Audible Love: A Young Adult Romance

by Maggie Dallen

  “Yeah,” he says. “We have a good thing going with the audiobooks—something that works for both of us.”

  I shake my head. “Like what?”

  “Money,” he says so quickly I know it’s the truth. “The scholarship I got only carries me so far, and my parents don’t make enough to help me out.”

  I watch his throat work, and I know how hard that is for him to confess. Maybe it wouldn’t be anywhere else, but here his lack of money and influence makes him stand out. It makes him the charity case, which he doesn’t want to be.

  “What does Trent get out of it?”

  Seth shrugs. “His dad’s respect, mainly. His father is a big believer in work ethics.”

  I let out a scoff. From the little I’ve heard of him from my mom, I’ve already drawn a mental image of the male version of Shirley.

  Poor Trent.

  No, wait. Not poor Trent. I set my hands on my hips. “Is he taking advantage of you?”

  Seth’s eyes widen and he blinks a few times. “What? No. No! It’s not like that.”

  I purse my lips as I study him. He seems to mean it. “But he takes all the credit,” I finally say.

  He shrugs. “I’m fine with it. I mean, I’m not out to be an actor. I just want to be a filmmaker.”

  I shake my head a bit, my mouth partially open. “Seriously? You are so talented, and you just dismiss that fact like it’s nothing.”

  He blinks at me a few times, and I feel like we’re speaking two different languages. I try again. “Why don’t you want to act?”

  He looks around uncomfortably, and I know that we should be talking about us. About his lying and my response. But right now, it feels like my mission in life to convince this guy of his talent.

  These last few days as I’ve come to grips with his lie, I’ve also had to make the mental switch to realize that my beloved voice—the one that I’ve worshipped from afar, the voice of my fantasies and my daydreams—it’s Seth’s voice.

  It’s all Seth.

  It was always Seth.

  And now…now he’s trying to blow it off like it’s nothing?

  I don’t think so.

  “Well?” I prompt. “What’s so bad about acting?”

  “It’s just…” He flails his arms a bit. “It’s not what I set out to do.”

  “But you’re good at it.”

  He looks so uncomfortable at the praise, it’s kind of adorable. For a second I forget that I’m mad. He lied to me. Maybe by omission, but it’s more than that. “You let me go on a date with Trent.”

  It comes out so suddenly that Seth jerks his head back before he winces. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “Sorry about that. I just wasn’t sure how to tell you.”

  I nod. Because I kind of get it. They had a deal, whether I agree with it or not. He couldn’t just blow it all up by deciding to trust the wrong person.

  “You didn’t trust me,” I say.

  “I didn’t know you.” His voice is quiet, but the words cut through me, and the cut runs deep. I know he doesn’t mean it to come out sounding mean, and it probably wouldn’t to anyone else. He was just speaking the truth.

  But the truth for me was that aside from Gabe no one knows me better.

  I nod again, tucking my hands under my crossed arms, suddenly feeling irrevocably disappointed and unutterably sad and inexplicably cold. The anger is gone, though, and I kind of miss it. “I get it,” I say.

  “No,” he says with a sigh. “You don’t. I didn’t want to hurt you and I didn’t think it would affect you…er, us.”

  “It’s not just that you’re living this secret life as the narrator to my favorite series,” I say. “It’s the fact that you don’t trust me.” I give my head a little shake because that’s not fair. “And I don’t know you, not the way I thought I did.” Ugh. Yet again, that came out wrong. “Look,” I try again, “I’m not blaming you. I just think….maybe you were right in the first place.”

  “I was?” He looks dubious. “About what?”

  I have to take a pause to breathe evenly to make sure I don’t burst into tears again. Because the truth has hit me and it’s hit me hard. My mother was right from the start. Everyone was. I don’t belong here. I don’t fit in and I never will.

