Page 132 of You + Me – Against the World

Alma_from_paris: Can you tell it to put my best friend on?

Clemy_juicy: What do you want from her?

Alma_from_paris: To talk to her. About Keith.

Clemy_juicy: If it’s to tell me he’s too old for me, forget it right now.

Alma_from_paris: No, his age is just fine. I love his age!

Clemy_juicy: Me too.:)

Alma_from_paris: Okay, so Vadim might be imagining things, but he has the feeling something isn’t right…

Clemy_juicy: What’s your boyfriend taking these days? He sees evil everywhere. Soon he’ll be seeing dead people like the creepy kid from The Sixth Sense.

Alma_from_paris: Keith told my dad that Vadim was a danger to me.

Clemy_juicy: No way. Why would he do that?

Alma_from_paris: That’s exactly what we’re trying to find out.

Clemy_juicy: I mean, it’s true that Arcadi’s no saint. Maybe Keith just talked a bit about his past, and your dad jumped to conclusions.

Alma_from_paris: Maybe. But the next time you see him, could you ask him discreetly why he’s trying to keep Vadim away from me?

Clemy_juicy: I’m not your private detective!

Alma_from_paris: No, you’re my best friend.

Clemy_juicy: Can’t promise anything. Okay, I gotta go, see ya!

Alma_from_paris: Delete the chat—

She disconnects before I even have time to finish typing my sentence.

Vadim has disappeared from the platform, too. Probably to go let off some steam with Felix and hatch a plan to get revenge on Keith.

I feel exhausted. Why does happiness always pack its bags just when it’s just gotten settled in? Why is being nineteen so complicated?

Right now, I dream of being thirty. Of saying no to my father and yes to Vadim. Of smiling because life brought us together, and because we overcame the hardest part: the twists and turns, the bumps, and the dips.

Everything that made You + Me so precious.

45

I have fifteen days left to finish my short film. I’m already dreading presenting my work before the panel and being subject to the critical—though occasionally encouraging, I imagine—looks from the other professors. I practically tremble at the thought of standing before Abrams, who might not be entirely objective, and above all, the filmmakers, who are respected in the industry. They are the ones I want to impress—or simply move. Even just a trace of a smile or a slight nod of the head from one of them, and I would be the happiest person alive.

I’m not unhappy with my work, but there’s always some detail that could be changed: an edit to redo, sound to rework, a scene to cut, a piece of music to add. I could spend twenty hours a day on it, and I still wouldn’t want to stop. A passion for cinema has taken hold of me. I’ve become addicted, obsessed. And the subject of my film, Vadim, isn’t exactly helping me switch off.

***

Vadim’s community service has come to an end so that he can study for and take his exams. He’s got his freedom back, Cheyenne has disappeared from the picture, and we finally have some moments to ourselves, even if we still have to sneak around behind my parents’ backs.

Vadim doesn’t seem particularly anxious about his short film. I have no idea where he’s at with it, but I have received strict instructions to stop asking him.

Yes, I might have been hassling him a little.

I dream of him succeeding, of everyone discovering his talent, his subtle touch, his genius, and the incredible way he sees the world when he has a camera in his hands.