Scott winks as he steps back then quickly busies himself packing up their table. I wander a several paces beyond the table with the ticket pinched between my thumb and index finger, my confidence muffled inside my chest, wanting to break free.
“You’re fucking kidding me. You took the last spot?” Theo’s disdain penetrates my numbness and I turn slowly to see him walking toward me.
I didn’t know you wanted to interview here. It’s not my fault I got the last ticket. Do you want me to see if we can go in together?
Instead of words, my mouth falls agape and my body flushes. Theo’s eyes bore into me, a mixture of ire and sadness. I can’t tell if he’s about to shout or cry.
“Unbelievable,” he finally utters under his breath, looking to the side and stuffing his hands into his pockets.
He’s wearing a gray suit with a crisp white shirt, a deep blue tie cutting down the center of his chest. He looks dapper, as if he’s pulled from the pages of a fifty’s magazine, when men combed their hair just right and had chiseled chins and swagger.
“I’m sor—”
He holds an open palm up at my face and pulls his cell phone from his other pocket, pressing the screen with his thumb. He morphs his hand-gestured-stop-sign into a fist then brings his hand to the bridge of his nose, pinching it as he turns.
“Hey, Mom. You’re not going to believe this . . .”
He begins to walk away, probably to take his conversation about what a bitch I am for stealing more from him away from my ears. Before he makes it more than a few steps, though, something takes over my body and my mouth, and I lunge forward, placing my hand on his arm and wrapping my fingers around his bicep. I can feel his muscle tense, even under the thick fabric of his suit jacket.
“Take mine.” I hold the ticket out and he stares at it, his mouth stopping mid-word to his mom on the phone.
“Really. I can go to a different table, a different interview. It’s not that important to me, but it is to you. So just . . . take it.” I shake the paper, my heart crushing.
It’s the most important thing I have left.
Theo’s brow draws in.
“I’ll call you back, Mom.” He ends his call and slips his phone back into his pocket, taking the ticket I’m offering in his other hand.
“Why?” He waves it between us slowly, taunting me.
I shrug.
“Because it’s . . . not that important to me.”
“Liar,” he fires back.
I open my mouth but snap it shut again, wanting to guard my words. I suck my lips in and look to my right, to the shrinking lines of students signing up for their futures. To the remaining tables manned by men in suits.
“Fine, it is. But it’s more important to you. I want to do something—”
“Don’t say nice,” he breaks in.
I swallow hard, this time choking down my building frustration.
Regret seeps into my subconscious, and as I stare at the ticket in his hand, I bite my tongue. I’m about to snatch it back when he pockets it and lifts his chin, drawing my eyes to his stern face.
“You better hurry; the other slots are filling up.” He nods toward the dwindling lines, and I follow his view, not even one appealing. By the time I turn back to face him, his back is to me and he’s walking away—toward what should have beenmyinterview. And the guilt I was trying to ease is still there like an open wound festering in my belly.
Chapter4
Theo
My pocket buzzes, probably my mom calling back after my quick end to our call. I don’t really feel like talking now. I could tell Mom wasn’t alone. She’s been meeting Neil for coffee more than I’d like her to. She always waves it off as politeness and healthy separation. The only news I’m interested in is a final divorce.
I press the silence button in my pocket and step up on the stage to the far back corner where the red and black banners are hung forThe Affiliatetable. A man and woman are speaking in hushed tones and the woman pauses, holding up a finger to me and mouthing one moment through her smile.
She looks like Anika. Her lips are crimson. Her nose has a small, jeweled stud.