Page 22 of This Changes Everything

“You know why it matters,” he answered quickly, not running away from me in the slightest.

“No, I don’t.” I started directing a stream of ants toward a small mound of dirt next to the curb.

“Yes, you do, Cainey,” he stated definitively.

Rory and I locked on to each other. His dark-brown eyes roamed my face, then landed on my mouth, just as Caleb Davis, the rich kid who lived on the periphery of everyone’s friendship, drove past us in a cart with his dad on their way to the practice putting green.

“They shot the bear!” Caleb called out as they crossed the driveway. Mr. Davis stopped the cart so his son could talk to us.

“They did?!” Rory and I shouted back in unison from the curb.

“Is it dead?” Rory asked.

“No. Got it with some sort of tranquilizer dart, and it was right in front of Orson!”

“Poor bear!” I exclaimed. “Hannah’s probably freaking out.”

Rory leaned in to me. “Don’t worry. Blair can comfort her with his earmuffs.”

I playfully poked Rory’s shoulder with my twig, and Mr. Davis smiled at me. “You look lovely today, Ellie.” I felt a rush of discomfort as his eyes crawled over my body. Mr. Davis took off his hat to adjust his curly dark-brown hair, which had a spattering of gray at his temples. He kept smiling his creepy smile, and all I could see were his skinny, overcrowded bottom teeth.

“Oh, thanks.” My voice was polite but clipped. Rory went rigid beside me.

“I was behind you at the driving range yesterday. I love watching you swing.” Mr. Davis nodded as if we were having a two-sided, incredibly engaging conversation. We weren’t.

“Oh, yeah. Thanks.” My eyes flicked to Rory. I could see him looking uncomfortable and slightly surprised. His arms wrapped over his knees, and he was staring Mr. Davis down from the curb. I was uncomfortable, but not at all surprised. It wasn’t the first time Mr. Davis had said he liked to watch me.

“Well, have a nice day. I’ll see you later, Ellie. Bye, Rory.” Mr. Davis nodded.

I continued to play with my stick while Rory watched them drive away to the putting green. In the distance, Caleb got out of the cart to putt. Mr. Davis’s attention continued to jump between me and his son.

“That was weird, right?” Rory quietly asked.

“I don’t know. I guess.” Honestly, I didn’t know how to answer that question. Of course it was weird that Albert Davis, Caleb’s fifty-year-old dad, would tell me that he liked to watch me and then proceed to watch me from afar, literally, but in a way that I knew he was watching, and he knew I knew he was watching. It was also weird how Mr. Davis would run to catch up with me while I was walking toward the lounge. He would open the door, then stand in the way so I had to bend under his arm. It was weird that he would constantly find reasons to touch my arm or press his hand into my lower back. But it wasn’t something I knew how to talk about, or even fully understood. “I’ve had worse, I guess.”

“What does that mean?” Rory adjusted his hat, trying to tuck his curly, sweaty hair behind his ears.

“Like, I went to an audition the other day—it’s where I’m heading now. I have a callback. Anyway, the casting director threw a pen on the ground and told me to turn around and pick it up. And that was the entire audition. I said my name, and he stared at my ass. After that, I was like, ‘Buh-bye, everyone, have a great day!’ ” I said sarcastically.

“Are you serious?” Rory’s face looked both upset and confused. I could see him nervously running his hands over his knees. “What did your parents say about it?”

“I can’t tell them that. What are they going to do? And besides, every other person in there auditioning has to do the same thing. If I’m the one complaining, I’m the one not getting the job. I once had to pretend to . . . enjoy myself, if you know what I mean, while a director burped behind a camera. It was for an independent film, and the whole thing was awful. It was just the two of us in this small room, and he was burping, and I had to pretend to like it. You know, like it.” I lowered my voice, starting to feel ashamed. But it was an audition. “It’s just an audition” was what I told myself constantly. I only knew what an orgasm sounded like from TV and movies, so I was certain I looked like a fool and sounded like a walrus. Knowing that audition tape forevermore lived out there somewhere haunted my fifteen-year-old nightmares. “Anyway, the auditioning process isn’t the best. It can be uncomfortable. It would be nice to have backup with me sometimes. But it’s okay. It’s fine,” I said, trying to sound as casual as possible.

Rory’s jaw flexed. I looked up, and Albert Davis was still watching me from his golf cart. I could feel myself shrink.

“Why do you do it if it makes you uncomfortable?” Rory’s eyes remained on the ground.

“Why do I act? Because I love it?” I rolled my eyes. Even I knew how ridiculous I sounded, but if I had booked the job, I would have been on set for a month, surrounded by passionate, like-minded people, getting paid to play pretend, feeling alive because I was a part of something bigger than myself. I placed my hand down on the curb and gripped the edge.

“Doesn’t sound like you love it,” Rory said softly before carefully placing his index finger on top of mine. He gently brushed my skin, sending a fire drill throughout my entire nervous system.

“Well, I don’t love auditioning, but I don’t know . . .” I had no idea how I was talking. I don’t even think I could hear my words come out of my mouth. Rory moved his finger to circle the delicate rose gold and amethyst ring I was wearing on my middle finger. I didn’t dare move as I stuttered through my next thought. “I . . . I like getting lost inside my head sometimes. It’s why I like writing in my diaries, too. I can go back in time or imagine different . . .” He placed two more fingers down on top of my hand and started slowly sliding them in the spaces between my fingers. I was short-circuiting. I looked up, and Rory’s eyes were focused on our hands. “I just . . . I like . . . I like . . . Um, I like . . .”

Rory smiled softly, likely recognizing that my brain was falling apart from his touch, and my mom’s SUV finally appeared. I stiffened, and Rory dragged his hand away from mine. We both stood.

“So, you’re going back to that jeans audition now?” Rory asked as my mom pulled up. “Will you have to pick up another pen?”

“Maybe,” I said, while clenching and flexing my now permanently branded hand.