“My mom sent me a script for a movie about a stripper who seduces an old married man and then murders him.”
Her eyes go wide with disbelief.
Maybe I’ve overplayed the “my mom’s a whack job” card.
But then she bursts out laughing and so do I.
“Seriously?” she says.
I nod and then lift one shoulder in a shrug. “Somehow I can’t imagine she’ll care too much that there are boys down the hall.”
Charlotte slaps a hand over her mouth but I hear her snicker. I let out a quiet sigh of relief.
She could tell people about the script, it could make a gossip blog. The fact that I’m considering this role is supposed to be a secret. But I don’t care about any of that right now, because it was worth it. The thick wall of tension between our two sides of the room is fading fast, and I’m quick to take advantage. I nod toward her laptop. “What are you watching?”
She ducks her head so her hair falls over her face. “Oh, nothing really, just a show…”
“Tell me you weren’t watching The Temptress,” I say. I’m one hundred percent teasing, but by the way she turns a brilliant shade of red, I realize that I’ve hit the nail on the head.
“Seriously, tell me you’re not,” I say, but I’m laughing and she looks up at me with an impish smile.
“What?” she says with a hint of a defensive shrug. “I’m a fan.”
At any other time on any other day, that admission might have made me uncomfortable. I never have gotten used to that sort of attention. But today, after the scene I’d just caused in Seth’s room, my heart goes out to her and I forget about me.
“That’s awesome.” And I mean it. “Who’s your favorite character?” I walk over and plop down beside her on her bed. “And if you don’t say Sadie Wrathmore I’m never speaking to you again.”
She laughs like I’d hoped she would.
She tugs at her hair and eyes the laptop, confirming my suspicion that it wasn’t porn she’d been watching when I’d arrived. Just my show. Which, let’s face it, has about as much depth of plot and character as porn…but I digress.
“Um,” she says, wrapping a lock of brown hair around her finger so tightly it turns red. “Your character, er, um, Sadie…she’s definitely one of my favorites.”
I make a show of rolling my eyes. “You have to say that.”
She grins and adds, “But right now Victor Montcliff is my favorite.”
I widen my eyes. “Good choice.” I don’t have a lot of scenes with Ben, the guy who plays the young billionaire, Victor, who’s scheming to take down Henry’s character, but from what I’ve seen of him he’s got skills. He does a good job with his role—or at least, as good a job as he can given the horrid scripts.
Charlotte brightens a bit and gestures to the laptop. “I’m up to last season’s second-to-last episode.”
I nod and mime a lock and key over my lips making her giggle. We both know that I know what happens next, but I won’t be the one to spoil her fun.
“What are you waiting for?” I say settling back against the wall so we’re seated side by side. “I’ve never actually seen that episode.”
She blinks at me, peeking out through that mass of hair and it occurs to me that she’s actually quite pretty. Or she would be if she didn’t hide all the time. She has a pixie look about her with delicate features and bright green eyes. She’d be stunning with a short haircut, something that framed her face and kept her from fading away.
But her hairstyle is a topic for another day. She flips open her laptop and hits play, and, for the first time all week, she and I hang out together, in our room.
And it’s nice.
We barely make it past the opening credits of the season finale when I hear my phone ding with a text.
It’s Seth. Riddle solved. I just heard Trent refer to tomorrow night as a date to one of his bro buddies. Score one for the awkward fan from LA.
I shake my head with a laugh as I text back. Guess that means you really are a third wheel.
Seth: Cool, cool.
I give a little snort laugh at that and then have to apologize to Charlotte for interrupting the climactic moment in which my character reveals that she wasn’t really pregnant at all. It had all been a lie. Dun dun dunnnn.
When my phone dings again with another text from Seth, she arches a meaningful brow in my direction.
Whoops. I’m being rude.
“Sorry,” I whisper, as if that helps. “But I have a date tomorrow night.” I hold up my phone, even though that proves nothing. The text is from Seth, not Trent. But a thought occurs to me and I leap on it. “Trent Wagner is taking me to that party tomorrow night—”
She nods. “The Dorman thing?”
