I don’t.
Each step away from him is like dragging my feet though quicksand.
By the time I reach the stairs, the grunting has started again.
“He misses you, you know.”
I didn’t think anyone knew about my secret reading corner at the far edge of the drama block, but I should have realized Elissa is part bloodhound.
I close my book, not sure what to say. She helps by flopping down next to me and filling the silence. “I know you think he’s an asshole or whatever, but … I’ve never seen my brother so ruined over anyone before. He’s like a ghost of who he was when he was with you.”
Bitter laughter bubbles out of me. “Maybe he shouldn’t have dumped me, then.”
She picks at the grass next to her. “He thinks he’s protecting you.”
“Well, he’s wrong.”
“What if he’s not?” She holds her hand up to shield her eyes from the sun’s glare. “What if he’d stayed and all his issues forced you to be the one who walked away? Would that have been less or more painful?”
I shrug. “I guess we’ll never know, will we?”
“Guess not.”
She’s quiet for a moment then says, “He’s not a bad person, Cassie. He’s just … damaged. Scared.”
I blink and pick at the grass, trying to calm the heat that’s rising up my neck. “I know. And now, thanks to him, I know what that’s like.”
She doesn’t reply to that. I don’t expect her to. It’s a conversation killer, and we both know it.
She stands. “Do you at least miss him?”
More than I’ve missed anything or anyone in my short and unremarkable life.
“I’m trying really hard not to.”
“How’s that working out for you?”
“Miserably.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Elissa, you have nothing to apologize for. Your brother, on the other hand…”
She nods. “Do you think you’ll ever forgive him?”
I sigh. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t.”
It’s the truth. I’d like to think I could get past all of this, but I don’t know if I’m strong enough.
“I hope you do,” she says. “You two are meant to be together. I can feel it in my bones.”
The thing that frustrates me more than anything is that I know she’s right.
I just don’t see how it’s possible.
It’s performance day.
We’ve been rehearsing our excerpts for four weeks. Holt and I have hardly spoken the entire time.
Avoidance has become an art form, for both of us.
My group is performing scenes from A Streetcar Named Desire. Connor’s playing Stanley. I’m Blanche.
I know now why Erika initially wanted Holt to play Stanley. He’s perfect for the role—moody, intense, full of turmoil and passion, unsure of himself and aggressive because of it. Connor’s doing a good job, but Ethan would have been spectacular.
Blanche is a challenge for me. She’s an aging Southern belle. Distraught over the suicide of her husband. Haunted by having walked in on him having sex with a man. Embarrassed by her sister’s violent oaf of a husband, and fighting her primal attraction to him.
As we prepare to go on, I sneak a peek into the auditorium. All of our classmates are there, as well as the second-year actors. I see Holt, tight jawed and restless in his seat, trying to look interested in something Lucas is saying.
Just as Erika announces our scenes, Holt stands and strides out of the theater.
Even though I’m a little hurt, I’m also relieved.
Now I can pour everything into my performance without being self-conscious about him watching me with Connor.
It also makes me not feel so bad about hiding in the bathroom when he did his love scenes with Zoe earlier. I couldn’t watch them together. I just couldn’t. Just thinking about it made my head pound with rage.
Yep, this not caring about each other thing is going well.
Ruby points to a third-year drama student with shaggy hair.
“Kiss him.”
“No.”
She gestures to a guy I’ve never seen before but who bears a striking resemblance to a young Matt Damon. “What about him?”
“No.”
“Here, have some more tequila.”
“It’s not going to make me want to kiss random boys.”
“Yes, it is. Trust me.”
I sigh and slump against the couch. “Ruby, I don’t want to kiss anyone.”
“Yes, you do, but you want it to be that douche who dumped you freaking months ago, which is why I’m staging this intervention.”
“Okay, taking me to a party and getting me drunk enough to mack on strangers is not an intervention.”
“It is in my book.”
“Also, I do not want to kiss Holt.”
She rolls her eyes. “Sure you don’t. That’s why, in the five months since you broke up, you haven’t even looked at another guy.”
“That’s not true. I’ve looked.”
“Yeah, you just haven’t touched.” She throws up her hands. “Cassie, don’t you understand that the best way to get over one guy is to get under another?”