I know none of this is real. Trent’s been playing the smug but quiet card when it comes to his and Avery’s relationship, and when I pressed him on it, he said his dad told him to. I don’t really know exactly what’s going on there, but I do know Avery hasn’t been to our room since the day of the party, nor has Trent been spending time with someone other than his regular crowd, so there’s no big love story evolving there.
There’s also no big love story happening in my life despite the fact that we had the best first non-date in the history of first non-dates.
She meets my gaze when I come up to her but promptly turns her attention to Mr. Anderson, who’d walked in right behind her and is already giving out orders. We’re to break off into our groups and work on the final project.
Avery is standing next to me, but she feels miles away. “Shall we?” I say, gesturing toward some desks beside us. She lifts one shoulder in a nonchalant shrug that I take for a yes, so I push the desks together and sink into one of the seats.
She does the same but with that weird grace, like she knows that she’s being watched. She moves that way a lot but never when it’s just us.
But then again, it’s not just us.
I tell myself that, but paranoia is a bitch. Something is wrong. Something is very wrong and I don’t know what. “Are you okay?” I ask.
“Of course,” she says, her gaze focused on the notebook she’s pulling out of her bag. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I say, trying for a teasing note. “Maybe because half the world thinks you’re sleeping with your co-worker, and the entire school thinks you’re sleeping with Trent?”
I meant for it to be teasing, but it just sounds…mean. Like I’m accusing her myself, or like I’m demanding an explanation.
Crap.
“I don’t believe it, obviously,” I add quickly.
Her lips pull in and she arches one brow ever so slightly. Oh yes? How nice for you. She is the picture of calm, mature insouciance. It’s clear she couldn’t possibly care less what I believe.
I shift in my seat. Okay then. That’s what I get for trying to be nice.
“Shall we get started?” she asks.
I stare blankly at the stranger before me. No, not a stranger, necessarily. I recognize this girl. I just haven’t seen her personally since the night I ran into her in the common room.
“Sure.” I open my own notebook. “I was thinking we could do a bit of a play on Breakfast at Tiffany’s with you dressing up as Holly Golightly, but the twist would be—”
“Actually,” she interrupts softly. “I was thinking that you should be the lead actor in this little film.”
My gaze flickers to her face, waiting for her to give me that coy little smile. I’m waiting to see some hint of mischief.
There is none.
Her gaze is cold and unreadable, her expression unaltered.
She’s serious.
“I, uh…” I shift in my seat. “I don’t act.”
“Don’t you?” she asks quickly. Too quickly. She’s given away her hand. At that moment, I know that something is wrong.
Well, duh. Obviously, something is wrong. But now I know it has something to do with me. I lean forward, my eyes never leaving hers. “Avery?”
Her brows hitch up. “Yes?”
“Are you going to tell me what I’ve done wrong or do I have to guess?”
Something flickers across her face, there and gone so quickly I almost miss it. Ah hell. She looked…hurt.
“Hey,” I say, reaching out to touch her hand. She jerks away from me quickly.
“Don’t touch me,” she says softly. It’s the softness that kills me. She’s not hard or cold, she’s vulnerable and hurting.
And she clearly doesn’t want to talk to me. I glance around. Everyone is lost in their own conversations. No one is paying attention. Still, this isn’t the time or place to be talking about us. I motion toward her notebook. “Do you want to tell me your ideas?”
She blinks once. Twice. I see her draw in a deep breath. “I think us working together is a mistake.”
Well…that was not what I’d expected to hear. I lean back in my seat, gripping the desk like a lifeline. “Excuse me?”
She blinks again, and this time her façade is back in place. She is perfectly, chillingly, unalterably Avery Sinclair. She wields her star power and that natural charisma like a weapon. “You said it yourself just last week,” she explains, her voice even. “The only thing you need me for is to provide the A. With my name attached, we’ll likely be guaranteed a spot in the Highlights Ball.” She tips her chin and she’s literally looking down her nose at me. “That’s that little show-and-tell night you’re so excited about, right?”
One would probably imagine she sounds like a catty bitch, but she doesn’t. She sounds like I’d imagine Marie Antoinette might talk. So at ease in her position that she cannot quite comprehend why the rest of us should not just eat cake.
Avery is so high in the celebrity stratosphere she can’t even fathom what it might mean to someone like me to have a shot. She has no clue what a break would mean in my life.
“Isn’t that exactly what you wanted?” she asks.
“Yes, but…” I start.
“But what?”
“That was before I knew you,” I say. I sound lame and I feel lamer. “You were the one who said you wanted to be a part of this project. You said you wanted to earn your grade.”
She lifts one shoulder. “That was before I knew you.”
Ouch. The words sting because, let’s face it, there’s no way not to take that personally. This is no difference of artistic vision. This is outright dislike. One person not liking the other.
I know she’s hurting. I know she’s lashing out. I know that this isn’t really her.
But that knowledge is drowned out by my own anger. She’s toying with my future right now just because…why? She didn’t get her way? Did I not call when she’d thought I would? Was I supposed to bring her flowers or something?
