by Nikki Urang
“Do you want to talk about it?” She is anything but fine. It feels rude to just leave her here when she’s obviously upset.
She takes a deep breath that sounds more like a bunch of little gasps as she tries to gain composure. “I slept with this guy. Turns out he just wanted some points in that fucking Hit List game.”
I should have guessed that was the issue. I wonder how long it will continue before something devastating happens.
“I’m sorry. That really sucks.”
She glares at me. “Yeah, it does.”
I reach out to put my arm around her shoulder and give her a little comfort, but she leans away from me. “Have you thought about going to the faculty and telling them about it?”
“Are you crazy? For what? So I can be called a narc by every other person at this school? So I can ruin everyone’s fun? I don’t think so.”
I shift on the bench. I don’t know what to say to make her feel better. “It might make it better. Maybe some of the guys will get in trouble. I heard a couple got expelled for fighting.”
She rolls her eyes. “Why don’t you tell someone? I hear people talking about you all the time. You’re almost on top of the polls week after week. They all want you. Every single guy playing that game.”
I don’t want to believe that the guys I interact with on a daily basis could be playing, but I know some of them are. Still, there are some decent ones in this school. There aren’t enough spots for guys playing to make up the entire male student body. “Not everyone is playing. The good ones can’t help that this game is going on, but there are good ones out there.”
“Like who? Luke Morrison? Come on. Do you really think he’s interested in your brain?” She raises an eyebrow. Her arm falls across her lap like she doesn’t have the energy to hold it up. Probably because she’s so shocked at my naïveté.
“He’s not playing.” I fidget with the loose armrest on the bench.
He can’t be. Everything I’ve built with him over the past few weeks would be a lie if he were playing. I refuse to believe that’s a possibility.
It kind of makes sense, though.
She laughs bitterly. “Is that what he told you? You’re stupid if you believe that.”
Maybe I am stupid. It wouldn’t be the first time I believed good things about a person when they turned out to only care about themselves.
I take deep breaths while I try to ignore what she says. He’s not playing. I have to believe that. The second I start to question it, everything goes downhill. The second I think he’s lying, this partnership is dead.
She stands up and crosses her arms. “If you guys are really into each other then why aren’t you dating?” She waves her hand through the air and doesn’t wait for me to answer. “I’ll tell you why. He can’t get points for you if you’re dating.”
She walks away, leaving me close to tears on the bench. I’m so glad I stopped to see if I could help her.
Shake it off. It’s not worth getting upset over this. He’s not playing.
I head toward Luke’s room again. I won’t let what this one girl said ruin my day. We’ll still have a good day off campus. I’ll make sure of it.
I lean against the wall outside his room and drum my fingers on my arm. Maybe he’ll take me someplace special. Like out to dinner or something.
My fingers freeze mid-drum. I don’t want to go out to dinner. That would make this some kind of date. And this is definitely not a date.
A boy from my music class walks toward me. I smile to be polite as he gets closer, but he takes it as a different meaning.
He stops in front of me and brushes his bangs out of his eyes. The piercings in his lip and eyebrow reflect the fluorescent light in the hallway and the unknown band shirt he wears is ripped in a couple places. “You’re Sadie, right? We have music together.”
I smile. “Yeah. I’m sorry. I don’t know your name,” I say, still trying to maintain my manners even though he’s giving me a creepy vibe.
“I’m Mike. I’m a theater student.” He holds out his hand, but I don’t take it and he runs it through his hair like that was his plan all along. He just looks awkward. I should really learn not to engage with anyone. Or even be polite, for that matter. Just because I’m nice to people doesn’t mean I want to have sex with everyone I meet. Maybe if I’m a bitch to everyone I see, they won’t bother approaching.
“So, I hear dancers are really flexible.” He winks at me.
I don’t even know how to dignify Mike’s comment with a response. It’s degrading and he deserves to be punched for it, but I’m classier than that. I settle for staring back at him, making him feel as uncomfortable as possible. He doesn’t leave.
Instead he shuffles nervously from foot to foot. “How’s your day going?”
I roll my eyes, ready to walk back to my room. Luke will figure it out eventually. The door opens beside me and Luke steps out. He stands next to me and swipes my hair off my shoulder, kissing the bare skin next to my tank top. “She’s taken. Sorry, bro.”
Warmth spreads down my arm. I shake my arm behind my back to get rid of the feeling. I think he was trying to help, but it was anything but helpful. It made me feel like I belonged to him. Which is so not the case.
Mike looks between us a couple times. “Well, it was nice to officially meet you. I’ll see you in class.”
Luke steps away from me as soon as Mike is out of earshot. “I’m really sorry, but I could hear him through the door and I thought I’d help you out. I didn’t mean to say we were dating, it just kind of came out.”
He can’t get points for you if you’re dating.
I feel like someone pushed me into a pool. I can’t breathe. I can’t find the surface. Everywhere I turn, I’m faced with the feeling of Luke’s lips on my shoulder. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”
“Are you ready to go? If you don’t want to, it’s okay, but I promise I won’t do anything like that again.”
My heart stutters as I nod. “No, let’s go.”
