He’s sitting off to the side with Andrea, her hair still pulled up from rehearsing her Ophelia scenes

earlier, and they’re leaning close over a pair of still steaming mugs. And Riz is looking right at James

and I, giving us a look that I can’t quite place, but that I know isn’t good. Even Andie’s eyes are a little

sad, and I feel like kicking myself.

I turn back to James and give him a little push toward one of the empty tables on the other side of

the cafe. “Go. I’m getting us something to drink. And then we’re going to talk.” I don’t even wait to

listen to his reply before going to get my drink and something simple for him.

When I finally get to the table and sit down, putting his drink in front of him, I’ve been dealing with

Rizzo’s eyes on me for long, uncomfortable minutes. “Okay,” I jump in, not even giving him a chance

to ask about the play again, “now are you going to tell me why Riz is looking at me like I kicked his

puppy, or not?”

Chapter 8

Icebreaker

JAMES: At Nick’s words, my eyes immediately want to wander over to Rizzo’s table. I noticed his

slender figure the moment we walked in, I always do, but I’ve avoided actually looking over so far. And

I somehow manage to continue to do so now. Mostly by frowning at Nick. I surprise myself by

answering, even though it’s clearly none of his business. Although… maybe it is? “If you don’t know, I

can’t tell you.” I stare down at the coffee he brought me. But it doesn’t feel right to leave it there, so I

look up again. “You two are friends now?”

“The closest thing I’ve got to one. And he’d probably kick my ass for putting it that way. So we’ll go

with yes.” He gives me a strange little smile as he takes a drink of his own coffee. “And I’m not used to

people looking at me that way any more.”

“That makes me wonder if you actually used to kick puppies.” I smile grimly. “But if you need to

know, Rizzo hates my guts. So I guess we can safely assume that seeing one of his friends hanging out

with me is not his favorite sight in the world.”

Nick returns the smile, but shakes his head a bit. “No, no puppy kicking. Plenty of other shitty

things, but no puppy kicking.” His smile gets a little bigger for a second. “It’s a simile. I thought you’d

like it.” He goes serious again, though. “And okay. He hates your guts. Mind telling me why? ‘Cause he

sure as hell didn’t use to.”

I frown again. “Why do you want to know?” Like, is he really interested in this? Why would anyone

be?

He leans back in his chair, cradling his coffee as he looks at me. “Because I may not remember all of

last semester, but I do remember parts. I remember how much I hated you because of how he felt about

you. And now things are like that.” He jerks his head toward the table where Rizzo is still sitting. “So I

guess I’m just curious how you go from one to the other so fast.”

“Oh, that’s easy,” I reply a little too bitterly, too darkly. “You just do the right thing.” I know to Nick

that must sound more than a little cryptic, but I’m not sure I want to spill the whole story. It’s too

painful to think of still. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I did something he can’t forgive me. I wouldn’t

forgive me either if I were him. End of story.”

He gives me a look that clearly conveys how much he doesn’t believe me. “Right. End of story.

When you’re both still obviously messed up about it. You really think that’s the end?” He shakes his

head as he takes another drink of his coffee, making a quiet sound of disagreement into it.

I almost laugh, surprised. “What’s it to you? And I’m sure he isn’t… messed up about it.” I can’t

help but glancing over at Rizzo’s table after all, very briefly. “Is he?”

He raises his eyebrows at me, nearly choking on a mouthful of coffee. “Not messed up about it?

Hell, I thought the editor of the newspaper was supposed to be smart. I knew the second he tossed me

out that something was wrong, and I was on more shit than I can even list.” He looks over at Rizzo’s

table for a second too before turning back to me. “He ran out of that theater earlier like there was

anywhere in the world he’d rather be than there. And trust me, it’s not because he was afraid of talking

to Jeff.”

I swallow. Is he serious? Is Rizzo actually still unable to cope with this situation? Can’t he seem to

move on, as hard as he’s trying? Just like me? But he’s been acting so normal, doing his Rizzo thing.

From afar, he seemed exactly like he was before our paths ever crossed. I was sure that for him, this was

over. The possibility that it’s not makes my heart beat just a little faster. No, this is crazy.

“I guess not, but the fact remains that he hates my guts. And unless you’ve got any smart theories of

how that could ever change, it doesn’t make a difference.” I shrug. I don’t know Nick well enough to

trust him, even though I have a feeling that I could if I wanted to. But I’ve already said too much

anyway.

“Well I don’t know. When I screwed up, he was the one that showed up to talk to me. If he’s not

doing that for you, maybe you need to try.” He pauses, raising an eyebrow at me. “Have you even tried

that? I mean, if you want to try to work shit out. Hell, for all I know, you’re fine with him hating you.”

He gives me a look that says that he doesn’t believe that for a second.

Why do I feel like I’m getting scolded by Mom? Geez, enough with the guilt trip! Up until this

moment, I had no clue that the possibility even existed that Rizzo might still somewhere, deep down,

have feelings for me. Even if they consist of pure hatred. But what if Nick’s right, and they don’t? What

if Rizzo… No, I can’t even think that. It messes with me far too much.

“I’m not fine with him hating me. But that’s my problem, not yours.” Shit, that sounded too much

like a snarl, possibly. I try to soften it with a crooked smile. “Not that I don’t appreciate the insight.”

“Translation: Fuck off, Nick, I don’t want to talk about it.” He smiles, more to himself than at me.

“Fair enough I guess. And hell, maybe I’m wrong. It’s happened enough in the past.” He shrugs,

returning his attention to his coffee.

“Ack, no. I didn’t mean it like that,” I’m quick to assure him. “And even if you are wrong. I guess

you have a point. I should find out one of these days.” If I ever work up the courage to. I can already see

the door of Rizzo’s dorm room closing right in my face. That should be fun.

I lean forward a little. High time to change the subject. “Off the record - tell me more about the play?

What’s your favorite scene in it?”

He looks up from his coffee, and as his thoughts return to the stage, the blue eyes light up. Eureka.

* * *

I get back to my room two hours later, and I’m still somewhat surprised. Things like this don’t happen

to me. I don’t spend hours talking to perfect strangers about my life. I don’t make a connection like that

easily. To be honest, I don’t think I ever have. But once we’d gotten the initial awkwardness out of the

way, Nick and I got along surprisingly well. Rizzo’s little lap dog, as I used to call him in my head, isn’t

anything like I’d expected. Which makes sense, since I didn’t even recognize him at first. He’s

interesting to talk to, and I can’t say that about a lot of people.

The whole thing is so weird I even mention it to Mom when I make my usual call to check on her

that night. But it’s so typically me in a way, meeting someone who could be a potential new buddy I

could really like and open up to, mere months before I have to leave for Berlin. My first semester at the