Passing college is a difficult task on its own, but imagine what it's like when your final grade rests in the hands of the worlds' favorite rock-star.
As graduation from her local community college approaches, Reese Taylors yearns for some answers...
{ two shot } - two people in either a medium or close-up shot filmed from the chest up that are talking to one another; used to show contrast between the two characters
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Crushes are a dangerous thing.
The word itself means to squeeze something so forcefully to break it. Hearts act strong, but they're fragile and giving it away gives someone the power of crushing it into a million little pieces.
Crushes worm their way into your heart, occupy your thoughts, and disrupt your sleep as you ponder the what if scenarios - what if they like you back? What if they don't? The chances are fifty-fifty, but the odds are terrifying.
Accepting my feelings for Lennon lessens the weight in my chest, opening it up so that I can finally breathe clearly again. My feelings for him have always been there, but I've been burying it down with forced platonicness because the odds of him liking me back - as something more than a friend - is terrifying.
He's a rockstar, with millions of fans who aren't afraid to hold back their distaste for a girl they don't even know. He has plenty of girls to choose from, many of which are aware and used to what he faces on a daily basis. I will never understand. And I'm not so sure I want to understand.
Even if he does like me back, the chances of us actually being together are slim. Emma James would probably feed me to the wolves, wait for them to break me, and pretend as though our relationship never happened. Not to mention the distance between us. Lennon's not some ordinary guy I met at the campus coffee shop between classes. He's a celebrity with fans and a career and his future set ahead of him.
But just the thought of a life without Lennon once my stay in California is over puts an ache in my chest. As though someone took a steak knife and carved my heart right out of my chest.
I don't know what to do.
I need to tell someone.
I tug on Maia's arm, leaning down to whisper into her ear. "I need to talk to you."
"Can't it wait?" she asks me. "They're about to play my favorite song and would you let go?" she yanks her arm from my grip, rubbing the spot I was holding onto with her other hand. "I think you cut off the circulation."
Can it wait? My eyes drift back to Lennon onstage. His presence is as exuberating and unmatched as always, no one would have guessed the blip he encountered at the beginning of the show with the way he's carrying himself now. He flicks his head back, removing the sweaty strands of hair from his eyes as he sings, his mouth so close to the microphone it's as though he's kissing it. My mind wanders, wondering what it would be like to have his lips pressed that close to mine.
No. Definitely can't wait.
"No, it can't wait," I tug her away from the stage, feeling the strong urge to burst onstage and throw my arms around Lennon - which is completely unprofessional. I pull Maia down a few random corridors that I hope she's paying attention to and can find our back once we've finished talking. Or at least, she can find her way back. I'm not sure if I can be around him right now and not make a giant fool of myself.
