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The party is in full swing by the time they arrive. Arasha climbs out of the passenger seat of Chanse’s car, taking in the booming music and bisexual lighting from Kimmy and Jackie’s house. She has a bottle of vodka in her hand, an offering to the party gods who were her older castmates.
“Must be nice to live off campus,” she says absently as Chanse pulls pizza boxes from the backseat.
“Would you quit waxing poetic and help me with these?” he calls. She takes a few pizzas and balances the vodka precariously on top - it only needs to make it up the driveway, after all.
Kimmy answers the door and shrieks in delight. “Arasha, Chanse! So glad you could make it! Here, let me take those.”
She relieves Arasha of the pizzas and heads into the kitchen, Arasha and Chanse following close behind.
Tommy is tending bar at the island, whipping together liquor and fruit juice and a million other things into solo cups that did the drinks no aesthetic justice. “Oh, perfect,” he yells over the music, reaching to take the vodka from Arasha. “I was just about to run out.”
“No problem!” She yells back, shooting him a grin, and gives a quick hug to Olivia, who’s perched on a barstool. The countertops are covered in snacks and drinks; Jackie and Kimmy don’t let their guests go hungry, and none of their guests like to come empty-handed. There are at least seven different bowls of chips, dips, fruit and veggie plates, and a full six-foot party sub. Kimmy and Chanse set the pizzas on the dining room table, miraculously empty until now, and Kimmy heads out to the pool to inform the guests of the pizzas’ arrival.
Chanse wanders back over to greet Tommy and Olivia before gesturing to Arasha that he’s going to change. She nods at him, then sees Tommy waving at her and gesturing to the fridge. “Mind getting me the ginger ale?”
“Of course!” Arasha opens the door and starts to sort through cold soda bottles on the top shelf before her attention is caught by something else. A dozen little cups of chocolate mousse, garnished with raspberries and mint leaves and cocoa powder. They look straight from a Pinterest page. Her mouth waters at the sight of them.
Tommy appears over her shoulder. “What’s taking you so long?” He asks, playfully shoving her arm aside to grab the Canada Dry himself.
“Who brought these?” Arasha asks, still transfixed by the desserts. Tommy shrugs and heads back to his makeshift bar.
From the sliding glass door onto the patio, Courtney appears, squealing at the sight of Arasha and running over to hug her. “Hey!” They say. “Checking out the desserts? I think Trevor made them. Don’t they look amazing?”
Arasha’s smile fades to a mild frown. “They invited Trevor?”
Court pulls away, leaving a hand on Arasha’s waist. “Yeah, I mean they invited pretty much the whole cast and crew, and he’s a lead. Plus, he’s fun to have around.”
“If you say so,” Arasha sighs, closing the fridge.
“Hey,” Courtney says, a little more seriously. “I know he beat Chanse for the role, but it’s not his fault. Try not to hold it against him. He seems like a good kid.”
Arasha nods, and thankfully Tommy appears with a Jameson and ginger for her, sparing her the need to respond.
“Anyways,” Courtney says. “I was just coming in to get changed. Are you going in the pool?”
Arasha smiles. “Totally. I’ve already got my swimsuit on though, so I’ll wait for you here.”
“Sounds good!” says Courtney, giving Arasha’s arm one last squeeze before heading towards the bathroom.
-
By the time Arasha and Courtney make it out to the pool, a drunken game of chicken has begun. Damien has Jackie hoisted up on his shoulders, and Angela is atop Amanda’s. Off to the side, Shayne and Spencer relax at the edge of the water like dads watching their kids at a barbecue, Shayne nursing a beer and Spencer a Mountain Dew. Kimmy lounges on a pool float shaped like a smiley face emoji, and yelps when Jackie, cackling maniacally, shoves Angela from her perch with a tremendous splash.
Shayne spots Courtney and waves, and they bound over to sit with their legs dangling in the water between him and Spencer. Arasha hangs back and feels someone appear at her side. It’s Chanse, now clad in a puka shell necklace and Looney Tunes swim trunks.
