Page 5 of Meet Me at the Metro (Gildenhill #1)
5
SHADY, SHADY, SHADY
E L L I E
T he elastic bands of my soft-soled ballet shoes snap against my skin as I yank them off my feet, gather my things, and head out of the dance studio. An entire month has passed since my studies started at Gildenhill , and I’m working tirelessly to keep up with my classes. Unfortunately, I’m struggling majorly in one department: ballet .
If I had my say in it, I would ban Grande Jetés and Glissades for the rest of my existence.
It was hard enough to overcome the challenging demands of my Vocal Studies and Shakespeare and Naturalism courses, let alone having to juggle Dance II alongside them. I need more time to perfect my ballet skills, but the coursework in my other two classes makes it impossible.
On a more positive note, I’m so consumed and busy with school that I hardly spend much time at the apartment. Less time spent there means lower chances of running into Theo, and not having to see Theo saves me from having to deal with his grumpy ass… so I’ll consider my engrossing schedule a blessing.
I make my way into Professor Henderson’s classroom and sigh with relief when I spot my newly made friend, Connor, waiting for me at our carefully picked seats. We always sit at a desk in the middle of the room—close enough to hear Henderson’s monotone voice but far enough away that we didn’t have to engage in one of his many philosophical questions about Shakespeare’s workings.
As I walk over, Connor’s consumed in his textbook, his dark eyelashes flickering as he reads the text along the pages. He must hear my oncoming footsteps because he glances up from studying and greets me.
“Well, don’t you just look lovely?”
“You’re a dick,” I laugh.
He runs his honey-brown eyes over me, taking in my disheveled appearance. “Good to see you survived another day of dance.”
“Key word there, surviving .” I take my seat beside him and whine, “I’m going to walk out of there as an amputee by the end of the semester.”
“Oh, stop,” Connor chuckles. His dark hair flows against his forehead as he shakes his head in disapproval. “It’ll get easier. From everything I’ve seen from you so far, I can tell you’re talented. You’ll figure out how to work the kinks out.”
A smile starts to bloom on my face, as it frequently does when he’s around. He never fails to encourage me, which is a welcoming quality of his that I’ve grown accustomed to over the last few weeks of getting to know him. His friendship has helped to keep me going during this first month of classes. He certainly makes Professor Henderson’s class bearable to sit through because boring lectures are always more enjoyable when you’ve got a friend to slide stupid notes back and forth with—even if the topics of those notes are completely irrelevant to the lessons taught at the front of the classroom. Hell, they’re the only thing that keeps me from nodding off during class.
As Professor Henderson drones on about analogies found in the first act of Much Ado About Nothing , I catch Connor’s stare on me from the corner of my eye.
“What?” I whisper timidly, brushing my hair back because I assume the mess on my head is what’s been holding his attention for so long. “Does it look bad?”
“No. No, not at all. It’s not that.”
“Is it something on my face?”
“No, Ellie,” he chuckles. “I-I think you look pre—”
“ Mr. Davidson and Miss Mattice . Is there something you’d like to share with the class? ”
All the students in the classroom shift in their seats, looking back at the two of us.
“ Umm, no, Professor. I was just—”
“Grabbing me a pencil,” I finish, snatching the one in his hand. “Sorry, please continue.”
Henderson gives us both a long, annoyed look before turning back to the projector and resuming where he left off. “As we were discussing…”
“I’m so sorry,” Connor mouths.
“Don’t be.” I give him a sympathetic smile and wave the pencil gripped between my fingers. “Mine now.”
“That’s fair,” he quietly chuckles.
I take a good, long look at my friend when I’m confident that his attention is focused back on Professor Henderson, noting the pink hue still covering his cheeks and the sudden tenseness in his composure.
I decide not to ponder the reasoning behind Connor’s sudden uneasiness, letting the strange tension between us go as I focus back on the lesson. But it’s not long before my thoughts drift off again, this time to the people waiting for me back in the States. Lately, I haven’t found much time to think about Mom, Dad, John, or my other friends back home.
Something about that truth is so painful to admit.
The time zone differences and demands of school have made it nearly impossible to find opportunities to call or FaceTime any of them. I’ve only been in London for a month now, but I’m starting to realize how quickly this city has consumed me.
Connor nudges me with his elbow, drawing me out of my disappointing thoughts. “You good?”
“I’m fine,” I whisper, forcing a smile to my face. “Just a little homesick. That’s all.”
