How to Get Ainsley Bishop to Fall in Love With You

by T. M. Franklin

  “Nervous?” Hank appeared beside me, a quiet smile on his face.

  I nodded, switching the bouquet to my other hand so I could wipe my palm on my jeans. “How’d you like the show?”

  His smile grew. “It was fantastic. But then I knew it would be.” He winked.

  “Couldn’t have done it without you,” I said. “Thanks.”

  “No need,” he replied, waving away the praise. “I can’t believe your girl actually had me listed in the program.”

  “She’s not my girl—”

  “Yet,” Hank said, raising a finger.

  I took a deep breath, my eyes drifting to the curtain leading backstage. “You sound pretty confident. You don’t even know her.”

  “I know you.” His serious tone drew my attention away from the curtain. “You’re a good man, Oliver. She’d be lucky to have you.”

  I met his gaze but only saw earnestness in his eyes. My face warmed under the praise—I couldn’t help it—but I tried to maintain my composure and keep down the sudden lump in my throat. “Thanks,” I said. “But this isn’t about me. Tonight is . . . it’s special to her. It’s about her.”

  Hank nodded, and I gestured toward the stairs. “You should come back with me. I know Ainsley wants to meet you in person—thank you herself.”

  Hank’s face lit up, and he dipped his head. “It would be my honor.”

  We climbed the steps side by side and slipped behind the curtain to the dimly lit backstage area. It was a bustle of activity, groups of people laughing and chatting, a few, like me, bearing bouquets of flowers and clutching stuffed animals. Ms. Sherman spotted me and rushed over in a cloud of flowery perfume.

  “Oliver, thank you so much for your help,” she said, smoothing back her hair. “You and Viney did an excellent job. Excellent. But I understand you were behind the changes to Love in the End Zone as well.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “A vast improvement, I have to admit. And the audience loved it!”

  “I’m glad,” I replied. “But I was only the middle man, really.” I introduced Hank, and when Ms. Sherman heard his name, her eyes widened.

  “Hank Wallace?” she said, her voice a breathy gasp. “I can’t believe it! I saw you in Wings of a Dove at the Roxy when I was a little girl!”

  Hank’s face lit up with delight. “Really? No kidding.”

  “You were amazing,” she said, her eyes taking on a distant quality. “I was only about ten or eleven, I think? I don’t remember a lot about the show, but when you sang ‘Lost in a Daydream,’ it was like I couldn’t breathe.” Her hand fluttered over her chest, her eyes sparkling. “I thought I wanted to be an actress myself, after that. To try to share that feeling?”

  Hank smiled, his own eyes damp. “Did you?”

  Ms. Sherman laughed. “Me? I tried. But you know what they say about those who can’t do.”

  “They teach.” Hank nodded. “An honorable profession.”

  “Yes, well . . .” She blushed, looking somehow younger. “I enjoy it. And nights like tonight make me feel like I made the right choice.”

  I spotted Ainsley on the other side of the room, and Hank and Ms. Sherman’s conversation faded into the background. “I’ll be back,” I said, but I wasn’t even sure they noticed. With a deep breath, I smoothed my shirt and made my way toward Ainsley, my heart pounding heavily.

  I wove my way through the crowd and lost sight of her. I frowned trying to quicken my steps as I searched for her, only to be waylaid by my History teacher, Mrs. Finn.

  “Oliver! Wasn’t it amazing?” she asked.

  “Yes. Yes it was.” My eyes focused on the spot where Ainsley had disappeared, and I tried to step around Mrs. Finn.

  “You did a fine job as well,” she said graciously.

  “Thank you.” I couldn’t fight the urgent feeling racing through me. Like I needed to hurry. I needed to get to Ainsley. “Mrs. Finn, you haven’t seen Ainsley Bishop, have you?”

  “Oh, Ainsley did a wonderful job,” she gushed. “Did you know she wrote that play as well as acting and directing? Very talented girl she—”

  “Yes, I know,” I said shortly. “But have you seen her? I really need to talk to her.”

  Mrs. Finn didn’t seem to notice my gruff tone. She simply waved toward a small doorway to the back of the room. “I think I saw her head out into the hallway,” she said. “Perhaps to the ladies room?”

