She rolls her eyes and I kiss her, pushing her book off of her lap and ignoring her feeble protests. I slide an arm around her. “Makeout break.” That’s all the warning she gets.
I press her back into the pillows, following her carefully, because stretching at the wrong angle still hurts like hell. “Are you sure you’re okay to… you know…” she says.
Leaning above her, I smile. “To what? Kiss and touch you until you throw me down and have your way with me? Yes, I’m plenty up to that.”
She sighs and laughs, and I figure at this point we don’t need to talk anymore.
***
One thing that doesn’t happen often is finding myself alone with Graham Douglas. Most people are fairly uncomplicated, once you know their motivations. I was certain one of his was Brooke. But even though he stays near her, he watches Emma as well. I’d be stupid not to notice. And I’m not stupid.
At the moment, he and I are standing next to each other, waiting to film the only scene featuring just the two of us in the entire movie. I’m wondering if he’s doing Brooke, if he has plans to try with Emma as well.
“How’s it going?” His expression is relaxed, but tension runs between us like a taut wire. I wonder whether plucking it would disclose where we stand more clearly.
“Good.” I nod. “Emma says I should thank you for summoning the doctor the other night. I was too out of it to be aware of anything.”
He half-shrugs. “Yeah, I noticed. Glad I could help.”
I’m trying to find the condescension I expect from someone who hangs out with Brooke and might have plans to bang the girl I intend to hook up with, but I can’t find it. Either he’s really good at hiding it, or it’s not there. The PA calls us to our places.
“Yeah, well, thanks.”
“No problem,” he says.
*** *** ***
Emma
I’m running with Graham this morning for the first time in a week, and he hasn’t mentioned my allergy Armageddon. We’ve discussed auditions at Julliard and studio placement at NYU, but there’s something unsaid under the college talk, and I wait for him to sort out whatever’s weighing on his mind. He pretends not to notice the one time I say “huh,” which seems like a clue. Like he’s afraid to upset me.
“So, is everything okay with you and Reid?” he finally asks as we hit our turnaround point.
“Yeah. He’s definitely feeling better.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “Um… I mean between the two of you… is everything okay.”
I blink up at him and realize from the way he isn’t looking at me that he’s uncomfortable asking this question, that this is the thing he’s been withholding for twenty minutes. I think about what Reid and I have been doing lately and feel a trace of guilt, even though what Reid and I do is no more his business than what he and Brooke do is mine. “Um, yeah, it’s fine. It’s great.”
“Oh. Okay. Good. I’m not trying to pry—I just wanted to make sure. You know, that you’re okay. And you know you can talk to me, if you need to talk, vent, whatever.”
“Okay,” I say. “Thanks.” I can’t imagine talking to Graham about Reid.
Our kiss on my bed has never been mentioned, or repeated, or even nearly repeated. It’s as though it never happened at all. I wish I could forget it as easily as he’s been able to, and most of the time the memory of it is neatly filed away—zip, zip, gone—but every so often I think about it and God.
We’ve also never talked about Reid kissing me in front of hidden-camera-wielding, photo-uploading Reid Alexander fans. So I have no idea if the reason Graham withdrew was because I kissed Reid the next day, or because of Brooke, or because kissing me simply didn’t do anything for him. I guess in the end it doesn’t matter which reason it was.
I consider asking for his advice concerning my fight with Emily, but just thinking about her makes me tear up, and I’m determined not to start crying again while I’m out in public. So I don’t say anything. And after a few minutes, he mentions something about filming tomorrow and the moment is past.
Today is the one week anniversary of our fight. Emily and I have never gone more than three days without talking or texting each other, usually not twenty-four hours. I’ve begun texts and emails to her at least fifty times, I’ve clicked her speed dial number and almost hit talk, but I don’t know what to say.
How do you apologize for living your life?
***
Reid started short stints of filming this week, though his doctor limited him to three hours per day max. The problem is, there are a lot more hours remaining in his day, and not a lot to fill them. I have several hours of filming daily, plus class work, plus studying for the SAT. By Sunday afternoon, I’m playing catch-up before beginning another week of filming.
“Tell me again why you’re taking the SAT?” He stretches, pauses the game and reaches for me.
“College?” I shove the math prep book off of my lap as he kisses me. We’re sitting in the middle of his bed, remnants of our room-service lunches on trays at the foot of the bed, game controllers and study implements surrounding us.
He takes the pencil from my hand and tosses it onto his bedside table, his brow furrowed. “Yeah, but, why?”
Meredith and Brooke asked the same question, with the same perplexed look. Our kind tends not to pursue higher education. What reason is there, when our career paths are right in front of us, and time off would result in forfeited film roles and lost momentum? Both of them dismissed Jenna as some sort of oddity because of her academic family.