“Can you believe they invited him?” he asks in a low voice, gesturing with a solo cup to where Trevor sits alone at a patio table, eyes on his phone screen.
Arasha scoffs. “No, I can’t.”
It wasn’t that she hated Trevor. She didn’t hate anyone. But she couldn’t deny that when the cast list was posted on Professor Hecox’s - Ian’s - door, the disappointment she felt was palpable.
The show had, for all intents and purposes, three leads. Arasha was one. Angela was two. The third should have been Chanse. But instead, Chanse was tossed in a side role in favor of Trevor, some freshman who’d just transferred in this semester and who’d flubbed his fucking audition.
And it would have still been disappointing if she’d been acting alongside someone as talented as Chanse, someone who inhaled and inhabited roles the way he did, but instead she and Angela were playing off a timid, quiet amateur. Trevor stumbled over his lines, constantly forgot his blocking, and in their scenes together - because of course he was playing her fucking love interest - she felt herself straining to carry the weight of the scenes on her back. He was stuck in a shell he couldn’t break through, and with every passing day, she worried more and more that he wouldn’t break out by opening night.
Even now, slumped in a wicker chair with his face illuminated by his phone, he seems so in his head. He barely takes notice of the party happening around him, only looking up and offering a small ‘thanks’ when Tommy and Olivia appear, carrying a tray of drinks, and place one in front of him on their way to the pool.
With his eyes off of the phone, he notices Arasha and Chanse in the doorway. He catches Arasha’s eye and turns red, lowering his head back down without even waving hello. Granted, she didn’t wave either.
Chanse laughs mirthlessly. “C’mon, Arash,” he says, maybe a tad louder than necessary. “Our friends are waiting.”
He tugs her towards the pool, and she spares one last glance over her shoulder at Trevor. To her surprise, he’s looking back.
-
Arasha is three drinks deep when she finally lets herself be talked into playing chicken.
“We’re doing this tournament style!” Spencer yells from the side of the pool. “Teams of two, winners move on. I’m reffing.”
“Is there a prize?” Angela shouts back.
“Oooh,” Arasha calls out, eyes wide. “A hot dog! A glizzy!”
Spencer laughs. “Sure, the winning team gets a glizzy. All right, who’s up first?”
They break into teams of two: Arasha and Chanse, Angela and Amanda, Olivia and Courtney, Jackie and Damien, Kimmy and Tommy. But Shayne is left alone.
“Aw, looks like you’re sitting out with Spence,” Arasha says, teasing. Shayne smiles. “No way, I’m totally in. Trev, get over here!”
From his spot at the table, Trevor’s head pops up again. He points at himself, as if Shayne would be talking to anyone else; Shayne waves him over.
“Come on dude, I need a partner. Get in here!”
“Oh, okay!” says Trevor, with a little more enthusiasm than was necessary. Arasha can practically feel Chanse rolling his eyes behind her as Trevor makes his way over and slips into the water. He’s wearing a Fortnite bathing suit. “Dork,” Arasha whispers to Chanse, who snickers under his breath. Shayne shoots them a look, and they quiet.
“Okay, first round! Arasha and Chanse vs. Court and Olivia!” Spencer called out. “Three, two, one, go!”
They put up a good fight, but in the end, Arasha gets one over on Olivia and sends her tumbling into the water. It’s a similar story with Angela and Amanda, but with a lot more trash talk. “You’re going down, bitches!” yells Angela, grabbing at Arasha with gleeful laughter as Amanda struggles to hold her steady.
“Over. My. Dead. Body!” Arasha yells back. She manages to get a hand on Angela’s knee and grab it, pulling her leg off of Amanda’s shoulder. Unsteady, Angela is an easy target for Arasha to shove into the pool; the smaller woman shrieks like a banshee the whole way down.
“YES!!” Chanse yells from beneath her, reaching up to high-five her. Arasha puts her hands up, triumphantly whooping. They’re going to the finals.