  “Thanks,” I said, heading toward the hall before she even responded. The door was propped open with a rubber stopper, and I peeked through, the hallway empty and quiet in after-school hours, the lockers casting long shadows in the light through the high windows. I heard Ainsley’s voice and followed it before another deeper voice made me stop in my tracks.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

  Ian.

  “We did this together, Ainsley. And you didn’t even have the guts to tell me—”

  “I wanted to tell you!”

  “Yeah, well you didn’t. Did you?”

  “Ian, be reasonable,” Ainsley pleaded. “I know I should have told you, but can’t you be happy for me?”

  “Be happy for you?” Ian slammed his hand against a locker, the sound echoing down the hallway. “For making yourself—making us both—a freaking laughingstock?”

  “No, that’s not—”

  “You made Bo look like an idiot!”

  I inched forward and rounded the corner but kept to the shadows. I didn’t want to intrude, but I couldn’t leave either.

  “Ian, he’s a character in a play,” Ainsley said, frustrated and near tears. “Bo isn’t you!”

  Ian threw up his hands. “I know he’s not me. I’m not stupid, Ains—”

  “I never said you were.”

  “Well, you sure act like it!” he shouted. “Maybe I’m too dumb for you now. Maybe you like your new nerd boyfriend—”

  “This isn’t about Oliver! God, he’s not my boyfriend. Don’t be ridiculous!”

  At the mention of my name, I jolted, the cluster of pink roses slipping from my fingers to the floor. The movement was evidently enough to alert them both to my presence, as two faces turned my way in surprise. Ian’s eyes narrowed, anger and dislike clear in his expression. Ainsley, however, was a little harder to read.

  “Do you mind?” Ian angled his body slightly to position himself in front of Ainsley. “Trying to have a private conversation here.”

  I gulped. Confrontation, as a rule, was not really my thing, but Ainsley’s pale face and watery eyes had me taking a step forward before I even realized it was happening.

  “Are you all right?” I asked her, my fingers flexing nervously against my thighs.

  “Of course she’s all right—”

  “Ainsley,” I said, ignoring Ian. “Are you all right?”

  Ian’s jaw tensed, and Ainsley glanced up at him nervously before reaching to take his hand, their fingers intertwining. “I’m fine, Oliver,” she said quietly. “Could you . . .” Her eyes flickered to the door in a silent message.

  Of course. Right.

  “Yeah. Yeah, sure,” I muttered, reaching up to tug at my hair. “Sorry to interrupt. I just . . .” When they both said nothing, I backed away a few steps before turning on my heel to flee.

  “What an idiot,” Ian said, his words echoing down the hallway.

  “Ian!”

  “What? It’s obvious he has some pathetic crush on you—”

  “He’s just my tutor—”

  I slammed through the door before I could hear any more. I was such an idiot.

  This isn’t about Oliver! God, he’s not my boyfriend.

  No, I wasn’t. But I was her friend. Wasn’t I? I thought . . .

  Don’t be ridiculous! The words echoed in my head, like they had bounced back and forth over the metal lockers in the hall.

  He’s just my tutor.

  I made my way back to the stage and found Hank still chatting with Ms. Sherman. She shook his hand and went off to talk to s
omeone else as I approached.

  Hank eyed me carefully. “Everything all right?”

  I nodded.

  He’s just my tutor.

  I cleared my throat. “Ainsley’s dealing with some stuff, and she’ll probably be a while. You might not want to wait.”

  Hank nodded slowly. “I’m needing to head back to the Center anyway. Maybe you can bring your girl by sometime so I can meet her?”

  Don’t be ridiculous.

  “Yeah. Yeah, sure. I’ll do that.” I forced a smile.

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  I nodded. “Just tired. Long day.”

  Hank’s lips thinned, and he laid a hand on my shoulder. He opened his mouth to say something then snapped it shut and patted me one more time before he turned and walked away.

  I found a quiet corner to wait. Ainsley’s bag was stuffed under one of the makeshift dressing tables, so I knew she’d be back. I couldn’t explain why I needed to wait for her. I wanted to make sure she was all right. I wanted to make sure Ian didn’t hurt her—not physically, I didn’t think the guy would do something like that, but there were plenty of other ways to hurt someone. I wanted to know . . .

