London

I read over the saved post on my blog, Love Yourself More, and then hit publish before closing my laptop. It’s the one thing I have been able to hide from my parents, but obviously not from Maddox. It’s been the place I have vomited all the feelings and lessons they have taught me.

My following is big. Like, way bigger than I ever imagined. And all through high school, it was the one way I have been able to connect with people who have the same interests as me.

I just told them all that I will be taking a break, and I would miss them. I plan on doing just that, because I know being someone other than London Fields will allow that to happen.

I put away the laptop in the top drawer of my desk, close it, allowing its security, and walk out to the common room.

Sitting on the couch in a room that I know will soon be shared with others, I am excited yet nervous. I have an hour before I meet them. Lisa’s a soprano from Tennessee. Her best friend Christy is also a soprano. Jamie is an alto from Mississippi. I’m a mezzo. All of us are enrolled in the musical theatre program, working to earn a Bachelor’s Degree in the Fine Arts. Not all of us are focused on the same part of the theatre industry, but we have a lot in common.

We have all maintained good—no, great—grades; otherwise, we wouldn’t have been accepted into Syracuse University. We all play an instrument, have some acting experience, have taken dance classes since we were much younger, and can sing.

I’m hopeful it will be a better experience as college students than high school drama club where you collect phony “congratulations,” and then the whispers they think you can’t hear.

“She got the part because of her father,” Joan said.

Maxine snickered. “Her stepfather, you mean. He’s not even her real dad. Her real dad is dead.”

I remember the immediate sting in my eyes, the lump in my throat, and walking as fast as I could to get to the bathroom so that no one would see me cry.

From that day, in sixth grade, Mom was always there to explain to me the whys. Why people are so mean. Why they think I’m not good enough. Why they hate me so much.

I’m happy for them, so why can’t they just be happy for me?

“You have to love yourself more, London. More than their words, more than their actions, more than how they make you feel. You have to love yourself more than anyone in the entire world. Without self-love and knowing who you are, all those things you work hard to achieve will be tainted by all those whose opinion you value over your own. Don’t ever give them that power.”

I didn’t like her explanation. It didn’t answer the questions I asked, the whys.

“You’ll never truly understand other people’s actions until you’ve walked in their shoes.” She gave me a sad smile, and then Brody cleared his throat as he walked in the room.

Through tears and, yes, anger caused by the confusion of a child, I looked up at him as he sat beside me on the opposite side of the couch.

He threw his arm around me and leaned down, kissing the top of my head. “And some people’s shoes, little princess, are just not worth walking in.”

I also remember overhearing him later asking Mom, “Who the fuck are these kids?”

“It’s not the kids fault, Brody. It’s learned behavior from their parents.”

“I’m gonna kick their fathers’ asses.”

“No, you’re not. You’re gonna help me teach her how to be better.”

“Whose gonna teach them?” he growled.

“They aren’t our priority. She is. We need to make her stronger.”

“Shouldn’t have to be, Em. She’s a good kid, kind heart, and...and I am her father.”

For a year, I looked at the shoes of the kids who were nasty to me or others. The problem was, some had the same shoes I did, so I still didn’t understand.

The next year, I didn’t just get the lead in the middle school play again, I got a part in the high school one, as well. While standing there, looking at the cast list, I smiled, until I heard the whispers again. This time, it wasn’t just silly middle schoolers, but high schoolers.

When I got home, I was too quiet. Mom and Dad kept looking at me, but at this point, I was getting tired of answering the same question every time I came home from school after dealing with that sort of thing.

After Lexington was in bed, Brody called me into the living room. When I walked in, he hit the remote and the TV lit up.

He patted the couch next to him. “Come sit and watch this with me?”

Wicked began, and I was whisked away to a memory of the very first time Mom, Brody, and I had gone to see a show on Broadway. I got swept up in it, no longer sulking, but enjoying the music and the moment.

Lying in bed that night, there was a knock at the door before it was opened.

