As the rush of students around me stampedes toward the door of my only morning lecture, I take a moment to check I have all the photocopied notes and reading suggestions. I’m finally adjusting to the size of this place, with cavernous lecture halls full of earnest film geeks and slacker students. My days of personal debate with my tutor are on hold for now, but the anonymity is refreshing. I see the same faces from some of my other classes: emo boy, perky girl, and Ryan, but nobody expects anything more than a smile or nod from me. I used to have to always be the one with the superior argument or insightful comment, but here I only have to show up.
It’s the first time people have ever expected so little from me.
I finally finish double-checking my books and slip into the aisle, bumping straight into somebody else. “Excuse me,” I apologize, still fastening my bag.
“No problem,” a familiar voice drawls, edged with the slightest hint of sarcasm.
My head snaps up and I find Ryan in front of me, slouched in a maroon print hoodie and regarding me with extreme impatience.
“Oh, it’s you.”
“Could you sound any more thrilled?” His face twists into a half smile. “You’re giving my ego a bruising.”
“I don’t think your ego needs any more help from me,” I mutter, and then wish I could take it back. Ever since I found out Ryan was Morgan’s other half, I’ve fought to keep things civil between us. I may never have had a roommate before, but I presume not fighting with her boyfriend is part of the basic requirements.
Ryan looks amused at my comment but lets it pass. “We’re meeting at four, right?”
“Right,” I agree. I’ve been working extra-hard to get my rewrites finished; we start filming next weekend, after all. “I booked us a study room at the library.”
His face wrinkles. “Want to just get a coffee instead? The library’s dead.”
“Exactly. It’ll be easier to concentrate there.”
“Whatever. See you then.” He saunters away, and I just wonder how much more reluctant his expression will get when he hears my proposals.
When I get back to the apartment, there’s a hair tie on the door handle and not-too-subtle moans emerging from inside. Again. Apparently Morgan has a penchant for lunchtime sex, preferring to burn off calories rather than consume them. She also prefers not to limit herself to her room. I hoist my bag up again and walk slowly back down to the street. It’s bad enough that Ryan is a fixture in all my classes, but does he really have to take over my personal life too? I mean, I don’t know what —
Wait a minute.
I pause, frozen on the sidewalk outside. Ryan had just been in class with me at the main campus. I power walked to the transit stop and caught a shuttle bus straightaway, so even if he drove himself, he still wouldn’t have had time to get through traffic and get naked with Morgan by the time I got back.
She wasn’t with him.
It probably makes me a terrible person, but a small smile spreads across my face at the thought. Ryan acts as if he knows everything, but Mr. Know-It-All doesn’t know this. And I’m not about to tell him.
“So, what’s the verdict?” Ryan collapses in the seat opposite me and shoots me a wary look. Unlike the creaking old bookcases and dark wood back at Raleigh, the library study room here is small and bright. I’ve set out the table with copies of my changed script, as well as plain notepads, pens, and bottled water. Everything is planned for this to be as quick and painless as possible.
“Why don’t you take a read through it and then we’ll talk?” I pass him a stack of pages I’ve had bound in a blue folder. He gingerly takes one between his thumb and forefinger as if it’s toxic. I pretend to scan through a textbook while he reads, but I can’t help sneaking looks across the table to try to gauge his reaction. He’s pulled another seat next to him and kicked off his Converses, resting the pages on his brown cords. I thought he was one of the hipster boys, with those black skinny jeans and plaid shirts, but today he’s looking more nerdy in a stripy knit vest.
I wonder who Morgan was with.
Time stretches on. He clears his throat and I glance up, but his face is entirely free from emotion, giving me no hint at all what he thinks. Despite myself, I’m nervous. Ryan’s original script was the story of a boy who finds some of his grandfather’s old letters and is inspired to make changes in his life: admitting how he feels to his long-term crush, finally breaking away from an old friend who’s become a bad influence. It’s a sweet concept, but Ryan tried so hard to be unconventional that he forgot that conventions exist to give the story structure and conflict.
“You killed the grandfather?” Finally finishing, Ryan looks over at me, his expression still hard to read.
I nod. “This way, he’s got a reason to follow the advice. It’s emotional blackmail.”
Ryan narrows his eyes thoughtfully. “And you moved the scenes with his crush around.”
“We went through that in class.” I try to keep my voice gentle. I can tell he’s liable to get defensive. “I know you don’t want the romance to be the main focus, but they’re the best scenes. You want them to be the dramatic high point.”
There’s a long pause. Ryan looks back down at the script and flicks his pencil against the edge of the table. Tap-tap-taptap. It echoes in the tiny space. Tap-tap-taptap.
“Can you not do that?”
Tap-tap-taptap.
I glare at him. He smirks back.
“Relax,” he tells me. I sigh, pulling my hair back into a tighter plait.
“The changes?” I remind him.
“Sure, whatever.” His voice is so nonchalant, I can’t believe it.
“‘Whatever’?” I repeat. “I thought this was the most important thing in your life.”
“Lowell’s always telling us to get distance from our work.” Ryan begins to smile now that he knows he’s annoying me. And just for good measure, he begins with the pencil again. Tap-tap-taptap. I have to fold my hands together to stop myself reaching out and snatching it from him.
“We start shooting on Saturday,” he says, as if I don’t already have a schedule mapped out, complete with time for delays and weather problems. Not that there’s any weather in California. “The first few days will probably be working out the kinks, getting light and sound figured.”
“Fine.” I run my eyes down the long, long list of prefilming tasks I’ve been making. Another boy from class, Mike, is supposed to be producing, but I only needed one look at his red-rimmed eyes and bagful of snacks to decide I’d better run this myself if I want anything done. “Here.” I tear off the bottom of the page — the least necessary things — and pass it to him. “You’ll need to get these sorted before we start.”