by Lyla Payne
My heart pounded, desperate to believe that Cole might not have treated me like Poppy in the end. That he cared about me, and the all the proof I needed was that he’d chosen me, out of everyone, to stand beside and believe in a tentative future.
I wanted that future with Cole so badly it hurt. Audra’s honesty made me believe it was still possible, but whether or not he would forgive me for turning my back on him at his most vulnerable remained to be seen.
“I didn’t want to hurt him. You’re right—my own issues sent me running more than his confession, but it’s too late to make it right. I’m sure he’s moved on.”
Audra rolled her eyes. “My idiot brother is nuts about you. He moped around the entire holiday, staring at your website and your calendar to feel like he knew what was going on in your life. He made me and Nox go to your play—bang-up job, by the way—and report every single moment. You hurt his feelings not believing in him, but he’s too sad not to forgive you.” She glanced down at her phone. “Gotta go. I have philanthropy committee stuff.”
The information she’d passed along during the last ten minutes threatened to overwhelm me. I needed a few minutes to sit and digest, so I didn’t move to get up, but I did reach out and grasp her arm. “Thank you, Audra.”
“Hey, I have to do my part. You think Cole thinks he’s too good for you, and my brother’s sitting at home, convinced you’re too good for him. The two of you are acting like idiots.” She smiled to soften her words, a deep dimple creasing in her peachy cheek, then strode out into the gray February day.
All this time, I’d thought that my attitude was the best way to handle life, and not just at Whitman. Ever since we’d moved to St. Charles in fifth grade, it had been simpler for me to play the part of the white trash princess than to really try to step into my new class of society.
It was like Cole told me—I allowed people to continue to treat me a certain way, because I expected them to react to me like an outsider. I’d heard the story about Poppy and seen myself in her circumstances, but maybe we weren’t the same. If I’d gotten knocked up by stupid Michael and he’d made a rude comment about my being a gold-digger, I had to believe my outcome would have been different.
Poppy must have felt as though she had no choice, nowhere to turn. Her family had cast her out, Cole had ignored her; she’d been terribly alone, desperate to fix it and my heart ached for that girl. But my parents, for all of their faults, loved me unconditionally. I had Emilie and my sisters, Geoff, and even the kids at the Coterie.
My future belonged to me, and my life meant more than who I dated, or who decided what “good enough” meant. For all of my struggles with self-belief, that had always been true.
And Cole had seen all of that right from the very beginning. He’d never equated Poppy and me, and he’d been the one to believe that, in the ways that matter, I was as good as anyone else.
Better, even.
I didn’t deserve him. That wasn’t going to stop me from trying to get him back.
Chapter 24
It turned out the swim team was out of town for a meet. Nerves built in my stomach, infected my limbs, and made it hard to sit still. Back in my room at the DE house, I decided to check out the website. It had languished while Cole and I disappeared into the new relationship black hole, but Whitman was a small school and most everyone who joined had done it early last fall.
Referrals and ratings still occasionally popped up, but no new members had applied in over two months. Nothing had come through for Quinn, since he obviously wasn’t sleeping around anymore, but I did have a new one for Toby Wright. I still wanted to hate him more than I actually did; he was always fun and polite around me.
The server stopped responding in the middle of my session, even though the rest of the internet and my e-mails weren’t affected. My palms turned clammy and I called Noah.
“Hey, this is Noah, I’m screening you.”
I rolled my eyes. “Noah, it’s Ruby. Something’s wrong with the website.”
It didn’t come back up over the next ten minutes, but a short text from Noah cleared up the mystery:
You’re busted.
Fuck me running.
The email from Chancellor Lewis’s office arrived less than twenty minutes later, requesting my presence for a disciplinary meeting the following morning. The swim team wouldn’t be back until later, and I didn’t have Monday classes this semester, so I had nothing to occupy my mind until the meeting.
Full of hopping discomfort and that old familiar feeling that trouble lurked around the corner, I ran lines for Our Town in front of the mirror for almost an hour. The second e-mail, this time from Chaney and DE Standards, arrived around ten. I had to meet with them tomorrow, too, but that worried me less than the chancellor. DE wouldn’t kick me out, and I could afford the fine.
I didn’t think Whitman would boot me, either, but the thought of what my punishment might be kept my eyes open late into the night. If they did kick me out, I could go to New York. No one there would give a shit if I had a college degree or not, and I’d already snagged great connections from both Geoff and the theatre department here. I wanted the degree, though. Who knew if I’d still be so committed to an acting career in ten years, or twenty? I would never leave theatre entirely. It was as natural to me as breathing, and I’d suffocate without it.
It mattered to me that I finished this thing I started, though, and I wasn’t ready to leave Emilie and my sisters just yet.
They wouldn’t expel me. At a school like Whitman, a rogue website and hijacking access to student e-mail accounts rated pretty low on a list of infractions. They hadn’t even kicked out the son of the French president when he’d hacked into the school’s accounting system and borrowed enough money to rent a party plane to Paris.
Still, I didn’t close my eyes at all, and I felt like hell the next morning even after a shower. I pulled on my favorite khaki skirt and paired it with brown boots and a cute white Whitman U polo—it never hurt to show school spirit when one was getting called onto the carpet.
