Audible Love: A Young Adult Romance

by Maggie Dallen

  So yeah, I’m rattled and I’m not sure which is most unsettling. The fact that Avery is a fan of my acting, that Trent has taken the credit for it, or that I want a friend…and that I want that friend to be Avery.

  “Are you going?” she asks, sitting up to sit cross-legged and face me.

  Her question startles me out of my thoughts over what’s freaking me out the most. I stare at her. “Going where?”

  “To the party,” she says, looking slightly exasperated. My guess is she’s been talking about the party while I’ve been holding an inner debate. I’m well on my way to being friend of the year over here.

  “I wasn’t planning on it,” I say.

  “Why not?” She’s clutching my pillow in her lap now, and I’m not even sure she knows she’s doing it. It’s kind of sweet to see, really. I mean, I’ve had glimpses of the normal girl beneath that ice queen persona. I even saw her in all her flannel pajama glory that night in the common room, but those glimpses were rare and fleeting. Meeting Trent seems to have cut right through her armor, though, and I’ve never seen her so approachable.

  No, vulnerable. That’s the word I’m looking for. Something in my chest tightens as I realize that this is her at her most vulnerable. That ice queen façade is just that…a façade. It’s an act that she hides behind because she’s not untouchable. Not even a little bit. Sitting on my bed with those big pleading eyes she is anything but untouchable.

  She is utterly, deliciously, insanely touchable.

  I force my eyes away because my mind is rapidly heading into decidedly unfriendly territory. There’s nothing friend-like about the images in my head right now or the questions that the lizard portion of my brain is pondering. Like, what would happen if I climbed onto that bed beside her? What would those lush lips feel like beneath mine?

  Would she get that breathy Marilyn Monroe voice if we made out?

  “Why aren’t you going?”

  Oh hell. I stare at my laptop with a furrowed brow as I think about every unsexy thing I can imagine. My great aunt’s boil, that documentary on the rats in New York City, the disgusting meat-like substance the cafeteria tried to pass off as meatloaf last week.

  There. I take a deep breath and turn to face her. “What do you mean why?” I ask with a smirk. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  She tilts her head and gives me an exasperated look. “What? You’re too good for parties?”

  I keep my expression serious. “Yes.”

  She laughs like I’d hoped she would, then she rolls her eyes. “Come on, everyone has to let loose sometime. Come to the party.”

  Her gaze meets mine and I know she’s not going to let this go. I’m torn between annoyance that I’m being asked to tag along as her sidekick friend and being pleased that she wants me to tag along as her sidekick friend.

  This whole friends with a hot girl thing is already complicated, and our friendship has only just begun. “Why?” I ask, more to avoid answering, although I am curious. “Why would you want me being a third wheel on your big date with Trent Wagner?”

  I make my voice all girly and fawning like hers had been when I say his name. She throws the pillow at my face in response.

  “I don’t even know if it is a date.” She’s gnawing on her lower lip and it’s impossible not to watch. “I mean, he invited me to a party, but does that mean we’re going together? Or is this, like, a group hang or something?”

  The way she says ‘group hang’ makes me laugh. She’d said it like it was a foreign term and she was just learning how to sound it out.

  I shrug. “I don’t know. I mean, it’s a party, so you’ll definitely be in a group…”

  “Right, but—” She licks her lips and I finally tear my gaze away or risk losing the unaffected calm I’d had to fight tooth and nail for. “But, do you think this counts as a date?”

  My gaze flies back to her, not because of the words but because of her voice. So freakin’ vulnerable I kind of want to give her a hug. And not in a sexy way. In a friend way.

  She licks her lips in a nervous gesture.

  And now I want to hold her in a totally non-friendly sexy way.

  Dammit.

  I force myself to focus on the vulnerable friend who’s looking to me like I have all the answers. The girl who looks thoroughly freaked because she’s going to a party with the world’s cheesiest player.

  “Avery,” I say slowly as if talking to a spooked animal.

