Say a Little Prayer(30)

Julia reaches down to pluck a pair of khaki trousers from his ever-growing pile. “Didn’t you already figure out your packing list? Why do you suddenly need a new wardrobe?”

Ben’s shoulders slump. “I don’t know. It’s just that most of the other students have been doing this program since they were, like, ten. They all live in the city. They probably take classes like this all the time, and I don’t want them to know I don’t.”

“Who cares?” Julia asks. “You got into the program, too. If your classmates don’t already like who you are, that’s their problem.”

“Weird advice from someone who tried to go blond last year.”

“Hey! That was your idea!”

She glances at me for backup, but any words of reassurance stick in the back of my throat. Because I get it. I understand what Ben is trying to say even if Julia can’t. It’s one thing to measure success in test scores and college admissions. Numbers are tangible. They’re real. At the end of the day, people like Julia can know for a fact that their work is better than everyone else’s, but Ben and I live in the subjectivity of creative pursuits. There’s no real way to know if we’re ever good enough because everyone’s definition of “good” is different. Ms. Tina thinks I’m good enough to cast in her show. She trusts me with the material, but I could get onstage in a few weeks and find that the entire school hates my performance. It’s a different kind of vulnerability that never stops being terrifying.

I wonder how long Ben’s felt the pressure of it eating him from the inside out. I wonder how long I haven’t noticed, too absorbed in my own problems to think about the people around me.

“Hey.” I step forward and gently tug those hideous khaki pants from his grip. “You know I think you’re brilliant, right? You’re talented and smart and so fucking cool that if your new classmates don’t see it, I’m honestly worried for their health.”

Ben snorts out a laugh. “It’s not just the students, you know. Even the faculty list is stacked. Did I tell you they got Markell Fansworth to come for week two? I literally did my final last year on the historical implications of the 1982 Fashion Week, but sure. He can just be my professor. What if—?”

“Ben!” I grab him by the shoulders. “I’m going to be so real with you. No one knows who that is.”

Julia raises a hand. “I do.”

“That doesn’t count, Julia; you know everything. The point,” I say, forcing Ben to look me in the eye, “is that one person’s opinion will not make or break your career. You got into that program for a reason, and you’re just as worthy of being taught by whatever niche, underground art celebrity they hire for the week.”

“He’s not—” Ben closes his eyes. “Sometimes, it physically pains me how little you know about things that aren’t musical theater.”

“I have to be selective, okay? There’s only so much room up here.”

“Yeah, and most of it is Sondheim lyrics.”

I give his shoulder a playful shove, but the corner of Ben’s mouth is finally lifting in a hint of his usual smile. “Go,” I say. “Find something else.” I drop the khakis to the floor as he disappears between the racks, then turn toward Julia. “Thank god we’re here. Can you believe he wanted to dress like a Midwestern bank teller all summer?”

Julia laughs, absentmindedly tugging a dress off a nearby rack. “Tragic.”

I don’t know if she’s actually browsing or just looking for something to do with her hands, but the minute she holds up the dress, my breath catches in the back of my throat. It’s absolutely her style—knee-length and subtly vintage with the dark green fabric cinched in at the waist. I immediately picture her wearing it downtown, sunglasses perched on the end of her nose as the fabric swishes around her bare legs. People would probably stop to ask where she’d bought it. They’d probably compliment her, too, point out how the color makes her eyes look like melting pockets of amber.

“Oh my god,” I breathe. “Please tell me you’re getting that.”

Julia’s head snaps up, like she’s suddenly remembering where we are. “Oh, no,” she says, guilt clear on her face. “I’m not…We can’t buy anything, remember?”

“Ben’s buying something,” I point out.

“That’s different. He’s Ben.”

“But do you want it?”

Her gaze drops to the floor. I know she wants the dress. I know she wants to leave with something. It’s the whole reason she and Ben dragged me out here in the first place, but the indecision is clear on her face, baked into the tense set of her shoulders. Maybe a kind, generous person would leave it at that. Maybe the fact that I don’t let her go means I’m just as terrible and greedy as Cindy wants me to believe, but looking at Julia now, her face shadowed in the dim light of the store, I don’t see how that’s a bad thing.

“I shouldn’t,” she says, voice barely more than a whisper. “It would go against the whole lesson, wouldn’t it? Besides, Ben might need help, and I still haven’t started our assignment for the afternoon and—”

“Julia!”

She stops, fingers once again tugging at the end of her braid. I pry the dress from her grasp, then hold out my other hand. “It’s okay,” I say. “We’re just looking. You’re allowed to look.”