“Could have been anyone!”
“It’s an old release. I sell a few copies a month, sure. But two on one day?” He whispers in my ear. “Don’t tell me you believe in coincidences?”
I stammer and he laughs before settling back into that smirk. “I bet you had fun. Which one did you read? Kraken tentacle love? Were all your holes juiced up? Or was it—”
“Stop,” I squeak.
“Made you come though. Pretty good like that.”
I roll my eyes and toss the throw pillow onto the chaise. “Kaore te kumara e korero mo tona ake reka.”
His eyebrow arches. “Ohh, what does that mean?”
“The kumara—”
“Kumara?”
“Sweet potato.”
“Are you calling me sweet?”
I throw my hands up. He’s impossible. “The kumara doesn’t boast about how sweet he is. It means stop being such a cocky ass.”
Ford flashes his pearly whites. “I am well-endowed in the cocky ass area.”
In mild exasperation, I put my hands on his chest and push him out of my way.
He laughs as I go, and I shake my head. The guy is something else.
My fingers are a flutter over my keyboard when I hear Ethan arriving home. I’ve half-heartedly been writing back to Bennet. I want to look busy when he comes in, like I haven’t been waiting pathetically all day.
A tap-tap comes to my door and I call out, “Come in.”
The handle turns and disappointment worms to my toes. Not Ethan. Cress.
She closes the door behind her and leans against it. She’s wearing a school uniform, the skirt too small for her. “Maria lend you that?”
She nods. “I swapped out the blazer. Didn’t want it too recognizable in case it gets anyone in trouble.”
I nod. “So . . . you need something?”
Her eyes brighten with a small, nervous smile. “We’re doing our first run through in half an hour, but I’m still stuck on one of the end scenes.”
I lean back in my chair and stare at my laptop screen. “Which scene?” I know damn well which scene.
She tells me, and I briefly shut my eyes. “The point of the scene is that you’re meant to be nervous. Angry, even, to begin with. You want change, you want him to finally tell you the truth—that he loves you back—and you’re goading it out of him, but . . . even though you know it, hearing it . . . it’s more than you ever expected it to be. It’s like flying. It’s heaven. When you kiss him, there’s no anger, no frustration anymore. It’s just joy, and when you say those final words . . .”
She says them.
“You mean them like no one can possibly have ever meant them before.”
“Wow.” She hesitates. “Would you practice with me?”
I freeze.
No.
I do not want to run through these lines when I don’t mean them. I do not want to weaken their potency before I go through with Ethan. “I’m sure you’ll have it now.”
“Please? It’ll give me the confidence I need.”
“Maybe later? I really have to finish a few things first.”
“This is a taped performance! We have to send it in to the professor.”
Excuses, excuses. Where are they? “Um . . .”
She cocks her head. “You don’t want to go through with me.”
I say nothing.
“I thought we got on okay, Fin. But you don’t like me, do you?”
No, I don’t. You get to have Ethan for real.
She’ll know.
“It’s not that,” I quickly say. “It’s just . . . I’m afraid you’ll see how much of a bad actor I am. It’d be embarrassing.”
She lets out a relieved breath. “Is that all? Come on. Stand opposite me.” She pulls out a rolled-up copy of the script from the inner pocket of her blazer. “Second to last page. Don’t worry, I promise I won’t laugh at you.”
I blink at the papers.
She frowns again. Reluctantly, I stand and take the sheets. I flick through a page at a time, procrastinating, wondering if I can get away with suddenly feeling sick? An urgent case of the trots?
“Be quicker to go from the back.”
“Right.” I flip to the back and open it to The Scene.
Cress starts bouncing on her toes as she gets into character, then she storms across the room and grabs hold of my shirt. “Look at me, Grey.”
I look at her.
“Really look at me. What do you see?”
My voice is shaky. I’ve never truly looked at the scene from Grey’s point of view. It’s always been a whirlwind of my own emotions, and having it thrown at me . . . Grey must be feeling overwhelmed. Is my hurt and outrage even fair? “I see . . . I see . . .”
My bedroom door opens and relief punches up my chest. Ethan!
He comes in, wearing his cap; his arms look a shade sun-burned. The side of his neck too. He eyes Cress and me and stalls.
“Cress came in. She really wanted help with the last bit.”