I’m stronger than them. It’s a crazy thought after spending the past twenty-four hours on the constant verge of a breakdown, but as I cross into the Raleigh quad, I know in my bones it’s true. Will can’t handle the idea that I have a past, Carrie can’t deal with me not fitting her vision of a “real” feminist, but I’m the one who’s kept going. Emily was right: I’m braver than I ever knew. I came to Oxford, I made people see me differently, I scored top marks on my essays, for god’s sake, and they can’t take that away from me no matter what mean things they say.
I let out a slow breath, pausing a moment to take in the old stone buildings and soft golden lights spilling out over the grass. I’m strong enough to take this.
And just like that, it hurts a little less.
26
By the end of the week, I’m overwhelmed with emotion: excitement over Ryan, nervous anticipation for our big screening, growing unease about my return home, and a final layer of guilt about hiding the truth from Morgan. In short, I’m a mess.
“What do I do?” I appeal to Carla for the hundredth time this week. “Surely I have to say something?”
“Why bother?” Casting a critical eye over my now-uniform denim skirt/polo shirt combination, she pulls a black dress from her wardrobe and passes it to me. “It’s your premiere night — go sexy for once.”
I take it without complaint and turn, quickly stripping down to my underwear and pulling it on. “But I’m lying to her — all the time!”
“So tell.” Carla doesn’t seem bothered by the moral ramifications of my situation. “Just get ready for a world of drama.”
“Oh god, you’re right.” I pause, imagining yet again how my roommate would react — with tears and tantrums, no doubt. “I just have to keep quiet until the end of next week. Then I’m gone and everything will be back to normal again.” The words sound reassuringly rational as I turn to assess myself in the mirror. The dress buttons up the front in a military style, but the cut hugs every one of my barely-there curves. “Isn’t this sort of . . . tight?”
“That’s the point; Ryan’s going to flip.”
“Oh, well . . . all right.” I look at myself again, secretly warming to the idea of any boy flipping over me. “You’re sure it’s all right for me to borrow?”
“You’re still going to lend me the party government papers?” I nod. “Then we’re cool.” Carla carefully applies a layer of bright scarlet lipstick and blots. “Let’s go. Your big debut awaits!”
Professor Lowell has organized for all the class film projects to be screened in the auditorium as if it’s a proper premiere, with a student audience seated on the tiered red seats and drinks afterward. The room is already full when we arrive, and I hunt through the crowd for a glimpse of Ryan.
“I’m nervous,” I whisper to Carla, who’s looking around the collection of film students and drama kids with all the focus of a hunter seeking out her prey. “What if it’s awful?”
“Then you’ll feel like crap,” she says matter-of-factly. “But it won’t be; it’ll rock. I mean, is it really going to be any worse than their movie?” Carla nods toward the clique of gum-snapping girls who have sat passing notes and copies of InStyle in the back of every class.
“Good point.” I try to relax. “And besides, I’ve only been studying film for two months. I’m never going to be as good as the others.”
“There you go.” Carla grins. “It’s all about perspective.”
“And rationalizing the bad things away,” I agree, before being swept up into an enthusiastic hug. “Ryan!” I catch my breath as he releases me.
“Ready for battle?” he says. Then his eyes widen as he takes in my outfit. “Wow. Uh, I mean . . .” He swallows. “You look great, Em.”
“Thanks,” I say breezily, but inside I’m dancing. Somehow I don’t mind being objectified when it’s Ryan — and he’s doing it with such blatant admiration. “You’re looking rather dapper yourself.”
“Why thank you,” he jokes, adjusting the smart jacket he’s wearing over that favorite Thermals T-shirt and jeans. “I figured I’d better make an effort. You know Lowell’s invited industry guests, right?”
“What?”
Ryan nods, glancing around. “People he knows from studios, some agents.” He’s trying to sound nonchalant, but I can sense nerves radiating from his body. I slip my hand into his and squeeze it gently.
“We’ll be fine.”
“Sure you guys will,” Carla agrees. “I mean, your obsessive film-geek perfection plus Em’s planning. How can you fail?”
My grip on Ryan’s hand grows tighter as we sit through the other films. Some are terrible, some are fun, and although privately I think ours is far better than any of them, I can’t help but wonder if I’m blind to the reality of the situation. After all, somewhere along the way, hundreds of people thought that Blonde Ambition should get a theatrical release. What if this is our Blonde Ambition?
Oh god.
Finally, I see our opening credits flash up on-screen. Ryan’s entire body goes tense, and I find it hard to breathe. It dawns just how important this project is to me. For what must be the first time in my life, I don’t care about my class grade, only about everybody around me. I want them to love it the way I do, to believe in the story I worked so hard to create.
I mean to keep watch on Carla’s face and study her reactions, but before I know it, the scenes are flying past on that big screen and then it’s over. I can hardly believe it: two months of work for just those few minutes in the spotlight, our piece over quicker than it takes to cook a bowl of pasta or give my computer a thorough clean.
“Well?” I hear Ryan’s low whisper.
“I don’t know,” I breathe back, dazed, as the audience bursts into applause. I twist around in my seat to try and gauge the general reaction. They’re smiling and clapping, but is it sincere? Are they just being polite, the way I applauded some of the terrible films? I can’t tell, but when I force myself to look over at Carla, she’s beaming.
“You guys!” she exclaims. I gulp.
“Really?”
“Seriously.” She nods, eyes sparkling. “Would I lie to you? Wait, I would, but I’m not, I swear!”