Pulled Read online

I flop down into the chair in front of her desk, tossing my bag hard onto the other one.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I hiss at her with more venom than she is owed. She looks at me wide-eyed, then purses her thin lips into a hard line.

  “Fine. I didn’t want to hear it anyway,” she replies quickly retrieving her glasses again. I can tell she has been stung.

  I’m a prick.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. I’ve just got a lot on my mind right now.”

  She smiles at me, letting me off the hook. She's cool like that.

  “Well, you're about to have a lot more on your mind” She slides over a flier with the audition notice. The words ‘come prepared to move’ are highlighted in yellow.

  “You sure you still want to do this show without words?” I ask, shaking my head at her and her crazy ideas. “It's not too late, you know.”

  She glares at me and grabs the flier out of my hands.

  “Yes, I'm sure. With our combined dance skills, this show is going to blow people’s minds.” She sits back in her over sized office chair that practically swallows her small frame and smiles. “That’s why I hand-picked you to be my Assistant Director, you know? You really are an amazing dancer.”

  “And here I thought it was because of my boyish good looks,” I snort.

  She leans across her desk, all traces of amusement disappearing from her face.

  “Why aren’t you a dance major?” she asks. “Not that you aren't going to be a wonderful director, you are. But dancing is where your heart is. Even an old lady like me can see that.”

  Such a stupid question. I turn the left side of my face to her and point. “This is why I’m not a dancer,” I hiss.

  She starts blathering something about how I'm always hiding behind my scar. Blah, blah, blah. I've heard it all before from too many people. I'm not about to take it from her too.

  Frustrated, I lie and say I'm late for my shift at the bookstore. I leave before I have to see the pity seep into her eyes.

  Back at my apartment I pull a veggie burrito out of the freezer, toss it in the microwave, grab a water from the fridge and flop down on the couch, trying my best not to think. I take my time eating, concentrating very deliberately on each bite, ignoring the fact that Naya's face keeps popping into my head every time I close my eyes.

  I take my time washing my one cup from this morning, spending a good five minutes filling the sink and squirting on the liquid until it forms a foamy hill. After it's been thoroughly dried and put away, I look around my empty apartment and feel absolutely alone.

  Needing a distraction, I take out my script and start pouring over the pages of notes Elizabeth and I have worked on during the summer.

  She got her insane idea for the show last year when she flew to Chicago to visit her sister. At a little no-name theatre there she saw a production of Anton Chekhov’s The Seagull done without words, just music and movement--and she was sold. All thoughts of doing the fall show straight were abandoned from that point on. She called me the second she got back into town and asked me to be her assistant director.

  Elizabeth is one of a handful of people who know that I can dance. For obvious reasons, I dance only in private. For most of my freshman year I had managed to go unnoticed; until last spring. It was semester break and the campus was deserted, so it should have been a safe time to dance, but Elizabeth had had the same idea, bursting into the same studio I was in. She apologized for intruding, but asked if we might share the space. I was about to politely decline when she put on some Celtic music I'd never heard before. The tracks were so haunting and full of sorrow and loss that I couldn't stop myself. For some reason I was comfortable with Elizabeth. She never once diverted her eyes when looking at me. It was surprisingly refreshing.

  From then on, we would meet during semester breaks to dance, each bringing in music the other had never heard. As a result of those times, we became close. In fact, this summer, she even invited me to dinner with her and her husband, a jazz musician, at their beach house.

  It was the type of house I would love to have. Although it was small, just one bedroom, it was perfect. The best part about it were the walls. Every square inch was covered with family photos in mismatched frames. Snapshots of weddings, reunions, smiling little children and couples who looked too perfect to be real. I remembered thinking that the pictures were a testament to the idealistic life they had led. And I couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy.

  “Your family must love coming here to spend time with the two of you,” I had said, looking at one frame with a small child and a dog running in the sand.

  She smiled a sad smile and took a small sip of her wine.