Brody walked in and stood against the doorframe. “Remember I was worried about going to the show that night?”

“Yep, so we got you a disguise.” I smiled, remembering how silly he looked.

“Remember how when we left the show, I didn’t care who saw me?”

I nodded.

“That show taught me some things.”

“What?” I asked.

“There is no reason to hide. It’s okay to be different.”

I sat up as he walked over. “What else?”

Sitting down, he smiled. “Stand up for what you believe in.”

“And?”

“Don’t be a bully, but speak your mind. You could end up being the reason a person’s character changes.”

“And?” I asked, wanting more.

“How about you tell me something you learned?” he asked, lying down.

Flopping back, I pondered the thought. “Be strong.”

He nodded.

“Fight for what’s in your heart.”

He smiled and nodded again. “Music is in your heart, London.”

Feeling better, I smile and nodded.

“You think you could get some sleep now?” he asked before giving me a peck on the cheek.

“Yeah, Dad, I think I can.”

He walked to the door, and it was then I saw Mom standing in the doorway.

She smiled as she walked toward me. Bending down, she kissed my cheek and whispered, “Love you more, London.”

“Love you more, Mom.” I yawned away all the worry.

At the door, she turned back and smiled. “Defy gravity, London.”

I nodded and smiled, and then she turned off the light.

“Never let them bring me down,” I whispered before I fell asleep.

---

I have no idea how time can move so slow, but it does. I find myself walking out into the eighth floor’s common room and pacing between it and the door to the quad.

When the door opens, I stop pacing, shake off all anxiety, and smile as I wait for the person behind an incredibly tall stack of boxes to show their face.

“Oh, hell,” I hear a man’s voice as the boxes start to tip.

I hurry toward him and bend down to help.

“Oh, I’ve got this,” he says, standing up. His head collides with my eye, and I fall back, right on my butt. “Oh, hell.”

Covering my eye that is seriously throbbing, I snicker.

“Are you all right?” he asks.

I look up. He’s tall and thin; with blond, wavy hair; very soft, kind brown eyes; and a genuine smile.

“I’m fine,” I say, accepting his hand as he pulls me up.

“Let me have a look.” He tilts my chin up to get a better look. “Son of a gun, that’s gonna bruise.”

“It’s fine,” I say, stepping back. “Let’s get this all picked up.”

“But—”

“You better let me help,” I interrupt him with a chuckle. “Soon enough, this floor is going to be full, and all your things are going to be scattered around here like...” I pause and pick up a book, a vocal selection book, Wicked. “This was the first Broadway show I ever saw.”

“I saw it here in Syracuse with my mother.” He smiles, and I notice his eyes dancing.

“Are you first year musical theatre?” I ask, excited I have met my very first fellow freshman.

He shakes his head. “Third year.”

“But you’re in a freshman dorm?”

He laughs. “I’m Fletcher Reeves, one of the RAs.”

“No way.” I grin at him as I continue helping to fill the boxes that have spilled.

“I’m supposed to be helpful, not hurtful.” He sounds a little upset.

“I’m fine.”

“What’s your name?” he asks, lifting the first box as he stands.

“Elle Fields, resident of Lawrinson and first year musical theatre,” I say, lifting another.

He smiles and nods toward the hall. “Well, Elle, remind me I owe you a favor...and an ice pack.”

After setting the first two boxes in his tiny room, he sighs and looks at me. “We need to get this taken care of.”

“We need to get the boxes put away first.”

“You’re a sweet girl, Elle. I hope this place doesn’t change you,” he says, holding the door open for me as I walk out.

“How will it change me?” I ask as we walk back to his things.

“You seem a bit naïve.”

I laugh, and he smiles.

“That’s not a put down.”

“Okay.” I squat down and gather more books.

“City life changes a person, but not as much as being a little fish in a big pond.” I follow him as he continues, “Freshman year sucks. No on-stage time. You’re behind the scenes. Hard to get used to when you’re used to the spotlight.”

