of course, being bisexual doesn’t mean that she’s actually had sex. But I can’t help feeling like she’d laugh in my face at the idea of a purity pledge. Or at least she’d want to.
“Nah, thanks.” I force a smile back. “But I appreciate you asking.”
“Of course,” she says, linking an arm through mine and tugging me in the direction of the stairs up to the studio. “What are friends for?”
Though we obviously don’t talk during yoga, it’s nice just to see her there, to know I’ve got a friend in the room. When she makes a face at me in the mirror during Awkward Pose, it’s all I can do not to crack up. Which, considering the day I had, is no small feat.
I can’t help wondering if maybe I’m wrong, and she’d be understanding about the whole purity pledge thing, or at least be willing to let me talk about it. Normally, I’d make Ally hash it out with me for hours, but with all her Liam drama, I’m not sure she’s got any room for mine.
Clear head, I admonish myself. Deep breaths. Let the heat draw out all the stress.
By the time we pause to sip water after finishing the first round of poses, I’m actually feeling pretty Zen. And sweating like a pig, as usual. I yank my tank top over my head before we start again.
In the mirror, I swear I can see Bri watching me out of the corner of her eye.
I stand up a little straighter as we get back into the Standing Deep Breathing Pose, but when I glance in the mirror again, her eyes are closed. She looks focused. Determined. Her face gleams with sweat, but she looks calm—so unlike the Bri I know, who’s constantly joking and smiling. There isn’t even a hint of her dimple now.
She keeps her eyes closed even when we shift into Half-Moon Pose, and it’s weird, watching her. It’s like seeing her transform. I think of the first time I saw her here, when I thought she was spying on me again. I feel stupid about it now; she’s obviously into this. It looks so natural on her, like she was born in Rabbit Pose or something. Her ponytail’s pulled high enough that I can see the entire Om just underneath her hairline, and when she stretches upward, her T-shirt rises just enough to show that there’s more, colorful ink just north of her hip.
It’s only when I catch Raoul’s gaze on me that I realize how long I’ve been staring. We’re almost halfway through and I haven’t taken my eyes off her once. Nor has she opened hers. His scrutiny is totally mild, but I feel myself blushing under it anyway. I tear my eyes away and finish the rest of the poses, alternately watching Raoul and counting the tiles on the ceiling.
When everyone’s done, she and I take our time hydrating, wiping ourselves down, and getting our stuff together, until we’re the last two in the room.
“Don’t you get hot in that thing?” I ask, gesturing at her sweaty cotton tee. “I can’t even stand my tank top anymore by the first water pause.”
The corners of her lips quirk up. “You realize w
e don’t all look like that in a sports bra, right?” She lifts her chin in the general direction of my torso.
Instinctively, I look down. “What—flat as a board?”
She snorts. “Yes, but I meant in the ab area.”
I glance at the same area on her. Okay, so there’s the slightest curve of tummy there, just a cute little nothing. “That’s your issue?” I point with my water bottle, then take a sip. “Please.”
“I didn’t say I have an issue,” she says defensively. “I just…don’t need it on display. Especially next to…” Now she’s the one gesturing. Apparently, words aren’t really our thing. “It’s not like I think I’m fat. I’m just…St. Louis thin. Not LA thin. I like food.”
“You think I don’t?” I roll my eyes, thinking of all the burgers I used to put away with Ally at our favorite diner. “I work out every freaking day so I can eat and still be ‘LA thin.’ Or almost LA thin, I guess.” I pinch at the tiny bit of love handle I can never seem to get rid of.
She whacks my hand, making me yelp. “Stop that,” she demands as I rub my injured paw, making sure she didn’t chip a nail. “You’re crazy if you think your body is anything less than perfect.”
I open my mouth to argue, but something about the look in her eyes makes me shut it. Like…she believes what she’s saying. About every single part.
Instead, I say, “Well, I think the same about you.”
And the thing is, I mean it. I like that she’s built that way, all gentle curves. In a town of zero percent body fat, it’s nice to see a little softness.
“Oh, shut up,” she says, but her voice falters a bit. Because without meaning to—without even realizing I was doing it—I’ve placed my palm on her tiny little tummy.
What the hell am I doing?
“It’s true,” I say, quickly pulling my arm back, though it does nothing to dissipate the heated tingle on my skin.
“Thanks,” she mumbles, stretching her lips into a thin, grim smile for just a second. “Um, I should go shower. I’m pretty gross right now.”