I follow him out of the building. I shouldn’t be hurt by his promise, and I don’t want to be. But I can’t help feeling a little disappointed that he felt the need to promise it in the first place.
We stand on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, surrounded by stars. People wander between each of the monuments. Some just look. Others take pictures.
“We don’t have time for this. I could be doing a million other things right now and none of them include staring at names on a sidewalk,” I whine.
With everything else feeling so much more important, it’s hard to be impressed by a bunch of stars. Luke grabs my hand and pulls me forward through the crowd.
“We’re here for more than looking at names on a sidewalk. This is what I use for inspiration when I’m feeling like a failure. Do you know how many people on this sidewalk failed or were told by someone important they would never succeed?”
I don’t want to let go of his hand so I follow him. I ignore the tiny voice that tells me to let go while I still can. We dodge a couple taking pictures and a group of people crowded around one particular star.
He stops in front of John Lennon’s star. Paul McCartney’s star is ahead of us a couple feet. A little girl runs up the sidewalk, weaving in and out of the crowd. Her older brother chases her. A teen girl stops next to us and takes a picture with her phone before moving onto another star.
“What do you know about The Beatles?” Luke asks, drawing my attention back to him.
“Everyone knows who The Beatles are, Luke.” I know they weren’t dancers so I’m not sure why it matters right now. I sigh and cross my arms.
“They were told by a record label that they had no future in show business when they were just starting out. They went on to sell millions of records. What do you think would have happened if they believed that guy and quit?” His thumb rubs circles on my hand.
It makes it hard to concentrate. I don’t care about names on a sidewalk when he does that.
I don’t care much about anything because I can’t think when he touches me.
I know what he’s trying to do and I smile, grateful he cares but confused about why he’s going through the trouble for a friend. “They wouldn’t have seen their dream come true.”
“Exactly.”
He walks down another half a block. He doesn’t release my hand, but his fingers slip a little when he increases speed. I jump forward to solidify our connection again. His fingers tighten around my hand and my heart flips.
He stops in front of Elvis Presley’s star. There’s a crowd gathered and we have to wait a few seconds to get up close to it. He looks so happy while we wait. He catches me looking at him and squeezes my hand.
I wish he’d stop doing that. But not bad enough to pull my hand away.
“Elvis was fired after one performance at the Grand Ole Opry because the audience didn’t like his style. The manager told him to go back to his truck driving job in Memphis.”
The little girl who ran past us earlier looks up at Luke in fascination. He smiles down at her. The silent exchange does something to my heart, but I push the feeling down. My trust in him is building and I wouldn’t want to compromise that with something other than a friendship and partnership. Besides, he’s made it clear that’s all we are.
He walks faster to the next one. My hand is still glued to his. His energy is contagious and when he breaks into a run, I run too, a smile on my face.
We stop in front of another star.
“Fred Astaire.” I swing his hand in excitement.
“Arguably one of the best performers ever.” He lets go of me and I feel a pang of disappointment. Maybe he wouldn’t have noticed he was still holding onto me if I hadn’t started swinging our hands.
“He’s the reason I took my first tap class.” I pull out my phone and take a picture of the star.
I used to watch Blue Skies with my grandpa and dance around his living room to “Puttin’ on the Ritz.” I’d been captivated by the sounds Fred Astaire could make with his shoes and begged my parents to let me take a tap class if I promised to keep up with my ballet. It turned into one of my favorite classes before I dropped it to focus on preparing for a career in ballet and contemporary.
I’d always wanted to get back into tap, but I never have time for anything outside ballet. Maybe I could find a class to take over break between semesters.
“So what terrible thing was Fred Astaire told?” I ask, knowing where Luke’s going with this.
He smiles. “He was told by a casting director that he was balding, couldn’t sing, and could only dance a little.”
I stare at the star beneath us. In the grand scheme of things, my issues pale against the things these people have overcome. No one has ever told me I don’t have talent. In fact, I’ve been told on multiple occasions that I’m talented. And if I could get that message to my brain and give up a little bit of control, I might be exceptional.
I glance at Luke, but he isn’t looking at me. He might be the only person who cares enough about me to take me out here and tell me these things. And for reasons I can’t comprehend, he doesn’t want out of this partnership.
He could get mad every time I force him to drop me because I struggle too much. He could get annoyed every time I pull away from him after we’ve just made progress. He could get frustrated every time Miss Tasha berates us for not doing our best, when he clearly is doing everything he can with what he’s got. But he doesn’t do any of those things. He’s patient with me. He cares about me.
Luke’s fingers thread through mine. I stop focusing on the bad things. Things are good with Luke right now and I want them to stay that way.
He tugs on my arm. “Come on. I have one more thing I want to show you.”
Over an hour and a bus ride later, we’re standing in Venice Beach. Luke winds through the crowded sidewalks without releasing my hand. We stop in front of a graffiti-covered wall. It’s a mess with spray paint everywhere.
I crinkle my nose. “You brought me to look at gang art?”
“It’s not gang art. Did you even look at it?”
