Just Like the Movies

by Natasha Preston

I find him sitting on the sofa with two cups of steaming hot tea on the coffee table.

  His waves are damp, and the water weighs it down a little. The more it dries, the bouncier it looks. “Hey,” I say, taking a seat. God, he smells good. “This is great service.”

  He looks at the mugs. “It’s relatively early, and I know how cranky you get when you haven’t had caffeine.”

  There was a lot in the cappuccino but I’m not going to say anything. It’s sweet of him to have a drink waiting.

  “My hero.”

  His lips quirk. “You got done whatever you needed to do this morning?”

  I lean back against the sofa, knowing he’s fishing. “Yep, nothing fun. How long does it take you to shower now? Your massive movie star head take some extra washing?”

  Rolling his eyes, he passes me the remote. “What are we watching?”

  “Top Gun.”

  “Oh, a new one,” he says sarcastically.

  We’ve watched it about thirty times before.

  “It’s a classic.”

  He throws his arm over the back of the sofa, almost around me. “You don’t need to add planes to romance so I’ll watch it, Indie. I’ll sit through whatever you want.”

  “Sweet. Although I know you’ll moan during the whole thing. Do you remember when we watched 27 Dresses?”

  He groans at the memory. “Fuck, that was ridiculous. Top Gun, it is.”

  I lean against his side and find the movie on his recorded shows. We spend the whole day lounging in front of the TV. It’s my idea of perfection, and nothing can wipe the smile off my face.

  Fourteen

  Spencer

  14“So, this is uni,” I say as we walk through an old building to the classroom we’re not due at for another fifteen minutes. There aren’t many people about, but a few of them do a double take when they see me. I smile politely without stopping.

  It’s a tiny university with pretty architecture, a big library, and open spaces that suit Indie.

  “This is it,” she replies.

  “And you always show up early?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re such a geek.”

  She playfully slaps my arm. “If you’re going to tease me the whole time, you can leave now.”

  “And miss a chance to see you in this environment? Not a chance. I’ll behave.”

  “Put your sunglasses on. People keep staring at you.”

  “You’re making me self-conscious.”

  “With a hundred pairs of eyes on you, each one bidding to be in your bed tonight, you feel self-conscious?”

  There is nowhere near a hundred people in these corridors.

  I wrap an arm around her shoulders. “Now, now, Indie. The only one joining me in bed tonight is that fucking awful stuffed cow you gave me when we first met outside the library.”

  “You were crying, and I wanted to make you feel better.”

  “I was eleven and had just fractured my arm.”

  She shrugs. “You stopped crying.”

  That was because I saw her, not the stuffed cow she was holding out. I’ve had the damn thing with me every night since.

  “Well, I wasn’t going to cry forever, was I?”

  “Shut up, you love Tiger.”

  I shake my head. “Who names a cow Tiger?”

  “Here we are,” she says, pulling me through a door.

  The room is small with ten double tables spaced out. On the walls are noticeboards filled with course-related material that I have no desire to read. I’m not here to learn.

  It smells like books and coffee.

  “Indie, what a surprise,” the lecturer says, his tone full of sarcasm.

  I look him over. He’s a man with a neat beard and dickhead braces. He looks after himself. The only thing that gives away his age is the greying hair.

  Indie’s cheeks turn pink, and she dips her head. What’s that about? I don’t know if that’s because I’m here or because she fancies her lecturer. Surely she’s not going to fall for an old man with chinos and an organic coffee bean addiction?

  I fold my arms. He looks like a hipster thrown into a time warp.

  “Grant, this is my friend Spencer. Spence, this is Grant, the best lecturer in the world.”

  Grant smiles. “That won’t push up your grade.”

  “Damn it,” she mutters.

  Are they flirting? What the fuck is going on? Is she sleeping with her fucking lecturer?

  “Hello,” I force out through gritted teeth.

  I look between them and start to feel a bit hysterical. Don’t cause a scene.

  “Ah, you’re the movie star. Indie has spoken about you.”

  The movie star. I hate the way he says it.

  “I was hoping Spence could sit in today?”

  Grant nods, sitting on the edge of his desk like he’s trying to be casual, friendly, and relatable. He probably has a wife buried under the patio. “He can for this morning.”

  Indie smiles at me. Me, not him. “Great. You are going to love it. Well, maybe.”

  I pull her closer, and her eyes flutter. “I can’t wait to see my little nerd in action.”

  “You’re not far off. Indie is my best student.”

  I bet she is.

  Where’s your wife, Grant?

  He’s holding a textbook so I can’t see his left hand. The creep probably removes his wedding ring and keeps it in his car.

  “My Indie is the smartest person I know,” I reply.

  She side-eyes me. I’m sure she’s about to whack me again but she doesn’t.

  “Well, take a seat. We have a little while,” Grant says. He gets up and sits behind his desk.

  Indie and I sit the middle of the classroom.

  “Not front and centre?” I tease, bumping her shoulder with my own.

  She smiles so wide and seems so free that I start to doubt there’s anything bad happening at home. “That’s where you need to be, Hollywood.”