  “Yes?” She toys with the frayed edge of her jeans and I try not to notice that she’s back to nibbling on her lip. I concentrate instead on the panic in her eyes.

  “Have you ever been on a date before?”

  She hesitates and then she shakes her head. Her expression is slightly wary, like she’s waiting for me to mock her. And while I am all about making fun of my new hottie celebrity friend, I’m not cruel, and she’s obviously sensitive about this.

  So instead of making a joke comparing her to the forty-year-old virgin, I ignore the awkward silence and sigh instead. There is only one thing to do. “Fine. I’ll go to the party. But don’t expect me to be a great wingman.”

  She sits up straighter and claps her hands together in a show of giddy excitement that the rest of my classmates wouldn’t believe even if they saw it with their own eyes.

  But it’s not because of me. Not really. This excitement has to do with a certain empty-headed, narcissistic jerk who I just happen to live with.

  Although…that’s not entirely true. I mean, she’s so into him because of his talent, right?

  That’s all me.

  What about the six-pack abs and model face, hotshot?

  Those are all him. I can give credit where credit is due, if being genetically blessed with supermodel DNA is something to take credit for.

  “I just wish I knew what to say to him,” she says. It’s at that moment that I realize I am in the friend zone. I mean, I know we’re friends, and that’s a good thing. It’s what I wanted. But right now, she’s talking to me like I’m her girlfriend. Like this is what we do, we talk about her crush and her big date and…oh holy hell, what have I gotten myself into?

  I don’t want to hear this. There are few things I want to hear less than how much Avery has the hots for another guy. I’m not jealous or anything, just…jealous. Fine, I can admit it. Are you happy now? I’m jealous. Not because I want her for myself, necessarily, but because she’s the first cool girl I’ve clicked with in…maybe forever. Definitely since coming to Trudale.

  And yeah, she’s hot. She’s smokin’ hot. But that doesn’t mean I want to date her. She doesn’t look at me like that, and even if she did, how long would something like that last between two people who live in such different worlds?

  Anything romantic would be short-term at best, even if she did look at me the way she looks at Trent. It would be a distraction at best. And who wants that? Better to have a long-term friend and ally at this place for the last year I’m here.

  She’s oblivious to my inner plight, which really just emphasizes the fact that she’s not worrying about her feelings like me. Why? Because my place in her life is clear.

  I’m in the friend zone.

  And she’s still talking. “What do I say to him?” She’s so wide-eyed and worried but this time I have no problem teasing her.

  “Repeat after me,” I say, and then I do my best Julia Roberts. “I’m just a girl, standing in front of a boy…”

  She whips another pillow. “Idiot,” she mutters. But she’s laughing, so…mission accomplished. “Besides,” she continues. “That movie was all about how she’s this big celebrity, but this is the total opposite. I’m the starstruck one here, remember?”

  I ought to point out that she is, in fact, an A-list celebrity, and Trent may have hidden his awe better than she had but there’s no doubt in my mind that he’s impressed by her star power. And if he’s not at least slightly intimidated by that crazy intense star quality she throws around like second nature, then he�
�s not human.

  But I don’t say any of that because she doesn’t need to be reminded that she’s a star and I can’t help but derive an irrational amount of egotistical joy thanks to her reminder that she loves my work.

  I should drop it because it’s weird that she doesn’t know it’s me. Talking about it will only make it harder to keep it a secret. Besides, I don’t need her praise.

  “So, you’re a big fan, huh?” Okay, what am I doing? I don’t know. I have no control over my mouth at this point. There’s something stronger than my brain that can’t seem to let this go.

  It’s probably my ego.

  And my ego is extremely satisfied with the dreamy quality of her sigh. “I am such a big fan.”

  I try not to smile. I am not going to blow our secret now, and not like this. Do not smile, dammit. I strive for snarky. “Well, you hid it well.”

  She gives a little snort of amusement. “Yup, super cool, that’s me. But, in my defense, have you seen your roommate?”

