“You think this is about you?” she shouts. Tears run in rivulets down her cheeks. Her hair is wild and a little frizzy.
“No.” I shake my head. When she recoils further, I clench my fists at my sides and plant my feet to the stage, willing myself to stay there. “Fuck, Harlow. I want to help you. Tell me about William. Tell me why you are crying. Talk to me!”
I know she can see it, that I am on the verge of tears now too. It’s weird how she brings out things in me I didn’t even know existed. Every time she looks my way, she unlocks another door to my soul. And here I thought I didn’t have one.
“Please.” I close my eyes with the word.
“Why are you confusing me?”
My eyes pop open with her question. I can see it now. She doesn’t want me to see her like this. She thinks she looks weak. She doesn’t. She looks fiercely beautiful.
She steps forward, ire igniting her gaze. She stabs me with her index finger, still holding her violin. “Stop this, Ian. You can’t be sexy and funny one minute and then mean the next. I don’t know if this is a game or…”
“No.” The word slices through the air. “You are not a game. This isn’t a game.” I reach a hand out, holding her finger where it stabs at the center of my chest. “You’re the only thing real anymore, the only thing that matters.”
As the words tumble from my mouth, I know they are true. She looks at me, her eyes wide. Can I blame her? I am even more capricious than normal lately.
“Why do you keep saying things like that?” she breathes, taking a step away from me. “You don’t get to say beautiful things like that to me. It’s not fair, Ian.”
I step forward. I want to hug her, hold her, kiss her. “I never said I played fair, Stormy, and I’d do anything, give anything, to have you.”
“You don’t know me.”
“I feel like I’ve known you my entire life, like my soul has been searching for yours.”
God, when did I become such a pussy? She shakes her head, sending her blonde locks swaying.
“Stay away from me, Ian.” It sounds like she is begging. “Please. This will only cause us both pain.”
She runs offstage and slams the exit door behind her as she leaves. I don’t know how I will survive because she just ran away with my heart.
11
Harlow
I leave the library as the dusk of evening bleeds amber light across the argyle carpet. I am headed to my dorm, doing my best to not think about whatever happened between Ian and me the night before. This morning, he shoved one book—just a single book—off my desk, as though he could barely be bothered to comply with his stupid Rules or look at me. Like a freak, I miss the contact.
Him playing the piano? Well, he’s full of surprises, only I don’t want to be surprised. I want to hate him. It would be so much easier if I just hated him.
Maybe it was stupid and juvenile to run away, but being near Ian, the real Ian, scares me, and it’s not because I see darkness there. It’s because I see light, and that light calls to me. I can relate to it. It draws me in and blinds me with its brightness.
“Harlow,” Archie calls, dragging me from my thoughts, “hold up.”
Molly continues ahead of me as I wait for my lab partner.
“Are you here to tell me a good time to meet up for the assignment?” I ask, my lips drawn together in a tight line. He’s been putting it off all week. Today’s Friday, and it’s due on Monday.
Archie shakes his head, and I start away down the hall. He reaches out a hand and gently grabs my forearm, stopping me. I raise an eyebrow at him.
“Come to my game tonight,” he says, “and I’ll meet you at the lab first thing tomorrow.”
“Seriously?” I cross my arms over my chest, which draws his attention down to my breasts. I uncross them quickly. “You want me to go to your football game?”
Archie nods, giving me a brilliant smile that thaws my frozen heart a little. I have declined his invitations to hang out after school, including when he promised me a trip to Paris for the weekend. That one, I admit, was difficult to pass up. I am constantly building barriers between me and him, trying to shield Molly with my walls, but he just set off a block of C-4 and obliterated freakin’ everything.
I admire his effort.
“And you’ll do the lab?” I ask. “I have your word you will do the lab?”
Archie laughs, holding up his hands in innocence like he hasn’t been the one avoiding our mandatory assignment for days. “I promise, Harlow. I will do the lab if you come to the game and you cheer for me.”
I roll my eyes, though my lips twitch upward. He is so ridiculous sometimes.
“All right,” I say. “I’ll go to the game, but you better be at the lab tomorrow morning, 7 o’clock sharp.”
I point my index finger at him to stress my point.
“You’ll disturb my beauty sleep,” he bemoans, kicking the heel of his loafer back and forth across the floor, before he snaps his head and grins at me. “Okay, offer accepted.”
I hold out my hand to shake on it as though it will make our arrangement legally binding or something.
He stares at my outstretched hand and pinches his eyebrows together. “No,” he scoffs, “none of that.”
He grabs my outstretched hand and tugs me toward him. I stumble forward, a laugh falling from my parted lips. Are we about to hug it out in the middle of the hall?
Archie stares down at me, grinning like he is absolutely up to no