I couldn’t care less about the website getting shut down. The fact that I knew firsthand that my lowest-rated guy was actually fucking dynamite in bed kind of diminished its usefulness, in my mind. This year had changed my mind about sex and relationships. Like Emilie had promised, when I’d found the right guy, it all clicked into place. I didn’t know if going back to empty, if fun, sexual relationships was even possible now.
The February day was sunny and cool for Florida, maybe around seventy degrees. Students filled the manicured walkways between stately brick buildings, hauling backpacks and hustling alone, standing in groups, couples walking hand-in-hand. My palms were cold and slicked with sweat by the time I sat on the tan couch in Chancellor Lewis’s reception area, and when the admin finally called me inside, I almost ralphed.
The chancellor of Whitman, a handsome man in his forties with one green eye and one blue, sat at the head of a small conference table in a room without windows. There were three other adults present—two on my left I didn’t recognize, and Doctor Paladino on the right.
“Have a seat, Miss Cotton,” the chancellor stated, motioning to the chair at the opposite head of the table.
I slid into it quickly, swallowing hard and glad I hadn’t eaten breakfast.
“It has come to our attention that you’ve been running a referral website on this university’s servers that’s sexual in nature, as well as hacking into the database that contains student e-mail addresses.” He paused as though waiting for me to say something, but he hadn’t asked a question and I figured talking could only hurt me.
He grunted, then continued. “This is the disciplinary committee that will deal with these accusations. This is Dr. Ernst and Dr. Hammond, and you know Dr. Paladino—she’s here because she can vouch for your character. Do you have anything to say?”
I cleared my throat, drawing a little strength from the small but encouraging nod from my theatre professor. “
The website was my idea. I had help with the computer stuff but I’m not selling anyone out. It was just supposed to be for fun, or maybe to help out the girls on this campus who were going on a bunch of shit—er, bad dates. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”
“Yet, you realize that mean gossip and judgments regarding…these kinds of things can be potentially hurtful to a student’s psyche.”
I couldn’t help it; I snorted. The chancellor’s eyebrows went up and his lips pursed, so I hastened to explain. “Forgive me, Chancellor Lewis, but if you think the egos of the men who attend Whitman can be so easily damaged, you must not spend much time with them.”
Dr. Hammond, a young woman who looked barely thirty, covered a cough that sounded suspiciously like laughter. Dean Lewis’s son Finnegan was a freshman here, so maybe I shouldn’t have made a blanket statement about the guys at Whitman, but it didn’t make it less true.
“I’m happy to take the website down for good, and to issue an apology if that’s what you want. I’m not sorry I did it, though. It made guys at least consider the impression they make on the girls here—whether it’s for one night or in the hopes of something more permanent—and I learned a few things, too.” I held my breath during the silence that ensued.
“You will work with campus IT to take the site down and put up a single page with a brief apology that will remain in place for one week before the entire thing is disabled. Using Whitman servers for your own personal gain is strictly prohibited, so you will be disciplined.” I said a silent thank you that I’d never gotten back to Sebastian about advertising before the Chancellor continued. “This committee has discussed what we feel is appropriate, and have decided that you will spend your last year here engaged in community service. Dr. Paladino has suggested you put your theatre background to use by volunteering permanently at the Coterie, where she donates time.”
The “punishment” relieved me. I wanted to go back to the Coterie anyway, which Dr. Paladino probably guessed, and next year Cole would be gone. If things didn’t work out the way I hoped as far as we were concerned, at least I wouldn’t be running into him. “Yes, sir.”
“That said, college is about more than academics. It’s about growing and learning and finding a place for yourself in the world—and not only the world of your choosing, but the one you were given by your family. I’m happy that the year has been a learning experience for you, Miss Cotton. In the future, please exercise better judgment. You may go.”
He didn’t have to tell me twice. I’d gotten off easy and I knew it.
I was halfway down the stairs when I heard my name and paused, turning to see Dr. Paladino a flight above me.
She blew a chunk of hair out of her eyes, huffing from catching up with me. “For the record, Dr. Hammond and I both had a private laugh about your website before the meeting, but you’re lucky Chancellor Lewis has a sense of humor and little inclination to dole out harsher punishment.”
“I know. I expected worse, honestly. Probation, at least.”
“You’re great with the kids at the Coterie. I think this will be good for everyone involved, and it seems like you’ve already distanced yourself from your little creation, anyway.”
I shrugged. “It’s served its purpose.”
“You’re going to do me a personal favor, for going out on a limb. Since I’ve been dealing with your disciplinary issue all morning, I’m behind on uploading my grades from last semester. I need you to go to the Coterie this afternoon and take my class. We’re starting a segment on musicals, and all of my lesson plans are in the office.” She held out a key. “Don’t steal anything.”
***
It felt good to be back at the Coterie, even if the kids were running around like hell beasts and Dr. Paladino’s notes were a mess. This was the first day, and her lesson plan pretty much consisted of the sentence Show them the power of communicating through song.
Super helpful.
She did have an iPod with a playlist of popular musical numbers, some from classics like Les Miserables and others from more recent hits.