  “They would. If I had any.”

  “Oh, but I thought...well, all the pictures on the wall...”

  Elizabeth sighed. “They came with the frames. The house felt empty before I put them up.” She got up and slipped outside and stood with her feet buried in the sand.

  We never spoke of that moment again, but I understood then that we had a common hurt. Each of us longing for something we could never have.

  Chapter 2

  Naya

  Dreamless sleep; a luxury not often afforded me. I wake up feeling refreshed and refueled, not worried in the least about the sun’s position in the sky indicating it is already late morning. Fortunately for my alarm clock, its death is not imminent for failing to go off, because my first and only class of the day doesn’t start until 2:00pm. Only day two and I already love college.

  Since Tuesdays are pretty full for Seth, it means that until dinner, I will be on my own. But it's not like I don't have anything to do. I already have a pile of homework waiting for me as soon as I buy my books, thanks to my Drama Lit Professor's daunting reading assignments.

  After showering, I resolve to make the most of my late morning to check out the library and bookstore before my stage make-up class this afternoon.

  Slipping on some jeans, a T-shirt and hoodie, I down a raspberry pop-tart and give myself a quick check in the mirror. Ugh. My hair is hopeless. Brushing it back, I pull on a headband in a feeble attempt to give it some life.

  As I put some chapstick on, my mind starts wandering, and I’m ashamed to admit that I find it in dangerous territory. I shudder, trying to shove Etash's image from my mind. I'm thankful that I won’t have to see him until tomorrow. Maybe by then, I’ll have a grip on myself because right now, I have bigger things to think about--much bigger. Like what I am going to tell Seth about our conversation last night.

  ‘The talk’ had started innocently enough with us playing a few rounds of boxing on Seth’s wii, while he downed a few illegally-purchased beers. I was so bad at anything physical that it was actually comical, but I endured the embarrassment because I knew he enjoyed it. He had given up so much for me by enrolling here instead of going off to Florida State. I feel obligated to give him as much as I can, however trivial.

  It was after the third round of boxing when he finally turned it off, sensing my strained interest. He grinned at me devilishly, then threw me on his roommate’s couch.

  “Ow!” I groaned, as my head hit the armrest and his body crashed into mine.

  “Don't be such a wuss,” he said pulling his weight off me slightly. His lips curved into a smile and his eyes narrowed. I knew that look and braced myself for his kiss, but he surprised me. He sat up slowly and looked down at the floor. I sat up too.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  He looked momentarily lost in thought, spinning his empty beer can in his hand.

  “Nothing is wrong, well, not really.” He put the can down and started rubbing his hands together.

  “You’re scaring me,” I whispered. Oh God, please tell me he's not going to break up with me. I know I'm a head-case, but I can't be alone. I just can't.

  “Don’t be scared, stupid, I just…I just wanted to talk to you about something.” I opened my mouth to speak,
but he continued before I could. “We’ve been together for almost two years now, right?”

  “Yeah,” I said slowly.

  “And in that two years, we’ve stayed in the same damn place.”

  “What place is that?” I wonder out loud, hoping he wasn't thinking what I thought he was thinking.

  “Abstinence Alley,” he said, glaring at me. Ah, that place. “I get that you were shaken up after your parents died, and all, but shit, Naya, that was a long time ago.”

  Not that long ago. I couldn't seem to form any words so he kept going.

  “Two years is too long to wait for someone,” he said.

  This was it. He was going to break it off.

  “You're mine, Naya,” he continued. “I've picked the day it's going to happen.” A slow smile spread across his face. “I'm not going to tell you when. I want it to be a surprise.”

  “Oh,” I croaked. Although he didn't say it, he was giving me an ultimatum. Have sex with him or get lost. Didn't he get it? Didn't he understand? Didn't he realize how broken I still was? Didn't he know that I would never be ready for such intimacy? But then, if I refused him, I would really be alone. And that just wasn't an option.

