Beneath The Skin(189)

That’s a start. “You know what, Sam? I’m starved,” I say and realize at the same time. “Want to grab some breakfast with me before class?”

“Yes,” she deadpans, eyes widening.

Breakfast never tasted so good. The nerves leave me alone, granting me an oasis of peace as I enjoy a tasty meal. Sam tells me about her midterms, which consist of three separate compositions, a group project involving composers from the Baroque era, and something about music history. She envies my ability to stand on a stage in front of people, and I tell her to hold off on that envy until after tonight.

My acting class is a merciful reprieve, as I’d already performed my pieces last week and simply have to sit back and watch others today as they are systematically humiliated or praised in front of the class by the long-nosed, cool-eyed Nina. I can’t be bothered to pay attention to their public torture; I have my own to dread.

After class when I make a quick trip to the box office to secure my roommate’s tickets, I’m dismayed to find that the show is nearly sold out already. The best I can get Sam is two tickets on the end of row R, which is not ideal, but it’ll have to do.

When the tickets are paid for and left at will call, Ariel floats up to my side. “Picking up tickets for your family?” she asks in a saccharine tone. “I hope you got front row!”

I shake my head without looking at her. “Roommate,” I mumble.

“Break a leg tonight,” she says almost too quickly, as if she wasn’t really interested in who the hell the tickets are for. “I hear the house is nearly sold out.”

“Just made that discovery myself,” I share. “See you later.” I turn to go, sliding out the glass doors.

She follows. “You know, I think it’s for the best.”

I frown. What the hell is she talking about? “Sorry?”

“You and him. Same thing that happened to me, sweetheart. I did try to warn you. Hey,” she says brightly, “I have someone you should meet. He’s really, really sweet. He’s a friend of mine. When I first met him, I thought he was gay, but he’s actually just super nice and, like, totally not gay. But by the time I found out, I was already engaged to Lance, so …”

She talks so fast, I have to stop. We barely made it out of the courtyard. “What the hell are you going on about?”

Ariel blinks. “I want to introduce you to him, obviously. I mean, not tonight, of course. It can be whenever you like. I mean—”

“I don’t need to meet anyone,” I spit back. Who the fuck does she think she is? “Why the hell would I need to meet your gay friend?”

“No. He’s not gay. That’s the point, Dessie. I’m trying to introduce you to someone nice, now that you and Clayton are over.”

“We’re not over,” I state. I’m so annoyed, I feel my pulse in my ears.

Ariel sighs and shakes her head. “Oh, Dessie. Everyone has eyes, you know. Eric heard it all from Dmitri, and everyone pretty much knows that you two are caput.”

“I think the whole damn department can keep their fucking nose out of my business,” I fire back at her, seething. “We’re not over.”

“Oh, Dessie,” she breathes once more, shaking her head.

I leave her standing there, unable to hear another breathy sigh or whiny offering from that unbearably annoying ex-girlfriend who acts like she knows what’s best for everyone. I never said we were over. And, as far as I know, Clayton hasn’t said anything similarly about us. The last time I saw him, he had a big fight with Brant over me and Chloe and using women and … I had to leave.

Since that day, our relationship has been reduced to worries and wishes that float around in my head. I haven’t sent him a text and he hasn’t sent me one. Although I think I might’ve caught sight of him once in the grid, I could be mistaken, and other than that, I haven’t seen a trace of him. It’s like he’s deliberately avoiding me.

If I’m honest, I think he scared himself as much as he scared me.

And really, Kellen’s a little shit. Whatever Clayton did or didn’t do to him, I’m sure he deserved it. But still …

I stop at a tree just before the tunnel that goes under the School of Art, plopping down in the grass by the side of the pathway and sulking. Nothing lately has been easy. I don’t know how I feel about Clayton and I. I don’t know what I feel about the show I’m about to premiere tonight. Part of me has been wanting to call my parents all week, but I’ve refrained because I’m afraid of what they’ll say, and whether or not their words will work to completely unravel me before I step foot on that stage. Believe it or not, my mother has a wicked talent of making my confidence crumble to dust before my eyes, even when she’s trying to encourage me. And I won’t even try to describe my sister’s so-called brand of motivation.