The evening September breeze is refreshing as Connor and I make our way out of class. I always appreciate the glow of campus at night. I love the quiet serenity that lingers once the day’s sunlight is tucked away beyond the city’s horizon and most students have left the college for the day. The luminescence of the street lamps lining the cobblestone sidewalks guides us through the darkness now blanketing the campus courtyard.
“Blimey,” Connor sighs. “I don’t think Henderson could make class more miserable to sit through if he tried.”
“Don’t say that! You’ll jinx us, and that’s exactly what he’ll do just to spite us.”
“You’re probably right. We’ve got targets on our backs after today.”
“We definitely do,” I giggle. “At least he didn’t give us any assignments to get done over the weekend.”
“Our literature reviews must be so impressive that he decided to bless us with a break.”
“Yeah, or he’s just tired of reading the garbage we keep submitting and has decided to bless himself with a break.”
“That could be true, too,” he laughs. “But speaking of break…”
“Yeah?”
“If you don’t have any plans tonight, I was thinking of heading to that new burger joint they just opened down the street. Would you want to tag along?”
“I would love to, but I can’t tonight,” I sigh. “I promised myself that I would make some calls back home.”
“ Ahh ,” he nods politely. “I see.”
“What about next week? I really want to come. It’s just that I need to call John and—”
“I understand, Ellie. We can do next week.”
“Good because I’ve been craving a good burger since I got here.”
“Alright then, next week,” he says, smiling so widely that I can see all his bright teeth. He starts walking in the opposite direction and calls back, “Have a good night. See you Monday?”
“Monday,” I nod in agreement. “ Hey, wait! Do you want your pencil back? ”
“Nah! My gift to you.”
“For what?!”
“For saving my arse from Henderson!”
I watch his silhouette until it disappears within the shadows of the night. My surroundings are quiet now that Connor’s left, only the hum of passing cars in the distant city streets and the sound of rustling tree leaves filling my ears. I pull my phone from my pocket and walk until I find enough bars to make my first call to John.
I settle on a secluded park bench hidden beneath the shade of an oak tree, granting me the promise of four service bars so long as I sit still long enough to keep them. Feeling safe under the dim rays of lamp posts and the seclusion I’m granted on this part of campus, I start a FaceTime with John.
The image is shaky when he finally answers the phone. “Eleanor, hey. What’s up? I thought you had lecture or whatever tonight.”
The background shifts behind him as he stands and moves quickly, entering what appears to be a bathroom.
“I do—I mean, I did. I just got out and wanted to call you. I’ve been thinking about you all day, babe. I miss you so much, and I’ve got so much to tell you. Do you remember that—”
“Would it be okay if I tried calling you back later? It’s just, I’m with the boys and—”
“We haven’t talked in days. You can’t talk for just a few minutes?”
“I’ll call you ba—”
“John, get your ass back in here!”
The way his eyes widen at the sound of the feminine voice has my pulse hammering.
He draws the camera closer to himself and insists, “I’ll text you, alright?”
“I thought you were with the boys?”
“I am,” he bites back harshly. “We’re at Derrick’s. I don’t have time to talk right now.”
“That’s not Derrick’s house,” I argue, feeling frustration heat my entire body.
It’s when my eyes settle on the familiar-looking floral shower curtain behind him that my heart sinks.
I know that shower curtain. It’s Lucy’s shower curtain—my best friend’s fucking shower curtain.
The revelation makes me utterly nauseous.
My thoughts spiral into oblivion as I try to devise an excuse for the two of them. There has to be an explanation—there has to be a way to justify why he’s over there right now.
However, Lucy’s giggles fill the silence of our call, and any remnant of hope I had left dissipates entirely.
“Are you going to come fuck me or not?”
For the briefest of moments, I catch her on the screen, half-naked, with my boyfriend’s shirt being the only article of clothing on her body. I watch as John’s face drains of any color that was there a moment ago, and I want to cry.
I don’t even know what to say—I don’t even know if I can conjure up the strength I need to speak.
Somehow, I do.
“Why?”
“E-Eleanor,” John stutters. “It’s not what it looks like, I— fuck . Let me explain.”
“There’s nothing to explain.” I swallow the sore lump in my throat and fight to keep my emotions hidden. I refuse to give either one of them the satisfaction of seeing me cry.
“Yes, there is, please just—”
“We’re done,” I say, voice trembling. “Whatever this even fucking meant to you is done.”
“We had a little bit too much to drink. I was horny and missed you and—”
“Save it, asshole!” My thumb goes to end the call, but just before it does, I mutter out one final thing. “Fuck you, both.”