“It’s a fair question, I think. I’d hate for your relationship to interfere with my grades.”
“I wouldn’t let that happen.”
Swallowing, I wait for her to elaborate. Quincy’s always preferred girls to guys, but sexuality is fluid and personal. None of us kids are straight, mostly identifying somewhere between bisexuality and pansexuality with caveats in between, but I’m not exactly sure where she falls on the spectrum currently. Shehasdated men, so I can’t put it past her to be involved with Sutton.
Maybe it’s delusion talking, considering how strict he seems when it comes to school relations, or maybe I’m just a jealous bitch. I don’t know.
I just don’t want her to want him. Or vice versa.
My whole childhood was already spent in her shadow, where I so desperately craved to be like her or to be liked by her. I don’t want that pattern following me eternally in adulthood too.
“Faculty can’t have romantic or sexual connections,” she says after a moment.
“Oh.”
“And honestly, I barely know the guy. He was behind me in undergrad, and despite what you might believe, classics and theater majors don’t really cross over much. Plus, there’s the whole thing with that family curse, and his sister’s death?—”
Something cold fills my chest. “His what?”
“His twin sister died when he was a sophomore, I think? I can’t remember the exact year anymore, but it really threw Avernia for a loop since it was the first on-campus death in decades. I didn’t know who Sutton was until that point, and suddenly he was justeverywhere, thrust into the spotlight.” Quincy cocks her head, thinking. “Or maybe that’s just when I started paying attention. I don’t know.”
Guilt pricks at the surface of my skin. Isthatwhy he feels such a deep connection to this place?
If my ghosts are faceless, I can’t imagine how difficult it must be to navigate life when you recognize the ones haunting you.
“Elle! Come on!” Lexington shouts again, earning dirty looks from a few people studying toward the front of the building.
Even though I want to probe Quincy about Sutton more, I leave her sitting there before Percy—whose face is a bright red, embarrassment clear on his cheeks—bursts a blood vessel.
I power walk across the floor, then follow the three of them to a glass room past the main staircase. They’ve pushed all the furniture back against the windows and have a circle of couch cushions set up in the center.
“Thank God,” Meg says as I enter, tossing my bag to the floor. She fixes the brakes on her chair, shaking her head. “These two knownothingabout auditions. I’m starting to fear for their grades in Dupont’s class.”
“You’re just now worrying about that?” I snort, grateful for the distraction these three provide. “I could’ve told you ages ago that one’s failing forsure.” I point at Percy as he bends over, cuffing his loose-fitting jeans.
“Hey,” he says, frowning at me from upside down. “I’ve aced all my essays so far, thank you.”
“And the performance element?” Lexington questions.
“This is an electivebeginnercourse, so I don’t see why we have to get judged on that ability,” Percy continues, unwrapping a green scarf from around his neck. “Shouldn’t grades be based on our improvements over the semester?”
“Good luck convincing Professor Hard-Ass of that. You know he thinks everyone should be great right off the bat. That’s why you have to audition for a seat anyway.” Meg wiggles her eyebrows at them, then looks to me. “Though I guess Elle kind of bypassed that requirement.”
Percy huffs, straightening. “Founders get all the favors.”
“Do you want pointers or not?” I ask, wagging a finger at him.
He drops to his knees at my feet, clasping his hands together in a gesture of prayer. “Yes, please.”
I giggle. “Men who beg rank high on my list, but I’m not sure how the professor will feel about it.”
“Word on the street is he likes to do the begging,” Meg notes. We all glance at her, and she pushes a braid off her shoulder, holding her phone up. “What? That’s whatThe Delphic Pagessays. Don’t shoot the messenger.”
I snatch the phone from her, peering at the screen. A picture of Sutton standing behind a partially drawn red curtain, mouth open as he says something to the people onstage, populates beneath Pythia’s account.
My stomach grows heavy at the sight of him in directorial mode: Even from the still, it’s clear that he’s a firm, determined visionary. You can see it in his eyes and the hard set of his jaw—heloveswhat he does.
Beneath the photo in bold lettering, a caption states: Sutton Dupont pleads for more emotion from his actors during the fall production of Macbeth.