  My hand stills over the keyboard. I ignore the sharp jab her words inflict. My tone shifts from snarky to outright sarcastic. “Ah, I see. So you’re really a fan of his six-pack and just pretend that you’re into books.”

  “No,” she says quickly. “I mean, it’s his acting that first—”

  “Uh huh,” I cut in. “And I just read Playboy for the articles.”

  There’s a brief pause, and then she laughs. “Oh, shut up.” She comes over and slips into the same desk chair she was in before. “Come on, we still need to pick a song for our project.”

  I know she’s right. We should be focusing on work. That’s why she’s here. That’s what we’re hanging out for, right?

  I’m about to start calling up some songs that I’m seriously considering using for the video, but it seems she’s not done justifying herself. “Just so you know, his pretty face and the rock-hard abs are just icing on the cake as far as I’m concerned.”

  I do not want to feel anything about this topic. I don’t want to care, and I don’t want to hear anything more about her crush. But I can’t seem to stop myself. “Oh yeah?”

  I look up to see her nodding as she brushes back some hair behind her ear. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. He’s great to look at, but it’s his voice that I fell in love with.”

  Her words knock the wind right out of me even though I know she’s not being literal. I know that.

  I don’t even know what I’m doing as I click on the first song on my playlist. “You’re into quasi-British accents, huh?”

  I say quasi because it’s faint. Having grown up in LA more than London, I get the feeling that the accent is a bit false. It’s Trent’s way of constantly reminding people of who his father is, just in case they might have forgotten.

  She punches my arm in a move that pretty much defines our friend zone borders with stark clarity. “Don’t be dumb,” she says. “It’s what he does with his voice that’s amazing. It’s his talent and the sincerity, and the way he takes the words and gives them new meaning and—”

  She stops so suddenly I look up to see what’s wrong. There’s a little tiny shameful part of me that wants to beg her to continue. But she’s giving her head a little shake and gives a self-deprecating laugh. “You know what? No more. I am officially done gushing like an idiot for the day.”

  I watch her lips as they curve up in a sweet smile that lights up her eyes. “As my wingman, I expect you to tackle me to the ground and shove a gag into my mouth if I start up like that at the party. Deal?”

  My smile feels forced. “It will be my pleasure.”

  She laughs and we both turn our attention back to my laptop and the list of songs. Because we’re partners. And maybe friends. And now…well, now I’m her wingman.

  So yeah. To quote the great and eloquent Trent Wagner. That’s cool.

  Super cool.

  Chapter Seven

  Avery

  I don’t stick around Seth’s room for long, mainly because I’m afraid Trent will come back and I’ll be even more awkward the second time around.

  Best to save my next spaz attack for our…date? Maybe?

  Squeeee! I have never ever felt like such a ridiculous girlie girl in my entire life, but at this particular moment, I just want to squeal and paint my toes and talk on the phone with Gabe.

  But he’s traveling so I can’t. But I can watch a cheesy rom com and paint my toenails.

  This is the closest I’ve been to happy since I arrived at this school. Which, granted, was less than a week ago, but still. It feels good to feel good.

  I fling the door open to my room and stop short. I’m not sure which of us is more spooked to find ourselves alone together in our shared room. My roommate’s eyes widen behind that thick curtain of brown hair. She’s watching something on her laptop, but she snaps it shut as if I’d just found her watching porn.

  Which…maybe she was.

  Ew, gross.

  “Um,” I say, half turning to head back out but I can’t think of a good excuse quickly enough. “I was just…I thought…” I take a deep breath. “Sorry, I thought you were leaving for the weekend.”

  It’s not like I’d seen her pack her bags or anything, but the RA had made a comment during that first-day tour about how a lot of kids go home during the weekends, and she’d mentioned that I was lucky to have a roommate like that because hers never left, so she never got a moment’s peace.

  My roommate blinks once, and I start to seriously wonder if maybe English isn’t her first language. I know enough Spanish that I could make an attempt, and my French is pretty decent. Before I can embarrass us both with rusty Spanish, she speaks up in a quiet voice. “I go home every other weekend.”

