Chapter Thirty-Five
NINE YEARS AGO
JUST LIKE THAT—IT’S over. Four years of college are behind me.
It’s the Wednesday before commencement, in that weird period where all of us seniors are done with finals and performances, but we haven’t been granted our degrees yet.
I moved out of my dorm over a week ago, and my internship doesn’t start until June, so I’m back with my parents for now.
Once I see my first paycheck, I’ll start the roommate/apartment search for real.
Amanda is still living at home while she completes her nursing degree, so all three of us sisters are constantly on top of each other.
We’re one bad morning away from throwing hands.
As soon as the elevator door opens to her floor, I know this party is different than the others.
I can hear the bass of music from the hallway and it seems like half the senior acting students are loitering outside her front door.
This is new; the drama studio didn’t interact with us as much as the dancers did.
It seems everyone just wants to party together until all of this is gone.
We exchange waves and heys and what’s-ups as I pick my way through the group.
I wonder what the neighbors must think of all the noise as I pull open the door, not bothering to knock.
Immediately I’m assaulted with the pungent aroma of weed smoke and a thumping Zedd song. The apartment is full of people.
“Celia! You made it!”
Rebecca maneuvers through a crowd of people to hug me.
She’s wearing a skintight black minidress and a little sequin shrug.
The dark lipstick she has on pops against her fair skin and black hair that she clearly curled earlier today but is deflating in the heat of all the bodies.
I feel appropriately dressed in my bright-blue strapless dress I bought at H my brows flatten at the weird look he’s giving me. He proceeds to chug the rest of the beer in three enormous gulps.
“You sure you’re okay?” I ask.
He rubs the back of his neck with one hand. “Yeah, but I should probably tell you—I’m here with someone tonight.”
A shocked laugh escapes me before I can stop it. It’s been two weeks since we broke up. I haven’t had time to do anything except wrap up everything with school, move out of the dorm, and try to put my life together uptown. “Are you serious? Who?”
“Marie, from the drama studio,” he replies sheepishly. “She’s moving out to LA, too. She’s got an agent and everything.”
“Wow. Okay.” I blink and stir my drink just to do something with my hands. “Congrats?”
He smiles with relief even though my sentiment was clearly a question. “Thanks. I’ll see you later, yeah?”
When he leaves me in the kitchen, I say nothing.
Suddenly, the drink that was way too strong seconds ago is the perfect cocktail.
I suck most of it through my straw when two very drunk clarinetists stumble into the kitchen and nearly knock me over.
I top off my drink with more vodka and a splash of soda before squeezing my way out of the small space.
It’s not that I’m mad or upset he found someone new.
I think I’m just surprised at how fast it all happened.
Fifteen days ago, we were making out in his bedroom just two doors down, hands all over each other, bodies slick with sweat.
Now he’s planning a move across the country with a girl I only met in passing a handful of times.
I down half my drink. There’s a dance floor developing in the middle of the living room. Rebecca is in the center of it all, hands in the air. I slide in to join her. Let Pitbull carry my worries away.
This works for a while. I’m dancing with my friends while the alcohol works its way through my system. I’m graduating in three days from the best music school in the country! I have an internship lined up! Who cares that it’s with a small regional symphony! I got a job in my field! Sort of !
But then I see Anthony and Marie join the fray and I know it’s time for me to get the hell out of that room.
Rebecca grabs my arm in protest when I try to slip away, so I rattle my empty drink cup and wiggle my eyebrows.
She gives me a lazy, drunk smile when she releases me.
She never stops swaying her hips to the rhythm of the song.
Once I’m free, I don’t go to the kitchen. Instead, I head down the dark hallway to the bedrooms, past Anthony’s, Chloe’s, and Blake’s rooms. When I get to Rebecca’s at the end, I wrench open the door, slam it behind me, and shut my eyes as I throw myself against it.
“Oh. Celia. Hi.”
Even over the muffled music and the voices of all those people, I know exactly who that is. My stomach drops at the sound of his voice. I don’t bother to open my eyes because he’s the last person I want to see.
“Please don’t,” I mutter. “I can’t do this right now.”
“Do what?” he asks quietly.
He sounds closer than before. The room tilts beneath my feet.