On the other side of the pool, Kimmy manages to knock Jackie off of Damien’s shoulders (quite a feat), only to be ousted from Tommy’s grip by… fucking Trevor, towering over the compact but extremely strong Shayne.
“Final round!” Spencer yells through cupped hands, as Shayne approaches Chanse. Arasha looks down at her friend, whose face is set in a stony, determined expression. He nods up at her, and she looks at Trevor with narrowed eyes.
He’s so wiry, the dregs of sunlight glinting off of water droplets that slide down his pale frame. He’s lost his stupid bandanna in the ruckus - Arasha sees Tommy pick it up and tie it on his own head in her peripheral. Trevor’s eyes are blue like a cloudy sky. He reaches out a tentative hand.
“May the best team win?” he says, almost like it’s a question. Arasha shakes his hand firmly, making direct eye contact. He shrinks back a little under her icy gaze, but straightens back up when Shayne pats his thigh encouragingly.
From the sidelines, Spencer shouts, “Three, two, one, go!”
It’s instant chaos. People are cheering for both parties. “Kick his ass, Arash!” howls Angela, as beside her Damien shouts “Let’s go Trev!” Below them, Chanse and Shayne are screaming (and laughing) in each others’ faces as Arasha and Trevor fight.
Arasha pays none of it any attention. She’s singularly focused on the string bean before her, shoving and pushing with all her might. Trevor seems hesitant to get rough, never pushing her more than gently, and it makes her want to strangle him. Does he ever come out of his fucking shell?
She huffs angrily and shoves, and lands a good hit right in the center of his chest, knocking the wind out of him. He begins to fall - not off of Shayne, but with one more good jab, he will be.
“FUCK yeah Arasha, get him!” Chanse screams, and Arasha leans forward with a wicked laugh, ready to land the winning blow -
But she leans too far forward and feels herself begin to slip.
Then she feels long fingers grabbing her wrist and yanking.
And then she feels the cold embrace of the water as Trevor pulls her forward over Chanse’s head.
She comes back to the surface, sputtering, to the sight of Shayne losing his mind in excitement, carrying Trevor around the pool like a little kid. Their friends are cheering and clapping, and Spencer grabs Trevor’s arm and raises it in victory.
“A glizzy each for Trevor and Shayne!” Spencer yells, smiling. “Kimmy, fire up the grill!”
Panting, she makes eye contact with Chanse, whose hair is soaked. His face is blank, but he pats her on the back.
“Who knew he had it in him?” he says absentmindedly, and they both watch Trevor, still atop Shayne’s shoulders, shoot Arasha a bashful, apologetic smile.
-
When Kimmy finally brings out the tray of chocolate mousse, Arasha considers ignoring it. But the gorgeous little garnishes on top and the practically orgasmic moan Angela makes when she tries one convince her otherwise.
“These look incredible,” Damien says, and Spencer, through a mouthful of mousse, chokes out something that sounds like “Taste even better.”
Trevor sits between Shayne and Amanda, ears a little red as the desserts he made are passed around. He preens a little at Spencer’s compliment.
“I didn’t know you baked, Trevor,” Arasha says, and Trevor jerks his head in her direction at the sound of her voice.
“Oh, um, yeah,” he says. Eloquent as ever.
“Where did you learn?” Amanda asks, prompting Trevor to talk with a warm smile, and he perks up a bit.
“Well, before I transferred here I was in culinary school,” he says, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “But I also went to a high school that offered a culinary program, so…”
“No way! I went to a performing arts high school!” Angela says. Kimmy wanders over to Chanse and Arasha with the tray, and while Chanse politely refuses, Arasha takes a little cup of mousse. She picks a raspberry off the top and pops it into her mouth, enjoying the feeling of all the little sections of it bursting on her tongue. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Trevor watching like he’s looking for her reaction.
“I’ve always been more of a cook than a baker,” says Courtney. “I’ll have to make my spicy ramen for you guys sometime.”
“Oh yes please,” says Tommy.
