The writing group seems to finally be able to get their shit together, especially now that we’re starting to work together with the other groups. It’s surprising to see what a little interest from a couple of guys from the other groups has on them. I might have found it funny if it wasn’t annoying. I’ve been trying to get them to do work for almost two weeks now, and they’ve yet to show any real writing for it apart from what we do during our group sessions. But with the prospect of interest from the guys, suddenly they seem interested in the project.

I sit at the big table. Opposite me is B, and the rest of the class is also here. B’s eyes are different today—he seems tired, more exhausted than when I saw him yesterday.

I was surprised to see him, to suddenly run into him in the city. I’d actually chosen to go to that cafe because I’d hoped that I could get a couple of pages of the movie written somewhere that didn’t have memories of other things. Somewhere where authors apparently get their inspiration.

And to suddenly see him there, and him sitting down next to me… it totally threw me off. We had a real conversation. We actually talked about something that made sense. There was no yelling back and forward, there were no hurtful words. We used to talk about writing and stories a lot when we were still together. And this time, we talked about it in ways that grown-ups would talk about it. It was... nice.

But when he stood up, touching me for a moment, and left, I acutely missed him. I realized how much I loved having him with me, how much I loved having him at my side. And he was gone again. A look in his eyes that I can’t explain. A look that I don’t know how to read.

And today, he looks tired, like he hasn’t slept at all. I feel bad for him, a different emotion than the anger I’ve been holding inside. But I’m not sure that it’s an emotion I’m supposed to have. If I should even be feeling this way. It’s all so confusing.

“Lola.” Damon, who is sitting at B’s side, pulls me from my thoughts and I see B jolt too. I realize that we’ve been staring at each other, and not listening to what is going on around us.

“Yes?” I look at Damon, who smiles sadly.

“I asked you if you had any feedback on the deadlines for the script. We only have a small window of filming for some locations, so we need to set the deadlines in accordance with that. The gym will be available in a month, but only for a few days—probably three, but we may be able to stretch it to four. I’m sure that we need some outside locations, which, depending on what and where, we also may have to book in advance. Could you take a look at the deadlines?” He taps on the page in front of me.

I look at the paper, seeing dates and script pages, and all sorts of things written on it. But right now, I have no idea how much of this we can actually make work with the group I’m working with. I take a breath, pushing B from my mind. “I’m pretty sure that the scenes and sets in the gym will be the most important ones. I think that we may want to focus on those first. Get those scripts in place so that you guys can make the set, and we can get the actors and actresses into their roles. I don’t think we’d be able to shoot a lot of scenes before then. I’m going to have to piece together all the work from my group over the weekend, and we’re meeting on Monday to discuss it, and we should have a better idea of some of the scenes on Tuesday. I’m sorry. The writing is taking a little longer than we expected.”

B nods, his eyes focused and serious now. “We’ll meet up on Tuesday, then, to finalize the early deadlines. And I’d like for everyone to set up their own estimated deadlines, serious ones.” He looks sideways at some of the people on the far end of the table. “We’re working on the budget and the kindness of the college here, so take it seriously. If we mess up, the college will be the one getting in trouble.” He sounds so solemn, and it makes my heart swell a little, makes me feel like he’s got things under control.

“Sounds like a plan.” One of the girls from the costume group stands up. “I know that some people expressed interest in going out tonight, as a group. Celebrating another week finished, or something.” She lets out a laugh. “I think that’s a good idea. We can’t always depend on Tamara to take care of these things. I’d say, meet at nine at the new club? It’s in the center of the city, easy to reach. We can drink there or go to one of the other bars around. I think it’s best if we decide on that when we all get there. Does that sound good?”

Her idea is met with cheers, and everyone starts packing. I put my pen and papers in my bag, going over all the things I have to do this weekend in my head. I’m going to have to import all the different storylines and written pages into a single document, see if the story makes sense, read it, make notes on it and then have it all ready by Sunday evening or Monday morning.

While not the most exciting, I’m still looking forward to it. I like working with stories, making sure that they make sense, and the pressure of the deadline and that this will all be part of a much bigger project, a very important project, makes that I’m actually kind of looking forward to doing the work.

Then there is a hand on my arm, a heavy and rough hand. “Lo?”

My heart skips a beat as I turn around. I’m met with B’s dark eyes. “Yeah?”

“Can we...” He looks to the side, not able to look at me. “Would you go out for dinner with me?”

“What?” I’m so surprised that I’m not even able to keep that word from spilling out.

B jolts for a moment, his eyes on my face, and then looks away again. “I’d like it if we could go out for dinner, or even a couple of drinks. It doesn’t have to lead anywhere. I just...” He shrugs. There is no confidence in him, not like he had yesterday when he sat down next to me. This, this person before me, this is the B I used to know.

