Page 11 of What's in a Kiss?

“How’d you do that?”

“Do what?”

“BecomeJuliet in a single line.” His eyes ran over my face. “That’s why you got into Juilliard.”

“I’m waiting for the punch line,” I said. But I was thinking: He knew about Juilliard? How?

Glasswell shook his head. “No punch line. Congratulations. I’ve wanted to tell you that all night.”

I raised my eyebrows, still waiting. This was Glasswell, after all.

“What was the audition like?” he said.

“Like a dream,” I answered unconsciously. But I didn’t want Glasswell to know about my trip to New York, my Juilliard audition, my big, bright, crazy dreams. I stood up, needing to tighten the walls around myself. The song was over by then anyway.

“Congrats to you, too,” I said, turning toward the door. “Columbia will be great.”

“You heard?” he said. “I mean... I guess we both can’t wait to get out of here.”

Why was he rising to follow me?

I glanced inside the glass doors of the auditorium, where I saw my history teacher, Mr. Coates, stacking folding chairs. “I think it’s over anyway.”

“I didn’t mean prom,” Glasswell said. “I meant... high school. This town. Our parents’ houses.”

I shook my head. “I just want to act.”

“You’re lucky,” he said. His eyes studied my face in a way that made me shiver, like he was seeing things Iprefer to keep hidden, even from the people I like. “What about your parents?”

I lifted one shoulder, looked away. “Most people’s parents don’t want them to leave home, right?”

But I got the feeling Jake saw something more specific in my eyes, like he’d been a fly on the wall for yesterday’s epic argument with Mom (see previous page). Like he could tell I was still tender from it.

“My parents can’t wait to get rid of me,” he said.

“No way.”

Our eyes met. I knew his were green, but this was the first time I saw them look vulnerable. I couldn’t help being a little bit curious.

“My dad thinks journalism is ‘for losers,’ ” Glasswell said, looking down at his shoes. “That I’m a loser for wanting to go to New York, for not staying here and working immediately for him.”

I knew, indirectly, that Glasswell’s father had an empire of luxury condos up and down the state. Like I knew, indirectly, that Glasswell got into Columbia. The reputation of his family was one of deep wealth... and moral shadiness. But it had never occurred to me that Glasswell might not fit in perfectly with that reputation. I wasn’t sure what to do with this new information.

“You know best what’s right for you,” I found myself saying.

“Maybe.” Glasswell stepped closer, until we were almost touching. Until I noticed I was holding my breath. “It’ll be worth it, Olivia.”

“Studying journalism?”

“No, I mean, you.”

“Me?”

His cheeks flushed. He seemed to struggle with the words.

“Whatever it takes for you to get to Juilliard,” he said. “To New York. On stage. It’ll be worth it.”

“Okay...”

---