Audible Love: A Young Adult Romance

by Maggie Dallen

  Her eyes widen in surprise but she doesn’t interrupt. She doesn’t argue.

  Somehow that makes it worse. I feel like I’m kicking a puppy right now, so I take the bitterness down a notch. “It’s all good, seriously. I’ve got this.”

  “But I want to help,” she says just as I’m about to walk away.

  It’s impossible to read what’s going on with her right now. I can’t tell if she’s pissed or bored or if she’s trying not to cry. It’s like talking to a robot, but I get the sense that the more upset she is, the less I’d know it. So, I go for a joking tone as I back away toward the door. “You are helping. Having your name on this guarantees an A, right? So…” I give her a shrug when I reach the door. “Consider your half done.”

  And stay out of my way. I don’t say it, but I’m pretty sure she hears it in my voice. Toward the end there I didn’t do such a hot job of keeping the bitterness at bay. But seriously, you try being the token scholarship kid in a class filled with entitled brats. You’d become jaded too, I guarantee it.

  It’s not my fault that this is the way the world works. It’s not my fault that I’m the one who’ll do the work and it’ll be Avery’s name that gets us into the Highlights Ball. I shrug off the nagging thoughts that have been plaguing me ever since I’d agreed to be her partner.

  If I make it into the ball on her name, how will I know that I’m good enough? Haven’t I always said that I’d do it alone? Was I really any better than my classmates if I use her name to get into the final competition?

  I get into the elevators and turn around in time to catch sight of Avery’s steely blue gaze following me. Our eyes meet for one split second before the doors close, but it’s long enough to fill me with shame and embarrassment and a feeling so gross and rotten I don’t know what to name it.

  It’s the feeling of a sellout, something I never thought I’d be.

  Chapter Five

  Avery

  I feel like I’ve been kicked in the gut as the doors close shut. I think for a second there I actually thought he might turn around and tell me he was just joking.

  I should’ve known better.

  Betrayal is too harsh a word for the sick sloshing in my gut, but it’s the best one I’ve got. I had no right to expect anything else from this guy. It’s not like he’s my friend. He’s a guy who dislikes me. Present tense. I’d thought it was past tense, but I was wrong.

  The way he looked at me… It makes me want to punch something. Hard. But I don’t because news of my psychotic breakdown will get out so fast I’d be reading about it before I made it to the dean’s office to explain.

  No, I’m flying under the radar at Trudale and I mean to keep it that way. There’ve been some paparazzi outside the gates but the security here is top-notch and there’s no story here unless I cause one.

  I swallow down the bile and breathe through the rush of adrenaline that had left me standing there like a statue lest I do something I’d regret.

  Like punch Seth right in the face. I’d wipe that knowing smirk right off his face and send those stupid hipster glasses flying.

  Who does he think he is? I finally break away from where I’m standing and head out the opposite door that leads to the library. I hadn’t been lying when I’d said I had to go there.

  To hide.

  I’d left out the hiding part. But I’d been quasi-hiding from my roommate for days now, along with the rest of the student population. My room wasn’t safe, classes were awkward zoo encounters where I was the beast on display, and now the only person in this whole freakin’ school who deigned to speak to me basically informed me that I’m too idiotic and useless to work with.

  No, worse than that—he just wanted what he could get from my name, but he didn’t actually want any input. He didn’t want me.

  Pain burns through me, and it’s impossible to tell if I’m angry or hurt. Maybe I’m both.

  This isn’t something new. I should have been expecting this. It’s old news, really. This is exactly the sort of thing my mom warned me about, one of her main arguments for why I shouldn’t come here.

  They’ll use you. Those were her exact words when I’d given her a kiss on the cheek and said my final goodbye.

  My mother cares for me…in her own non-maternal way. But I think first and foremost she sees me as her asset, her ticket to success and her prized possession. Underneath all that there’s genuine love, and I’d like to think that a part of her warning was to try and spare me any pain. She knows better than anyone how ruthless this business can be. She’s one of those people who was chewed up and spit out, as she likes to say.