“I’m...” I swallow hard, trying to think over the noise in my head. “I’m not sure.”

He nods. “I get it. Sorry for asking.” He turns around, starts walking away.

“B.” I can’t help it.

He turns back, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“I’d love to. But nowhere fancy. Nothing big.” We may not be the same as before, but I do know what he’s like, and that would definitely be a possibility. Choose some fancy restaurant where I’d have to be all dressed up and everything.

He nods. “Deal.”

“My number is still the same.”

His eyes grow for a moment, pain crossing through them, then he nods again. “I’ll message you the details. Thank you.”

“Thank you for inviting me.” I can’t believe I just agreed to this. But something in him yesterday, something in him today, has made my heart open up in a way that’s dangerous and can only lead to pain. Even if I don’t want to. Even if I know this is going to hurt. Like a moth to a flame, I can’t turn away from him.

He turns back around, his shoulders squaring, his whole body pulled back up, as I’ve seen him walk around these weeks. His mask up, his ‘cool guy’ image in place.

But I know the boy behind it all. I know the boy he’s trying to hide. I know he’s still in there.

The message comes around four in the afternoon, from a number that I don’t recognize, but I know who this is. ‘Meet me in front of the cafe at half past five.’

I don’t have to ask what cafe—there is only one cafe that would qualify. ‘Okay. See you there. Anything special to wear?’

The next message comes pretty quickly. ‘Just be you. Nothing else needed.’

I’m not sure that’s going to be so easy, but I guess we’re not going anywhere fancy. ‘Will do. See you there.’ My heart beats like crazy as I put my phone down.

This means that I’ll have to tell Mom that I’m not eating here tonight. Half past five means that we’re probably having dinner together. I sit down on the bed for a moment, gathering all my courage. I’m going to need all of it. Because this is scary. Not just scary, but scary on a scale that I hadn’t considered before.

I’m meeting B for a date, because this isn’t explainable as anything else. It’s a date. A date after the sight of him made me flee an art show just four weeks ago. A date after the sight of him made me flee our class project just two weeks ago. A date after the sight of him made me crazy with lust and made us fuck like horny teenagers in a supplies closet at the college, during a party, just last week. So, that brings it to what... a two-out-of-three chance that I’ll flee again? Or a one-out-of-three chance that I’ll fuck him again? I’m not sure which one scares me more right now.

I stand up, go down the stairs, but as I step into the kitchen, expecting to find Mom, I’m a little surprised when I find H and Lizzy instead, both of them putting away ingredients for dinner.

“Lola.” Lizzy grins, then she frowns a little. “What’s wrong?”

I shake my head, forcing a smile, forcing all the confusing thoughts from my mind. “Nothing. Just wanted to say that I’m not eating here tonight. I’m having dinner with... classmates.” The last word sounds a little uncomfortable, and H’s eyes are now on me.

“With who?” He crosses his arms in front of his chest, going all protective.

“Just some people from the project.” I smile, but I know he sees right through it.

“Damon said that they were just going out for drinks later. Nothing about dinner.”

Of course, Damon. “It’s a smaller group. Just a few people. Mostly from the writing group.” I try to keep the smile going, but it’s starting to falter.

“Right. Will Blaze be there?”

I flinch and I can see the moment his fury catches.

“Lo. Really?” He steps closer, his voice rising. “You know this is a bad idea. He hurt you.”

I nod, my smile falling now. “He hurt me. I hurt him. We’re just going out to dinner. Nothing fancy or dangerous.”

“Are you listening to yourself?” Hunter shakes his head.

“Yeah.” I meet his eyes. “I am. I don’t want to always have to hide. I’m just going out for something to eat with him, chat a little, and that’s that.”

“You’re going to get hurt again.”

“Shut up.” I shake my head. “Shut the fuck up. You don’t know me as well as you think you do. And neither do you know B. So shut up.” I leave the kitchen, stomping up the stairs. He has no idea about who I am, or what I feel, or what B and I have gone through.

He never went through that. So he’ll never know what it is that B and I share. What it is that makes us connect in this way, he doesn’t understand.

I was going to ask them to help me choose what to wear, or at least to give me some pointers. But that’s off the table now. I’m not letting H decide my future. I’m not letting him decide who I trust or who I meet.

I slam the door closed, looking through my closet and just deciding on jeans and a shirt. Simple, basic. We’ll see how that all ends up.

This is my life, and I’m going to live it. Nobody else can do it for me.

Even if that means making mistakes sometimes, at least I make them myself. That’s gotta count for something... right?