  He’s not my boyfriend.

  I needed to know.

  He’s just my tutor.

  The crowd backstage thinned out and a few minutes later Ian stormed by, face harsh and furious. He didn’t see me but pushed his way through the curtain and, I assumed, out of the auditorium. I swallowed thickly, my legs shaky as I crossed the room and picked up Ainsley’s bag. I headed back through the door and down the hallway, only to find her sitting on the floor, knees drawn up against her chest. She wasn’t crying, but she looked a little dazed, and it wasn’t until I was standing right next to her that she looked up.

  “Oliver,” she said. Not happy, not sad, but tired and almost resigned. “What are you doing here?”

  I held out her bag helplessly. “You left this backstage. I thought you might want it.”

  She nodded but didn’t reach for it, so I set the bag next to her on the floor. “Are you okay?”

  Instead of answering, she shifted slightly, and I heard the crinkle of plastic. “You brought me flowers,” she said quietly, and I realized she had the pink roses tucked in between her knees and her chest, the blossoms curling a little, wilted.

  Don’t be ridiculous.

  “Yeah, I wanted . . .” I cleared my throat. “To congratulate you, you know?”

  Ainsley laughed humorlessly. “Yeah. Thanks.” She got to her feet, then stooped to pick up her bag and loop it over her shoulder. Finally, she met my eyes. “You’re a good guy, Oliver.”

  He’s not my boyfriend.

  “Ainsley—”

  “I . . .” She clenched her eyes shut. “I can’t talk right now, okay? Tonight’s been . . . a lot, and I really need to go home and go to bed.” She looked at me pleadingly. “Is that okay?”

  He’s just my tutor.

  “Yeah. Sure . . . ’course it’s okay.” I nodded, backing away slowly. What was I thinking? “You need a ride?”

  “My dad’s here.”

  I nodded again. “Right. I guess I’ll see you at school, then.”

  She smiled, but it didn’t meet her eyes. “Yeah. See you.” She headed back toward the auditorium, my pathetic pink roses dangling from her fingers, a few petals drifting to the floor as she walked. Instead of following her, I found the closest exit and made my way to the parking lot, the cool air doing little to relieve the heat in my cheeks.

  I’d thought we were friends. I’d thought I had a chance with her.

  Don’t be ridiculous.

  She had a boyfriend. And even if she didn’t . . .

  He’s just my tutor.

  Right.

  I didn’t make it to the parking lot.

  In retrospect, I should have seen it coming. But I was so lost in my own thoughts, caught up in my own self-flagellation, that I didn’t notice the shadows ahead until they were already upon me.

  I could see the parking lot beyond them—lights glowing down on the few remaining cars—but the secluded courtyard was dark, one overhead light broken, the other flickering and obviously on its last legs. They emerged from the shadows, and my step faltered.

  “Ian,” I said. He was in the front, flanked by Nathan—of course—and another guy from the team, Jeremy Kendall. Jeremy surprised me a little bit. He didn’t seem to have it in for me like Nathan. He didn’t even seem to notice I was alive. He stood there, though, at Ian’s left shoulder, face cast in shadow.

  “Hello, Ollie,” Ian said, the sneer evident in his voice, even if I couldn’t make it out too clearly in the darkness. I forced myself not to wince at the nickname. I hated it, but time had taught me that letting people know that would only ensure they’d use it again and again.

  “What’s this all about?” I asked, eyes scanning desperately for a way around, a way through.

  “Oh, I thought you and I needed to have a little talk,” he said, sauntering around me casually, like he had no worry that I’d get away.

  “Talk about what?”

  Nathan and Jeremy kept their places, blocking my way to the parking lot. Even in the midst of my fear, I felt a little amazed that Ian would think he’d need them for backup. Against me. Has he seen me? I snorted, half to myself.

  “Something funny?” Ian asked, suddenly closer than I thought. And just as suddenly, I was mad. Because I knew Ian was there to hurt me. And I knew he was dragging it out to scare me. And that, to be frank, ticked me off.

  So, in typical me fashion, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “I was just wondering why you thought it would take three of you.”

  Ian didn’t bat an eye. “I didn’t. But I wanted to go for pizza afterward, and Nathan’s buying.”

  Nathan laughed, and my stomach sank.