  I’d told her I could handle it here, that it would be worth it for a chance at a normal teenage experience.

  She’d laughed and shaken her head. Normal is overrated.

  That had become her catchphrase ever since my career took off. Ever since I’d started longing for all the things I’d given up. Namely normalcy.

  Maybe normalcy is overrated but if so I want to find that out for myself. I don’t want my mom to be right. I knew there would be an adjustment period. I hadn’t expected it to be easy. I’d always known there would be people who’d hate me at first sight, who’d judge me before meeting me, who’d be intimidated by me and my career.

  But I didn’t expect it from Seth. Not today, and not like that. I mean, yeah, I knew he didn’t like me that first day. But between our weird bonding time in the rec room and the admittedly stilted conversation in the cafeteria, I’d thought maybe he was starting to see that I’m no different from everyone else. For the first time since I’d arrived here I’d even gotten a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, I’d found a friend.

  I am an idiot.

  I stop in the middle of the campus green, hardly noticing the group of people coming toward me, staring at me like I’m blind or a statue or something. I’m neither, but I’ve learned how to tune that stuff out when I need to. Or, at times like this, I’m too preoccupied to care.

  Because here’s the thing. I’m not an idiot. I’m not. I have more to contribute to this world than sexy bedroom eyes and big tits—thanks again, Henry Niven. Sure, I can play the part of the vixen, and sometimes I even like it. But I want to be challenged, I want to try new things, I want to learn.

  I want to be a student, dammit. That’s why I’m here, and no one is going to stop me. I take a deep breath and spin around so I’m heading back in the same direction from which I came. I’m heading back to my dorm building.

  I don’t stop to think this through, that much is incredibly obvious as I rap on his door, my breath coming in harsh pants. Anger runs this show through and through. Cold, rational sanity has officially fled the building.

  Seth swings the door open and his eyes widen comically at the sight of me there in his doorway. He’s a little taller than me, but not by much, and I have this insane impulse to lean forward and shock him further with a kiss. I want to kiss him until he does that crinkly-eyed lopsided smile, I want to kiss him until he admits that he likes me, I want to kiss him until he begs for mercy.

  What. The. Hell?

  Where is this coming from? I’m here because I’m pissed. Clearly, I’ve been playing the role of Sadie Wrathmore for too long if my first impulse is to kiss a guy I don’t like. Or who doesn’t like me. Or…I don’t know.

  All I know is, I should not kiss this guy.

  His shock is rapidly fading to confusion, and that weird kissing daydream has done nothing to help my panting issue. I’m gasping for air like I just sprinted over here.

  “Avery?” he asks, as though maybe he doesn’t recognize me. As if maybe I’m not the most recognizable person on this campus.

  “I am helping with the project,” I say way too loudly. I hear myself, and yes, I definitely sound like a nutjob.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me.” My initial anger is back in full force, and I jab a finger into his chest. His brows fly up in surprise and I resist the urge to winc
e at my sheer idiocy. Don’t touch the guy you’re fantasizing about kissing.

  And stop thinking about kissing!

  Dammit, now I can’t stop looking at his lips and they’re doing that thing that I like. Okay, yeah, it’s just smiling, but he does it so well. It makes him look cute. Hot even.

  And now I’m back to fantasizing again. Holy hell, who knew that angry adrenaline makes me so horny?

  This is ridiculous. Do not kiss the guy you don’t even like to act out some weird passionate revenge scene. That’s something Sadie would do, not you.

  He leans against the doorjamb and crosses his arms. He’s studying me like he’s never seen me before. “That’s what you came here to tell me?”

  I give a jerky nod. Man, I’m dumb. What am I doing here? Why didn’t I think this through? I’ve never been good at emotional scenes, not off-screen, at least. “I came to Trudale to learn,” I say. “I came here to participate.”