  Ah. Okay then. I shuffle on my feet as I try to figure out what I’m supposed to do here. I clearly make her uncomfortable, but also…this is my room too.

  Besides, Seth said she’s a sweet girl, right? And Seth would never say something so nice about someone unless it was true. He is wonderfully honest like that.

  And he’s my friend.

  That thought makes me want to do a happy dance all over again. I have a friend. My first non-industry friend. My first relatively normal friend. I mean, he’s not gracing the cover of a magazine at the moment, so in my eyes, he’s as normal as it gets.

  I have a friend, and I have a date. My first date. With the guy I’ve been crushing on for months.

  I couldn’t have stopped my grin if I’d tried. And I don’t. Like I said, it feels good to feel good. I plan on reveling in it. And my happiness gives me the surge of confidence I need to leap over the hurdle of awkwardness between us.

  I close the door behind me and fully enter the room before I can change my mind. I can do this. I can make another friend. Or at least, I can make us not be so awkward.

  For the millionth time, I wish Gabe was here with me. He’s so much better at talking to people. He puts them at ease with his charming smiles and his outgoing nature. I, on the other hand, seem to scare them at best or make them hate me, at worst.

  I don’t think Charlotte hates me, but she’s definitely scared.

  Right. I can do this. Think reassuring. Think calm. Think Gabe.

  I take a deep breath. “So…do you like going to Trudale?”

  She stiffens. Well done, Avery, you’ve put her on the hot seat. That’s a question she’d hear from the dean, not her roommate.

  “I mean…” I shake my head. “How do you like the dorms?”

  Okay, that’s…better. I think. She at least doesn’t look like I’m prying her fingernails off with a toothpick, so that’s progress.

  She fidgets with the edge of her laptop. “The dorms are okay, I guess.”

  I nod like that’s a great answer. They are okay. Well done, Charlotte, you’ve gotten an A! “I thought they would be more…” I shrug. “I don’t know. More rowdy or something.”

  A muscle in her face twitches and I wonder if maybe it was the start of a smile. Or maybe i
t was a flinch.

  “I guess I’ve seen too many movies about college life,” I say, heading over to my bed where I go for a casual lean against the wall but have to move because it’s too uncomfortable. “Maybe it’s different in college,” I say.

  She’s not making eye contact, but she looks less likely to flee so maybe I’m getting the hang of this. I keep talking, mainly to myself, but it’s a start, right? At least we’re not sitting here in silence. “Maybe it’s different when there aren’t curfews and stuff,” I say. I’m mentally comparing the dorms of Trudale to what I’ve seen on TV. “I did expect more parties though—”

  “Parties are held off campus,” she says. She’s still super quiet, but the fact that she spoke of her own volition is heartening.

  “Oh yeah?” I feign ignorance even though I’m going to one of these house parties.

  With Trent Wagner!

  I bite back another crazy squeal.

  I wait for her to continue but apparently, that’s it for her. Rather than letting us fall into another awkward silence I keep talking about the dorms, as though this is a fascinating conversation. “It’s interesting that they allow co-ed dorms,” I say. “Considering how strict they are about parties and drinking and…stuff”

  Great point, Aristotle. Man, I am really killing it with the eloquence today.

  She nods and tucks some hair behind her ears. “The co-ed floors are a new thing,” she says.

  I think that’s all she’s going to say, but then she sneaks a glance up at me and gives me a shy smile. “My mom hates it.”

  I almost gasp, I’m so freakin’ excited. My roommate is alive! It’s all I can do not to pounce on this moment. But holy cow, it feels huge. This is a breakthrough. She just made an attempt. That little smile, the teasing tone…it was an offering. She’s reaching out. She’s trying to be friendly.

  I need to give something back. I have to share too. I know this even though I know nothing else about making friends. She gave me a tidbit about her personal life and now it’s my turn. I think about what she said, about her mom hating the co-ed floors. Mom issues. This is a topic I can relate to.