  Laughing, I kick my legs out and lean back in the seat. “I think I’m coming out in a rash being in a classroom again.”

  “You went to an acting school.”

  “For the last two years of high school. Before that, I only had drama twice a week for fifty minutes. The rest of the week was so boring, I wanted to scream.”

  She shakes her head. “It’s so obvious that we didn’t go to the same school.”

  “You would have kept me entertained.”

  “We probably would have hated each other. I would have insisted on being early to every class and you would try to get me to skip.”

  “We could skip now.” We could go back to mine—go to bed.

  “I’m missing three days for you this week already.”

  Grant’s head pops up.

  Fuck off, Grant.

  “You are?” he asks.

  “Yeah.” She winces. “I was going to speak to you later.”

  Once I’m gone?

  “Where are you going?”

  “To LA.” Her face lights up with pride. “Spencer’s premiere. I have to be there. I’ll be able to get anything I miss, right?”

  He nods. “Of course. I’ll make sure you have everything you need. Not that three days is going to put you behind. I’m glad you’re going. If anyone deserves to have a wonderful time away, it’s you.”

  Who does this prick think he is?

  I watch Indie’s body shrink with his compliment. “Thanks.”

  There’s a weird dynamic going on here. Something is out of place… or I’m crazy.

  The room fills slowly until Grant closes the door and begins the lecture.

  There’s a lot of talk about early trauma and how that affects later life choices, leading you to repeat mistakes in adult life.

  It’s a subject that makes me feel like my clothes are made from Velcro. Indie listens to Grant like he’s the fucking messiah. Her lips are slightly pouted while she’s deep in concentration. She was the same when I taught her to ride a bike
, when she was almost twelve. A bike that looked like it was for a younger child, which definitely made it harder. I never understood why she left it so late to learn. She just shrugged and said she’d never been bothered before.

  She was determined then, and she’s determined now. I think she scribbles down everything Grant says, word for word.

  What makes me burn with pride even more is when she participates, answering questions or giving her take on something with a confidence I never see on this level.

  She’s smart as fuck.

  Grant, the prick, was right about one thing: she is going to get a first.

  When the class is over, students leave like the place is on fire. Grant shuffles papers on his desk.

  “You really are a geek.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. What did you think then?”

  “I think you’re amazing, and I made the right choice with acting. I’m not cut out for uni.”

  And I think I love you.

  Actually, I know I love her. I never stopped.

  Tilting her head to the side, she slaps my arm. “That’s not true, Spence. You can do anything.”

  “I would go mad and kill everyone by the second week.”

  “Excuse me.” Indie and I look up at the same time. “Sorry. You’re Spencer Lowe, right?”

  Indie will be looking up at the ceiling, no doubt.

  “Yeah, hi.”

  “I’m Sophie, and I can’t wait to see your movie. It looks so good.”

  Hearing that never gets old. “Thank you, Sophie.”

  “Can we take a picture?”

  “Sure. You want to selfie?”

  Sophie nods and slams her body against mine. The overwhelming floral perfume she’s wearing almost makes me gag. She holds her phone out, already having the camera function up.

  We both smile, and she puts her phone in her pocket. “Thanks. So, are you busy today?” Sophie eyes Indie the second she’s asked.

  I nod. “I’m hanging out with Indie. I’ve only got her for a week.”

  Sophie’s smile transforms from hopeful to borderline aggravated. “Right. Well, have fun. I’ll tag you in this,” she says as she walks out of the door.

  Indie tilts her head towards me. “Where are those sunglasses?”

  “That’s going to happen. It’s the nature of the job.”

  “Do you mind?”

  “I don’t know how to answer that without you thinking I’m an attention seeking dickhead.”

  She stuffs her textbook into her bag. “You’re not a dickhead.”

  “But I love attention?”

  Laughing, she nods. “You said it.”

  “Where to now, smartarse?”

  “I usually go back to the library.” Really? “But we’ll go to a café down the road until my afternoon lecture… which you can’t attend.”

  Because Grant is a prick.

  “See you later, Indie,” Grant say as we begin walking out. “Nice to meet you, Spencer.”

  I force myself to smile. “And you, Grant.”

  Indie and I need a long chat about this arsehole. I want to shave his beard off.

  She wouldn’t sleep with her lecturer. I’m not sure she’s slept with anyone. She was a virgin when we were together, and she hasn’t talked about anyone since.

  Mila will know. Just how many times can I go behind her back and talk to one of her friends, though? I still feel nauseous from my meeting earlier. The one where I’m supposed to fix whatever is going on in Indie’s life… that I have no clue about because she doesn’t discuss her family.

  The fact that Mila felt the need to call me worries me beyond belief.

  Why is Indie secretive about her parents?

  LA is where Mila thinks I’ll get something out of her. She’s never been on holiday, that I know of. Maybe she will relax and open up. Whatever’s going on, I will find out, and if they’ve hurt her in any way, she’s never going back.

  Fifteen

  Indie

  Spencer had been acting weird all morning. We parted ways after having a quick lunch in the café. He could tell I was anxious to get some work done before my lecture in the afternoon, and he had a thousand calls to return. There’s always someone to call or message back in his world.