As the conversation continues, Arasha forgoes proper etiquette in favor of dipping her pinky finger into the cup and scooping up a bit of the chocolate. She gently sucks it into her mouth and her eyes go wide. It’s fucking delicious.
“Holy fucking shit,” she says, mostly to herself, and grabs a spoon for a proper bite. She doesn’t miss Trevor brightening at her reaction, sitting a little straighter.
“You like it?” he asks, hope naked in his tone, and despite her frustrations and the small bitterness of her earlier loss, something about the innocent shine in his eyes makes it impossible for her to be cold to him.
“It’s amazing,” she says plainly, and he cracks the biggest smile she’s maybe ever seen. It’s a nice smile, she has to admit.
“Cool,” he says simply. “I’m glad.”
After that, Arasha can’t help but notice that Trevor is laughing louder, standing straighter, talking more.
Maybe he’ll come out of his shell after all.
-
“Oh come on,” Chanse groans as Kimmy places the empty vodka bottle on the flagstone patio. “What are we, fifteen?”
Almost at the same time: “Oooh, spin the bottle?” Courtney squeals, swimming over to lean their elbows on the edge of the pool, Olivia following close behind. “Hell yeah, I’m game!”
Jackie cackles. “Yeah, come on Chanse, quit being a baby. Some things are classic for a reason.”
Kimmy stands and waves a hand in the air. “Let’s go, everybody! Spin the bottle time!”
Arasha’s tipsy enough to feel a little daring. “Count me in!” she says, settling into criss-cross applesauce on the ground next to Tommy and nursing the vodka sour he made her. It’s refreshing as hell.
Chanse rolls his eyes. “Oh, all right,” he relents, sitting down on Arasha’s other side. Kimmy playfully punches his shoulder.
A loose circle forms then, half of the players still standing in the pool. “Who wants to go first?” Jackie giggles, clapping mischievous hands together.
“I will!” Courtney volunteers eagerly. They reach out of the pool and spin the bottle. After a few moments, it lands on Angela to a chorus of oohs and ahhs.
“Oh, tits,” Angela says as Courtney shoots her an exaggerated wink. “Get over here, girlie!” they giggle, and Angela clambers over to where Courtney is still mostly in the water. She puts a hand on the side of their face, closes her eyes, and puckers.
Courtney leans in, gives Angela a long peck, and then splashes water up onto her face. Angela shrieks like a child who touched a hot stove and scrambles back to her spot next to Amanda. “No fair!” she sputters as the crowd laughs.
Arasha whoops, giving Courtney a thumbs-up; Angela flips her the bird. Olivia spins next, and kisses Damien; then Shayne kisses Damien, too, and Amanda and Chanse make a huge show of a sloppy stage makeout to much cheering and applause. Everyone is laughing raucously, cheering on the kissers and downing drinks. Maybe this game is a classic for a reason, Arasha thinks.
Beside her, Tommy spins. “Ooooooooh, who's it gonna land on?” Arasha gleefully teases, poking his arm with an acrylic nail. “Here’s hoping it’s Spence!”
“Fuck off!” Tommy blushes, smacking her hand away. The bottle comes to a stop almost perfectly between Kimmy and Jackie, who both grin in delight. Tommy kisses them both, wiping Jackie’s red lipstick off his mouth with the back of his hand, and then suddenly he’s handing Arasha the bottle. “Your turn!” he says, so cheerful it’s almost wicked, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “Here’s hoping it’s Trev!”
“Gross, Tommy,” Arasha groans, rolling her eyes. She puts the bottle back down on the concrete and twists it, sending it into its little pirouette.
It feels like it whirls forever, passing the faces of her eager castmates and friends in a blur, until finally slowing to a stop on - fuck.
There’s no uncertainty - the mouth of the bottle is pointed directly at Trevor. He’s up to his hips in the pool laughing with Shayne and sipping a margarita. When the crowd goes quiet, he looks up, sees the bottle and Arasha’s shocked face, and blanches. She feels her heart stop for a moment - come on, no way, no way…
Jackie howls like a banshee. “Oh, this is juicy!” she cackles, grabbing Kimmy’s shoulder and shaking her. Kimmy - and, for that matter, everyone in the circle save for Trevor - looks like a dog with a fucking bone.
