———
One day magazines were passed round—Harper’s headshot emblazoned in the corner of page seven. I tossed it out without looking, then went to a corner shop afterward to find the article again.Catwalk—a fashion and modeling magazine in which Harper’s mother, the infamous Greta Liao, had a bimonthly editorial. In this one, there was a whole section about her daughter and the joy of watching her pursue her dreams, turning down so many modeling opportunities to attend drama school instead.
But Harper didn’t seem pleased. In class, while the handful of copies were snatched up, she sat in the back filing her nails and drolly announced, “Oh, now she’s pleased. I thought youdid not need school to act if you actually had any natural talent for it.”
I hadn’t really singled Harper out by that point. I disliked her, sure, but in the way I disliked that entire subset of our class. The ones who did not have to try as hard because they could afford to take poorly paid roles for the exposure, or whose parents could buy them parts—maybe even whole theaters—and who would probably sail through on charm alone.
Like the monologues, I’d had moments of similar tension with half the class. Flora McCarthy snatching the last copy ofThe Real Thing, so I had to scrawl my lines on a ratty sheet of notebook paper. Paul Jacobs bemoaning my inclusion inThe Importance of Being Earnestbecause clearly I wasn’t suited for comedy. And, of course, Zoe Holland and her cruel barbs landing on anyone with the misfortune to appear before her.
But we aren’t here to talk about my petty feuds with any of them. We want the one that matters.
And that’s Harper. So here it was, the moment I truly took note of her.
The girl with the connections and the money and her face in a goddamn magazine who still found something to complain about.
Looking back, it was little more than light competition—choosing someone to make a rival of because I needed someone to push me to be the very best. I don’t think Harper considered me a rival in turn. I don’t think Harper noticed me at all.
There were other reasons, too, ones I couldn’t see thenbut can admit now. Because I was lonely, and Harper was popular, and some awful part of me was jealous. Because she was capable of being the person I’d always envisioned myself becoming. Because I was eighteen and scared and anxious, and Harper—vicious, beautiful, charismatic Harper—had the nerve to make it all look so very easy …
How itbeganis not what mattered. If it remained as that—her disinterest and my muted dislike—then I wouldn’t be here talking about it.
I knew I was talented. It was the core of me, the thing that never wavered when the rest of me shifted like restless sands. But at CADS I felt like I constantly had to prove it. And Harper was a way to establish that beyond reproach. If I bested her, maybe I’d finally feel like I belonged.
So I worked for it, because that was all I’d ever done.
All this to say, before Harper Moore took full rein over my life, I was brilliant. I was dedicated.
But my god, I was boring.
Everything was dull before Harper.
A FATAL FEUD
Headshots flicker on the screen. CADS intake ’92. The photos fade, leaving two starkly bright. Nadine, her expression serene and oddly soft. And Harper, a few photos along—all that youth rendering her painfully innocent.
The camera pans out, another photo coming into view: Lewis Stamper. Moderately celebrated RSC performer. A man who has never spoken about the rivalry, though he has long been rumored to be its cause.
And now, an older Lewis comes into view.
Lewis Stamper:Yes, I was at CADS with them.
Zoe Holland:They were both nightmares. Harper was only there to spite her parents, and Nadine thought she wassomuch better than the rest of us. I’m surprised they teased their hatred out as long as they did—they were ready for blood back in ’92.
Grainy footage of a CADS production ofThe Merchant of Venicefills the screen. Harper is on the stage, but in the wings you can catch a flash of Nadine hovering and waiting for her cue.
Lewis Stamper:Rivalries weren’t uncommon. We’re talking about the most competitive drama school in the country—we all had people we wanted to outperform. But Harper and Nadine? I didn’t even know therewastension between them until it took us all down.
Ivan Drozdov:I think Nadine created the rivalry because she was terrified—of failing, of not being invited back for a second year, of spending so much money on formal training just to potentially wind up back in the small town she started in. Setting her mind on Harper and beating her? I think it diluted all that fear into just one girl.
Zoe Holland:Harper was bored—and that’s an awful thing for a girl like Harper to be. Give her a splash of drama, and she’ll drown you. She smothered Nadine, pure and simple.
A photo of a bustling bar, gilded marble, and crystalline chandeliers bouncing the light so thewhole thing glows. It zooms, and there, in a booth in the back corner, are Harper and Nadine, seemingly locked in conversation. It fades into a slightly more polished Nadine—sitting in that chair, wincing.
Nadine Heywood: There are a lot of reasons I could give you—and no, none of them are about the supposed boyfriend. I felt out of place at CADS. Everyone was rich and well-connected, and Harper was kind enough to invite me along. I know it’s difficult to believe, what with everything it spiraled into, but it began simply: with a socially awkward teenager and a girl who inspired envy.
November 1992
I’D LIKE TO SAY I DON’T REMEMBER HER. THAT MY TIME at CADS was about me and not her.
