Read My Lips (A College Obsession Romance) (9 page)

Brant comes around the couch and plops down by my legs, nearly sitting on them, and asks me if I’m still planning on coming to his thing.
What I was planning to do was jerk off, you fucker.
Truth is, I’m not even sure that’s what he asked; the sleepier I get, the harder it is to read lips. I have to think for a moment before realizing what he means: he’s got a bowling tournament next Saturday that he’s invited Dmitri and I to come watch. It’s an unofficial sort of local thing with the prize being free drinks for a week, but it means a lot to Brant. Also, he happens to be some weird kind of bowling ball whisperer.

I nod at him, which seems to satisfy him more than the supposed lady-sex he just had. I didn’t see her leave, but I know he never lets a girl stay over, so either her stealth level is top notch or he made her climb out of the window.

The six-pack appears once again and he rips one off, tossing it into my lap. With a snapping of its lid, I take a long, deep swallow. The cold beer runs down my throat and fills me with a comfort I’ve so craved. My eyes glaze over as Brant throws an arm over the back of the couch and flips on the TV.

I read the captions for two minutes before growing bored.

It doesn’t matter what’s on TV. Between the cold, wet can in my fist and the colors flashing over my face from the screen, I let the alcohol numb my incessant, invasive thoughts of that girl I shouldn’t be craving … a girl I can’t let stay over, a girl I’m letting climb out the window of my mind …

A girl still waiting for me on that stage with her jagged breaths …

A girl who finds me on this couch when my eyes finally close, her soft fingers dancing across my skin and sending currents of pleasure up my arms. A girl whose touch makes me so hard, my cock aches as it tents uncomfortably in my jeans. A girl whose pink, pouty lips hover tauntingly over my face, ready to make a slobbering, paralyzed idiot out of me.

A girl who is carefully, patiently taking me apart … one agonizing piece at a time.

I can’t contain my excitement, not even in acting class. My stomach’s doing cartwheels in the grass and my lips keep twisting into a smile that hasn’t gone away all weekend.

I don’t care if he’s deaf. He didn’t hear my song? No big deal. He
felt
it. I could see it in his eyes, which burned black with hunger, with need, with
danger
…

I don’t care about my friends’ warnings, either. Everyone has a
story
attached to them. Living in the limelight of my parents, I’m used to doubting every piece of gossip or hearsay that drifts past my ears and eyes. I’ve seen my mother blasted on enough slanted, click-bait articles to know not to trust rumors.

My phone buzzes. I glance down at a text.

NOT-VICKI

OMG Des, the cast list is up.

I gawp, pulled out of my thoughts of Clayton.
Already?
It’s only been two days. Who the hell casts a whole season of shows in two days?

ME

I didn’t expect it so fast.

NOT-VICKI

Yep.

Im stuck in costume history tho

:(

ME

I’m in acting.

Meet up afterwards?

NOT-VICKI

YESSS and then lets get some lunch

to celebrate!!!

I stow away my phone, worried that my acting professor Nina has caught me when I realize the room’s gone silent, but instead it’s just one of my classmates performing, being all dramatic and taking long, annoying pauses between his lines.

My mind drifts back to thoughts of Clayton, and the rest of the class period is forgotten.

I leave the black box eagerly. The world brushes past my face as I reach the cast list hanging off the rehearsal room door. A flock of eager students push one another out of the way to read its contents, much in the same way dogs fight over a bone. There is a moan of disappointment to my left. There is a cheer of victory to my right. There is silent pondering everywhere else.

And then there’s me. Two heads in front of me move apart, and through the sea of whispers and groans and hair, I finally see the names. I rub my eyes and stare, reading the name at the top a dozen times. I don’t believe what I’m reading.

“Congrats,” murmurs Eric, who I didn’t notice at my side.

I shake my head. “But I didn’t think—”

“You obviously earned it,” he says, offering me a smile. “And hey, look. I’ll be playing the town drunk, Simon! But we don’t have any scenes together …”

“That’s great,” I tell him distractedly, still reading and rereading my name on that list.

“You know what the secret to acting drunk is? It’s to try
not
acting drunk.” Eric laughs hollowly. “I’ll see you later, D-lady.”

I still can’t believe it. It has to be a mistake, right? “Bye,” I say belatedly, then realize that Eric’s already gone.

And it’s not only that I was cast; it’s the
role
I was cast in. I shake my head, unable to comprehend it. Maybe this is an error, surely. Maybe there’s another Desdemona Lebeau in the Theatre department.

To make matters worse, not twenty seconds after Eric’s ghostly departure, Victoria replaces him at my side. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” she sings excitedly, her eyes eagerly scanning the cast list.

I get the pleasure of having a front row seat to observe my friend’s face as it slowly, gently collapses in disappointment.

“Wow,” she mutters after some time, the pain evident on her face. Then, she squints, something occurring to her. “Lebeau …” she reads.

Oh, fuck.

She turns to me, a look in her eye. “Lebeau?” She’s piecing it together. “Any relation to—?”

“No,” I blurt a little too quickly.
Of course she’d know my family; she knows everything.
“There’s lots of Lebeaus in New York. Like, tons.”

“Hmm.” Though the dubious glint remains in her eye, she gives a shrug and says, “Congrats, Dessie. Honestly, I didn’t know you were going for the role of Emily.” She tries her best to sound composed. “Of course, you totally fit the role. I mean, you’re pretty and all.”

Now I can’t tell if she’s sincerely complimenting me or just being a bitch. “Thanks,” I say anyway.

“I gotta get to class,” she blurts, although I know her next class isn’t for another two hours. “I’ll see you back at the dorms later.” Then with a tiny smile that looks like a grimace, she’s off.