“Our leads!” Courtney claps, and Arasha feels Tommy slap her on the back. “Time to practice that onstage chemistry, huh?” he quips.
Arasha’s frozen to the spot, and it seems Trevor is too; Shayne’s got a hand on his shoulder, cheering him on, and he barely seems to even register it. His gaze is locked on hers, eyes wide and mouth a bit agape.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Kimmy says, reaching out to playfully slap Arasha’s knee. “Get on over there!”
Arasha stares for one more moment, before picking up her cup and downing it in one go, handing the empty receptacle to an astonished Chanse. As her friends hoot and holler, she stands up and walks to the edge of the pool, managing to tower over Trevor despite his height. He gulps cartoonishly and closes his mouth, his gaze never leaving hers.
“Well, Trev,” she says, mouth suddenly dry. “We’re up.”
He nods, squeaking out something that sounds like an “okay,” and shakily moves to the wall. Arasha kneels; she’s still looking down at him, but they’re much closer to equal height now. She takes a deep breath, internally thanks Tommy for his heavy pour, and gives Trevor a minuscule peck of a kiss.
“Booooooo!” someone yells out, and Arasha’s heart stutters again.
“What the hell was that?” Angela jeers.
“Seriously!” Amanda adds. “I full-on Frenched Chanse!”
“Here’s hoping it’s more believable opening night!” clucks a smirking Olivia.
And, to her utter shock - “Where’s the tongue?” Chanse yells traitorously; he only winks when Arasha turns to glare, raising her empty cup at her like he’s Jay fucking Gatsby.
“Guys, guys, come on,” says Shayne, gesturing at the group to relax. “Leave them be.”
But Arasha feels something in her chest - a hot anger, sharpened at the edges by alcohol and egotism. She turns back to examine Trevor, who looks suspiciously like he might melt into the water at any moment. In her mind’s eye, she sees him sitting away from the party on his phone, feels his weak shoves as he holds back during the stupid game of chicken. Still timid. Still hesitating.
“No, Shayne, you know what?” Arasha says, shooting daggers over her shoulders at her meddling castmates.
She turns her gaze back on Trevor, who’s still silent. “We’re actors. Let’s give the audience a real show.”
Slowly, showily, she moves to sit on the edge of the pool, dipping her calves into the cool water. She reaches out to grasp Trevor’s arm, guiding him forward until they’re nearly chest to chest. He’s still frozen with his hands at his sides; Arasha places them on her waist, feeling his nails trail just a little against the bare skin of her back. He gasps a little as she does.
They’ve been nearly this close before, rehearsing their songs and scenes together, but something feels different. Probably just the booze, Arasha thinks, tilting her head up to where Trevor’s face is now above her. His hair is pleasantly fluffy, flattened in a few places by water from Courtney’s splashes, and he has a little more facial hair than she remembers softly hugging his jawline. His big blue eyes are still wide, and that dangly earring in his ear reflects the light of the citronella candles set up around the patio. She realizes she doesn’t know how long they’ve been looking at each other.
“Do it already!” Tommy yells, and Arasha listens, reaching up to thread her fingers through the hair on the back of Trevor’s head and bring their lips together.
It’s soft and gentle, almost chaste at first, but warm in a way Arasha wasn’t expecting. She runs her tongue along his bottom lip and he opens to her, following her lead like Mary’s little lamb. It’s sweet. But he’s still in that fucking shell.
She pulls back, frustrated. “Jesus, Trevor, can you help me out here?”
“What do you want me to do?” he asks, astonished.
“Quit fucking hesitating for once, maybe?”
One more beat - he looks into her eyes, searching - and then the shell breaks.