I nod and fidget with the phone. “Seth is coming too. Do you want to join us?” I’m happily having visions of a double date—how classically high school is that? My brain is falling down a rabbit hole of double date visions that are drawn more from old movies than any real life stories I’ve heard. Gabe definitely hasn’t told me tales of drinking malt shakes at a diner, so that one is clearly not based in reality.
But the lovely sepia-tinted dream is dashed as Charlotte puckers her lips in distaste. “No…er, no thank you.”
I blink a few times at her negative reaction. “Do you have something against Seth or something?”
She shakes her head quickly. “No, not at all. I actually like him.”
That statement is beyond telling. I’m more convinced than ever that she and Seth would hit it off. They both seem to dislike the majority of this school.
I stare, waiting for her to continue. Surely she’s not going to tell me she doesn’t think he’s attractive. He might not be Trent Wagner hot, but the guy is cute. Anyone could see that.
Unless maybe she’s not into boys, in which case I have just put her in an awkward position if she’s not ready to come out of the closet and—
“I have a boyfriend.”
Oh. Or…there’s that possibility too. “Well, you could just join us as a friend. I mean, like a group hang. That’s something kids do these days, right?”
She laughs at me and I don’t mind. “Kids these days?” she says. “How old are you?”
I grin because I love the fact that she’s cracking a joke at my expense. One small step toward friendship.
“Seriously,” I say, nudging her arm. “You should come.”
She gives me a little grimace. “Thanks, but no thanks. Parties really aren’t my thing.”
I tilt my chin down and give her a meaningful look. “So you’ll…what? Sit here on a Saturday night and watch TV all by yourself?”
She purses her lips again as she arches her brows in a surprisingly haughty expression. “At least that way the show won’t be interrupted by someone talking.”
She’s joking and the sheer fact that she’s joking with me, teasing me like a real friend would…it makes me laugh harder. “Fine,” I say, holding my hands up in surrender. “I won’t push you to go to the party, and I’ll stop talking. Satisfied?”
She pretends to think it over, and I add, “If you want I can reenact the scene you just missed.”
She bursts out laughing at that. “Maybe next time.”
I shrug. “The offer is out there.”
She goes back to the show and I turn my attention back to my phone. So, it’s official. I have a date with Trent Wagner.
Seth: Have you figured out what you’re wearing to the party?
I’m about to ask why his sudden interest in my wardrobe choice but he beats me to it.
Seth: I’d recommend something with long sleeves so you can wipe away the drool when Trent inevitably finds a way to flash you again.
I smother a laugh to keep from interrupting the show again, but I type back quickly. Jealous much?
Before he has a chance to respond, I add: Hey, we never did pick our song for the project.
His response is quick: I think I found the p
erfect song. He sends me a link to Breakfast at Tiffany’s by Deep Blue Sea. I don’t click on it because I don’t want to ruin a key scene for Charlotte by blaring music. But I don’t have to listen; I know the song well. It’s that cheesy 90s song about a couple who has nothing in common except for their shared love of Breakfast at Tiffany’s.
Perfect, I type back.
And it is. I rest my phone against my chest as I lean back beside my roommate, and I revel. This is why I came to Trudale. This is what I wanted. To make friends, to be invited to parties, to hang out and watch TV with a roommate. I grin as I feel my phone vibrate and I just know it’s a funny text from Seth.
If this is normal, then my mother is wrong. Normal is absolutely everything it’s cracked up to be.
Chapter Eight
Avery
I’m a pretty smart girl. I’ve always gotten straight A’s and my tutors were never easy on me. So you’d think I’d get the concept of a date, right?
Wrong.
I guess I’m still confused about what a date actually is. I mean, I think I’m on one, but it’s not at all what I’d imagined it to be.
I’m standing beside Trent, but I don’t feel like we’re together. I shift a bit because his arm around my shoulder is super uncomfortable, but I don’t want to look like a snot by shrugging it off outright. I’m kind of hoping that he’ll get the hint by all my shifting around.
