I have to speak. I have to say something to get his attention. I can’t just be the ghost girl who lurks. I draw breath to say something, anything—and then nothing comes.
He has a cup of beer in his big, strong hand. He studies it pensively. This is your moment. No one else is around. You even have the perfect excuse: you’re new and you’re meeting people. Introduce yourself.
No better gift than right now; it’s why they call it the present.
“Hi,” I offer, using my sweetest audition voice.
He doesn’t even flinch. After too long a moment, he takes a sip of his beer, then stares into it like he’s disgusted with his own reflection. God, he looks so hot when he makes that face, scowling at absolutely nothing.
I try again. “I’m Dessie.” A beer is in my hand and I don’t even remember getting it. Its contents shake because my hands do. “I—I’m a transfer here. Second year. Are … Are you an actor? You look like an actor.”
Still nothing. He even turns his head upstage, looking off as if something far more interesting than me caught his attention. Y’know, like a fly. That’s when I notice the seriously sexy tattoo running up the base of his neck, making me wonder what else he’s hiding under that tight shirt. Such a bad boy.
“Listen, I’m new here, and … and I’m just trying to meet people,” I go on, feeling more desperate and dumb by the second. I set my beer back down on the table. “It would be rather nice to talk to someone who actually acknowledges when he’s being—”
Then, the asshole walks away. I watch, completely taken aback by his rudeness. It was clear as hell who I was talking to, and he had every opportunity to just tell me he wasn’t interested in getting to know me. Except, isn’t that the point of this damn Theatre mixer thing? To … mix?
“Prick,” I mutter at his back, drawing the attention of a couple girls at the other end of the table, but not from the guy to which the word was directed. I hope they didn’t hear me.
Or maybe I do. I suddenly, immediately, wholly don’t care about anything. I’ve been used to this my whole life. Cece gets told “yes” every day. My peers at Rigby & Claudio’s got all the praise while I sat back and wondered what the hell was wrong with me. I’m the outcast, the failure, the family joke.
I’m the guppy.
I abandon the stage, departing through the wing and the rehearsal room. In a matter of seconds, the School of Theatre is behind me and I’m tramping down the dark pathways back to my dorm, alone.
Did you enjoy this excerpt?
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“READ MY LIPS (A College Obsession Romance)” by Daryl Banner https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/30130479-read-my-lips
** Available June 5th 2016 **
** Exclusively on Amazon.com **
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Copyright ? 2016 by F.G. Adams
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, named features, artists and bands are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used for reference and without permission. The publication / use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used.
Cover Design & Photography: Bre Clark Photography
Model:
Benjamin Bartholomew
Interior Design: Daryl Banner
Editor:
Julia Goda
Proofer:
CJ Fling
Dedicated to all the men and women
serving our country at home and abroad.
Thank you for your service.
Running as fast as my short legs allow through the dense canopy of oak trees, I dodge the thick underbrush on our ranch. I’m almost to the moon-shaped windowed door of the enormous two-story log home we live in. I hear a thundering roar and cringe from the movement coming directly over the hill off to the left.