Crossing
Crossing
Inspired by a true story.
"Beautiful. Heart wrenching. A true tale of love. It'll make you laugh, cry, and have you running out to buy a tube of red lipstick."
RaShelle Workman, bestselling author of the
Blood and Snow series
“
I’ve never read a novel that made me run the gambit of so many emotions. This is a New Adult novel that can’t be missed!”
Magan Vernon, International bestselling author of
The Only Exception
“
I found CROSSING a very emotional, romantic, sexy, super funny book. I love all the characters. Thank you for letting me read it, Stacey, and trusting me and the world with this wonderful story of yours.”
Angela Carlie, author of
Dream Smashers
Crossing
Stacey Wallace Benefiel
Published by Stacey Wallace Benefiel at Smashwords
Copyright © 2013 by Stacey Wallace Benefiel
All rights reserved.
Cover design by Steven Novak
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
For the loudmouth girls.
Chapter One
I pull my backpack straps away from the sweaty front of my Hello Kitty t-shirt as I run up the wide concrete steps of Villard Hall. In another month the seemingly never-ending Oregon drizzle will start and I can dress for style and cover instead of comfort.
Stopping in the entryway, I quickly peruse the black plastic signs stuck to the white walls and dial in on the one directing me to the Little Theatre, room 101. I hurry down the hall, my right hand leaving my backpack strap to swipe the moisture from my upper lip. Stupid sweat glands and stupid European Lit professor who went five minutes over on the first day, causing me to have to do my awkward straight-legged jog all the way from the other side of campus.
Sure, if I was an Accounting major I could clearly see how those buildings and my classes would be nowhere near each other, but Theatre and English, in a school with a significant Shakespearean program? It makes no fucking sense.
A guy speeds by me and nearly passes the double doors to the Little Theatre. He comes to a screeching halt and whips open the left door, disappearing inside, only to swing it out again and almost hit me in the face as I reach for it.
His brown eyes go wide. “Sorry,” he says, cringing. “I didn’t mean to be ungentlemanly and not hold the door open.”
He’s cute and not sweaty at all.
“So, you just thought you’d hit me in the face with it instead?” I ask, smirking as I breeze into the theatre.
I take a seat in the top row. The place reminds me of a cave. The walls, stairs, ceiling, and stage are painted flat black. For variation, the hard, plastic chairs, set in steep descending rows, are beige.
The guy slides in next to me. “Liam Garrett.” He holds his hand out.
“Danielle–Dani.” I clap my clammy palm in his and face forward as our professor gets up from her seat down below in the front row and turns to address the class.
“Welcome to Acting I,” she says, smiling broadly before bowing at the class. She’s got short, spiky, purple-red hair and is wearing enormous white glasses. They coordinate nicely with her batik-patterned tunic and black leggings. “I’m Professor Barnes. You may call me Maren.” She holds up a stack of white papers. “I’m going to set the syllabi by the door down here and you can grab one at any time during class. Acting I is all about scene work, so we’re going to begin with open scenes this week. After that, I’ll assign you scene partners and we’ll get into the nitty gritty of the Stanislavski method, my lovelies.” She waves us down toward the stage. “Let’s circle up and get to know each other. Then we’ll do some truly embarrassing warm-ups to get our bodies loose.”
I stand and wait for Liam to clear the aisle. I suppose I could’ve gone the other way, but following him down the stairs to the stage gives me a chance to check out his ass. And a fine ass it is. He’s wearing Levi’s and black Chucks and a short-sleeved royal blue Under Armour shirt that hugs his biceps and shoulders. His short brown hair has wave to it, but he’s got it cut conservatively. None of that weirdness that looks like the guy’s had all of his hair sucked forward in a vacuum. Yep, he’s cute.
At the bottom of the stairs, I go around Liam and cut across the stage, opting not to sit next to him so I can check him out better from the front and size up the other people in class. This isn’t Dani’s first rodeo. I was a mega theatre geek in high school and probably should’ve started taking Acting I my very first term at U of O, but my parents had suggested that with an English degree, at least I’d have a chance of getting a teaching job. There are no prospects in being a theatre major. I obeyed and suffered through four terms of English Lit hell before standing up to my parents over the summer and telling them that just because I could write a short story and liked to read, that didn’t mean I was cut out for life as an academic.
I couldn’t give a flying fuck about criticism or sentence structure or underlying theme. But the characters? That’s what I loved about reading and writing…the drama, the character work, the becoming another person, getting inside someone else’s head. I told my parents I was grateful they’d shelled out the cash for me to attend college, but if I wasn’t going to be able to study what I wanted, they were better off saving their money and letting me drop out to get a job as a make-up artist at the MAC counter in the mall.
The class sits in a circle on the floor, everyone discreetly eying each other. Liam is by far the most conventionally attractive guy, but there are a couple other male specimens with potential. I let my gaze skip over the few boys that set my gaydar off. I’d been down that road one too many times in high school. They could probably sense my hagability, anyway.
I am definitely the most conventionally plain girl in the class. Shoulder length brown hair, fair, freckled skin, sharp nose, weak chin, tiny ears. Chubby, but not fat. Nice-sized boobs. Freakishly large feet. I’m not blond or tan or exotic or ethnic, or anything that would make me interesting. I’m a white Midwestern girl who looks like every other white Midwestern girl. Sometimes this seriously bums me out and sometimes I’m glad I’m not THE MOST BEAUTIFUL because it makes me try harder at being funny and charismatic and outgoing. Which is also pretty damn tiring. I’m conflicted, okay?
