Chapter 15
Sloane
It’s interesting—getting better at something. It starts slowly and then all of a sudden you can feel the confidence in your hand. It’s the way the brush feels when you're painting a certain line, when what's in your head somehow appears in front of you just like you planned it.
“Fuck,” I moan, and I wish I could say that is how oils have been.
I use a spatula to scrape the thick backdrop structure, carving off the clumped paint that’s collected in the area I’ve been working on.
I swipe the sweat from my neck, schlepping my hair into a french twist with a stray pencil I found on the floor, one of the few things I willingly let Evie show me how to do, if only for the sake of convenience.
Jean stalks in, pushing Gen by the shoulders and she melts down onto the floor. They both look spent, exhaustion covering their faces in small dewy droplets. “She’s dancing like shit today and needs a pep talk.”
I frown, slightly unsure if I’m the right person to give it as I stare at the now scraped clean board in front of me. I scooch away until I’m cross legged right in front of Gen who’s fresh off rolling her eyes and now chugging from a giant lavender water bottle.
“Now I highly doubt you're dancin’ like shit. You're probably just a sliver away from incredible, if I know anything about this one’s dramatics.” I nod toward Jean, setting my hands on Gen’s knees. “You good?”
She squeezes her eyes shut and sucks in a huge breath. “I want to tell you but I’m going to look horrible,” she says quickly, like she’s been waiting to let whatever is eating her up out.
“Impossible—you could never look horrible,” I say, squeezing her knee for encouragement.
“Ehhhh…” Jean winces and I shoot him a look. Gen pulls her knees to her chest before burying her head in her sweatshirt clad arms. “What? I mean…it is pretty bad.” He shrugs, sliding down beside us.
“Lucky for you,” I say, shooting him a glare that I hope will shut him up, “I have a knack for loving horrible people.” She glances up and I smile encouragingly.
“Grant found out I’ve been keeping a secret for Will and…now we are in a huge fight because apparently if I don’t tell the person who the secret involves I’m a terrible person.” Her voice trembles slightly at the end, exhaustion prevalent in her tone as her eyes carry a watery sheen.
“Oh Gen…” I wrap my arm around her, pulling her into my side. “If there’s one thing about my brother it’s that his moral superiority knows no bounds.” She chuckles slightly, quickly wiping her cheek to hide her emotion. “Can I ask who the secret involves?”
“Well Will…”
“Obviously,” Jean chimes in and I reach my arm out to pinch him.
“Ow,” he hisses.
“And…Olivia.”
My eyebrows shoot up as I look at Jean and he gestures as if to say it gets worse. “Okay…do you want to share the—”
“He was dating her dead best friend Lily the summer before she died and never told her or anyone else. I only know because I was there. He’s basically hidden it from her and everyone else at Astor and—”
“Wait, Olivia has a dead best friend?” Confusion wrinkles my forehead and Jean rolls his eyes.
“Keep up!” Jean chides. I move to pinch him again but he flinches away.
“Yes. It was the whole terrible tragedy our freshman year, and she was Will’s first love I guess because since her death he’s been just different.
I just…” she trails off rubbing her temples.
“Telling Olivia would really blow up his life and you didn’t see him after Lily passed.
It was bad.” Tears well fully in Gen’s eyes now and my heart aches for the girl.
“He’s my best friend Sloane, but your brother…
he doesn’t see it that way. He thinks I’m protecting him because I love him and maybe I am.
I don’t know. I just—I don’t know what he’ll do if Liv finds out.
” She lays her head back until she’s staring at the ceiling and I join her, grabbing her hand and squeezing it.
“Gen—you’re needed stage right for Act II!” a too young voice interrupts us, her shy freckled face peeking through the cracked door. Gen squeezes her eyes shut, inhaling a long deep breath.
“You’re going to that Halloween party right?
At the frat?” she asks, her eyes hopeful, and it’s clear she doesn’t want to be in this alone, that she’s drowning in secrets, a feeling I know all too well.
Hell, if it was someone I loved I’d probably be keeping them, too.
My mind shoots to Connie and how Grant still doesn’t know the real reason she’s here, and I quickly compartmentalize the thought.
“Of course. I promised I’d help with your costume, remember?”
She nods, sliding her hands on her pants before climbing to her feet.
“I’m here for you, whether you tell her or not. Unfortunately for Grant and the Fielder’s, I’m not as put off by gray areas. In fact, I prefer them.” I bump her shoulder with mine.
“Uh…Gen?” the shy voice interrupts again.
“Coming!” she calls, her voice so polite I can hardly believe anyone has ever called her an ice queen. She gives me an appreciative glance before following the girl out the door.
“Oof,” I groan, approaching Jean as he stretches on an art cart a few feet away. I begin to organize the paint brushes, a nervous habit that Beau would joke I get from Evie, the accusation always met with an icy roll of my eyes. The memory makes me feel squirmy and tired.
“You can say that again…” Jean picks up a few brushes and sets them in what he thinks are the right cups, laughing at the winces I make when he sorts one wrong.
“You have the worst poker face,” he chides and I wish he knew how good my poker face actually was, how I can so easily store away my own thoughts and feelings to make room for others.
“So, how’s Ian?” I decide to change the subject instead.
“I’ve been avoiding him like the plague since Gen told me about this Lily thing. If he ever found out…” He shakes his head and I nod. We both know he’d have to be crazy not to run a story like this.
“Are you goin’ to the party?”
Jean sighs, pushing his pale hand through his jet black waves. “Probably not. Will, Grant, Gen and Ian in one room?” He looks at me knowingly.
“Cmon. She needs us.”
He raises an eyebrow smirking. “Sure,” he shrugs, forcing me to wrinkle my brows.
“What?” I cross my arms.
“I can think of another reason why you may want to attend that party.” He clucks his tongue, turning toward the sink to wash his now paint smattered hands.
“Enlighten me, because none seem to come to mind.” I know my scowl proves the opposite and this only amuses Jean more.
“A certain Andrew Spellman?” His voice is like a parent’s chastising a child and I feel my defenses rolling up.
“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” I nudge him at the sink, reaching over to pump some soap into my own palm.
“Ridiculous is you pretending you haven’t been ogling that boy for like a month.” He rips a paper towel from the machine.
“I—”
“Stop. Terrible poker face, remember?” He cuts me off. “What is stopping you from ripping his clothes off?”
“I just don’t feel like it, okay?” My tone comes out sharp and Jean softens a bit.
“Is it because of the whole…professor thing?” Anger flares in my nostrils and he must notice the tone shift because he holds his hands up as if to pause the reaction.
“Look, it’s clear you're figuring some shit out, but just like you told Gen, I am here for you, too. We don’t have to talk about it,” he nods his head as if to gesture to the subject that is sleeping with my professor, “but if you ever do want to…we can.” I release the breath I’m holding and it feels like something is stuck in my lungs.
“Thanks,” I say weakly and he gives my arm a squeeze.
“Jean. You're needed stage left,” the same meek voice interrupts.
“Gotta jet!” He jogs toward the door.
“Come to the party—please, I need you!” I yell after him.
“I’ll check my schedule.” He winks before exiting and I’m left with nothing but scraped wood boards and dirty brushes.