I squint, looking closer at the images in the sunlight. The brilliant colors form letters and words stretching across the cement. Famous quotes turned into works of art in curvy, bubble, and block writing. It’s beautiful.
Luke watches me as I stare. “It’s called the Wall of Inspiration. The street performers started writing on it a couple years ago. The city tried to clean it up, but it’s become a huge attraction for tourists, so they leave it. You have to have a permit now to add to it. Good thing I picked one up yesterday,” he says, smiling at me.
He pulls a can of spray paint out of his bag and hands it to me.
“What do you want me to do with that?” I ask, looking down at it. Despite what he’s just told me, it seems sketchy to spray paint a wall in the middle of L. A.
He shrugs. “Add your own inspiration. Whatever you feel in this exact moment.”
I shake the can and step up to an empty space on the wall. Whatever I write won’t measure up to the beauty that already exists in this space. All these people who come here looking for inspiration don’t need to hear false words from someone who can’t practice what she preaches. But maybe I can change it. Maybe, starting today, I can make a promise to myself to change, to do what I love, to succeed. I drag the spray can into cursive letters over the wall, stepping back when I’m done.
“I won’t give up,” Luke reads.
“It’s not just inspiration, it’s a promise. One that I hope to keep.” Something I should have been telling myself since day one.
I don’t want to give up on myself or on Luke. He’s made serious effort in this partnership. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us to give up on it now.
He smiles. “I’ll help you keep that promise any way I can.”
I grab his hand, already knowing it’s safe. “I’m counting on it.”
He’s been doing it all along, since the first time I fought with him about our partnership. He’s been there every step of the way, whether I wanted him there or not. And I have no doubt he’ll do everything in his power to help me keep my promise.
He leads me down the sidewalk and we stop to get ice cream before continuing on to find an open bench. I stare out at the ocean.
It’s a terrible day to be sitting on the coast. Rain pours down around us. It’s not supposed to be this cold in the summer. I shiver and pull my knees closer to my chest to get warm.
Patrick drapes his jacket around my shoulders and wraps his arms around the outside of it. I’m trapped against his body. It’s warm and I lean back against his chest to get closer to the warmth, closer to him.
He leans his chin against my shoulder. “Better?”
“Better.”
My throat closes as I remember exactly why I shouldn’t get involved with Luke. Nothing will keep him here. I’ll get attached, maybe even fall in love, and then he’ll leave. It’ll be worse the second time. And all the recovery time in the world won’t heal those wounds.
“Truth or dare,” Luke says. He takes a bite of his ice cream cone.
I look over at him. “I hate that game.”
“I’m not going to make you kiss a stranger. Just pick one.” He raises his eyebrows at me, as if to tell me he’s harmless.
Right.
I stare at the ground, nervous about either pick. A dare could mean doing something embarrassing, but the wrong truth could reveal way more than I ever want.
He sighs. “Fine, I’ll go first. Truth.”
There is one thing I’ve wanted to know since I met him, but I’m worried it’s too much right off the bat.
“You’re not going to offend me. Just ask.” He looks out at the ocean.
A couple of kids skate by on roller blades and skateboards. A baby cries somewhere behind us. A husband and wife play at the edge of the water with a toddler.
I look up at him. He better know what he’s doing. “Why does
Brielle hate you?”
He laughs. “I hope she doesn’t actually hate me.”
I roll my eyes. “Okay, why does she dislike you?”
“We hooked up last year. She wanted something more and I didn’t. That’s how I get most of my enemies.” He nudges my shoulder with his, a smile on his lips. “Except you. You hated me because I flirted with you.”
I smile, knowing it was so much more than that.
“Your turn.”
I look down at my lap. I’d rather be embarrassed than have to open my soul to him, especially after what he’s just revealed. “Dare.”
He turns so he faces me on the bench. “Why don’t you trust me?”
Not happening. He hasn’t earned that story yet. He might not ever earn that story.
“That’s not a dare.”
His eyes pierce into me. “I dare you to tell me why you don’t trust me.”
For a brief second, I consider it. Things might be easier if I told him about New York, about Patrick and my mom, about the friends who left me behind. He’s opened up to me about hurting Brielle, so maybe he would understand.
Or maybe he wouldn’t.
I look out at the ocean, straddling the line between past and present. “I can’t.”
The sounds of Venice fill the silence between us. It drags on as both of us eat our ice cream. I want to change the subject, but my brain won’t focus on anything other than the boy next to me.
“Do you think you’ll ever trust me?” He stares out at the water.
Do you really think he’s interested in your brain? You’re stupid if you believe that.
I don’t answer him. I don’t know how. If I say no, I’ll hurt him. But if I say yes, I might be lying. I don’t want to give him false hope that this partnership will ever work out the way both of us want it to. So I don’t say anything.
He turns to look at me, not questioning me. His look tells me everything his words never could. Reassurance that we’ll be all right. Faith that we can do this, even if I don’t fully trust him yet. Hope that one day we’ll get there.
But beneath the emotions written on his face, he can’t mask everything he doesn’t want me to see. Hurt that I don’t trust him enough. Disappointment that we’ll never get there. Realization that he can’t fix me.