So much for our lunch plans.
I’m about to shout after her, explaining that I wasn’t even going for the part, that I didn’t indicate “Emily” as a preference on my audition form, but saying that would probably just make things worse, admitting I got a part I didn’t even want. The part
she
wanted. The lead role.

The … lead role.

Suddenly, that fact hits me as if it weren’t already made plain.
The lead role.
Oh my god. I just got the lead in the first main stage production of the year. That’s how good they thought I was.
This has to be an error,
my mind keeps telling me, but a sudden whirlwind of confidence seems to take over instead. Maybe I’m still riding the high from my show on that tiny circular stage last Friday night.

Quite suddenly, whatever wrinkle of guilt I was feeling is long gone.

“I got the part!” I say elatedly into the phone when I’m by myself in the corner of the lobby, just outside the auditorium doors.

“Of course you did, doll,” sings my mother’s fluid voice. I hear wine glasses and silverware tinkling in the background, wherever she is. “Now, it’s important that you put in an actor’s worth of work. No, I’ll take another chardonnay. Please, with some brie.”

I smile as I stare out the tall glass windows of the lobby, letting my mom talk to whoever else it is who’s got her attention. I’m watching some sweaty guys throwing a Frisbee back and forth in the courtyard outside, too happy with the news to be bothered by my mom’s distracted attention to it.

As a side thought, I genuinely wonder if Cece would be happy for me and have some nice words. She’s not used to
me
having any sort of success. Maybe I should call her up, too.

“An actor’s worth of work?” I prompt her when it sounds like she’s free. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, you know, doll. Listen to your director. Make interesting choices. Don’t upstage. Excuse me, this is
not
the chardonnay I drank earlier. Where’s the good stuff, sweet thing? Get Geoffrey, he knows what I like. And don’t forget the brie.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Brie, yes.
Brie
. This’ll be good for you, doll,” she says, returning to me. “You really need to find that special voice in you. Put in the work and you’ll get as much as you give. Call me after your first rehearsal.”

Silence greets my ear when she hangs up abruptly. I see a flash of my mom’s headshot on the screen before my phone goes dark.

I feel so damn invincible suddenly. I could take on a hundred auditions, even with my tiny little nothing embellished piece of crap résumé. I’d brave any tiny circular stage at any random piano bar and sing my heart out. I can do anything.

And then I see Clayton’s face in that piano bar. I recall how I made him
squirm
on that barstool—and then how he left so abruptly after I made my move.

A heaviness settles right on top of all of my joy. He couldn’t hear my singing. Maybe he didn’t know what I was doing. Maybe he thought I was mocking him. Maybe he hates attention. Who the hell knows what he was thinking after my little performance?

I want to make things right. Excitement invades me again. An inspiration, if you will. My heart grows lighter just thinking about it.

I can make this right.

Driven by my idea, I rush to the computer lab at the library just down the road from the School of Art. It’s pretty crowded for a Monday, but I manage to find an unoccupied computer right in the middle of the madness. Typing quickly, I log in and run a little search in the browser. I study the pictures that come up, curious. With a click, a video fills the screen. I move my hands, carefully trying to imitate what I’m seeing. There’s a few students nearby whose attention I’ve caught, but I pay them no mind, the performer in me ignoring the unintended audience.

The smile returns to my face. Today is just the best day ever.

The sun beams on me as I cross the campus later, heading for the University Center for a bit of lunch. Since Victoria forgot about our plans, I opt to eat by myself. I’m far too happy to feel bad. It’s not my fault I got cast and she didn’t. If I could give my part to Victoria, I totally would, but what would
I
have, then? The whole point of attending this university is to get a normal college experience and hone my craft. I’m sure Victoria will understand; she just needs time. Hell, maybe in a few days’ time, she’ll even help me with my lines. Victoria’s a good, kindhearted person.

After I pay for my turkey sub sandwich, which comes with a bag of baked potato chips and a soda I didn’t want but accept anyway, I search for an empty table. Noon is just the
worst
time to eat; this place is so packed, I can’t even hear my own thoughts.

When I come around the corner, I spot a booth with a familiar face. Sam, my roommate, is eating all by herself. Or, rather, she’s not eating at all. She’s seated there with a textbook spread out in front of her, looking bored as ever. Those ugly thick-rimmed black glasses swallowing half her forehead, she looks up, her beady black eyes finding mine. Her lips stretch into a long line, which I think is her trademarked version of a smile.

I plop down across from her. “Hey there, Sam!”

“Hi.” Her eyes drop down to my sandwich.

It doesn’t go unnoticed. “What’re you studying?” I ask, opening the crinkly wrapping to my turkey sub.

“Theory.”

Since my sub’s cut in two pieces, I lift the first half to my mouth and take a bite. “It’s so freaking busy in here,” I whine through a full mouth. “And so loud!”

“Yeah.” She swallows, staring at my hands.

“Have you eaten already?” I ask her.

“Yeah. I had … breakfast.”

I don’t know how, but I suddenly suspect that my roommate skips meals and saves every penny she’s got. Maybe her parents’ weekly-or-monthly allowance is regrettably meager at best. Maybe she
didn’t
eat.

“Y’know, I’m not gonna be able to finish all this,” I confess. “Want the other half of my sub?”

“Oh.” Sam shifts in her seat. “No, it’s … it’s okay. I’m not that hungry.”

“Well, guess that second half’s gonna go to waste.”

She stares at it dubiously. I nudge the remaining half of the sub I was totally planning on eating toward her. After a moment of hesitation, she picks it up and takes a bite. From the way she eats, it’s clear how very hungry she was indeed.

Not to say the sight of her scarfing down the sub is the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. I suffer staring at a speck of mayonnaise on her chin for a solid five minutes before she wipes it and licks it off her finger.