My eyes fly open to orient myself. Sure enough, Oliver is standing next to her unmade bed, wearing some kind of dark dress pants and a button-down shirt.
I can’t tell what color anything is because Rebecca has a pink silk scarf draped over the lamp next to her bed.
The whole room looks like we’re inside of a heart.
“What are you doing here?” The question comes out harsh, the alcohol swirling through me loosening all my filters.
His lips purse together as he takes me in.
I hate it. Hate that he’s seeing me in yet another vulnerable moment.
Hate that this guy beat me—for the comp competition, for the internship with the New York Philharmonic, for all the jobs we’ll compete for that he’ll ultimately get because he’s Robert Barlowe’s prodigal son.
“I’m graduating, too, you know.” He steps closer; I slide along the wall to put more distance between us. “Are you… okay?”
“I’m fine.” My hip bumps Rebecca’s dresser, rattling the perfume bottles and jewelry on top of it. “Why are you hiding in here?”
His eyes narrow. “Why are you hiding in here?”
“Rebecca is my best friend. I’m allowed to be in here.”
With the help of the dresser, I leverage myself off the wall to stand. He inches closer when I sway a little, but I right myself. The world evens out when I stand on my own two feet.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he says, his gaze focused and intense as he stares at me.
I put my hands on my hips and look to the ceiling—anywhere but at him.
It’s uncomfortable being in such close proximity, even after four years of sitting in the same performance halls, classrooms, and orchestra pits together.
My skin prickles with awareness, but that could also be the Ketel One heating me up from the inside.
The vodka—it has to be the vodka that’s making my heart race, forcing my head down to look at him square in the eyes, pulling all the things I never dared to say before to the tip of my tongue.
“I’m hiding because I lost, Oliver.” My words are laced with an undeniable anger. “I didn’t play the fucking game and I lost.”
He scoffs—literally scoffs at me. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about you.” My finger finds its way to the middle of his chest. “I lost to you, over and over again.”
It’s not just him. I’m sober enough to know that, even if I won’t say it.
Part of this is because my ex-boyfriend of two weeks is grinding on another girl about fifty feet away.
Oliver isn’t responsible for all the rejection letters that I accumulated over the last semester; those nos are because I wasn’t good enough. Maybe I never will be.
His gaze trails down to where my finger is pressed against his chest, right on top of his heart. When he pulls his gaze up, that cold, unreadable mask is gone. His brows are pulled together and his eyes are so charged with an emotion I can’t name that I take a step back, my hand falling to my side.
“It was never a game for me,” he says, so quiet I almost can’t hear it over the Killers blasting from the living room.
“Like hell it wasn’t,” I snap.
“Did we compete with each other? Yes.” He steps closer, so I fold my arms across my chest. “But that’s how this goes.”
A dry laugh shoots out of me. “That’s the literal definition of a game.”
“Fine.” He scowls. “Maybe it was a competition.”
“Yeah, and you fucking beat me, over and over again. Congratulations. I’m sure you’ll be the best intern the New York Phil has ever had. I’m sure all these wins have nothing to do with the fact that you’re Robert Barlowe’s son, right?”
Even in my tipsy haze, I know that’s a low blow. It lands with as much impact as I intended. Anger flashes in his eyes as he sucks in a sharp breath.
“Or maybe I’m just better than you,” he grits out.
“There it is,” I say with triumphant sarcasm. “I always knew you felt that way. Now you finally have the balls to say it.”
My pulse is pounding in my ears as I try to move past him, but the room is so small that my right side collides with his left. I sneer up at him in indignation. His lips part as he glares down at me.
For a second, it looks like he’s going to say something, but I’m done. I’m done losing to him. I’m done avoiding Anthony at this party. I’m done with all the bullshit of college.
Oliver doesn’t try to stop me when I pull open the bedroom door. He lets me go without another word.
FAMILIA GROUP CHAT
TODAY 9:16 PM
Madre
9:16 PM
Hija what time was the dinner today?
Amanda
9:19 PM
8 so she she’s probably still there
Madre
9:25 PM
ok let us know how it goes por favor
Rosa
9:30 PM
literally the second you’re done we wanna hear all about it!!
Padre
9:33 PM
Girls. Let her focus
9:35 PM
But sí please please let us know hija