He looks like some kind of model. The shaggy hair with the perpetual five o’clock shadow and hipster glasses—it’s the perfect look for adult Dash. The square jaw, the high cheekbones, the smooth, tanned skin. The long-lashed hazel eyes and flawless lips. It’s unfair that he’s even hotter than he used to be.
I wish I didn’t want to touch his stupid hair. I wish the eyes behind those glasses didn’t look at me so gently, as if he’s preternaturally aware of all my thoughts, as if he feels bad for what he did when logically I know he doesn’t.
If he did, he would have called or emailed.
If he cared for me at all, he would never have left the way he did.
I don’t look back at him, at least not for any length of time. I just…can’t.
The elevator opens, and I almost push the ONE button and ride back down. But Dash extends his arm, as if he’s waving me in front of him, and he looks so polite, so innocent and nice, it makes me want to claw his face off.
Who does he think he is?
Suddenly I don’t care why he turned out how he did. I’m not thinking about the past, about the way he hurt me—worse than mom’s death, even—I’m thinking of now, and all I want to do is hurt him back.
I’m keeping this assignment, the one where I have to make a movie about a dove with Dash, and I’m doing it because I can’t be done with this, with him. Not until I feel more satisfied. Less…used.
I put my calm, cool, just-business cloak back on and keep it there as we walk to our studio space—Dash a step behind me, my shoulders so tight they ache. When we get into the room, Dash instructs his animation people to start making bird models, while I touch base with Carrie, Meredith, and Bryan. It’s awkward that I’m technically in charge of them. I get it that Weiss—Dash’s boss, and the intern coordinator—wants to test our leadership skills, but it’s still weird since I’m the youngest. It doesn’t take me long to realize we can’t really do much work without more plot details. According to the instructions Dash gave me yesterday, it’s up to him and me to finalize that.
I sit in a chair near his and roll over to him, reminding myself to breathe as he lifts his eyes from his computer’s keyboard.
“Yes?” The word is slightly sharp.
I square my shoulders. “I think we need to have a little powwow.”
His brows arch; his lips press together, making him look slightly like a duck.
“About the plot.”
“Okay.” He steeples his fingers, looking at me like he’s waiting on me to talk.
“I think she should be a girl dove. Definitely inexperienced,” I say to my notepad. “Used to living in the cage… We could go older, like she’s spent her whole life in the cage, but that seems kind of depressing.”
I slant my gaze toward Dash and find him looking thoughtful, with his fingers still tented. “Agreed.”
“So she’s like sixteen in bird years. Whatever that is. She’s a teen bird. We can work out all the logistics later, but basically she gets let out and I think that’s our starting point. Does she have family? Where’d she come from? What’s the end point?” I drum my fingers on the pearly-sleek surface of the desk.
“What do you think?” His voice is low and quiet, making my stomach feel unsteady.
“I think Meredith was right, we can’t go too Nemo. So she should have a teenage feel, not like thirteen, maybe more like eighteen even. That’s the feeling. Because of course, we won’t say her age. I’m not sure her family should be in the picture.” I press my lips together. “Maybe there should be one family member. Or one old friend. Someone she has in mind when she first gets out. And she quickly decides she won’t see him—or her—again. So she meets a bunch of animals and people, and at the end, she finds this person. Animal,” I correct.
Dash nods slowly.
“Maybe we should drop back and talk about her character. Name, traits, that kind of thing. From what I remember from my last internship, you animators will need those details.”
“I’m fine listening to your plot ideas for now. If you want to keep on with it,” he says.
There’s this awful moment where our gazes are locked, and it feels comfortable. Just for a heartbeat. Dash knows I do my best thinking out loud. I need to talk things through. He never did mind listening to me ramble.
Heat suffuses my throat and face. My eyes sting slightly. I should cut straight to Dove, or whatever the hell her name is; fast-track that so we figure out what kind of bird she is so this conversation can be over. Instead, I keep talking general plot stuff, with Dash’s eyes on my face.
“I read—we did some research yesterday afternoon and found that baby doves in the wild have a high mortality rate. The mother pushes them out of the nest after two weeks and forgets about them. She’ll lay new eggs and forget about the old ones.” I swallow hard, willing my voice steady. “Sometimes other birds will help these abandoned ones. Kind of like adoption. Anyway, maybe she should have a sister she really wants to find. Or a brother. They were kicked out of the nest together and they helped each other.”
“I like that.” He looks approving.
“So, her mom sucked. But maybe she had a sibling or two. Maybe they’re who she goes looking for.”
Dash’s eyes are all over my face. Yes, my mother had her wreck en route to a man she was cheating with. Yes, she was pregnant. Dash knows how I used to cry sometimes about it when I first found out. “Maybe when she saw the bright light or whatever, she didn’t want to stay with dad and me. She didn’t fight to stay. Would she have left us if she’d lived? Why didn’t she want us, but she wanted a new family?”
I inhale deeply. How much I hate it that he knows these things.
“I think I like that,” I continue. “Our girl decides to search for her brother and sister. I feel like the film should be about her journey. Maybe at first she wants to get into a home again, into a cage, where she’d feel comfortable and safe. So she meets a friend as she flies around the neighborhood. Then maybe she meets another bird or something. I don’t know.” I rub my forehead, feeling drained. “I think the end could definitely be her finding her brother and sister, and them living somewhere awesome. I don’t know what that would entail. A bird sanctuary? Wild life refuge? Not sure. Let’s talk about her, though. Basic personality traits so your team can get going on that.”
I make sure to keep my voice even and slightly energized. Not cheery, but professional. When I dare another look at Dash, his face is solemn.
“She probably should have a certain Dory type of quality. A little clumsy or na?ve or something? Kind of adventurous. What should we name her?” I ask.
“What about Dove.” It’s more statement than question.
“Just Dove?” My blood pressure spikes at the sound of my old nickname.
He shrugs. “It’s nice.”
“Is it?”
Dash blinks, then says slowly, “I think so.”
“It’s not very…meaningful.”
“No?”
“A little lacking, in my mind.” Score one for Amelia!
“Seems like the kind of thing you’d call a bird,” he says. “Something simple.”
“Simple.”
Dash’s eyebrows arch. “For a bird.”