“Oh God. Please don’t tell me that’s what you’re wearing tonight.” Allie marches into my bedroom and frowns at my outfit. “No. I forbid it.”
I glance down at my ratty plaid pants and sweatshirt with the collar cut off. “What? No.” I point to the garment bag dangling from the hook behind my door. “I’m wearing that.”
“Ooooh. Let me see.”
Allie unzips the bag and proceeds to oooh and aaah over the strapless silver dress inside it. Her animated reaction is a testament to how out of it I’ve been this week. I was pretty much in a trance when I drove to Hastings to buy this dress for the showcase, and although it’s been hanging on my door for four days, I never bothered showing it off to Allie.
I don’t want to show it off. Hell, I don’t even want to wear it. The winter showcase starts in two hours and I could not care less. The entire semester has been building up to this one stupid performance.
And I could not. Care. Less.
When Allie notices my disinterested face, her expression softens. “Aw, Han-Han, why don’t you just call him?”
“Because we broke up,” I mumble.
She nods slowly. “And why is that again?”
I’m too depressed to give her the same bullshit excuse I dished out a week ago. I haven’t confessed to Allie or my friends the real reason I ended things with Garrett. I don’t want them knowing about his asshole father. I don’t want to think about his asshole father.
So I told them, and I quote, “it didn’t work out.” Four measly words, and they haven’t managed to pry a single detail out of me since.
My stony silence drags on long enough for Allie to shift in discomfort. Then she sighs and says, “Do you still want me to do your hair?”
“Sure. If you want.” There is zero enthusiasm in my voice.
We spend the next thirty minutes getting ready, though I don’t know why Allie bothers dressing up. She’s not the one who has to get up on stage and sing in front of hundreds of strangers.
Though, out of curiosity, how exactly does one sing a heartfelt ballad when their heart has been crushed to dust?
I guess I’m about to find out.
The backstage area of the main auditorium is chaotic when I wander in. Students rush past me, some carrying instruments, all dressed to impress. Panicky voices and brisk orders echo all around me, but I barely register them.
The first face I see belongs to Cass. Our gazes hold for a beat and then he walks over, looking like a million bucks in a black suit jacket and a salmon-colored dress shirt with the collar propped up. His dark hair is styled to perfection. His blue eyes offer no trace of remorse or apology.
“Great dress,” he remarks.
I shrug. “Thanks.”
“Nervous?”
Another shrug. “Nope.”
I’m not nervous because I don’t care. I never thought I was one of those wimpy girls who walks around like a zombie after a breakup and bursts into tears at even the smallest reminder of her true love, but depressingly enough, I totally am.
“Well, break a leg,” Cass says once he figures out I’m not interested in making conversation.
“You too.” I pause and, not under my breath, mutter, “Literally.”
His head sharply turns toward me. “Sorry, I didn’t hear that last part.”
I raise my voice. “I said, literally.”
Those blue eyes darken. “You’re a real bitch, you know that?”
A laugh flies out. “Uh-huh. I’m the bitch.”
Cass scowls at me. “What, you want me to apologize for talking to my advisor? Because I’m not going to. We both know the duet wasn’t working out. I just had the balls to do something about it.”
“You’re right,” I agree. “I should be thanking you. You actually did me a huge favor.” And no, I’m not being sarcastic. I mean every word.
His self-righteous expression wavers. “I did?” Then he clears his throat. “Yes, I did. I did both of us a favor. I’m glad you’re able to recognize that.” His trademark smirk resettles on his lips. “Anyway, I need to find MJ before the performance.”
He saunters off, and I head in the opposite direction in search of Jae. All the sound checks were done this morning, so everything’s pretty much good to go. Since I’m the last junior to perform, I get to wait around with my thumb up my ass until they call my name. Cass, of course, is opening the junior showcase. He must’ve sucked someone’s dick to get that slot, because it’s the best one in the line-up. That’s when the judges are still bushy-eyed and excited, eager to start judging after sitting through the sophomore and freshman performances, which don’t qualify for scholarships. By the time the last junior hits the stage—go me!—everyone is tired, anxious to stretch their legs or grab a smoke before the senior performances begin.
I pop my head into a few dressing rooms looking for Jae, but he’s nowhere to be found. I hope my cellist hasn’t deserted me, but if he did…well…I don’t care.
I miss Garrett. I can’t go five seconds without thinking about him, and the reminder that he’s not in the audience tonight is like a karate chop to the neck. My windpipe closes up, making it impossible to breathe.
“Hannah,” a meek voice calls out.
I stifle a sigh. Shit. I’m so not in the mood to talk to Mary Jane right now.
But the little blonde dashes over to me before I can make my escape, trapping me in the doorway of the dressing room I was about to enter. “Can we talk?” she blurts out.