  “Nothing’s going on with Ainsley and me,” I said, a little desperately. “We’re just friends.”

  This time it was Ian who laughed. “Seriously? Come on, you’re not friends. Ainsley could never be friends with someone like you.”

  I actually didn’t know what to say about that, because deep down in places I didn’t like to look, I was afraid—terrified—it was true. I knew it was true.

  “I know you’ve been trying to get between me and her,” he said, a sneer curling his lip. “Trying to sneak around—”

  “I’m not—”

  “Shut up!”

  Nathan took a step forward. “Come on, Ian. Want me to take care of this?”

  “No. I’ll do it.”

  “Well, hurry up. I’m starving.” Nathan grinned at me. Jeremy stood by, stoic, silent, and intimidating.

  Ian got in my face. “I tried to be nice to you. And you go behind my back and try to steal my girl?”

  “I wasn’t! We’re just fr—” The words turned into a groan of pain as Ian punched me in the stomach. The air whooshed out of me, and I couldn’t take any more in, paralyzed for a moment by pain and lack of oxygen. I curled up into myself and fell to a knee.

  “God, what a loser,” Nathan scoffed.

  “I’m not an idiot,” Ian said in a low, deadly voice as he loomed over me. “I know what you were trying to do. I saw it. And it’s not going to happen.”

  I saw the punch coming, but couldn’t even manage to brace myself for the blow. Ian’s fist connected with my left eye, pain exploding through my skull as I fell backward, sprawling on the concrete. I groaned, still clutching at my stomach.

  “Don’t you get it? Ainsley feels sorry for you.” Ian’s words cut through the pain, searing like a brand. “You have no friends. You’re a freaking weirdo. Ainsley needs to keep up her GPA and you’re a means to an end. That’s all.” Ian crouched down, his voice almost pitying. “She needed you for your brain, and she’s too nice to leave it at that.

  “But you . . . you thought it was more, didn’t you?” I saw Ian shake his head through my swelling eye. “You thought she actually lik
ed you? Sorry, dude, but that’s kind of pathetic.”

  Nathan snorted.

  “Someone’s coming,” Jeremy whispered. “We need to get out of here. If coach finds out—”

  “Coach isn’t going to find out a thing.” Nathan poked at me with the toe of his shoe. “Is he, Ollie? Because that would be bad for everyone involved. Especially you.”

  Ian grabbed his arm. “Come on. Let’s go. I think he got the message.”

  They left me there, and after a few minutes I managed to sit up. My cheek throbbed, but my stomach felt okay and I could at least breathe. I got to my feet just as the click of high heels alerted me to Ms. Sherman’s approach.

  “Oliver? Is that you?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, it’s me.” I sidled up to her, careful to keep my face averted. “Just heading home.” I gestured toward my truck, but her eyes remained focused on my face.

  “Are you hurt?”

  The utter disgrace of being beaten without even fighting back, combined with the humiliation of everything Ian had said about Ainsley curdled in my stomach. I just wanted to get out of there. I wanted to crawl into bed and forget about Ainsley and Ian and stupid lists and unrealistic goals and wishes and shame. So I forced a casual shrug.

  “Oh, this?” I waved toward my face. “That’s what I get for walking around in the dark. Ran straight into the corner of the building, can you believe it?” Ms. Sherman opened her mouth to reply, but I wouldn’t let her. “I’ve got to get home and get some ice on this. So I’ll see you tomorrow night, okay?”

  “Okay,” she said slowly. “You sure you’re all right to drive?”

  “Oh, yeah. I’m fine.” I smiled, the motion sending a stinging ache up my face, which I ignored. “Night, Ms. Sherman.” I hurried away, her “Good night, Oliver,” barely registering over the pounding of my heart and the echo of Ian’s words . . . Ainsley’s words . . . in my head.

  She feels sorry for you.

  Freaking weirdo.

  Pathetic.

  He’s just my tutor.

  I fumbled for my keys and pulled out of the parking lot, grateful that the streets were almost empty. I rolled down the window and forced myself to breathe evenly, take my time instead of flooring it all the way home. The lights were on downstairs when I got there, and I took another deep breath to brace myself for what was coming. My mom was in the kitchen when I walked in, cleaning out the refrigerator.