Page 21 of Broken Romeo
At ten in the morning.
As usual, Dad ignored her, so I replied with, “Apparently, they changed some of the graduation requirements last year. I missed the memo. Instead of two electives, it’s now four elective classes.”
“How did you miss something so import—”
“But I’ve talked to my advisor, and I was able to slip into a class that’s an easy A,” I interrupted, not wanting to get into how that email about graduation requirements had apparently been sitting in my inbox unopened for months. Was it my fault that I didn’t read every bit of fucking spam that’s emailed to us from the school? Maybe if they didn’t send seven emails a day, I’d be more inclined to fucking open them. “It’s totally covered.”
“What class?”
I balanced my cell phone precariously between my shoulder and my ear while I tugged my student ID free to show it to the guard at the front of the theater building. I swallowed a curse as my grandfather’s platinum spinner ring, that I wore constantly, got momentarily caught on the keychain.
“Introduction to Method Acting,” I finally managed to answer my dad.
Dad’s snort was an obvious indication of what he thought of the class.
I lowered my voice and tucked myself into a corner of the lobby. “I talked to some guys on the team, and they all said the introductory theater classes were easy.”
Apparently, of all the guys on the team, I was the only idiot who didn’t realize I needed two more electives to graduate. They’d all taken Intro to Theater, which unfortunately had been filled up by the time I tried to add the class to my schedule. But my advisor suggested Intro to Method Acting as an alternative. How different could it possibly be?
“And if I volunteer to help with the fall musical, I can earn a bonus credit,” I said. “Which means I can possibly knock out both these credits in the first semester.”
Dad was quiet for a long minute—which for him could be either good or bad. Without being in front of him to read his expression, I had no idea what was coming.
“How the fuck are you going to manage volunteering for the fall musical and playing football at the same time?”
I’d actually been wondering that myself. “I can do backstage crew or something for a few nights. Swing a hammer, hang some backdrops. Look, Dad, I’ve got to run. Class is about to start.”
“If you lose your starting spot on the team—”
I hung up on him before he could say another word.
Man, he was going to make me pay for that one.
I opened up my schedule on my phone to check where this Intro to Method Acting class was taking place.
Theater C.
I spun and took in the lobby of this building—a building I’d literally never stepped foot inside in all three years I’d been at this school.
It was only then that I was struck with how goddamn loud everyone was.
Loud. Colorful. Eccentric.
All the noise and movement rubbed up my spine wrong, like a palm grazing a cat’s fur in the wrong direction.
This place was nothing like the poli-sci and pre-law building where most of my other classes were.
As I ventured through the lobby, I passed a girl wearing a tutu over her jeans with Doc Martens and magenta hair in tight coils around her head. Another guy had straight black hair that fell to his chin, nails painted to match, and pants straight out of a grunge video. My checkered button-down and jeans felt wildly out of place here.
A group of hot girls came strutting in the door, wearing leotards and skin-tight yoga pants with their glossy hair pulled into taut, high buns.
I smirked. With a hop in my step, I rushed over to them, my eyes trained on their muscled asses as they walked.
“Hey there,” I called out to the redhead at the front of the pack.
She seemed to be leading the dancers, like she was in charge. She was hot, and she knew she was hot. Girls like that? They were okay, I guess. Most of my teammates found a way into their skirts.
“Hey, wait up” I called, trying to get her attention. I was actually surprised I hadn’t seen her around campus more. Especially since she was clearly a dancer and looked like she could be a cheerleader.