my control wavers. When he stands in front of the class to perform, the cell-deep magnetism that draws me to him kicks into overdrive and tries to unstitch my resolve.
It’s in those long, surreal moments, when all I can think of is how much I still want him, that the cast iron around my heart threatens to bend.
But then I dial up my bitterness, and just like that, anger is my insulation. It allows the rush of lust to drain away like murky bathwater.
His performances are consistently good, but I roll my eyes when he continues to hold back, keeping those last few fragile pieces of himself safely hidden away, stifled from either shining or shattering.
When he finishes, I clap with everyone else, but I’m applauding his self-delusion more than his performance.
Bravo for faking it yet again, Ethan.
You’re a perfect counterfeit copy of someone I thought I loved.
We’re singing, loudly. Twirling and dancing after having smoked some of Lucas’s home-grown pot. Class doesn’t start for another half hour, and I’m glad because it’s been so long since I laughed, I don’t want it to end.
I don’t know how I know the words to Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You, but I do. We all do.
We’re obnoxious and off-key, but some of the weight I’ve carried in my chest since the breakup is finally lifting. Miranda twirls me toward Jack. He picks me up and passes me to Lucas. Aiyah hugs us both and strokes my hair. Lucas yells a heads-up to Connor, then throws me into his arms. Connor laughs as he overbalances, and then we’re on the floor. Everyone’s laughing. Connor has his arms around me, and as I laugh with him, his smile drops slowly, like paint dripping off a canvas.
He stares at me, and before I know it, I’m not laughing anymore, either. His face is too close. His expression is asking for too much as he sings to me about being too good to be true.
For long seconds, I think he’s going to kiss me, but instead he flops onto his back and pulls me close against his chest. People dance and sing around us, like we’re the centerpiece in some bizarre pagan ritual, and even though it feels wrong to be in such an intimate position, I stay there, testing out my reaction. He’s warm and smells nice, and I like the way he gently strokes my arm.
But I don’t want him.
When Ethan dumped me, I filled all the holes he left with concrete. It protects me against feeling too much. Then again, that’s all there is. No room for anything or anyone else.
I close my eyes. All I get are images of Ethan.
I feel claustrophobic.
“Hey, you okay?” Connor’s worried. So am I.
His voice is wrong. His face is wrong. I want to be in other arms. Have a different heartbeat pounding under my hand.
I stand and stagger toward the water fountain.
I drink forever, and then just let the water flow over my lips and tongue. I feel desiccated.
“Cassie?” Connor’s there, so caring and nice. So different from Ethan. “You okay?”
I nod and try to smile. “Yeah, fine. Just a bit dizzy, I guess.”
No, that description’s too simple. I have full-blown emotional vertigo. I’m completely turned around. Upside down and inside out.
I hate how freaking wrong I feel without him .
I let Connor put his arm around me and escort me to class. I let Ethan see as he hugs me when we arrive. I allow myself to smile when Ethan’s face transforms into a storm cloud of the darkest dimensions.
Good. Let him be pulled inside out, too.
At least now my wrongness has company.
“Miss Taylor?”
Erika is watching me with concern on her face. I’ve been standing near her desk, staring for minutes at the group assignments listed on the board, unable to process what she’s done.
She knows about Ethan and me. How could she not when everyone is still buzzing about it like flies on a rotting carcass? It’s been more than two months, and yet there’s no way she could be completely oblivious to the thrill of expectation that still
It’s in those long, surreal moments, when all I can think of is how much I still want him, that the cast iron around my heart threatens to bend.
But then I dial up my bitterness, and just like that, anger is my insulation. It allows the rush of lust to drain away like murky bathwater.
His performances are consistently good, but I roll my eyes when he continues to hold back, keeping those last few fragile pieces of himself safely hidden away, stifled from either shining or shattering.
When he finishes, I clap with everyone else, but I’m applauding his self-delusion more than his performance.
Bravo for faking it yet again, Ethan.
You’re a perfect counterfeit copy of someone I thought I loved.
We’re singing, loudly. Twirling and dancing after having smoked some of Lucas’s home-grown pot. Class doesn’t start for another half hour, and I’m glad because it’s been so long since I laughed, I don’t want it to end.
I don’t know how I know the words to Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You, but I do. We all do.
We’re obnoxious and off-key, but some of the weight I’ve carried in my chest since the breakup is finally lifting. Miranda twirls me toward Jack. He picks me up and passes me to Lucas. Aiyah hugs us both and strokes my hair. Lucas yells a heads-up to Connor, then throws me into his arms. Connor laughs as he overbalances, and then we’re on the floor. Everyone’s laughing. Connor has his arms around me, and as I laugh with him, his smile drops slowly, like paint dripping off a canvas.
He stares at me, and before I know it, I’m not laughing anymore, either. His face is too close. His expression is asking for too much as he sings to me about being too good to be true.
For long seconds, I think he’s going to kiss me, but instead he flops onto his back and pulls me close against his chest. People dance and sing around us, like we’re the centerpiece in some bizarre pagan ritual, and even though it feels wrong to be in such an intimate position, I stay there, testing out my reaction. He’s warm and smells nice, and I like the way he gently strokes my arm.
But I don’t want him.
When Ethan dumped me, I filled all the holes he left with concrete. It protects me against feeling too much. Then again, that’s all there is. No room for anything or anyone else.
I close my eyes. All I get are images of Ethan.
I feel claustrophobic.
“Hey, you okay?” Connor’s worried. So am I.
His voice is wrong. His face is wrong. I want to be in other arms. Have a different heartbeat pounding under my hand.
I stand and stagger toward the water fountain.
I drink forever, and then just let the water flow over my lips and tongue. I feel desiccated.
“Cassie?” Connor’s there, so caring and nice. So different from Ethan. “You okay?”
I nod and try to smile. “Yeah, fine. Just a bit dizzy, I guess.”
No, that description’s too simple. I have full-blown emotional vertigo. I’m completely turned around. Upside down and inside out.
I hate how freaking wrong I feel without him .
I let Connor put his arm around me and escort me to class. I let Ethan see as he hugs me when we arrive. I allow myself to smile when Ethan’s face transforms into a storm cloud of the darkest dimensions.
Good. Let him be pulled inside out, too.
At least now my wrongness has company.
“Miss Taylor?”
Erika is watching me with concern on her face. I’ve been standing near her desk, staring for minutes at the group assignments listed on the board, unable to process what she’s done.
She knows about Ethan and me. How could she not when everyone is still buzzing about it like flies on a rotting carcass? It’s been more than two months, and yet there’s no way she could be completely oblivious to the thrill of expectation that still
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