“Let’s go around and share a couple of things about ourselves,” says Maren. “I’ll start. As I said, I’m Maren Barnes. I’m an adjunct and you guys are my last Acting I class before I move up to the big leagues and teach Acting II.” She smiles. “Essentially, if you continue on in the program, you’re stuck with me.” She giggles. “I’m originally from Baltimore and did my graduate work at UC Davis before farting around trying to get commercial gigs in L.A. for a few years. You’re looking at the face of Torrance Flooring World, I’ll have you know. So, that was depressing and I decided to move to the great Northwest, live in a condo with a mildew problem, and teach you lovelies.” She nods to the blond girl next to her, sporting a tiny silver nose ring and expensive outdoor clothes that look like they were actually used to go on actual hikes because her body is perfect and fit.
“I’m Sybil. I’m an Enviro studies major and I’m taking this class as an elective. It seemed active and fun.” She gives us a megawatt smile. “I’ll probably suck, but that’s okay. I’m always up for an adventure. Oh, I’m from Whidbey Island up near Seattle.”
“Welcome Sybil.”
The next girl to go has long, glossy black hair and warm brown skin. “My name is India. I’m from the Bay area. I’m in the dance program, but thinking of doubling in Theatre.”
“Hey!” I pipe up. “You might know my roommate Elizabeth Danes? She’s a sophomore in the ballet program.”
India nods, but looks past me. “Yeah, cool, I recognize the name. I do mostly modern, but we collaborate with the ballerinas from time to time.”
After her, two more girls share – Evelyn and Cassandra. Both are pretty in an interesting way, Evelyn with her auburn hair and blue eyes, and Cassandra with her huge green eyes and long, long legs. They’re freshmen and roommates in the Creative Arts dorm that I lived in last year, both interested in becoming Theatre majors right out of the gate. I can tell they got all the leads in their high school plays. They are
that
girl.
Liam is up next. “I’m Liam Garrett. I’m a senior Spanish major. I am also taking this class as an elective.”
“Getting it in under the wire, huh?” Maren teases.
He smiles and then licks his lips. “I don’t know why I waited so long. I, uh, worked crew on all the plays in high school and always really enjoyed it, so this should be fun. I’m from Boise. That’s about it.”
I notice the rest of the class is paying just as much attention to Liam as I am, which isn’t surprising. There are fourteen women in the class and six men: three are definitely gay, one is questionable, then Liam, and a weird older guy who has to be auditing.
We finish up the sharing. The old guy’s name is Steve and he’s taking the class for fun while he gets his doctorate in Iranian Studies. The three gays are Jake, Jacob, and Jackson, if you can fucking believe it, and I resist the urge to claim them as MY gays before India can get her hands on them.
“I’m Dani Walker. I hail from the great state of Illi-noise. DeKalb. Home of Corn Fest and barbed wire and Cindy Crawford? No? It’s a booming metropolis of farmland about an hour from Chicago.”
“NIU is there, right?” Maren asks.
“Yup. And before you ask why I didn’t go to school in my hometown, you should probably look up DeKalb and see for yourself. I mentioned Corn Fest, right?”
Liam grins at me.
“Anyhoo, I’m a sophomore. I was an English major, but I’m switching to Theatre. You probably can’t tell just by looking at me because I’m off my fashion game when the sun is shining, but I got alllll of the minor and supporting roles in my community and high school productions. I was the Cook in
Alice in Wonderland
, twice
.
Be not afraid, you won’t see any divaesque behavior from me. I’m more Tina Cohen Chang than Rachel Berry.” I shrug. “That’s me.”
Maren gets on her feet. “I think this class is going to be awesome. Let’s get started on those warm-ups.”
We all stand while Maren leads us through a series of stretches and yoga poses before moving on to the vocal exercises. Clearly, the embarrassing part.
“Wheeeooooooooooo!”
“Wheeeooooooooooo!” we echo.
“Blah, blah, blah.” Maren opens her mouth wide and sticks her tongue out.
Liam catches my eye while we’re both mid-kabuki lion and cracks up when we shift into squinchy lemon face.
“Now that we’re all introduced and warmed-up,” Maren says, shaking out her arms, “please go take your seats for a moment and get out your textbook. Turn to the section with the open scenes.”
I follow Liam back up the stairs, admiring his Liam-asstic assets again. He stops at the top of the stairs and gestures for me to pass, giving me another quick kabuki lion face. We sit and take out our textbooks. I scan the open scenes. They are literally five sentences with lines like, “No wait…” “What?” “Where have you been?” “I want…”
“Tra la! My favorite part of class!” Maren says from center stage. “Simply partner with one of the people sitting next to you for this exercise and decide which open scene you’d like to perform.”
Liam and I are the only two people sitting in the back row. He looks at me and nods. Guess we’re going to be “I want” and “No, wait…” –ing with each other.
“I’ll give you a context for your scene and then you guys can find a spot around the premises to practice.” Maren starts with us. “Back row. Dani’s just told you that she’s pregnant with your alien child. Go.”
Liam turns to me. “That sounds easy enough.”
I laugh. “’Cause you’ve been in this situation before?”
He shakes his head, but doesn’t say no. “Wanna practice in the hall? I promise to let you be in control of the door.”
“Ooh, goody!” I stand and climb over the back of my seat into the aisle. I go to the door and usher him through. “And,
that’s
how you do it.”
He shakes his head again. “You’re weird.”
“And you’re pretty. Yay for us.”
X
He fixes his dark gaze on me. “I want…?”
I clutch my abdomen. It’s still a bit sloshy from the gigantor Diet Coke I had at lunch. “I wish…”
He reaches forward and grasps my forearm. “How?”
And I get this really vivid image in my head of Liam with an enormous, green, alien erection that makes me break character and giggle like a dumbass.