She stalked forward, every inch of her taut as a bowstring. Like she was readying to fire.
“As much as you wish it were otherwise, we’re not all thatdifferent, Nadine.” Her voice dropped low—like she was savoring this. “I took down the audition times when they were first posted. I spread that rumor you were sleeping with Martin—thanks for the inspiration, by the way.”
I had not actually heard that rumor.
“We all did terrible things for this. I actually respected you for yours.” Her hand fluttered against my cheek in a teasing, condescending caress. I moved to push her away—because I couldn’t stand it, her touch and her smug superiority and all of her far, far too close, her cloying perfume and too-sweet shampoo, the warmth of her breath against my skin. Awful, all of it—but by the time my hand batted out, she had already turned away.
I thought of what I’d determined I wanted during our first-ever spat, in the face of our competing monologues:To be something you couldn’t look away from. Your attention, whether you wanted to give it or not.
In that moment, in turning away, she’d won. Whether I had earned that award or not, whether I made it to second year or not—she’d undone me where it counted.
She leaned toward the mirror, tucking strands of hair back into her complicated knot. “You want to feel like you’re not down in the dirt with the rest of us? Fine. But Lewis is going to be a mess out there, his little Don Juan persona threatened. Zoe will be too—I’m just not sure if she’ll be too upset or too angry. And I’m not going to be at my peak either. So you tell me, after all that, when you glow in comparison, hell maybeeven if the award is in your hand at the end of this, if you still feel like apologizing, or if you wouldn’t do it all again to win.”
———
She was right about Lewis and Zoe—they weren’t entirely awful; they were professionals after all. But there were cracks, moments where the tension broke or threaded through wrong, where something was palpably off.
It even leaked to Ruben and Eric, who could tell something was awry and tried to overcompensate with their own parts.
But Harper’s performance was beautiful, actually. She dropped the fire and rage. She was vulnerable. She clung to the indication she knew about the affair but lined it with heartbreak instead of fury.
And I excelled in comparison, just like she’d said. It was easy, my mind consumed with the portrayal of a girl in over her head, feeling caught in the sways of her life, before finally determining a course that would, inevitably, go wrong. The fire still licking my veins from our confrontation transformed to passion for the man before me—a tension that couldn’t be denied.
Ivan was front row, flowers on his lap, which he gave me after the show, and we spent only an hour at the cast party, enough to whizz round greeting the former prize winners, to pocket cards and watch as Harper breezed through the room like she hadn’t just suffered a breakup. I clung to Ivan’s side and escaped as soon as we could, treating ourselves to a sit-down dinner at a pizzeria. We had a long summer ahead of us to discuss.
The faculty awarded me the Wilfred Allen Award the week after.
Two more years at Central Art and Drama School guaranteed. A scholarship in my hands. Everything I’d craved in those first moments stepping through those doors and now that it was actually within my hands, it felt dirty. Wrong. And like I was proving Harper right.
(Don’t look at me like that—I’d smother my conscience soon enough. But at that point it was still making a valiant effort, kicking and screaming in protest. The poor thing never stood a chance.)
Given the choice, I wanted to win on my talent. But if that wasn’t an option, if it was seeing someone else with the award or doing it all again, I knew which one I’d choose. So the guilt clearly didn’t matter all that much …
I didn’t like who this school was turning me into. I couldn’t blame it all on Harper (not, I might add, for lack of trying), but I could convince myself I never would have discovered I was capable of all this without her.
I needed to get out—needed to escape her—at least for a while.
So as soon as I got home, I reached for the phone and punched in the only number I knew by heart, coiling the cord tight around my finger like he might have changed his mind.
“To what do I owe the pleasure, Nadine?”
“Please, Ivan, call me Adeline from here on out.”
Act Two
A FATAL FEUD
Home movie footage shows two girls, about the age of seven, dabbing makeup onto dolls. An upturned bottle of cranberry-red polish slowly stains the plush cream carpet.
Kayla Alexander:My mother was a fashion editor atCatwalk, where Greta Liao publishes her column. Harper and I were friends when we were kids and then again when we were adults in LA. Pretty much the only thing thatdidn’tchange in that time between was her being a hopeless romantic. Harper’s favorite stories were those of princesses being rescued from towers and girls running off with outlaws toward their happily-ever-afters. Of course, what happened with Lewis stuck with her. It was her first indication those stories weren’t real.
Nadine Heywood:I’d noticed her boyfriend flirting with me at the retreat. I told him I wasn’t interested, and clearly he moved on to someone else becauseit turned out he reallywassleeping with our other cast member. Just before our performance, the tech crew asked to check the blocking of one of our scenes. Harper came out of her dressing room, saw us kissing—for the scene—and started sobbing. Which is when everything about the other girl came out …
Zoe Holland:I was Harper’s best friend. If Harper’s as capricious as you’re all claiming, don’t you think she’d have come forme? Not Nadine Heywood? Isn’t that your answer about who’s telling the truth? Harper’s story makes sense. Nadine’s doesn’t.
Lewis Stamper:I’m not proud of it. I dated Harper. I kissed Nadine. They’re both sort of right: Nadine and I did havesomething, but the timing didn’t overlap.
Kayla Alexander:Lewis broke her heart. Caleb tried to mend it. And Joel was supposed to be it. Her happiness. He was the love of her damn life. That’s something everyone’s forgetting as they pore over headlines and bandy about accusations like it’s gossip at brunch—Harper lost everything that mattered to her. No, not lost. Had it taken from her. Nadine took Lewis. She took Caleb. And I don’t want to get sued, so let’s leave it there …