Who knows what someone like Avery is used to from guys. Maybe she’d expected me to drop down on one knee and pledge my kidney or something. Whatever it is I’ve done wrong, she’s using her unearned, ridiculous privilege to mess with my life.
“Look,” I say, leaning forward and lowering my voice. “I know you don’t need it, but this is my break.”
“Is it?” Her tone is lofty and her gaze knowing. Weirdly knowing. Everything about that look makes my blood burn.
“Yes,” I grind out. “It is.” And suddenly I feel pathetic on top of it all. Because here I am, practically begging her to take this project seriously because my fate rests in her pretty hands. I sit back quickly. “You know what, fine. Have it your way. Sit out on the sidelines, that’s what I’d intended all along.”
“Oh, I know,” she says, crossing her arms and her legs as she tilts her head to the side to study me. “As I recall, you just wanted my name attached so you were assured an A.”
My gut churns at the look of condemnation in her eyes. How dare she? “And I guess I was right to think that a spoiled actress like you wouldn’t take this seriously, wasn’t I?”
She doesn’t respond, and she’s so still and unmoved, it’s hard to tell if she even heard me.
Suddenly I want to see her moved. I want to break through that ice. Having it thrown up in my face again makes me want to smash that mask to smithereens.
“Do you know what I had to do to prove myself worthy of getting into this class?” I demand. “I had to take two lead-up classes. I had to ace them both. I had to grovel to Mr. Anderson. This class has a limited number of spots, did you know that? And everyone wants one.”
She’s still staring, her mouth twisting slightly into what I can only call a sneer.
“It’s a freakin’ battle to the death out there for the rest of us to earn a spot in this class, but you?” I let out a short, humorless laugh. “You just strut right in as if it�
��s your right to be here. You didn’t even have to work for it.”
Her sneer turns to a bitter smile and her eyes narrow slightly. Her voice reveals no emotion though. “Didn’t work for it?” she asks lightly. “I’ve been working a full-time job for the past decade. Doesn’t that count for something?”
“That’s right,” I say before I can stop myself. “Poor little rich girl got her big break after daddy left. I almost forgot I’m supposed to feel sorry for you.”
That did it. She sits up straight and her nostrils flare. Guilt shoots through me, but it’s tempered by satisfaction at having gotten a response out of her.
“How dare you,” she hisses. And then she snaps back into her role, her rigidity back in full force so quickly I might have missed her slip into humanity.
“No,” I say. “Don’t stop now. How dare I what? Speak the truth? Give you a hard time?” I shake my head. “What did you think, Avery, that I would just sit here and take your little temper tantrum like it’s your God-given right?”
I watch her inhale and exhale slowly. I can see her battling to keep that calm exterior, and I have the urge to lash out again. I can take her anger—hell, I can take my guilt. I just can’t take being shut out like this.
It’s everything I hate about this world. Being on the outside looking in.
“And…what?” She says with a shrug. “I’m supposed to feel sorry for you because you have to work for your opportunities?” She purses her lips a bit, her expression growing unbearably snide. “Is it everyone else’s privilege that makes you so angry or is it the fact that you don’t get the same perks? Given the chance to get ahead based solely on my name, you took it without a second thought.”
I open my mouth and then slam it shut again. A heat burns through me that has nothing to do with anger, or even desire, which I’ve come to expect at all times around this girl despite my feelings toward her.
No, this burning heat has the acidic bite of shame. Because she’s right and I know it. I’d been just fine with using her name to get into the Highlights Ball because hey, that’s the way this game is played, right? And I’ve been using Trent’s name to open doors I would have had to bust my butt for on my own.
I hate the fact that that’s the way the world works, but I do it like everyone else now that I’m in this elite little world and have the chance.
“You’re a hypocrite,” she says softly.
Dammit, it’s that softness again that makes her words feel like a stake being driven into my gut. For a second there her icy routine falters and she looks unbearably sad. No, disappointed.
In me.
I thrust a hand through my hair. “You don’t understand,” I say.
I should back down. I should just admit the fact that I’ve been caught for the hypocrite that I am, but I can’t quite eliminate years’ worth of anger at being overlooked and having to fight harder, work more, while everyone around me in this place has life handed to them on a silver platter. This girl included.
“Maybe not,” she says. I can practically see the fight drain out of her. She’s not the ice queen and she’s not filled with anger. She just looks deflated.
Deflated and disappointed.
She picks up her bag from where she’d dropped it beside her chair. “Look, I mean it. Do whatever you want with the final project. Use my name if you want, if you think that’ll help.”
She stands, and that’s when I realize…she’s leaving. She’s honestly leaving me. My anger fades too at the realization. Because above and beyond any of my lingering bitterness at this girl’s privilege, and way beyond my hurt and shame, I’m overcome with loneliness at the thought of this girl walking away from me.
She’s the first friend I’ve made at this place, but aside from that…she’s so much more.
I haven’t known her long, but she’s become integral to my life. Her walking away would mean the sun leaving my orbit. It would mean losing all the warmth and the focus and the pull and the connection and... “Wait!”
