Page 19 of Bump and Run

“Bye, Grant,” she says.

He hops off the stage and heads for the hallway exit, giving Eliza plenty of time to stare me down, amusement bleeding from her eyeballs.

“Now that we have the unsolicited chivalry portion of tonight’s events out of the way—”

“Hey—” I defend. “Anyone could have walked in here and got the same idea I did.”

“I know,” she chuckles. “Grant and I are auditioning for the leads in the fall play, so we’re pulling out all the stops — the more intense, the better.”

I study her face. Her cheeks are still pulsing red but her eyes show absolutely nothing of the fear I saw before. One snap of her fingers and it’s all gone, almost as if it never existed at all. “You all right?”

She waves her hand and bends over to grab a bottle of water from her bag. “I’m fine. The adrenaline will wear off soon.”

I take a breath, feeling my own bit of adrenaline firing through me. The way I leapt up there to defend her… I’ve never done that before. I’m not sure how I feel about it, honestly.

“So… you have a tryout?”

Eliza laughs mid-sip, nearly spilling water down her chin. “I have an audition.”

“What’s the difference?”

She pauses for a moment. “Nothing, I guess.” Her head tilts as she slips her messenger bag onto her shoulder. “Come to think of it, there’s really not much of a difference between what you do and what I do at all.”

I glance around at the stage. Red curtains and a grand piano. “It’s completely different…” I argue.

“How?”

I smirk. “I play football, Ellie.”

“So?”

“So…” I shake my head. “One is football and the other is… a little performance on a stage.”

Her face twists. “Isn’t that what football is?”

“No,”I argue. “Sports are about strategy and anticipating the opponent’s move before it even happens.I have to train hard to do what I do.”

She scoffs, crossing her arms. “And I don’t?”

I stand up taller. There’s no way I’m wrong about this. “I’m in the gym five times a week.”

“So am I. You’re going to stand there and argue that actors aren’tscrutinizedover every bit of their appearance? Pound for pound, I’m probably judged more than you are.”

“Okay…” I blink, yanked off course by the logic in her reasoning. “But my team counts on me to be in shape. I have to be where I’m supposed to be, when I’m supposed to be there, or we don’t win.”

“I have to hit every cue, memorize every word of my lines pluseveryone else’s,” she says, her voice steady as a rock. “I have to live and breathe this place for weeks before opening night because if I don’t, then everyone will notice every missed step, every skipped line, and my crew will judge me for it — same as you.You memorize a few plays, you stand out in the field every weekend, and you perform for the crowd. It’s the same thing.”

“But people respect and admire what I do a lot more than what you do,” I bite.

Eliza smiles. “Hate to break it to you, Junior, but this auditorium is always sold out. Can you say the same for that stadium out there?”

I open my mouth to argue but nothing comes out. My throat clenches shut, smacked down into submission with the slightest crack of her tongue.

“It’s the audience that gives it life, isn’t it?” she continues, her tone much softer. Almost comforting, as if she’s nursing a wound. “Grant and I were just rehearsing until you walked in and made it real. Without the crowd out there screaming you on, it’s just a scrimmage, am I right?”

Total fucking whiplash. “Right…”

She grins at me again and offers me her bottle of water. “See? Not so different.”

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