“I don’t mind being out of the spotlight, trust me.” I laugh to myself at the depth of the truth in my statement. “I wanna learn every part of theatre.” And I wanna blend.

Once everything is in his room, he grabs his keys from his pocket. “Go have a seat. I’m going to grab an ice pack from the first-aid closet.”

Holding the ice pack on my eye, I listen to Fletcher tell me what to expect as a first year. Singing, dancing, acting, liberal arts requirements, and theatre history. He talks about how much he loved learning the history of some of his favorite shows. Then he talks about how hard it was being part of the technical side of the student and community shows in the area, the “job” part and not the fun part.

When students begin to come in with their parents, he stands up. “Thanks for letting me chew your ear off, Elle.”

“Thanks for giving me the verbal tour,” I joke

He stops and looks at me. I fear he may recognize me, although Mom and Brody have made sure I am not in any national news or tabloid stories for the past three years. However, there is nothing anyone can do about the high school and community shows I have been in. Then he smiles and shakes his head.

“You’re an absolute doll, Elle.”

“Well, thank you.” I smile back.

I recognize Jamie. Brown hair, mocha skin, an average height, and wow, she has curves. Perfect freaking curves, I think to myself. She’s alone, which totally makes me deviate from my plan to stay out of the room and allow proper goodbyes with my roommate’s families.

I jump up, trying to hold my excitement at bay, but I fail as my feet move quicker than my mind wants to allow to help her with her things.

As the rest of the people in the elevator move past her, she laughs. “Well, pardon me.” Her southern accent is thick and adorable. She’s smiling, and I can’t help smiling, too.

“Let me help you with that,” I tell her as she wobbles and one of the two bags she has draped across her starts to slip from her shoulder.

“Elle?” she asks, though it sounds like she said Al.

I smile as I nod.

She hugs me, and I adore her already.

Then she steps back. “Hope I didn’t offend. Was warned my southern hospitality may not be so welcomed up here in New York, where y’all don’t have the sun year-round to keep your hearts warm.” She starts to fall. “Oh, dog-gone it!”

I grab for her, and we end up in a pile on the floor, laughing as the elevator door opens.

I immediately recognize Lisa and Christy, who obviously notice us, too. Christy squeals and drops her things, then falls dramatically into us, yelling, “Cuddle puddle!”

Lisa stands with her mouth covered, attempting not to laugh as she glances at her parents and tries to hide her amusement, before Christy grabs her hand and pulls her down with us.

I hear a familiar laugh and look up and see Fletcher, our RA, looking down at us.

“Elle, I’m going to make a note in your file of how easily you sweep people off their feet.”

“When he fell from the ugly tree, he missed every dang twig on the darn thing,” Jamie giggles a whisper in my ear. “Dang near perfect.”

Once inside our home for the next four months, we straighten up in no time as we all help each other put things in their place.

When Lisa’s parents are leaving, I decide to leave the room, Jamie following along, then Christy comes out seconds behind us.

“Giving them some time,” she says, catching up to us. “She’ll text when she’s done.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you.”

Sitting in the main common room, we watch as families move their students in. It’s heartwarming seeing their interaction. Some even make me realize I did not in fact have it much differently than everyone else.

After a few hours, we get to know each other pretty well. I have a little bit of a hard time keeping Elle, my SU self, and London’s, my real-life self, stories straight. It felt so wrong, but necessary. And honestly, at the heart of it all, nothing really was different. Well, except my name. I also changed my rock star stepdad into an accountant and said my stepbrother worked for him. And my half-sister, well, Lexi was still a pain in the butt, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Lisa is an only child, Christy is from a family of four, and Jamie is from a blended family of eight. Statistically speaking, as far as family types, race, and geography, we aren’t all that much alike.

Personally, as individuals, we couldn’t be more alike. Less than a day in and we have already deemed ourselves sisters. We love music, dance, being someone else on stage, and the ability to bring that character to life while hiding ours. We have all seen Wicked, and agree that it pretty much summed up high school. We all dreamed of Broadway, although we agreed to keep that part to ourselves. As lowly freshman, we feared judgement and the crushing of our dreams.