She stops with her back toward me.
“You can’t just go,” I say. Even I hear the desperation in my voice.
When she turns back, she looks resigned. “I have to. I have an audition, so I’ll be out of school for most of next week anyway. You’ll be better off without me.”
“But…” I scramble to come up with an argument. “Who’ll be the star of this thing?”
I try for a joke, but it falls flat. If anything, it brings back that disappointed sadness in her eyes. “You can do it, Blackheart. We both know you’ve got the acting chops.”
I’m left staring after her as she walks out the door. Her words lingering in the air making it hard to breathe. Blackheart. The name hits me in the chest, leaving me winded like a physical blow.
She knows. She knows my secret—our secret. But more than that, she knows that I’ve been lying and that matters so much more than our secret. It matters more than anything.
Ah hell.
Mr. Anderson calls out to me as I head toward the door, but I ignore him.
My girl is out there and there’s no way I’m letting her get away.
Chapter Twelve
Avery
When Seth finds me I’m in my dorm room, I’m packing up my things. I hadn’t been lying about my trip home and on the walk back up here I’d realized there’s no reason for me to wait two more days to go.
I can leave today, no one would question it. That’s all part of the fun of my privilege, right?
I can leave, and no one cares. I mean no one.
Cool.
And yes, I think it goes without saying that I’m feeling sorry for myself. Ever since this weekend I’ve been caught in the midst of an epic pity party of my own making.
I almost don’t answer the door when there’s a knock. Charlotte is in class, and I could stay quiet and pretend no one is home. But I can’t bring myself to ignore him, because as angry as I am and as hurt as I am…I still want to see him.
I hate how we left things. I hate how he sees me. I hate even more that I care how he sees me.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to him, but I can’t leave here with that argument between us, unresolved and just waiting to fester. I know myself. I can feel the heartache starting, the anxiety threatening to cripple me at the thought of having to wait to see him…to apologize.
Because yes, I’m pissed. But I was also a monstrous bitch. Worse than that, I’d been petty. I hadn’t really meant to walk away from our project. That wasn’t my plan. After avoiding Seth for days so I could wrap my head around his secret, I’d planned on going into class today and acting like a professional.
I can do that. Hell, if I could be a calm, cool professional around Henry after the whole grabby-hands-big-tits episode, I could sure as hell be cool around some geek I’ve only known for a matter of weeks, right?
Wrong.
So very, very wrong. I’d turned into the diva personality I hate. The one that’s expected of me but isn’t me.
I pretty much hate myself right now, but I’m still pissed at Seth so when I throw open the door…I’m conflicted.
I don’t handle conflicted well.
He’s got his hands shoved into his pockets, his brows drawn down in an uber-serious glower, and I…well, I start to cry. It’s embarrassing and it’s ridiculous, but my emotions seem to be on high alert and I don’t know what to do with them, so it all comes out with a trembling lower lip and a hiccupy sob that sets Seth in motion.
Before I can think of anything appropriate to say, he’s across the threshold and taking me into his arms. I should probably fight him, but I don’t.
He feels too good, and he smells amazing. Not that I’m sniffing him or anything—I’m not. But he crushes me to him, and my face is buried against his chest, tucked into that spot between his neck and his clavicle like this is my home now. Like this is where I belong. In his arms, curled up into him.
Oh hell, I’ve got it bad. For a nerd.
Worse, for an emo hipster nerd with a chip on his shoulder and a general hatred for the Hollywood elite—me, in particular.
Oh yeah, I so know how to pick ‘em.
I sniffle a bit as his arms tighten around me. “I’m sorry,” he says over my head. I can hear the rumble of his voice through his chest, and it makes me shiver.
“I’m sorry too,” I say.
We stand there like that for a while. I have no idea how long, but it’s long enough for me to get so comfortable I actually yawn as I move my hand over his chest, watching my fingers stroke his chest as if they’re someone else’s and not my own.
He starts to pull away and I don’t want him to. We haven’t resolved anything, I know that, but it doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want to talk. Talking gets us into trouble. It’ll lead to more heartache, no doubt, because we have some basic issues between us that won’t just magically go away.
When he’s holding me close I can pretend they never existed at all.
But his hands are firm on my arms as he sets me away from him gently. I have no choice but to look up and meet his gaze, which is fixed on me with an intensity I adore and kind of hate all at once. He sees everything. He sees straight through me.
Which is great when we’re having a laugh, and intimately intense when we’re bonding about our personal lives, but freakin’ awful at a moment like this when he sees the truth—that I’m just as bad as he’d thought I was.
I am entitled, and I can be a brat. And I don’t know what it’s like to work my way up from the bottom—at least, not at Trudale. I am, in short, his worst nightmare.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth.” His apology drags me out of my pit of self-loathing, and I draw in a deep breath. My worst fear comes out on the exhale. “Were you laughing at me this whole time?”
He shakes his head. “No, of course not. It’s just—” He runs a hand through his hair and licks his lips. “Look, it wasn’t just my secret to keep, okay?”
I frown at him. “You mean Trent?”
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