  Even when he has time off, he’s still working. It must be exhausting.

  We had a testimonial from a twenty-year-old woman about her experiences growing up with a dad who hit her and her mum. She had been in prison five times for petty crimes and lost custody of her two children before turning her life around.

  I sat there seething at my parents all afternoon. I’m not like that woman—not everyone reacts to childhood trauma the same way—but I could so easily have been in her place.

  Now, I’m in my room after having a quick shower and changing because I’m about to leave for Spencer’s. Post sixteen-year-old me didn’t spend much time at his house—only ever to watch movies—but we can’t exactly go out all the time now. It wouldn’t be much fun with him getting stopped every five minutes.

  I wanted to throw something at Sophie earlier. We got off lightly, I suppose. Though, when I was walking back to uni, I did see him chatting to a group of women outside the café.

  Flicking my textbook shut, I swing my legs over the bed, and I grab my bag and phone.

  Mum and Dad are uncharacteristically quiet when I head downstairs.

  There’s usually some conversation along with the sound of bottles clinking, one of them coughing, or cans opening.

  I don’t want to go in and see them. They didn’t notice when I arrived home; they were too busy ranting about nosey ‘arseholes’. Something about a neighbour who looked towards our property yesterday. We live in a super quiet cul-de-sac. All of the neighbours are very old and completely uninterested in us.

  My parents are paranoid.

  I walk straight past the living room door, keeping my eyes straight ahead of me while my heart pumps harder. I only let myself breathe when the front door slams shut behind me.

  Swallowing bile, I jog to my car, and then I’m on my way to Spencer’s.

  I’ve missed him, his parents, and his house so much that I don’t even want to think about him leaving.

  When I arrive at Spencer’s, he’s waiting in the kitchen.

  “Hey,” I say. “I let myself in.”

  He looks up. “That’s hardly news, Indie.”

  My heart skips a beat at his perfect smile. His eyes are light and flirty. I love him like this. He’s usually more hands on, and I’ll take him touching me any way I can get it.

  Okay, I always used to let myself in. That was until he went to LA and I stopped coming around as much. Now everything is as it was before, even if it is tinged with the sting of a looming deadline.

  “What are you doing? Are you cooking?”

  He rolls his eyes. “I can cook.”

  “Yes, you can. It’s just… rare. What’s the occasion?”

  “I’m hungry.” His reply is short and edgy. What happened? Two seconds ago, he was all smiles.

  I place my bag down on the counter. “What’s going on? Why am I getting attitude?”

  “You’re not.”

  “Tell that to your face, voice, manner, and—”

  “All right!” he snaps, cutting me off. On a hard exhale that sounds like he’s pissed off, he says, “Are you sleeping with Grant?”

  My mouth falls open. That is the last thing I expected. “What?”

  “He’s weird with you.”

  “Weird with me? No, he’s not!” Where the hell is this coming from?

  Spencer’s jaw clenches. He drops the knife onto the chopping board and pushes his hands though his hair. “Indie, you’re not answering the question.”

  “Of course, I’m not sleeping with him! This isn’t high school where I have to call him sir and pretend that he doesn’t exist outside of campus. We can talk and have some sort of friendship. He has that with all his students.”

&nb
sp; Spencer’s posture relaxes. “All right,” he says, raising his palms. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

  “Grant isn’t going to hurt me. He’s helping me.”

  He flashes his palms in surrender. “I get it.”

  Why did he have to go there? Spencer knows me better than anyone. Still not completely, but he’s the closest friend I have. How could he think I would do that? I’ve never had sex, and he thinks I would jump into bed with a man old enough to be my dad.

  I inhale through my nose and count to ten. I get to twelve and still want to kill him.

  Spencer slowly makes his way around the breakfast bar to stand in front of me.

  “Please don’t be angry, Indie. I’m just trying to look out for you.”

  “I can do that for myself.”

  “As your best friend, I’m going to do that, too. Just like you do every time you tell me what I need to change about my acting. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have made a movie.”

  I stare through him. He doesn’t get to pat me on the back for believing in him and assume all is okay.

  “Indie, please,” he begs, wrapping me into a bear hug. His arms hold me close; his lips press to the top of my head, and he whispers, “Don’t hate me.”

  I feel my traitorous body begin to relax in his embrace. He’s the only place I want to be… even when he’s doing my head in. “I don’t hate you,” I admit, sinking deeper into his hold.

  “Thank you.” His voice makes my insides tremble. “I’m making you mac and cheese.”

  Wrapping my arms around his waist, I look up into his eyes. “You made me your apology dinner before you started an argument?”

  He winces, guilty. “I knew I would need mac and cheese if I was going to bring up Grant. I should have known you wouldn’t be stupid when it comes to a guy.”

  I don’t know. I feel like the biggest idiot on the planet for falling for him sometimes. How much easier would things have been if we’d just stayed friends?

  If I could erase the memory of his lips on mine…

  No, I wouldn’t take that away. Our relationship was brief and adolescent, but it meant the world to me.

  “So, I got the ESTA sorted. Now I won’t get put on a plane straight back home at LAX.”