  “I don’t know what it’s like to be in your position,” I say. “You were right earlier, in class. I don’t have to work for good grades here, I don’t even need to show up.” I cast a quick glance at my suitcase. “I’m not even sure why I’m here.”

  “Hey,” he starts, taking a step toward me and reaching out.

  I shake my head before he can say anything more. “No, it’s all right. I’m just sorry, is all.”

  “For what?”

  “For getting in the way with your project. For committing to something I can’t see through.”

  His eyes flicker to my bags as well. “So you’re really leaving then.”

  I nod.

  “Just for the long weekend?”

  His eyes search mine and I’m pretty sure he can see the truth. “I don’t know.” I stop there but what I mean is—I don’t know what I’ll do next. I don’t know if I want to stay. I don’t know why I should.

  For now, all I know is I have a reputation to go fix thanks to my sleazy co-star, a script to read, and some major life decisions to make. But none of those involve this guy—or at least, they shouldn’t. Because whether I want to believe it or not, he and my mother were both right all along.

  We live in different worlds.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Avery

  I miss Seth more than I want to admit. A week has passed since I left Trudale. Not for good—not officially. Not yet, at least.

  And to be honest, I’m still not sure what I want to do. All I do know is that I am so glad to have Gabe back in my life.

  He reaches past me to grab some more sushi. Some friends turn to ice cream or alcohol for comfort. Gabe and I? We do sushi.

  “So let me get this straight,” Gabe says as he holds a piece of sashimi in his chopsticks in front of his face. “The love of your life turned out to be the guy who you liked.”

  The term love of your life makes me choke on my roll, but I know what he means. I may or may not have referred to the guy I’d thought was Trent Wagner as “the one” on more than one occasion.

  I nod and reach for my water glass. “That pretty much sums it up.”

  “And the real Trent Wagner is a self-absorbed ass,” he continues.

  I murmur my agreement around my food.

  “And your roommate?”

  “Is cool,” I say. “Quiet but nice. I like her.”

  “Yet you’re pretty sure you’re going to quit.”

  I sit in silence and await his verdict. What I get is the unswerving gaze of a rock star as he chews his food. He stares for so long that I start to squirm.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you’re waiting for me to come to some sort of realization.”

  He grins. “Because I am, love.”

  I blink stupidly, and he leans forward so his elbows rest on the table. “It’s not like you to quit.”

  I frown. “It’s also not like me to go to school.” I shrug. “It’s a year for new things.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  I heave a sigh as I wait for him to continue.

  “Look, Avery, you can do whatever you want to do—”

  “Gee, thanks for the approval.”

  He ignores me. “But I think maybe you should think this through.”

  “I have,” I say. “I don’t fit in, and what’s the point of me being there? I’m just taking a spot from someone who needs it or at least wants it more than I do.” I take a deep breath and rush through the reasons I’d been working on, ignoring his unimpressed stare. “I mean, these students are working their butts off to be seen. And me? I’m just trying to hide.”

  He doesn’t try to deny this because he knows it’
s the truth.

  “I wanted to go to a normal high school, be like other kids my age, but that was a fantasy, and I should have seen that earlier. I can’t just magically erase who I am and what I’ve done.” I sit up a little straighter. “And I don’t want to. I’ve done some work I’m proud of, and even the stuff that’s best left forgotten—”

  “Hello, guest appearance on Hannah Montana,” he murmurs, making us both smother a laugh.

  “But they were still work,” I continue as if uninterrupted. “I still worked hard, and I can’t pretend that’s not me. I can’t pretend that I’m some young, naïve ingénue who’s looking for her big break.”

  “So then, don’t pretend,” he says. “Don’t try to be someone you’re not.”

  I widen my eyes. “And what? Strut through the halls like the A-list celebrity I am?”

  He widens his eyes even bigger than mine. “Yes! Good grief, yes! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you for years. You need to own your success, love, not try to pretend it doesn’t exist.”

  His words do something to loosen the tightness in my chest that has been there for days on end. “But—” I start.

