Chapter Twenty-Five
“No. No no no no no.” Layla stood behind the temporary stage that had been set up in the student art gallery for the poetry slam, watching as the space filled with people. Including Evan.
What was he doing here?
She watched him take a program from the student stationed at the table by the door, glance at it, and make his way to a seat. Turning, she slipped behind some taller students so he wouldn’t see her.
This was bad. So bad.
Her poem on the program was about him. About their breakup. And he would know. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t—
Swallowing back the bile rising in her throat, she searched the space for Dr. Moore. She’d talk to him, explain that she couldn’t possibly recite her poem. He’d understand, right? He couldn’t be so cruel as to force her to expose herself like that with the subject of her poem in the room. Could he?
She twisted her fingers together, finally spotting him in the opposite corner talking with a group of students. When she reached them she cleared her throat, but the noise in the room overwhelmed her attempt to get his attention. So she tapped his arm.
Smiling down at her, he put his hands in his pockets. “What can I do for you, Layla?”
“Dr. Moore, I need to change my poem. I can’t do the one you want me to do.”
He placed his hands on her arms and squeezed a little, his brown eyes meeting hers. “Layla. I know you had reservations about this poem, but we already talked about this. This is your best work. It’s already in the program. You can do it. You’ll be fine. I promise.”
She shook her head frantically, her eyes widening with her need to convince him. “No, I can’t. I really, really can’t. You don’t understand. It’s—the poem—it’s about—“
“Deep breaths, Layla.” He cut her off, gesturing with his hand as he took a deep breath and let it out. “Come on. Take a deep breath. It’ll help you calm down.”
Breathing in through her nose, she expelled the air through pursed lips. She did feel calmer, even though that wasn’t quite what she’d been looking for. “Thanks. Okay. As I was saying, I need to switch poems. What about the one—“
With a shake of his head, he cut her off again, putting his hands back in his pockets. “I’m sorry, Layla. We’ve already agreed on the poem. No one’s changing at the last second.” His serious voice turned cajoling. “Besides, you need to give the world your barbaric yawp! This is it. You can do it.” He gave her arm one more bracing squeeze and left her standing there gaping after him.
Her barbaric yawp. Dear God in heaven, the man thought he was Robin Williams’ character in Dead Poets Society. If she wasn’t freaking out so much, she’d roll her eyes. But she didn’t appear to have a choice. She’d just have to make sure she didn’t look at Evan. At all.
She resumed her place cowering behind the stage to wait for her turn. Dr. Moore had put her about halfway through the scheduled program, which would last about an hour. After that they’d have an open mic for another hour, depending on how many people signed up. They were supposed to stay for the whole thing and be available to schmooze afterward, but no way was she doing that. She’d stay for the scheduled program, then say she was feeling sick and bail.
It wouldn’t be a lie. Her stomach roiled and her breath came fast, like she should start breathing into a paper bag. Vomiting and hyperventilating at the same time seemed like a really bad combo. But oh God, Evan is here.
The minutes dragged until it was time to start. Dr. Moore stood on the stage and gave a little speech about how much he loved teaching the poetry class and encouraged everyone to sign up for it the next semester. “We’ll have an intermission once we get through the scheduled program, and then the open mic set. So be sure to sign up at the back table. If we have more people sign up than we have time for, we’ll draw names. I hope you all came prepared to share your own beautiful words in this place of beauty.” He gestured around at the paintings and sculptures lining the space.
Did Megan have anything on display tonight? She’d have to glance around at intermission before she bailed. The first girl took the stage to a smattering of applause, her hands shaking a little with her nerves. She cleared her throat a few times before beginning to recite her poem.
Dr. Moore insisted they have their work memorized. A couple of her classmates had notecards, and she knew their professor wouldn’t be happy about that, but this was nerve-racking.
Maybe she could pretend that she got stage fright and forgot everything. That would solve all her problems.
Except for the problem of her grade. It’d be better to get docked for having a notecard than getting a zero for not reciting the poem. No, that wasn’t an option.
All too soon, the guy before her finished his poem and the audience clapped politely. One of her classmates nudged her as he got off the stage. “Your turn.”
Layla’s legs carried her up and onto the stage, feeling like she was in a dream. She didn’t remember deciding to go to the microphone, yet here she stood, with a sea of faces looking at her expectantly. Turning her face away from the mic, she cleared her throat, swallowing convulsively and wiping her trembling hands on the black skirt she’d paired with her sleeveless turquoise blouse and black ballet flats.
When she looked up, her eyes caught on Evan’s face. He waited, like the rest of them, his blue eyes focused on hers. She traced the contours of his cheekbones and strong jaw with her eyes, his full lips and heavy brows, his thick brown hair that felt like silk between her fingers. But no. She couldn’t do this if she was staring at him.
She closed her eyes, took a deep, steadying breath, and began reciting her poem. “You saw me. When I tried to hide, you looked past my walls, nudging your way inside until you were firmly entrenched.
