Page 6 of Yours, Unexpectedly

“Uhh… here for Introduction to Acting?” he finally asks, his eyes cutting over to an older man that I’ve just now noticed. He looks vaguely like Santa Claus and gives me a warm smile before his eyebrows scrunch in confusion toward Anders.

All I can do is nod my head. My body is frozen in place. Is this what shock feels like?

What is he doing at the front of the room? If this man is my fucking teacher this semester I am going to lose it.

No less than eight different emotions flit across his face so quick I don’t have time to place any of them. He finally lands on smug with a side of pure amusement.

“Well then take a seat. We were just discussing the syllabus.”

I still do not know any words apparently, so I grab the extra copy he holds toward me and find a place to sit.

Anders continues to talk from the stage, but all I can hear is a shrill ringing in my ears. I have to figure out a way to get out of this.

My mind races with possible solutions. Maybe I can email my advisor and quadruple check that there are no other options available that will fulfill my fine arts credit. Only, I know for a fact that nothing else was available, that’s why she was so jumpy when we met.

Honestly, the rage that I initially felt about this whole situation is coming back. This time, however, I am mad at myself. What is wrong with me?! I’ve known this man for six years—why can’t I be in the same room as him? It frustrates me to no end how much he flusters me, and always has.

And if we want a little more honesty, I’m mad at Anders too. He has flirted with me since the moment we met, but I know he’s never meant anything by it. I don’t understand why he has always toyed with me in that way. I should not have to rearrange my whole life, possibly leading to an extra semester, just because I can’t be in the same room as Anders fucking Olsson.

I roll my shoulders back and mentally tell myself to suck it up, buttercup because every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning will now be spent with Anders, learning to cry on command or whatever the fuck you learn in Intro to Acting.

Fantastic.

“This song always reminds me of—”

“Of what?” Gabe asks.

My eyes find her across the living room. She’s talking to her mom, but I swear I could feel her looking at me a moment ago.

“Dude, what does it remind you of?” Gabe pushes.

“Oh… uh, I don’t remember what I was going to say.”

Her. It reminds me of her.

After essentially hiding in this black box theater for the last year and a half, she finally found me. I have a hard time comprehending the visceral reaction my body had when I saw her for the second time today. I had dropped a few of the class syllabuses, stooping down to pick them up, when the door to the small theater opened. By the time I got back up to my feet she was there. Big brown eyes staring at me, looking just as shocked as I felt.

My first thought was that maybe something was wrong—the apartment was on fire or she was finally ready to declare her undying love for me—but the look on her face indicated that she definitely was not expecting to see me. I knew she wouldn’t want to be called out for knowing me, so I played dumb, and to my surprise she actually is signed up for my course. It was right there on the roster—something I never even think to look at because it’s not like anyone I know would willingly sign up for my class.

Being the teacher’s assistant for a few of the intro classes over the past few years means that I am pretty much running the show, left alone to teach how I want to. Professor Callahan usually introduces himself during the first class and then leaves me to it.

It really has been a blast, which has been a new experience for me as far as school goes. I barely scraped by in undergrad, spending entirely too much time drinking and partying—mostly as an avoidance tactic because I was smart. I am smart, but nothing could ever hold my attention long enough for me to be successful.

I think most people were shocked when I actually graduated on time.

I was shocked when I actually graduated on time.

Acting was something I got involved with in high school as a way to piss my father off. He was a typical washed up jock, trying to compensate for the fact that he lived off my mom’s family money and wanted to relive his high school hero days vicariously through me. Theater to him was for “little pussies,” which was some real bullshit, so I signed up. They loved me because if you’ve seen a high school theater program, you know there aren’t many guys signing up to star in their production of Les Miserables. Little did I know that I would end up loving it. My theater teacher encouraged me to audition for college programs and the rest is history.

After undergrad, I went to the city and did the audition thing for a bit before coming to the conclusion that I did not pay enough attention in my college courses, and though I had gotten by my entire life on good looks and charisma, that was not going to work in the real world. One existential crisis later and I realized there would need to be some major life changes before I was ready to pursue an actual career.

I reached out to my parents for help, but Gabe was the one who dragged me back to Sassafras—he wore a homemade “Get Your Ass Back to Sassafras” shirt and everything—and convinced me to apply for my MFA back at Hawthorne so we could live together again.

I think he really missed me, the big softie.

The flash of Bex’s curls out of the corner of my eye brings me back into this classroom. I don’t even have time to process her being here as I continue to talk through the syllabus, trying not to look her way.

The first day of class is always quick. This semester there is a good mix of freshmen wanting to get into the acting program and people like Bex, I’m assuming, who just need the arts credit.

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