Chapter 14
fourteen
. . .
Jordana
I stepped out of the theater into the clear, cold night. A reddish harvest moon hung in the velvet-dark sky, bathing the campus paths and lawns in light.
Our first dress rehearsal was over. Rachel’s notes still rang in my ears: Eden, I want more zest from you in Scene Two. Jorie, feed off that enthusiasm. Corey, keep being charming…right up until the moment when you turn terrifying.
As if my thoughts had summoned him, I spotted his broad shoulders swinging in his tan wool coat as he sauntered on the path ahead, sandy hair blowing in the wind, flanked by Max and Ty.
Gritting my teeth, I sprinted to catch up. I needed to end things now, for good, before I went to Gavin’s for our photoshoot.
“Corey,” I called, before my voice deserted me.
All three guys turned. Their eyes traveled over me, and I turned up the collar of my cheetah coat protectively, crossing my arms over my chest.
Ty nudged Corey, grinning. “Someone wants you.”
My fingers clenched, and I tightened my grip. Max shuffled his feet, staring openly. Corey’s face showed nothing.
“What?” he said.
“I need to talk to you.” I aimed a pointed look at the other boys, who didn’t move.
A mocking smile played over Corey’s lips. “Go ahead.”
I hid my hands in my pockets. “It’s private.”
Ty’s eyebrows climbed toward his hairline, his grin broadening. I wanted to slap it off his face. How could I ever have slept with him, with any of them? Gavin had given me a banquet after I’d subsisted on crumbs. It made me want to cry.
“Let’s go,” Max muttered, clapping Ty on the back. “See you, Corey. We’ll be at the library.” He shot me a glance. “Uh, Jorie?”
“Yes?”
“Rachel didn’t seem too happy about our dance scene tonight. She had that note about how I wasn’t clumsy enough. Do you want to meet up tomorrow to practice?”
Revulsion flickered inside me. Did he really think I wanted to give up my precious time to let him practice on me? To be alone with him? No, I did not. If Max was having trouble being sufficiently clumsy this late in the rehearsal process, it was his own damn fault.
“We’ll see,” I said coolly.
The boys looked startled. A chipper “Of course!” would’ve been more on-brand for me.
“Well, bye.” Max hurried off with Ty in tow.
Corey shifted from foot to foot. We were alone now, under a few fluorescent lamps, shrouded by a huge yellowing oak tree that spread its branches overhead in a canopy. Music drifted from the dorms on the far side of the quad.
“So you want to talk?” he asked. “That makes two of us.”
“Okay,” I said, surprised. Maybe this would be easier than I thought.
But the familiar knot formed inside me when Corey moved closer. I glanced up the path, wondering if anyone would come by.
“You played Blanche completely different tonight.” His voice was accusing. “What’s up with that?”
“How do you mean?” I took an instinctive step back.
“Soft. Fragile. A delicate fucking flower,” he taunted, sweeping a hand toward a crop of asters blooming by the path, still bravely bright as October temperatures dropped.
My pulse accelerated. “I played her the way I see her right now. Blanche is supposed to be fragile.”
“Or…” He leaned over, snapped one of the flowers off its stem, and pulled out a single red petal. “You’re getting sloppy.”
“What?”
He dropped the petal. Calmly, as if the act were as ordinary as breathing. “This isn’t the time to make changes, Jorie. Opening night’s in three days.”
I winced. “Acting can always change! Each line has multiple readings.”
“Sure. Little changes. Not a total overhaul of your character.”
He pulled off another petal, and another, letting them fall in a jumble of red, stripping the flower, leaving the naked core defenseless.
I hated what he was doing to that flower. I wanted to grab it from his hands, protect it.
“Is this a problem?” I demanded. “You can’t do a show the same way twice. You know that.”
“Just like you don’t do any guy the same way twice. Except me.”
Embarrassment rushed over me, followed by boiling anger. “Corey, listen.”
“No, you listen.” He tossed the poor, bare stem on the dirt and folded his arms, his blue eyes flaring arrogantly. “You’re the problem. You’re pulling back and it’s fucking up our performances.”
“Then adapt,” I snapped. “I’m changing. You can change too.”
He balled his hands. “You’ve been jerking me around for the past two days. You will not drag me under. Tonight, we’re going to do what we’ve always done.”
“So you want me to fuck you?” I swallowed. “I won’t.”
Corey let out a short, incredulous laugh, his arrogant mask cracking. “What?”
Voices drifted toward us. I tensed, but he didn’t seem to notice. A group crossed the quad in the distance and moved out of sight.
“I won’t,” I repeated. “I won’t fuck you.”
“This isn’t the time for games.”
My throat squeezed like a narrowing bottle neck, but I forced myself to speak. “We’re done, Corey. It’s over.”
“No,” he whispered.
“I won’t come when you call, not ever again. I’ll work with you on stage and in class. We’ll be professional. But I’m not giving you my body anymore.”
He went perfectly still, his face so blank that I wasn’t sure he’d heard.
Scared by his silence, I drew a breath. “Corey?” I asked, hating the way my voice came out a question. “Did you hear me?”
He took a step toward me. My stomach tightened in a knot immediately.
“Hear what, Jorie?” There was a strange smile on his face, his eyes glassy.
“I said, we’re over.”
“You’re wrong.” His voice was understanding, reassuring — condescending, even. Like a parent schooling a wayward child. “You and me, we won’t ever be done.”
A burst of anger gave me strength. “We are.”
“You can tell yourself that. But you know the truth.”
“Corey, please—”
He touched my cheek, pushing my hair off my face. Tenderly, a lover’s caress. My skin crawled.
“Who put these ideas in your head, Jorie? Who made you think we’re done?”
I stepped back, and his hand fell.
“It’s my idea.” I reached in my bag to touch my secret notebook. “Mine.”
An emotion flickered in his eyes that I’d never seen there before.
Fear.
Curdling into something uglier, a cold anger that froze his summer-blue eyes into cracked wintry ice.
Then his face shut down, and he started to laugh. Not the hearty laughter that rang through the theater department and got everyone in on the fun. This laughter was loud and forced, showing the seams of the performance.
“This isn’t a joke,” I hissed.
Still laughing, he slapped the trunk of the tree. A shower of yellow leaves fell around us.
“You’re funny, Jorie. Never took you for the comic type.” His voice was off-kilter, sharp-edged. “You think you don’t need me? That Blanche doesn’t need Stanley to feel like Blanche?”
He came closer, and I froze, unable to step back. His fingers brushed my chin with the same mockery of gentleness, holding my face in place. He leaned in until I could feel his breath on my lips, rising in a white cloud in the cold night air.
“Corey, don’t,” I gritted.
“Baby,” he whispered, a word I’d never heard from him before, a word I didn’t want to hear now, a word that felt like a kiss. “You won’t find anything better.”
I shuddered but stood my ground. “Anything is better than this.”
His jaw clenched, his mouth too close to mine. “No. You know why? Because you are not better than this. You’re exactly as fucked up as what we have.”
I twisted free, his cruelty snapping me into focus. “Corey. We’re done.”
I forced myself to walk away and not look back.