  “No buts, Cinderella.” Gabe’s voice is unusually stern.

  “But,” I say anyway. “Everyone looks at me like—”

  “If you don’t like the way people look at you then change what they see.” He pops a piece of edamame into his mouth with a flourish.

  I blink again. “Did you read that on a fortune cookie or something?”

  He shakes his head. “That’s all me. Pretty good, huh?”

  I nod. “You could totally write a self-help book.”

  He scoffs but I know he’s pleased. “I should be able to, I’ve read enough of them.”

  “Do it!” I sit up straighter with excitement and he grins.

  “Who would my audience be? Fellow A-listers? That’s a pretty small market, don’t you think?” He waves a hand as if wiping the conversation off the table. “Stop trying to change the subject. We’re talking about you. The new you.”

  “The new me?” I ask. “What happened to the old one?”

  “She burned in effigy along with crocs, and uggs, and leg warmers, and every other outdated fad.”

  I let out a snort of laughter despite myself. Underneath the laughter, I don’t know what I’m feeling—a lot. There’s a lot going on here, and I don’t know where to begin. I’m terrified. I’m excited. The idea definitely has merit.

  “I don’t even know how to start over,” I say.

  His gaze meets mine and his look is sweetly affectionate. “You start by going after the things you want, pumpkin. So, come on, let’s hear it. What is it that you want?”

  What is it that I want? The question shouldn’t be daunting, but it is. It’s been so long since anyone has asked me that. So long since I’ve asked myself that. Going to Trudale had seemed like a step toward figuring it out, but I hadn’t been there long enough. I still don’t—

  “What do you want?” Gabe asks again, this time slowly, his face directly in front of mine, his eyes never yielding.

  “Seth. I want Seth.” Admitting it is a scary relief, if that’s a term. It’s probably not, but that’s the only way I can describe it. It’s freakin’ scary to admit that, even to myself. Because he might not feel the same, especially now that I’ve left. It also feels ridiculous because I still haven’t figured out…anything else. But there’s a pounding in my brain, a throbbing in my chest. What do you want?

  It’s like my whole body answers. Seth. “I want to be with Seth.”

  I’m rewarded by a huge grin from Gabe. “That’s my girl,” he says. “Now, let’s make this happen.”

  Unfortunately, it’s not that simple. I wasn’t lying about why I’d had to leave school. My mother capitalized on my being in town so not only did I meet with the animated film’s director about the role he wanted me for, but I also did an on-screen audition for a big-budget action movie that promised zero decent dialogue but a paycheck that would make my mother a very happy stage mom.

  I’m celebrating how well it went with said stage mother when I get it—a text from Charlotte.

  Charlotte: Thought you should know.

  It includes a link to a tiny blog that no one but me would read. It’s a blog for audiobook fans. “Fraud charges bring halt to the production of next Rogue Debutante audiobook.”

  My stomach churns, and I slap a hand over my mouth to keep from throwing up. I ignore my mom as she asks after me and make my way to my bedroom where I can read it in peace. It’s exactly what you’d expect. Someone ratted Seth and Trent out to the company in charge of production. There are no quotes from either of them, but the fact that production has stopped…well, that can’t be good.

  I find myself worrying about Seth—how he’s going to pay his bills, how he’s going to handle the exposure, how this might affect his scholarship and his career plans.

  I need to see him. I think about texting him, but one awful thought stops me. What if he thinks I did it? What if he thinks I’m so spiteful that I’d spill his secret just to get back at him and Trent for lying to me?

  It’s a paranoid thought, I’ll admit, but it won’t quit. It’s nagging at me as I change my travel so I’m on the next available flight out of LA. It keeps my foot tapping in the limo that drives me from the airport to Trudale.

  It has me rushing up to my dorm room to toss down my stuff so I can see him. I’m about to do just that, awful travel-day hair be damned, when my phone dings. It’s Gabe. Oh, Cinderella, I’m so sorry. Call me when you can talk.