“But you turned into a noxious weed instead of the beautiful rose I’d expected. And now I must uproot you. Dig deep inside my own soul to cut you out.”
Reciting the entire poem, she bared her soul to everyone, never faltering. When she finished, she opened her eyes, barely noticing the applause that filled the room as she hurried off the stage, almost stumbling in her haste. She’d kept her eyes closed through her entire poem, unable to look at anyone for fear of her eyes being drawn to Evan again. It was too much. This was all way, way too much.
Hands patted her shoulders and her classmates complimented her on her poem and delivery. Dr. Moore met her as she made her way to the side door, his eyes dancing with happiness. “See? I told you that you could do it. It was beautiful. Moving. Everything you could’ve wanted.”
She nodded, not feeling like arguing. Beautiful was good, but moving, not so much. Not with the subject matter. Not in front of all these people. She needed to get away now. To hide.
Forcing herself to meet his eyes, she gave a quick smile. “Thanks, Dr. Moore. Can you excuse me? I need to use the restroom.”
“Of course, of course. Be sure to come back. I’ll see you after.” He moved back to the main area to listen to the next student, and Layla left as quickly as she could without running.
Once in the hall she stopped, sinking to the floor next to the door with her face in her hands. Well, now Evan knew exactly how she felt after their breakup. The big question was would that stop him from trying to talk to her? Or make him try harder? With a shake of her head, she dropped her hands, let her head fall back against the wall, and stretched her legs out straight, making sure her skirt was in place.
Maybe she could stay here until it was all over. Dr. Moore would be looking for her by intermission, though. But if she stayed out until then, it might make her excuse that she didn’t feel well more plausible. He’d never let her tell him the reason she didn’t want to do her poem tonight, meaning he wouldn’t know she was bailing to avoid talking to her ex-boyfriend.
So she’d stay here until intermission. That seemed like a good plan, despite the cold from the tiles seeping through her skirt. She was cold and uncomfortable, but it was still better than being in that room.
After a few minutes she started to feel bad for missing her classmates’ poems. But it wasn’t like she’d been paying attention to the ones before her. If anyone said anything about it, she’d apologize and explain.
The door next to her opened, making her head jerk to the side to see who’d come barging in on her solitude. Elena let the door close behind her, looking first one way, then the other before her eyes found Layla sitting on the floor.
Layla started to scramble up in surprise. She hadn’t noticed Elena in the audience. Of course, once she’d seen Evan, he’d kind of captured all her attention. And then she’d closed her eyes.
Motioning for her to stay put, Elena came around on her other side, sinking to the floor with her legs crossed. She had on jeans and a flowy pink top, so she could sit that way without a problem. And here Layla was, stuck in a skirt. She didn’t like skirts very much. But Dr. Moore had told them they needed to dress nicely.
Elena’s gaze was frank and appraising. “Your poem was beautiful.”
“Thanks.” Layla stared at the wall across from her. God, was it going to be this hard to talk to everyone about her poem? Probably not everyone. With people who didn’t know her and Evan as a couple it wouldn’t be as awful. Evan would be worse. That was something. At least it wasn’t as awful as it could be.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Nope.”
Elena stayed silent long enough that Layla glanced at her. “That’s it? You’re not going to push?”
Shaking her head, Elena offered a small smile. “Do you want me to push? Because I don’t think you do. I like you, but I don’t know you that well. Plus, you probably think I’m more loyal to Evan since you met me through him.” She gave a little shrug. “If you want to talk, I’m happy to listen. But I know that people don’t always want to discuss their pain, so I’ll just keep you company.”
Layla examined her face, taking in her warm brown eyes, her open expression. “Thanks.”
“Sure.” Elena glanced at the door. “Just so you know, though, I heard your professor asking about you. You might need to go in and make an appearance soon.”
Layla groaned, closing her eyes and letting her head fall back against the wall again.
“I’ll hang with you if you need. For moral support.”
“Thank you. My friend Alyssa is here somewhere for the same reason.”
Elena stood and brushed off her backside before offering Layla a hand. “Well, come on. Let’s go find her and grab a seat. We can watch the open mic part together.”
Accepting Elena’s hand, Layla stood too, pushing her skirt down and brushing off any dust she may have picked up from the floor. “Okay. But since you’re being my moral support, you’ll have to help Alyssa run interference if Evan tries to talk to me.”
When Elena bit her lower lip, looking uncertain, Layla’s eyes narrowed. “Elena.” She put every ounce of warning into her tone of voice. “I do not want to speak to Evan. Especially after my poem.”
Elena held up her hands, palms out. “I promise not to make you do anything you don’t want to do.”
Her eyes still narrowed, Layla studied Elena for a second, but accepted what she said. It wasn’t like she’d change her mind. Having another person for backup made her more confident she could get through whatever the rest of the night might hold.