out
her notebook, folders, and water bottle. The water bottle had
rolled away to somewhere, and she didn’t have time to look for
it.
“Back door,” Rusty said, and took her hand to
lead her up one of the aisles toward the office, which had an
exit.
They stood, blinking in the fierce white
sunlight.
“If you’ll forgive me, I’m going to hustle
back to the office,” Rusty said, and pecked her on the cheek. “That
was amazing—thanks. I’ll call you, okay?”
“Okay,” she said. The import of what she had
just done was beginning to register.
She watched Rusty turn around and hustle up
the walkway that swooped around the back of the Bernstein building.
He walked with confidence, hands in his pockets, shoulders
back.
She could have just found her soul-mate.
CHAPTER 5
But Rusty didn’t call. She tried not to think
too deeply about it. She decided that something else must have
happened at home with his brother Hadden, or that he was
overwhelmed with his lesson planning for the Characterization
class. Guys were just not as detail-oriented, and she knew that if
she spent too much time pining for him, the next time she saw him,
he’d act like everything was fine. I’ll give him some leeway, she
thought. He’s got a lot going on. Instead, she luxuriated in the
memory of their rendezvous onstage. Her reveries held her in a
secure embrace the way that the present could not. Once she found
herself lying on her bed in the late afternoon, resting before
Millie met her for dinner, and she was so involved in her
daydreaming that she didn’t realize that her hands were drifting
all over her own body.
Trisha forced herself to
focus on her assignments, including the one for Characterization.
She had to choose an emotion, write a script that demonstrated the
emotion, and be prepared to perform the emotion without referring
directly to it. Crestfallen had jumped out at her from the list that Rusty
had provided. She was most practiced in feeling this way, she
figured, though she didn’t have any plans to be in that position
again. On Thursday, she headed to the second class, hopeful that
the quiet electricity between them would be enough to keep her
sane, considering she would have to look at him without touching
him, and watch him coach her peers with interest and
investment.
She didn’t know why her stomach was folding
in at the threshold of Room 201.
“Excuse me,” Heather Elks, one of Genevieve’s
friends, said. She was trying to squeeze past Trisha and into the
classroom.
Trisha stepped forward. She tried not to zero
in on Rusty directly, but kept her peripheral vision on him as she
strode to the same desk that she had claimed during the first
class. He was wearing a crisp white shirt, rolled up at the
sleeves, which made his skin look even bronzer than it was, and
charcoal gray dress pants. Trisha thought about how her father was
always commenting on the tailoring of men’s pants, the specific way
the leg bottoms should crease over the shoes, and knew he would be
impressed. Rusty was talking to Professor Kastarellis, smiling
lazily, and didn’t turn his head to greet her right away. She got
comfortable in her seat.
A few minutes passed. No wave, no wink, no
wrinkling of the forehead to say hello. Another minute went by, and
Rusty began calling the roll. He stated her name with no
inflection, gave her a business-like nod, and moved on.
What the fuck?
Humiliation crept up like fingers from her
neck to her cheeks. She was wondering why, after what had happened
between them, she felt the same way she did the first day of
class—abandoned and invisible.
“Everyone did the assignment, correct?” Rusty
said. He started to walk around the inside of the semi-circle of
desks, passing out long, narrow pieces of paper. “Now, randomly,
I’m going to give each of you a line from a famous play. There are
six pairs of lines. You will determine your
her notebook, folders, and water bottle. The water bottle had
rolled away to somewhere, and she didn’t have time to look for
it.
“Back door,” Rusty said, and took her hand to
lead her up one of the aisles toward the office, which had an
exit.
They stood, blinking in the fierce white
sunlight.
“If you’ll forgive me, I’m going to hustle
back to the office,” Rusty said, and pecked her on the cheek. “That
was amazing—thanks. I’ll call you, okay?”
“Okay,” she said. The import of what she had
just done was beginning to register.
She watched Rusty turn around and hustle up
the walkway that swooped around the back of the Bernstein building.
He walked with confidence, hands in his pockets, shoulders
back.
She could have just found her soul-mate.
CHAPTER 5
But Rusty didn’t call. She tried not to think
too deeply about it. She decided that something else must have
happened at home with his brother Hadden, or that he was
overwhelmed with his lesson planning for the Characterization
class. Guys were just not as detail-oriented, and she knew that if
she spent too much time pining for him, the next time she saw him,
he’d act like everything was fine. I’ll give him some leeway, she
thought. He’s got a lot going on. Instead, she luxuriated in the
memory of their rendezvous onstage. Her reveries held her in a
secure embrace the way that the present could not. Once she found
herself lying on her bed in the late afternoon, resting before
Millie met her for dinner, and she was so involved in her
daydreaming that she didn’t realize that her hands were drifting
all over her own body.
Trisha forced herself to
focus on her assignments, including the one for Characterization.
She had to choose an emotion, write a script that demonstrated the
emotion, and be prepared to perform the emotion without referring
directly to it. Crestfallen had jumped out at her from the list that Rusty
had provided. She was most practiced in feeling this way, she
figured, though she didn’t have any plans to be in that position
again. On Thursday, she headed to the second class, hopeful that
the quiet electricity between them would be enough to keep her
sane, considering she would have to look at him without touching
him, and watch him coach her peers with interest and
investment.
She didn’t know why her stomach was folding
in at the threshold of Room 201.
“Excuse me,” Heather Elks, one of Genevieve’s
friends, said. She was trying to squeeze past Trisha and into the
classroom.
Trisha stepped forward. She tried not to zero
in on Rusty directly, but kept her peripheral vision on him as she
strode to the same desk that she had claimed during the first
class. He was wearing a crisp white shirt, rolled up at the
sleeves, which made his skin look even bronzer than it was, and
charcoal gray dress pants. Trisha thought about how her father was
always commenting on the tailoring of men’s pants, the specific way
the leg bottoms should crease over the shoes, and knew he would be
impressed. Rusty was talking to Professor Kastarellis, smiling
lazily, and didn’t turn his head to greet her right away. She got
comfortable in her seat.
A few minutes passed. No wave, no wink, no
wrinkling of the forehead to say hello. Another minute went by, and
Rusty began calling the roll. He stated her name with no
inflection, gave her a business-like nod, and moved on.
What the fuck?
Humiliation crept up like fingers from her
neck to her cheeks. She was wondering why, after what had happened
between them, she felt the same way she did the first day of
class—abandoned and invisible.
“Everyone did the assignment, correct?” Rusty
said. He started to walk around the inside of the semi-circle of
desks, passing out long, narrow pieces of paper. “Now, randomly,
I’m going to give each of you a line from a famous play. There are
six pairs of lines. You will determine your
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