Page 106 of Fighting Spirit

I think about it for a second. I’ve been feeling weird about things between Marshall and I, but skipping tonight’s screening-especially after he’s texted me at least seven times to confirm-feels like something I wouldn’t be able to take back. I’d rather go through one night that has the potential to be a little awkward than tank a friendship with one of the only people I can count on.

“It’ll be okay.” I reach over and squeeze his hand.

“Okay.” He squeezes back. “Text me if you want to head out and I’ll come get you.”

“You’re not going home?” I figured he’d drop me at my apartment and head back to Beaufort.

“I’ll stick around, we can hang out after.”

“You really don’t have to do that,” I protest.

He throws the truck into reverse and pulls out of the spot. His hand comes to rest on my thigh. “Don’t really wanna spend the night without you, Frog.”

“Rowan-“

He cuts me off. “I’ll drive you to your thing, you have fun, then you’re all mine.”

Chapter Forty-Four

RUTH

The theatre the film department rented out smells of stale popcorn, the ratty carpet keeping my shoes stuck down with every step. As I look around, I adjust myself in my clothes. I don’t know the desired outcome, but seeing the rest of the people in the room, I know I’m not quite right.

It’s not that I’m underdressed, there’s a guy in the corner wearing board shorts and a guns ‘n’ roses shirt; it’s more that the whole crowd feels very curated. That guy knew exactly what he was doing. But I’m here in my ‘nice dress,’ which I all but fell into because I couldn’t figure out what the vibe was.

My eyes bounce around the room, trying to spot anybody I recognize. There are a few vaguely familiar people, but nobody I’d feel comfortable walking over to.

Was this a terrible idea? Marshall and I have barely hung out in the last month or so, and now I’m here at his screening? Everyone else looks like they’re people from the department, and I don’t see anyone who seems like they’ve brought a guest. What the fuck is happening?

I’m about ready to bolt when my phone chimes in my pocket. I pull it out to see a text from Clara.

CLARA

On your right

My head whips around. She’s here? I spot her in the corner near the door. She gives me a wave which I return, my relief nearly causing my knees to buckle. I’ve never been so happy to see a friendly face.

I’ve taken half a step toward her when an arm snakes around my waist. “You came!” Marshall laughs before dropping a kiss to my cheek. I squirm out of his hold and have to fight not to reach up and wipe away the trace of it. He must already have broken out the champagne. I turn to face him, and his face is so happy, so open and warm, that any discomfort kind of just melts.

I give Clara an apologetic smile but she waves me away, mouthing something about ‘later’. I make a note to find her after and say hi, maybe introduce her to Marshall.

“Let’s get you a drink.” Marshall tows me towards the bar and I find myself happy to go. He presses a glass into my hand and I let the chill ground me. A bead of condensation trails down onto my fingers. I watch it drip off my knuckle and fall to the ground with an inaudible plop.

I awkwardly trail after him as he works the room; he’s all backslaps and handshakes like he’s schmoozing Hollywood producers instead of lecturing at starry-eyed freshman.

I catch Clara’s eye a few times but never make it over. Marshall seems determined to tow me around and I can’t help but feel a bit like a prop.

The lights in the lobby dim for a second, and apparently, it’s some kind of signal- not just a lightbulb on the fritz- because everybody starts filing into one of the screens. I get swept along by the tide, and soon, I’m folded into a seat, my arm pressed against Marshall’s as he puts his elbows on each armrest. I’msurprised Georgie isn’t here. Usually, she’s big into campus events, especially if it means something free to do and the possibility of flirting somebody (or several somebodies) out of their allotted drink tokens.

Ruth

Are you here?

Georgie

Where? Are you not at Rowan’s?

I don’t get to reply because the theatre lights drop, plunging us all into darkness. There’s a long beat where nothing happens. All I can hear is the friction of people shifting in their seats, coats hitting the floor, and shoes thudding against chair backs as everybody tries to get comfortable. The curtains on the screen draw back, and a film fades in. I’m shocked nobody’s gotten up to give a speech.

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