His right hand tightens on her waist, and his left tangles in her long dark hair, and he surges forward, catching her by surprise. He’s kissing her like he means to devour her, hard and hot and heady. He tastes like chocolate mousse and tequila. She wraps her legs around him and pulls them flush together; their tongues are dancing, chasing exhilaration, and the feeling of his beard on her skin is unfamiliar but not unwelcome. She tugs on his hair and he moans into her mouth, sliding his hands down to scoop her up off of the patio and hold her aloft in his arms.
The crowd goes wild, and Arasha breaks the kiss to catch her breath and a glimpse of their friends, whooping and wolf-whistling and throwing cups in the air. She’s panting, and Trevor is too.
“Like that?” he asks, and something mysterious in his eyes or in their cups or in the air makes her nod and close the distance again, cupping his face in her hands and pressing another kiss to his mouth, eager and wanting.
“Okay, okay, enough!” Angela calls out over the drunken frenzy, and they break apart again for real this time. Trevor carefully lowers Arasha back down on the pool’s edge, where she promptly ignores the butterflies storming her stomach to stand up and bow.
“And, scene,” she says, gesturing to Trevor to bow too; he does, with a sheepish laugh, fixing his hair with a slightly shaky hand. She makes her way back across the patio, grabbing the bottle on her way and tossing it to Chanse. “Your turn.”
The feeling of Trevor’s lips on hers lingers longer than she expects.
-
She hears his voice as she’s packing up to leave a few hours later, folding her still-damp bathing suit into her bag. “Arasha, hey.”
Arasha turns to see Trevor, out of his idiotic swim trunks and dressed in a pair of black joggers and a Sublime t-shirt. He’s found his bandanna, and it’s back in his hair where it belongs. Somehow she isn’t as annoyed by it as usual.
“What’s up?” She asks, turning her attention back to zipping her bag shut.
“I just wanted to…” he trails off. She puts her bag over her shoulder and looks up at him expectantly. He lets out a sigh.
“I know this is an odd time,” he begins, carding a hand through his drying hair, “but you told me earlier to stop hesitating. So. I have some stuff I’ve been wanting to say.”
He meets her expectant gaze, but he doesn’t shrink. He straightens, taking a deep breath.
“I know you and Chanse are disappointed that I got the lead. And I understand why - I totally fucked up my audition. The casting was as big a surprise to me as anyone. And I know I’m nervous in rehearsals. I’m leagues behind you and Ange, or Chanse, or anyone else on stage, really…”
He trails off, and Arasha feels a funny little tingle in her heart. Like for the first time, she wants to comfort him, to tell him he’s doing a good job.
“You’re not-” she starts, but he holds up a hand and she falls silent.
“No, I know I’m not at your caliber. I’m new to acting and newer to singing. I’m learning, and that’s okay.”
He shifts a little on his feet. “But I just wanted to say… I’m trying. I know it’s frustrating for you, but I’m trying. And sometimes I wish you and Chanse were a little more forgiving of that.”
Arasha feels her face soften with something like guilt. “I’m sorry,” she says, and Trevor looks up in surprise at the apology.
“You’re right,” she continues. “I was disappointed that Chanse didn’t get your part. But that doesn’t mean I should be freezing you out the way I have been. I’ll… I’ll try to be more patient. I’m sorry.”
Trevor breaks into a small smile. “That means a lot,” he says, and then sticks out a hand to her like he had in the pool.
“Do you think… friends?” He asks.
Arasha smiles back and shakes his hand. “Yeah, friends.”
He lets go and turns to leave, and she finds herself reaching up to grab his shoulder before he can. “Hey, I don’t have anything going on Tuesday night,” she offers. “Would you maybe want to run lines with Ange and I? Maybe we can get that coffee shop scene ironed out.”
His smile breaks into that huge grin he sported earlier, and that tingly feeling in her heart is back. “I’ll bring the chocolate mousse.”
“Awesome,” she says, letting him go. “See you then.” And with faces perhaps a little redder than she expected, they break apart to head to their respective rides.
From her place in Chanse’s passenger seat, Arasha pulls out her phone and drafts a text to Courtney.
Seems like he is a good kid.