Always Never Yours(31)
“You raise an excellent point,” I concede. Still thinking about yesterday, I grab his hand and stop him outside the art closet. His eyes light up. Wasting no time, he follows me inside and closes the door.
* * *
Twenty-two minutes later, I straighten my skirt and step out into the hall. Will places a hand low on my back, and we head to the quad. We find Tyler and Madeleine, Owen, Jenna, and a few juniors I know on the hill outside the drama room. Without warning, Will sweeps his arm behind my back, dips me slightly, and kisses me. With tongue.
When he pulls back, he’s grinning. “Too bold?”
I place a hand on his chest. “It’s Megan Harper you’re talking to, remember?”
He laughs and follows it up with a quick kiss. “I’ll see you after rehearsal.”
“You better,” I warn. I sit down between Madeleine and Jenna, my eyes on Will as he walks into the Arts Center.
“Where’s Will going?” Madeleine asks next to me. I notice she looks genuinely disappointed. One of the things I love about her is, not only does she comfort me through every breakup, but she’s excited every time I date someone new—no matter how often that is.
“He had to finish some set design.” I give her a fake pouty look, which she returns.
“You mean we don’t get to watch you make out for the rest of lunch?” Owen dryly laments. “How will we survive?”
I grab one of Madeleine’s celery sticks and chuck it at Owen. He catches it to his chest and promptly eats it. Madeleine, looking mildly indignant, moves her celery farther from me. “Have you guys talked about it yet?” she asks. “You and Will? Walking you from class, that looked like boyfriend stuff.”
I shrug. “Not yet. We’re taking it slow.”
I hear a low chuckle from Tyler, and I’m surprised to notice Owen shoot him a look, his expression hardening. “What did that mean?” Owen asks flatly.
Tyler glances between Madeleine and me, recognizing the indelicate position he’s put himself in. “I’ve just never known Megan to take it slow,” he finally says haltingly.
I hardly have time to be offended before Madeleine puts a hand on my knee. “With a guy who looks like Will, I know I wouldn’t.” It’s a remark aimed to irritate Tyler, and from the way he stiffens and crosses his arms, I know it worked. “What’s he like?” she continues in a gossipy tone.
“He’s funny, and he’s confident . . .” I begin, only too happy to brag about my new boy-whatever. “And he’s the best kisser ever.” I don’t look at Tyler, but he knows I’m talking to him.
“Sounds like this one might last out the month,” he sneers.
Madeleine whacks his shoulder, staring daggers at him. It’s sweet of her, but the damage is done. It’s one thing for me to joke about my short-lived romances—it’s something else for people like Tyler to think I’m the flighty one in my relationships. I might enjoy the flings, the fooling around, the green-room make-outs, but I’m never the one to keep them from developing into meaningful relationships. I get up to leave, no longer in the mood to talk about Will, and catch sight of Owen watching Tyler furiously.
I throw my bag onto my shoulder. “Don’t be a dick,” I overhear Madeleine hiss. I ponder where exactly I’m going to go, but the bell rings, deciding for me.
* * *
“Why, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline, torments him so that he will sure run mad.”
Anthony’s strutting across the small stage in the drama room, delivering his lines with his characteristic panache. I’m sitting in the front row, next to Owen, the play open on my lap in a feeble effort to look like I’m memorizing my lines. Tyler’s a couple of rows behind me, obnoxiously rehearsing for a group of enraptured sophomores, but I’m trying not to dwell on what he said during lunch. Instead, I’m determined to sort out something else bothering me.
Anthony’s been avoiding me since the party. Every day, he rushes out of rehearsal before I have the chance to talk to him, and he hasn’t replied to a single one of my texts. I have no idea why. I know he’s hurt about Eric, but it feels like he’s upset with me, too.
“Farewell, lady, lady, lady.” Anthony says his final line, and Jody waves him off stage, dismissing him. I sit up straighter and try to catch his eye. It works—for a moment. But then his eyes dart from mine, and he ducks out the side door.
“We’ll do Act Two Scene three next,” Jody declares, breaking my concentration. It’s not one of mine, but even though I’m dying to follow Anthony, I can’t leave until Jody dismisses me. Owen gets up and walks to the front of the room, where Tyler’s waiting on stage. I realize it’s a Friar Lawrence scene, and immediately I feel for Owen. Every week, he’s the only person who gets more nervous than I do on stage.
Today, something’s different.
Owen’s script doesn’t shake in his hands, and he’s not fidgeting with his sweater the way I know he sometimes does. Good for him, I think to myself. I remember dancing with him at the party—when Owen dives into something, he’s kind of inspiring.
I pull out my phone. I’ll have to redouble my efforts with Anthony. I work on composing yet another hopeless text, but it’s next to impossible when I don’t know why he’s dodging me.