Chapter 9
Theodor e
I couldn’t care less. Truly. It doesn’t bother me that Ethan offered Dafne his hand to help her stand after lunch–mostly because she looked at him like she thought he was on drugs–nor how he told her how good she looked in her red turtleneck. I’m sure she’s aware of the fact, just like I’m sure she won’t fall for cheap compliments. She probably won’t even realise he’s flirting with her, and when I win this bet I’ll make Devon shove paper-Tom under his bed for good. Ethan’s one of the many American students at APDAS, who came here for the school’s renowned stage photography program; Devon hooked up with his brother once, that’s how he had the brilliant idea of nudging him in Dafne’s direction. He thought he’d be the perfect choice, because he’s not exactly bright, and he wouldn’t ask unwanted questions once Devon suggested he asked Dafne out.
He was right–he simply started talking to her. Not that any of it should matter at all, since the night in the prop room established once and for all Dafne and I are on completely different wavelengths.
I chug half my water down after a particularly intense workout in the school gym, where me and the other lads took the habit of going on Saturday mornings. Devon doesn’t tag along often, just because he’d rather get those extra hours of sleep in, but by the time I was ready to leave this morning, so was he, and–conveniently, but not uncommonly–we met Ethan in the locker room.
“So you waited until our last few months here to try and date her?” David, one of my castmates, asks him, which regrettably catches my attention. I turn around as nonchalantly as possible, and see Ethan shrug.
“I mean, she’s cool, isn’t she?” he says, and my roommate gives me a pointed look. I notice Oliver by his locker, clearly interested in the conversation, but trying not to make it obvious. I glare at Devon, and gesture for him to come closer. When I’m positive the others are out of hearing range, I cross my arms over my chest. “What in the ever-loving fuck are you doing?” I whisper.
“I’m not telling anyone about the bet, that’d be cruel. But I figured if the opportunity arised for Ethan to actually tell people he’s into Dafne, she might get word of it, and there won’t be any suspicion,” he explains, as if there was any logic to this whole plan.
“But he’s not ,” I hiss.
“He fancies her enough,” he beams. What is there to beam about ?
“All I had to do was tell him she was single and that they had a lot in common.”
I roll my eyes so hard I’m afraid they might get stuck in my head. What could Dafne possibly have in common with a guy that looks straight out of an energising drink commercial?
“You do know Oliver’s right there and can hear everything you lot are saying?” I remind him. “He’s basically a tower compared to you, so I’d be more careful what kind of things Ethan says about his intentions with Dafne when he’s around.” Devon turns slowly and looks Oliver over in what I’m sure he thinks is a subtle move but is very clearly not.
“Ethan’s saying nice things, isn’t he?” he considers distractedly, “And it’s good that her best friend is listening, the more witnesses the better. I should actually go talk to him directly, it’ll make me win sooner.” He winks, starting towards Oliver, and I barely have time to grab his arm and halt him.
“If anyone gets hurt, I’m going to be pissed, Dev.” I try sounding as stern as Mr. Hackle when he critiques a performance in class, but some part of me knows it won’t get through. Most importantly, whatever happens will be on me just as much as him for accepting the blasted bet in the first place. It’s like I can hear my grandmother telling me not to make decisions in the heat of the moment, but it’s too late to ignore the piece of advice.
Devon clicks his tongue and braces himself on my shoulders. “You need to relax! When was the last time you checked your blood pressure?” He jokes, and I swat his hands away.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got someone to charm.” He walks over to a shirtless Oliver who, despite the conversation about his best friend that was happening mere seconds ago, greets Devon with a casual smile. I thought he’d be pissed, but maybe he’s just being polite. Then again, I don’t know him at all.
I can’t help but think to myself how different, and much easier, things would have been if I’d been less proud. Less demanding of myself. Less everything. I huff out a breath and reach for my shirt on the nearest bench. When I’m ready to leave I say goodbye to my friends still lounging in the locker room, and shoot Devon and Oliver one last look, only to find out the latter is already looking at me while Devon is talking to him. I nod in his direction and he nods back; I notice one corner of his mouth going up, and I’m fairly sure it’s the first time in three years he’s ever looked anything less than tolerant at me. Not that I blame him–I wouldn’t be mates with someone who had the kind of relationship Dafne and I have if it were Devon in her place either. I need to stop overthinking this whole ridiculous situation, so I hurry out as I sling my gym bag over my shoulder. On the way out, I run into a girl from my History of Theatre class, who starts talking about how this year’s textbooks are heavier than the ones we previously used and how it’s affecting her posture. Not the most entertaining chat, but a wel-come distraction nonetheless. When we part ways, I walk straight to the nearest coffee shop, and while I’m in line my phone beeps from my backpack’s side pocket. I take it out and see a message from my grandfather, asking me how to stop ‘ strangely excited e-mails about how I’ve won a million pounds ’ from swamping his inbox.
I smile, and before I can answer another notification glows on my phone screen, the reminder I’ve set telling me it’s almost time to go make sure I know my lines better than I know my own name.