  Oh crap, I am beyond lame. Why didn’t I rehearse a speech?

  His brows are pulling together like he’s slightly confused, but he’s still giving me that distractingly adorable lopsided smile and I wish he’d cut it out so I could think straight for just one minute.

  I lick my lips and take a deep breath. “I didn’t come here to get an A because of my name, and I sure as hell won’t let you do it either.”

  That finally seems to jar him out of his cynical amusement and he jerks back. “I’m not—”

  “You are,” I say. It’s the first time in my life I’ve called out anyone for using me for my name or my connections or my fame. It’s too little, too late. I picked the lamest battle I could find to wage my war, but I’m here. I said it. I’ve done it.

  And it feels good.

  His brow comes down and he looks almost hurt by my accusation. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he says. “I mean…” He runs a hand through his hair, clearly agitated. I’m guessing it doesn’t feel great to be him right now, and I’m cool with that. Because he made me feel like crap when he’d basically told me I was useless except for my name.

  “I expect to work for an A.” It occurs to me that there’s no way we’ll know if it’s truly deserved or not, but I’ll at least know that I worked for it, and maybe I’ll even learn something. That’s what I’m here for, right? I lick my lips as my anger falters under his genuine, direct stare that seems to last an eternity.

  After a long pause, he says, “Okay then.” He opens the door wider and gestures for me to come into his room. It’s a total boy’s room, or at least everything I’d imagine one to be. Posters of indie bands cover one side of the room while the other has sports paraphernalia and trophies.

  I hover inside for a moment, only just now remembering that he also has a roommate and that maybe my intrusion was super rude. “Sorry for just…showing up,” I say.

  He laughs softly behind me, but then he’s at my side and gesturing toward one of the desks. “No, please, mi casa es su casa.”

  I fight off the embarrassment and take a look around once more, this time taking in all the details, the navy comforter on the bed that’s made. The green one on the one that’s unmade. “Let me guess,” I say, turning around slowly. “You’re the sports fan.”

  That gets another laugh out of him, along with a killer smile as he feigns shock. “How did you know?”

  I shrug and play it straight. “I’m pretty intuitive like that.”

  I then take a seat at the desk that’s so clearly on his side of the room. The side with the indie posters and a collection of vinyls that would make Gabe go into convulsions.

  “What’s so funny?” he asks, pulling over the other desk’s chair to join me in front of his laptop.

  I shrug. “Just thinking how much my friend would love you right now if he got a look at these.”

  “She’s a collector?”

  “He,” I correct. “And yeah.” It occurs to me that I could throw Gabe’s name out there, but then it might look like I’m bragging or something, so I don’t. Even though I’m well aware that this guy is probably not a fan of Gabe’s popstar status or the boy band he leads.

  What’s wrong with me? I don’t normally overthink every little thing I say, or don’t say, in this case. But then again, it’s been a long time since I’ve interacted with someone normal. I glance around at the expensive-looking video equipment stashed in the corner, likely on loan from the film department.

  “So,” I say after we’ve sat there in a sufficiently long awkward silence. “What exactly is this project?”

  He smirks, but he doesn’t make a snarky comment about how I don’t even know what the project is about. I’m grateful. I feel pathetic enough having to force my way onto this little team of two, I definitely don’t want to harp on my inexperience with all things school related.

  He gives me the lowdown—basically, we have from now until the end of this semester to make a short video.

  Of anything.

  “Anything?” I repeat. At first, I think easy, but then the reality of it hits me, and it’s…daunting.

  He sees my expression change. “Exactly.”

  “What do most people do?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “You name it, and it’s been done. Everyone is always trying to outdo one another.”

  “To what end?” I ask.

  His gaze meets mine and his lip hitches up on one side. “To what end,” he repeats, his voice silly and melodramatic and I feel that flicker of familiarity again, a stirring of something deep down in my subconscious. It makes me feel close to him even though I logically know there’s probably just something I’m picking up on that reminds me of a friend, or maybe someone from my past.