  Oh crap. My heart sinks as I flop down on my bed. What now?

  I don’t have to search for long. I flip open my laptop and type my name and the first headline to pop up sucks everything out of me. The anxious paranoia flees. My excitement at seeing Seth vanishes.

  I’m gutted.

  It’s an expose on me, from a “close friend.” An inside source, it says. The story is one I’ve only actually told once…to Seth. It’s the ultimate story of the poor little rich girl. A story about an eight-year-old who got her first break because she could cry on demand. It’s a story about a girl whose father left her and whose mother pushed her for her own success.

  It’s my story, and none of it is a lie.

  But it’s awful. It’s pathetic. I am pathetic.

  I don’t know how long I sit there on my bed, staring at the screen of my phone, reading and rereading this article. It’s funny how much perspective you can get from reading about your life like this—like you’re the lead character in the story of your life. After the initial shock passes, and then the hurt, I’m left pondering this article like it’s an existential riddle.

  Am I the stuck-up diva I’ve been described as for the last few years or am I this girl, the poor, misunderstood child star?

  Neither. I’m neither. Or maybe I’m both. But I’m more than either of those descriptions, and I am the one who’ll write my story from here on out. That much I know for certain.

  How? No idea. But I’m pretty sure Gabe has the right idea that it all starts with figuring out what I want and going for it. What makes me happy? What brings me joy?

  I might not have all the answers yet, but asking those questions is a good beginning.

  I’m not even reading the article anymore when there’s a knock on my door. The knock is solely for show, though, since I’d left our bedroom door open behind me in my haste to get to Seth and then in the frozen shock as I read the latest garbage about Avery Sinclair.

  So now I’m staring at the door, my heart in my throat as I take in the sight of Seth. I drink him in, greedily taking in every detail of this guy who has become so infinitely important in such a ludicrously short amount of time.

  Our gazes meet, and I feel like we’re talking even though we’re not. There’s that connection, fragile and tenuous because it’s still new and there’s still so much unspoken between us. But it’s there, and I know better than an
yone how rare that is. How special, how valuable.

  Oh God, please don’t let me blow this.

  And it’s with that thought that it all comes back to me. Why I’d raced here to begin with, what he must think. “I didn’t tell anyone, I promise.” I blurt it out so quickly Seth frowns at me before walking into the room and shutting the door behind him.

  “What are you talking about?” He looks wary, and I have no idea what to make of that.

  “The audiobooks, your narrating business,” I say, my words tumbling out in my haste to clear this up.

  His brows draw together in obvious confusion.

  “I didn’t tell anyone. I mean, I’m sorry that you guys were found out, but I just wanted you to know—”

  “That it wasn’t you who told on us,” he finishes.

  I see a flicker of a grin, there and gone, before he adds, “Yeah, I know.”

  “You do?”

  He nods slowly. “I never thought it was you who told our secret.”

  My shoulders slump. “Oh.” Yes, oh. How very eloquent, Avery. “You didn’t?” That’s not much better either, really, it sounds like I’m fishing for more because, let’s face it—I am.

  He nods as he slowly moves toward me, close enough that I can smell him and feel him, and if I’d really wanted to…I could touch him. I shove my hands into the pockets of my jacket to keep from doing anything weird or creepy.

  Things didn’t exactly end well between us when I left here last week, and the fact that I’d come rushing back just to make sure he knew I wasn’t the one who’d betrayed him didn’t really speak wonders of the status of our relationship.

  If we even have a relationship.

  Which, we don’t. But I want us to. And that’s got to count for something, right?

  “Trent and I figure it was Joel,” he says.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Sound engineer.” He sounds so lazy, like he really doesn’t care.

  “But…aren’t you…?”

  “Pissed?” He shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets too, so we’re both rocking on our heels, facing off. “Yeah, I was. Kind of. But in a way I was relieved, I guess.”

  “Yeah?”