The other thing that made me hopeful that I may have found true friendship is that we all loved...love.

---

Dinner at Sadler Hall is much the same. Everyone talks excitedly about the program and being on our own. FINALLY.

I didn’t talk much, just observed, something I have done for as long as I can remember.

When I rub my cheeks, Jamie looks at me, “You okay, Elle? You haven’t said much.”

“My face hurts from smiling. I haven’t smiled this much since I did Legally Blonde my sophomore year,” I admit.

Christy laughs. “I haven’t smiled this much in...forever.”

“I think I’m gonna like it here,” Lisa says in a sing-song voice.

“Annie,” we all blurt out, recognizing the song’s tune and the words to the musical, which oddly, we all have been in.

She claps and nods.

“Well, I’ll be dipped in pig dung,” Jamie gasps, her fork hitting her plate.

We all follow her line of vision as a group of big—no, huge—guys walk in.

When my eyes meet his, I instinctively roll them. His lip twitches like he may smile, but he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. He rolls his eyes ever so slightly and keeps on walking.

“That has to be The Missing Links,” Jamie whispers as they all walk by our table.

“The what?” I laugh loudly and look at her as she scrolls through her phone.

“Football god, Logan Li—” She stops talking and blushes immediately when she looks up at me, then scans over me.

“Hey, Links, the freshies have already heard of you,” a voice from behind me says loudly.

“And...?” Logan huffs.

“Well, maybe we should get to know them.”

I close my eyes and look down as a chair, the one next to me, squeaks across the floor.

I don’t look up. I have no desire to cross paths with the football team.

None.

“Dude, what the fuck? I was gonna sit by her,” the guy who announced to all of Sadler and is now alerting those who may have missed the fact that our little, happy, non-drama, drama club may possibly be interested in the jocks.

“You fans?”

I know that smug, cocky, arrogant voice. It’s Logan.

I look up at him, needing to get the first words in. Otherwise, Jamie may say something in that southern, sticky sweet voice that makes them think it’s okay to join us.

It’s not.

His lip twitches again, and now those Caribbean blues twinkle, catching me off guard...momentarily.

“Can we help you?” I ask, raising my eyebrows.

He shrugs and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Dear God,” Jamie whispers. I hear it. So does he.

He bites the corner of his big, fat lip to stop from smiling.

“Heard you were a fan,” he says, rolling his eyes, looking up at the ceiling, and sighing. “Just thought I’d stop and say hey.” He looks back at me and leans in a bit too close. “Hey.”

God, he smells delicious, like leather and fresh-cut grass.

“Hey,” I want to say, because that’s the Logan who makes me dizzy.

I inhale a little deeper and it hits my nose, that scent of whatever cologne it is he wears when he’s being “social.” Like the inside of the Hollister store. As good as it smells on anyone else in the freaking world, though, it’s off putting on Logan. That scent brings back memories, like store-bought memories, like Logan’s dates memories, and their store-bought parts.

“Okay, you’ve said it. Now, don’t you need to go eat a side of beef or something?” I look away.

“Excuse me?” Logan huffs.

“To keep up that...size. You know, feed the muscles, starve the brain.”

All three of my new friends laugh.

“Well, damn.”

I look up as the voice that was beside me sits.

“This one’s got jokes. I like them feisty.”

“Fine line between feisty and bitchy, Mitch.” Logan tries to keep his annoyance at bay.

“Well, I can play whichever role is necessary,” I say, crossing my arms.

“And she’s into role-play.” Mitch wags his eyebrows at me.

My mouth drops open.

“I’m all for freshy friends, but I have no desire to play in the kiddy pool,” Logan says, and Mitch laughs.

“I run an equal opportunity pool myself,” Mitch retorts.

“Wow, you two are lame.” I push back my chair and stand.

“Are you leaving?” Christy asks.

“Going to use the bathroom. Suddenly, I feel nauseous.”