  It’s not him who’s familiar. Obviously. The fact that I have to remind myself of that is weird.

  He leans forward slightly as if letting me in on a secret. “I think you’ve read too many scripts. No one really talks like that in real life.”

  I press my lips together to keep from laughing at his teasing. “I do,” I say. And then, to make him laugh, I say it with an even more melodramatic flair. “To what end?”

  He laughs, but he answers. He tells me all about this Highlights Ball, which is apparently a very big deal.

  It’s clearly a huge deal for this guy, so I try to take it just as seriously. He leans back in his seat after a bit and considers me. “This must seem pretty lame to you.” His eyes have become guarded, and he has that edge to him which I hate now that I’ve gotten to know the guy without the giant chip on his shoulder.

  “It’s not lame,” I say, but even I can hear that I’m too quick to respond. “I mean…” I shift in my seat. “I get it, this is a big opportunity.”

  His smile has turned to something way closer to a sneer. It’s filled with derision. “I’m sure a glorified show-and-tell at a ridiculous high school for the arts is not exactly your idea of a big break, but for some of us it’s the only chance we’ll get to have our work seen by people of influence.”

  I shake my head slightly as I struggle for deep, calming breaths. “Why do I feel like I just got bitch-slapped?” I ask. My original anger is back in full force, and I face him head-on as he glares at me. He doesn’t even pretend to deny it as he lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “I’m just stating the obvious.”

  Ugh. I want to scream, but I bite the inside of my cheek instead. I will not be led out of this school in handcuffs as the tabloids snap pictures. It will not happen.

  “I’m going to say this once, and then I’m not saying it again,” I say through clenched teeth. “You. Don’t. Know. Me.”

  He meets my stare, and some of his anger is tempered by curiosity as he takes in my expression and whatever it is he sees in my eyes.

  “You can read about me all you want online,” I say, “But don’t presume you know anything about me.”

  He blinks. It’s the only sign that he hears me.

  I swallow down doubt and the sound of my mother’s voice telling me not to trust any
one. “I wasn’t born famous, you know. I’m not related to anyone in the industry, I wasn’t born with privileges, and I’ve earned every role I’ve ever gotten the old-fashioned way.” I stare him straight in the eyes. “I auditioned. Yeah, it’s easier now that I’ve established a work history, but I still have to hustle for parts that I really want, and I still get rejected.”

  I clamp my mouth shut because I’ve already said too much. It’s that stupid familiarity. It’s the comforting warm brown color of his eyes. Whatever it is, I find it absurdly easy to talk to him. I find weird information coming out of my mouth as if there’s some part of me that’s been cooped inside for way too long and she wants to come out and play.

  Problem is, that inner me has never socialized before, so she’s beyond awkward. She has no social skills and says whatever comes into her mind whenever she thinks it.

  This inner me is a toddler on a sugar high.

  “So what you’re saying is…” he says it slowly, an impish gleam making my belly do a flip-flop and a breathy laugh escape.

  “I’m saying if this Highlights Ball is important to you then it’s important to me.”

  His grin is off the charts. “Cool.”

  I give him a small smile in return, trying to ignore my earlier awkwardness. “Cool.”

  “So, partner,” he says, toying with a pen on his desk. “Where do you want to start?”

  I cross my legs and bounce my foot in an old nervous habit I’ve never been able to kick. “I’m guessing you already have some ideas,” I say. “I’m happy to help you with your vision.”

  He shakes his head with that amused grin again. “With my vision,” he mutters as if to himself. “Who talks like this?”

  “I do.” I arch my brows haughtily. “Now, are you going to tell me your ideas or not?”

  “One idea.” The fact that he’s stabbing his desk with the pointy end of his pen is the only giveaway that he’s not totally at ease with talking to me about this.

  “Okay,” I say slowly. “Hit me.”