  What I was going to do when the 'surprise' finally came consumes me for the entire walk to the library. It's all I can do to keep one foot moving ahead of the other one. I pray that the distraction of the library will help ease my worries.

  As I walk down the stairs into the library, however, I find my body is suddenly moving on its own accord, pulling me forward. The hair on my neck and arms start to stand at attention, causing my heart to begin sprinting. No, not again. My eyes begin searching frantically around the library for the one and only cause of this inexplicable hysteria.

  Etash

  I know I’m a complete and utter loser to confess this: but I love libraries. The smell, the silence, and the piles of knowledge just waiting to be consumed. Reading gives me a rush that I've only ever felt when dancing.

  Exchanging polite nods with the library staff who have grown accustomed to my visits, I head straight to the directing section at the back. Because this is a Performance Arts school, the Direction selection is, understandably, immense. It’s my goal to read every single one before I graduate.

  I grab the next book in my queue, Direction for the Directionless, and flip open to the audition section. Since we’re holding auditions tonight, it seems like a good idea to brush up on some techniques, even if I won’t be the one leading them.

  As soon as I crack the book open, however, I'm transfixed. I shut my eyes tightly hoping to ignore it: the pull. It comes on so fast it causes me to jump and I end up tossing the book right out of my hands. I don’t hear it land, though, because all I can hear now is her. Her heart beating wildly, the soft moan that escapes her lips, her breath coming in rapid succession in time with my own.

  When I'm finally able to open my eyes again, she’s there, only a few feet away from me. Just the sight of her causes my body to lunge forward. I have to grab onto the bookcase to anchor myself in place.

  Her scent washes over me, lavender and mint. The cologne is still there but it doesn’t reek as strong today. His subtle scent still infuriates me.

  “What are you doing to me?” I hiss at her, instantly regretting taking my hostility out on her.

  Naya

  What? He thinks I’m doing this to him? He's the one messing with me! I try to open my mouth to defend myself, but my lips won't form the words. All I can do is stare. It's surreal, looking at him. It's as though I've been gazing into his eyes for all eternity.

  It's only when I feel a hand on my shoulder that I even blink.

  “Naya?” Although I can't move my eyes to see her, I know that it's Kari, from acting class. I know it's rude not to answer her, but words are failing me.

  “Are you two okay?” She asks, waving her hand in front of my eyes to get my attention. It is only an instant, but our gaze is interrupted by her hand, and it frees us both from our mutual spell.

  Etash takes a few shaky steps back, never once lifting his eyes off the floor. He grabs his bag and thunders out the door.

  “Um, what the hell was that?” Kari asks, her expression mixed between worry and amusement.

  “I...I don't know,” I stammer.

  “Well whatever it was, it was smokin'!” She laughs, causing a librarian to shush us. Kari yanks me back onto one of the sofas in the corner.

  “So, you and the kid with scar, huh?”

  My eyes bulge out of my head. “No. No, it's not like that. I have a boyfriend, “ I blurt out.

  “Not for long you won't. Not with the way you two were looking at each other,” she grins smugly.

  “What are you talking about? How was I looking at him?”

  “Like you were about to rip his clothes off and throw him down to the floor! It was intense.”

  She waits for me to speak, but I can't. I can't even begin to register what she's just told me.

  Kari nudges my shoulder. “Looks like someone has fallen hard.”

  “No,” I insist. “It's not like that.” She raises her eyebrows. “It's true! I don't even know him!”

  “Didn't look that way to me.” She stands up and throws her bag over her shoulder. “See ya tomorrow.”

  In a daze, I sit on the couch, re-playing what just happened over and over again. What the hell was going on?

  Eventually, I'm able to get off the couch and go through the motions of looking for books, but it's like I'm sleepwalking.

  Before I know it, it's time for my make-up class. On auto-pilot, I shove a dollar bill into the vending machine, downing a raspberry Nutra-Grain bar in lieu of lunch, before I walk back to Stanley Hall.