Caroline and Noelle squealed when they saw me come in, and a few of the others seemed pleased at my unexpected return as well. I’d been nervous that Cole might be here, even though I doubted that he came to the theatre all that often and the swim team probably wasn’t even back, yet. Trying to get everyone to shut up and sit down erased him from my mind for the first time in weeks.
“Okay, you guys. Who has been to see a musical?” Several hands shot up and I called on them one at a time, asking what they’d seen and why they’d liked it, or hadn’t. A few claimed not to like the singing because people didn’t sing to each other in real life. “Right, but why do you like listening to music? Because sometimes those words, when they’re put together perfectly in a song, make you feel a certain way, right?”
A few heads nodded, but more pairs of eyes stared at me blankly. Poor kids probably listened to British boybands or girls who had been brainwashed by Disney and would grow up to shave their heads or make gross sex tapes.
Then again, I’d survived similar music tastes at their age.
I climbed onto the stage, scrolling through the iPod until I found a song I knew well enough to perform in an attempt to show them the emotion behind the words, and how that could be communicated on stage. I wanted to do “Popular,” from Wicked, but didn’t think the boys would relate to the very female bent.
The door at the back of the theatre eased open, letting a beam of sunlight inside, and I knew it was Cole before Noelle shrieked and threw herself down the aisle. He caught her and they had a quiet discussion at the back of the room. Her pouty stance said he was about to make a quick exit, and he studiously refused to look up and meet my gaze. I knew he felt me staring—we had perfected that months ago.
My heart pounded as an idea sprung to mind. It was cheesy and dumb, and if it didn’t work I would look like a complete idiot in front of a room full of kids who would never let me forget it. But I had hurt Cole. I had walked away, had doubted everything he’d told me and shown me, and even though the last six weeks had taught me things about myself that guided my whole headspace into a much better direction, I owed him an apology.
And what good was being a drama queen if I couldn’t deliver the grand gesture—which, by definition, almost always included embarrassing yourself. Anyone who watched enough Nicholas Sparks movies knew that.
Before he could run off, I cleared my throat and addressed my students. “Sometimes it’s easier to grasp how the words in the song can be better than talking when you see how it feels between two characters, instead of just one and the audience. Do you think if we all asked nicely, Mr. Cole would come up here and let me sing to him so you could see?”
It was underhanded and evil, but no way would Cole say no to these little pleading faces, no matter how badly he wanted out of here and away from the discomfort between us. It took less than three minutes for them to cajole him down the aisle and up onto the stage, and I moved quickly, plugging the iPod into the sound system and pressing play on a different song from Wicked. “For Good” was a song about friendship, in the context of the play. But in the context of Cole and I, it was about acknowledging that I was sorry, and that I’d never be the same girl again since we’d shared those months together.
And that it was a good thing.
He met my eyes as I started to sing Glinda’s part, about how people enter our lives for a reason, and that he changed me, and hopefully I’d helped him, too.
Everything that had happened over the past weeks melted away. The kids and the theatre went dark at the edges of my vision, and the moment was about Cole and me—nothing had changed as far as the pull between our bodies, or the way every inch of my skin reacted with heat and tingles to the touch of my hand against his.
Cole didn’t pull away. He didn’t look away, his desperate, hungry, raw gaze devouring my face as I poured out my heart through someone else’s beautiful words. Tears filled my ey
es and dripped onto my cheeks as I reached the song’s bridge—about apology and blame, and how none of it mattered in the grand scheme of life—and stepped closer to him, reveling in the heat of his body and the electricity passing between us.
The final bars faded in the silent theatre. For a moment, no one moved, and Cole’s eyes slid to my mouth. My heart sped into a gallop, and I couldn’t wait another moment. I reached my arms around his neck and pulled his lips to mine, stars exploding and relief sweeter than anything I’d ever known coursing through my blood.
He responded immediately, moving his mouth gently against mine as we promised more to come with the briefest slip of our tongues before breaking apart as the kids clapped and shrieked, laughed and hollered around us.
I grinned, unable to stop even though my cheeks felt as though they were going to split in two, and happiness pooled in his eyes. His dimples creased and he pulled me into a hug. I wanted to stay in his arms forever.
“I’m sorry for being stupid. I miss you so fucking much,” I confessed quietly.
“Oh, hen. I’ve missed you, too.” He glanced around, as though he suddenly remembered we had an audience. “I’m dying to really do this reunion right, although being sung to by a braw lass in front of a bunch of kids rates pretty high on the groveling scale.”
“I don’t want to speak out of turn, here, but I’m pretty sure you could be cast in the role of Ruby Cotton’s sexy, sweet, amazing Scottish boyfriend, if you’re interested.”
“I’d like to change that pretty sure to a firm offer. Emphasis on the firm.” He waggled his eyebrows, making me giggle and also soaked with lust.
“You might have to wear a kilt and nothing else.”
“Done.”
“Give me ten minutes to finish up with them.”
I rushed through the rest of the lesson, finishing before their parents arrived but sure that our demonstration had done more for their understanding of the power of a musical than anything else I could have taught them.