He doesn’t.
I search the crowd for Seth. I’d lost track of him a little while ago when he’d been cornered by a super drunk guy I didn’t recognize. Judging by Seth’s tolerant expression and the way he was leaning away from the drunkard’s touchy-feely ways, they’re not exactly besties.
I can afford to look around the room and not look like a bitch. Why would anyone care if I’m paying attention to the story being told when no one is paying attention to me?
No, that’s not quite true. Everyone is paying attention to me.
Everyone.
But not in a good way. Not in a “hey, let’s talk” kind of way but in the “wow, look at that fish swimming around in the fishbowl” kind of way. Actually, I’m guessing fish have it easier since people rarely judge fish. Me? I get the feeling I’m on trial for my life.
The girls are eyeing my clothes—not much to see, just a pair of jeans and a black, clingy sweater. It’s an old favorite and I’m wearing it tonight as the designer equivalent of a blankie. The guys are eyeing me with interest too, but none of them approaches me. Maybe because Trent hasn’t removed his arm from my shoulders since we’ve walked through the front door.
At first, I’d thought it was sweet. Maybe he is being protective. But, that doesn’t make it any less uncomfortable. His arm doesn’t quite fit, or maybe it’s our bodies that don’t quite mesh.
And then there’s the fact that we haven’t actually spoken. Not directly to one another. I’d met him and Seth in the dorm lobby, but there were several other people there too because we were all cramming into some guy named Alex’s car to get to the party.
I ended up on Trent’s lap, which would have been something straight out of a fantasy if I wasn’t also squished between two other people and focusing intently on keeping my arms and legs from striking anyone in the face or groin with every bump in the road.
So, no. Not a great start to our ‘date.’ I use that word very loosely now. If asked to define a date, it would definitely involve talking. Maybe a little one-on-one time. Perhaps a kiss.
But maybe I’m getting ahead of myself. It’s not Trent’s fault that the party is crowded and he’s the center of attention. He’s a chatty guy. A charming guy, judging by the way everyone around us laughs at his jokes and grins when he talks.
And it’s not like he’s not attentive in his way. He’s made sure I have a full drink in my hand and makes introductions when new people join us. But that’s the end of it. It’s not like anyone is trying to strike up a conversation with me, and I don’t know how to insert myself into conversations like these. They’re all about people I don’t know or events that happened before I came along. The conversations are intimidating in their normalcy. I feel like I’ve been thrust into a scene entitled “average high school party” but I wasn’t given a script. I have no idea how to participate, at what point I’m supposed to chime in, and with what?
I take a sip of the beer Trent had handed me, but I only take a baby sip because I hate the taste of beer. A fact I would have shared if he’d asked. But sipping it slowly gives me something to do as I try to come up with something to say. Anything that might help me to fit in.
When I see Seth coming out from the kitchen, I perk up, my eyes fixing on him fiercely hoping that maybe I can will him over in my direction by sheer force of will. I need help. I need a friend.
He spots me, and one look at my expression has him laughing as he heads my way. Trent is talking to one of his buddies—I don’t remember his name—as Seth slips up on my other side. “Having fun?” he asks.
“Does it look like it?” I say it under my breath so no one else will hear.
But Trent apparently notices that I’m speaking because suddenly he shifts his attention to me. “Hey, babe, you having a good time?”
I hear Seth’s low laugh beside me and order myself not to snicker. But really, Trent’s timing is too perfect.
I’m tempted to say what I said to Seth, but I don’t. That would be too rude. Besides, Trent is giving me this cute smile that reminds me of a puppy dog wagging his tail. He looks so eager to please. So sweet and simple.
And suddenly standing beside him I feel like the wicked witch of the west. I feel like the cold, distant snotty diva I’m always made out to be. Because I just can’t summon the same eager smile. Not with all these strangers staring at me and not when I am so not feeling it.
I’m just not that good of an actress. Not in real life, anyways.