  Once I enter the building, my senses seem to return. But by the time I find the room I’m looking for in this maze of a building, the door is already closed. Great. I am officially late. I shift the weight of my bag before grabbing for the door. At the same time, a heavy-set woman in her late twenties, early-thirties, grabs for the handle as well.

  “You late too?” she asks.

  “Yeah,” I blush. “I got lost.”

  “Been there, done that.” She gives me a kind smile before she swings the door open.

  There is a quiet chatter inside, indicating class hasn’t officially started yet. I manage to spy an empty seat close to the door and snag it. The woman I entered with doesn’t sit down, but rather, walks to the front of the room and writes: 'Professor Krane,' on the board. She shoots me a quick wink before she starts handing out the syllabus. Great first impression, Naya.

  As she goes over the outline of the year, I make a quick scan of the space. It’s small and filled with mirrored make-up stations along the walls. Under each mirror is a small desk. A dozen or so small lights frame each station. Cool. The chairs we’re sitting in are clearly meant to go with each of the stations, but are now angled toward the front of the room. I recognize a few of the faces from my other classes; their names, however, have escaped me.

  Turning my attention back to the professor, I notice my arm--and all the hairs that have just puffed up on them. Oh no. At that exact moment, there comes a loud scraping sound of a chair sliding against the floor from a few feet behind me. I turn my head away from the sound and into one of the make-up mirrors trying to ignore the possibility of his being in another class with me. But the mirror provides no escape. In its reflection I can see, quite clearly, who has made his chair scream. Etash is sitting four chairs back from me, a tortured look on his face. His hands grasp the bottom of his chair in a death-grip.

  “The make-up kits you’ll need for this class are available at the bookstore, if you haven’t gotten them yet,” Professor Krane's voice floats from far away.

  “Professor?” A large girl directly in front of me asks, “My kit didn’t have any spirit gum in it. Does that mean we won’t be doing any prosthetic work?”

  Brown-noser. I don’t catch Professor Krane’s answer though. My bod
y is much too focused on the pair of dark eyes currently boring a hole into the back of my skull.

  Unable to pull away from the mirror, I notice his frozen position. His back is pushed so far into his chair that I swear it might crack under the pressure. I try rubbing my arms hoping to will my stubborn hairs back in place without much success.

  But something is different: the overwhelming pull from earlier seems absent now, and I wonder if my proximity to him is the key. Hmmm? In acting class, I hadn’t felt 'possessed' until I sat right next to him. And in the library, I was fine until I got a few feet away from him. I wonder.

  Etash

  This is unbelievable! How is it possible that this girl is in every single class I'm in?

  Granted, I should have taken Make-up, along with Acting last year, but I was busy helping Mom get Grams settled into the nursing home.

  I can feel her eyes on me through the mirror. She's got her hair pulled back off her face today, showcasing more of her soft, ivory skin. Her lips part and she sighs, and I smell raspberry. She's been eating raspberry flavored something. How can I possibly know that?

  I’m so blindly consumed by this foolish girl's every movement that I don’t notice that there are people standing up all around me. It's too early for class to be over, so apparently we’re going somewhere. I wait for her to stand and go in front of me, but she just sits there, frozen; stubborn fool.

  Fine, if she won't move, I will. I’ll just follow the line, keep my eyes off her and walk as fast as I can past her. Easy.

  But the second I’m beside her, I find my legs won't budge. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her flinch. Grinding my teeth, I try desperately to move my feet.

  After what feels like an eternity, they do, but not of my own will. Someone has bumped into me, presumably unaware that I had just stopped dead in my tracks. The guy behind me doesn’t hit me hard, but it’s enough to get me free from her apparent pull on me.

  Once out the door, I jump to the head of the line, needing to keep as much distance between us as possible, ignoring the nagging ache in my stomach that gets stronger with each step I take away from her.