Page 58 of False Assumptions

Chapter Twenty-Five

“No. No no no no no.” Layla stood behind the temporary stage that had been set up in the student art gallery for the poetry slam, watching as the space filled with people. Including Evan.

What was he doing here?

She watched him take a program from the student stationed at the table by the door, glance at it, and make his way to a seat. Turning, she slipped behind some taller students so he wouldn’t see her.

This was bad. So bad.

Her poem on the program was about him. About their breakup. And he would know. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t—

Swallowing back the bile rising in her throat, she searched the space for Dr. Moore. She’d talk to him, explain that she couldn’t possibly recite her poem. He’d understand, right? He couldn’t be so cruel as to force her to expose herself like that with the subject of her poem in the room. Could he?

She twisted her fingers together, finally spotting him in the opposite corner talking with a group of students. When she reached them she cleared her throat, but the noise in the room overwhelmed her attempt to get his attention. So she tapped his arm.

Smiling down at her, he put his hands in his pockets. “What can I do for you, Layla?”

“Dr. Moore, I need to change my poem. I can’t do the one you want me to do.”

He placed his hands on her arms and squeezed a little, his brown eyes meeting hers. “Layla. I know you had reservations about this poem, but we already talked about this. This is your best work. It’s already in the program. You can do it. You’ll be fine. I promise.”

She shook her head frantically, her eyes widening with her need to convince him. “No, I can’t. I really, really can’t. You don’t understand. It’s—the poem—it’s about—“

“Deep breaths, Layla.” He cut her off, gesturing with his hand as he took a deep breath and let it out. “Come on. Take a deep breath. It’ll help you calm down.”

Breathing in through her nose, she expelled the air through pursed lips. She did feel calmer, even though that wasn’t quite what she’d been looking for. “Thanks. Okay. As I was saying, I need to switch poems. What about the one—“

With a shake of his head, he cut her off again, putting his hands back in his pockets. “I’m sorry, Layla. We’ve already agreed on the poem. No one’s changing at the last second.” His serious voice turned cajoling. “Besides, you need to give the world your barbaric yawp! This is it. You can do it.” He gave her arm one more bracing squeeze and left her standing there gaping after him.

Her barbaric yawp. Dear God in heaven, the man thought he was Robin Williams’ character inDead Poets Society. If she wasn’t freaking out so much, she’d roll her eyes. But she didn’t appear to have a choice. She’d just have to make sure she didn’t look at Evan. At all.

She resumed her place cowering behind the stage to wait for her turn. Dr. Moore had put her about halfway through the scheduled program, which would last about an hour. After that they’d have an open mic for another hour, depending on how many people signed up. They were supposed to stay for the whole thing and be available to schmooze afterward, but no way was she doing that. She’d stay for the scheduled program, then say she was feeling sick and bail.

It wouldn’t be a lie. Her stomach roiled and her breath came fast, like she should start breathing into a paper bag. Vomiting and hyperventilating at the same time seemed like a really bad combo.Butoh God, Evan is here.

The minutes dragged until it was time to start. Dr. Moore stood on the stage and gave a little speech about how much he loved teaching the poetry class and encouraged everyone to sign up for it the next semester. “We’ll have an intermission once we get through the scheduled program, and then the open mic set. So be sure to sign up at the back table. If we have more people sign up than we have time for, we’ll draw names. I hope you all came prepared to share your own beautiful words in this place of beauty.” He gestured around at the paintings and sculptures lining the space.

Did Megan have anything on display tonight?She’d have to glance around at intermission before she bailed. The first girl took the stage to a smattering of applause, her hands shaking a little with her nerves. She cleared her throat a few times before beginning to recite her poem.

Dr. Moore insisted they have their work memorized. A couple of her classmates had notecards, and she knew their professor wouldn’t be happy about that, but this was nerve-racking.

Maybe she could pretend that she got stage fright and forgot everything. That would solve all her problems.

Except for the problem of her grade. It’d be better to get docked for having a notecard than getting a zero for not reciting the poem. No, that wasn’t an option.

All too soon, the guy before her finished his poem and the audience clapped politely. One of her classmates nudged her as he got off the stage. “Your turn.”

Layla’s legs carried her up and onto the stage, feeling like she was in a dream. She didn’t remember deciding to go to the microphone, yet here she stood, with a sea of faces looking at her expectantly. Turning her face away from the mic, she cleared her throat, swallowing convulsively and wiping her trembling hands on the black skirt she’d paired with her sleeveless turquoise blouse and black ballet flats.

When she looked up, her eyes caught on Evan’s face. He waited, like the rest of them, his blue eyes focused on hers. She traced the contours of his cheekbones and strong jaw with her eyes, his full lips and heavy brows, his thick brown hair that felt like silk between her fingers. But no. She couldn’t do this if she was staring at him.

She closed her eyes, took a deep, steadying breath, and began reciting her poem. “You saw me. When I tried to hide, you looked past my walls, nudging your way insideuntil you were firmly entrenched.

“But you turned into a noxious weed instead of the beautiful rose I’d expected. And now I must uproot you. Dig deep inside my own soul to cut you out.”

Reciting the entire poem, she bared her soul to everyone, never faltering. When she finished, she opened her eyes, barely noticing the applause that filled the room as she hurried off the stage, almost stumbling in her haste. She’d kept her eyes closed through her entire poem, unable to look at anyone for fear of her eyes being drawn to Evan again. It was too much. This was all way, way too much.

Hands patted her shoulders and her classmates complimented her on her poem and delivery. Dr. Moore met her as she made her way to the side door, his eyes dancing with happiness. “See? I told you that you could do it. It was beautiful. Moving. Everything you could’ve wanted.”

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