“She’s bored,” one of the girls in the group says. I’ve forgotten her name too. Maybe I really am as self-absorbed as I’m made out to be because I can definitely not absorb all the names that have been flung my way this week.
I open my mouth to protest. The girl hadn’t said it in a nasty way, more like a patronizing way. Or maybe it’s just me who doesn’t like when people put words in my mouth. Before I can say anything, though, the guy standing next to her turns to the others and talks about me like I’m not there. “I guess we don’t compare to Hollywood parties.”
This leads to several tipsy shout-outs about how lame the LA scene is, followed by a few shouts of “Go Trudale!”
Um…okay. I am totally out of my element here. I never really fit in at parties, but I’ve never been enemy number one either. I’m not sure why all eyes are suddenly on me, or why they seem to be so antagonistic, especially since I haven’t actually said anything.
I blink a few times and lick my lips, trying to think of the appropriate response. What would Gabe say? He’d make a joke. He’d probably act super snotty, the epitome of a diva, but he’d do it in a way that made everyone laugh. I wish he could teach me how to do that.
Since he was typically at my side at parties, I didn’t have to worry about it. If he were here, he’d have handled it for me. But I’m on my own. I look around this group, and I have never felt more alone
I feel Seth’s hand on my elbow. “Hey, let’s get you another drink,” he says for everyone to hear. He must see that my cup is still full, but I breathe a sigh of relief for the out he’s giving me.
But Trent doesn’t drop his arm. I get the feeling that I’m on his radar now. He’d forgotten about me as he’d chatted with his friends, but now I’m the center of attention and he wants to be a part of it.
Disappointment washes over me so quickly it’s smothering. But I’m being stupid. Stupidly hard on Trent and too quick to judge, for sure. Maybe he just wants to help me fit in.
“What were parties like in Hollywood?” His expectant grin makes my mouth go dry. The spotlight is on me and I have no script.
Somebody hand me my script! “Um…” I start. Then I shrug and finally—finally—the heavy weight of his arm is off my shoulders and I can take a long, deep breath. “I don’t really know,” I say with another shrug. “I don’t go to a lot of parties.”
“Yeah right,” someone in the group says with a snort of disbelief.
“I’ve seen the evidence,” a guy says, making someone next to him laugh like they’re in on a private joke.
My stomach churns. I can guess what pictures he’s seen. I’m not such a goody two-shoes that I’ve never had a drink or gone to a party. And yeah, some of them got out of hand and all of them were well documented by cell phone cameras, if not paparazzi. But I’d never gotten out of hand, despite what the pictures might intimate. I couldn’t afford to. I always had to work the next day, or audition, or work out with my trainer. Trust me, one hungover training session was enough for me to learn my lesson the hard way.
“…such a princess,” I hear muttered from somewhere. And I know how I look. Stuck up. Prissy. Like I’m too good for these people. But that’s not what I meant.
“I just didn’t have a lot of time for parties and things,” I say. Why am I justifying myself? How many times did my mother drill it into me that perception is everything? You can play off cool and aloof, but no one wants to see pitiful.
Yup, she’s a charmer, that mom of mine. And she made it clear from an early age that my awkward shyness is pitiful. So, I learned to keep quiet, and my chin up, my shoulders back. I focus on something harmless like a light fixture or a door handle, and I ignore the anxiety that’s always there just under the surface.
I curse myself now for trying to explain. It doesn’t matter. They’ll think what they want to think, isn’t that what has been proven over and over again?
They’ll believe what they want to believe. People always do.
I see Trent’s smile fade from expectant hopefulness to disappointment when I don’t pick up on his conversation starter. I try to give him an apologetic wince, but it probably looks more like a cringe as I back away from him, and toward Seth. Save me, I’m mentally pleading. Help me. Without even knowing I’m doing it, I’m seeking out Seth’s hand behind me and he doesn’t let me down. His hand slips into mine and tugs gently, guiding me away from this awful spotlight scenario.
Audible Love: A Young Adult Romance Page 9
