Chapter Eleven. Clara #2
“We try.” I shrugged. “But since he doesn’t ever stick around long, I don’t see the point. He even forgot my birthday last year.”
Reid frowned. “That’s … really shitty.”
My laugh was humorless. “I’m used to it. It’s just another day, anyway. Except this year, when I can finally get a tattoo from my Aunt Lisette.”
He arched a brow. “Of what?”
“I’m not sure yet. I have lots of ideas.”
None of which really stuck for long, though. It needed to mean something real. To be something that would always matter.
“Well, I won’t forget it,” Reid said with a grin. “I already saved your birthday in my calendar.”
My heart sped up in my chest. How did he do that? Stitch up a wound I didn’t even know was bleeding.
I got up and fiddled with the track pad on the laptop to wake it up, avoiding his gaze and the fizziness coursing through me. “Ready?”
He nodded and settled deeper into the bed. “My first Clara Suarez original. I wish I had popcorn.”
In my Attenborough voice, I said, “Please reserve your opinion until the end.”
He gave me a small salute, and I gnawed on my thumbnail the entire time the doc played.
In the video, I featured those gunning for Legacy other than myself.
First was Amaya, who had already secured a spot at NYU early admissions but who still seemed stressed about becoming a theater Legacy and securing the scholarship to pay for it.
Focusing all her time on the fall and spring shows, as if moving on to the next level of such an incredible college didn’t matter as much as proving she was someone to Woodhurst.
I included footage of Delaney’s dance rehearsals and strict diet and the workout regimen she put herself through.
She came across as strong but anxious. Too focused on her failings, so hard on herself.
Like the way she weighed herself after every workout seemed too revealing.
As her best friend, it was hard to watch, even though it was true.
There was no avoiding featuring Josh. His attitude and arrogance were a good balance to the other personalities, from a storytelling perspective.
He was in the running for valedictorian and was sure to be named a Legacy for that alone.
That and the heaping of nepotism. In all his interview footage he talked about expectations and the importance of the program—sounding a lot like his dad.
Then there was Reid.
Clearly the main character. I had spent countless hours ensuring the footage was balanced and the story was equally proportioned among them.
But there was no denying that Reid shone brightest. His shyness was endearing on-screen, his dedication to his sport and team, inspiring.
He came across as compelling and charming. Self-deprecating and relatable.
The perfect hero.
Like after a particularly brutal meet, where even he struggled due to the rainy conditions, I captured him as he went up to every single runner on the team, offering them water and an encouraging word.
There was something special, too, about the way his thoughtful silences translated to the viewer, reaching somewhere deep.
I was hesitant to include the scenes of the toll it took on his body and time. The few complaints he ever made about the pressure he felt. The grueling hours. Making his dad proud and the entirety of Woodhurst happy.
With Josh’s jealous attention on Reid in all the cross-country footage, it inadvertently made him the villain to Reid’s hero.
I didn’t have my camera out when he tripped Reid at state, but I caught the aftermath.
The blood on Reid’s arm, the bandage that was slick with sweat when he crossed the finish line, securing the championship.
I also caught plenty of other times Josh would jeer or make jokes at Reid’s expense.
I felt uneasy about including them, but at the same time, it was the truth. Josh made himself look that way.
The entire time we watched it, I tried to see it through Reid’s eyes.
But I was most disarmed by him seeing himself through my eyes.
How close I would catch him in frame. The beads of sweat that dripped from his hair, the grimaces of pain when he pushed too hard, and the moments of total solitude I had invaded through my lens, even as I tried to capture them as unobtrusively as possible.
Someone watching might think I had feelings for him. Deep feelings.
God, did I?
When the doc ended, my stomach was in knots. It was honest. Raw. Exposing.
Reid sat up slowly, and my mouth went dry waiting for him to say something.
“Wow,” he breathed.
I closed the laptop. “I know it’s melodramatic. That’s why I needed someone to watch it—”
His brow furrowed. “What? No. It’s— Holy shit, it’s amazing, Clara. You’re so talented.”
“You liked it?”
He nodded, and my stomach fluttered as he grabbed my hands. “Loved it. The way you captured everyone? I had no idea that when you were filming, you were focusing on all those different things.”
He must’ve meant the way I zoomed in on fidgeting hands and lip biting and other body language that conveyed what words didn’t. Or on what was happening in the background while someone was talking and how it either emphasized or contradicted their point. “It’s … honest. Thank you.”
I shifted uncomfortably. “For what?”
“For showing me. For tonight … I feel like I know you better.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I barreled on as my thoughts spiraled. “It doesn’t seem incomplete to you? I dunno, there’s something about it that doesn’t feel ready or something.”
But Reid shook his head. “It’s perfect. You’re a beast, Suarez,” he said, nudging me with his shoulder.
I wanted to believe him.
“You’re not so bad yourself, RiRi,” I said, trying to force my discomfort away with a joke.
His face went deathly serious. “How many times do I have to tell you that is not the nickname?”
“Who’s to say?”
He chuckled. But the mirth didn’t last long the further into my own head I retreated.
He noticed. He always did.
“What’s bugging you?” he asked seriously.
I’d never before shown anyone something so personal. And I’d just told him about my parents, my dreams—things I’d never even told Delaney. Nothing about any of that was casual.
“It’s … a lot. Sharing all this with someone,” I said.
He nodded, and his eyes fell to his notebook on my desk. “I get it. I’d probably feel the same way if I ever let anyone read my poems.”
I looked down at our intertwined hands. The way I was now desperate to read his words forced me to ask, “Would you ever let me?”
His expression grew thoughtful, his thumb brushing across the back of my hand. “I think I would.” He looked at me again and swallowed. “Though, you’d definitely know what I think about a lot.”
The words were barely audible when I asked, “What are you thinking now?”
Without hesitating he said, “That I really want to kiss you.”
His gaze dropped to my mouth. When it dragged up to meet my eyes again, his eyebrows came together to form a question.
There was only one answer.
I closed the remaining distance between us and pressed my lips to his. He responded instantly, pushing his large hands into my hair. He pulled me closer in a way that was both gentle and commanding. Just like him.
Every part of me responded. My lips moved with his like they were made to, every other sense on overdrive, aware of everything from the slight scratch of stubble on his chin to the steadiness I felt in his arms. I wrenched him closer, drawing his strong body as close as we could get.
It felt like jumping off the tallest rock into Crescent Lake. Like soaring and falling all at once.
Reid moaned against my mouth when I sank my fingertips into his hair. I gave a little tug, and he chuckled like he liked it. It sent a wild shiver through me.
When we broke apart—just an inch—we looked at each other. His eyes were heavy-lidded, his voice deep and gravelly when he said, “You really like poetry, huh?”
I laughed against his lips and pulled back to look at him. “I think…” My heart was beating so hard I could hear its pounding roar in my ears. “I think I really like you,” I whispered.
He snaked a strong arm around my waist again, his lips a breath from mine. “I know I really like you.”
This time the kiss was slower. Sweeter.
Like we meant it.