Just Like the Movies

building is old, and the lecture room I spend most of my time in smells a bit like a used book shop.
Our lecturer, Grant Hawthorn, is a middle-aged man with a black hipster beard and a kind heart. He’s one of the nicest people you’ll meet, and he’s determined to have a full house of firsts. So am I.
“Good morning, Indie. First again, I see,” he says with a warm smile. He’s holding a Starbucks takeaway cup and sitting on the desk.
“Better to be early than late, right?”
He laughs. “Do you spend much time at home?”
Not if I can help it.
“Do you want me to get a first?” I counter, and he laughs again.
“Touché. Have you finished the reading on forensic mental health? I know you’d gone on ahead of the others.”
I wince. “Last night, yeah. I couldn’t help it. The re-offending rate is crazy high.”
“The world needs more people like you going into counselling.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him that I want to work primarily with adults who have grown up with childhood trauma, but that would lead to more questions, no doubt. Grant always asks why when we’re discussing the particular field we want to work in.
Working in a prison setting does interest me, though.
The room soon fills, and Grant begins his lecture. My pen flies across my notebook as if possessed. I scribble down everything he says, knowing that I’ll read it over and over again later to make sure it’s engrained in my mind.
Uni is my ticket to a better life. I won’t let anything come between that. I must be the world’s most thorough note-taker, never missing a single word. Not even the people running about throwing a ball in the cold outside distract me. We’re lucky to have a room that gets a lot of natural light, but the downside is that it faces the quad.
They could be having an orgy and I wouldn’t stray from the development of forensic mental health.
Grant finishes the lecture by assigning us some reading for later. Reading that I’ve already done. He smirks at me knowingly as he assigns it. I’ll read it again, and he’s more than aware of that.
“I’ll see you this afternoon,” he says, sitting behind his desk.
The room files out. Maddi is hot on my heels.
“Do you want to grab some lunch at Starbucks?” she asks, tucking her folder under her arm.
There aren’t too many people I like on my course. Not because they’re horrible but because I don’t know them. If people get close, they ask personal questions. I’ve managed to keep my private life mostly private from Wren, Mila, and Spencer, but it’s exhausting. I can’t add anyone else to that.
The one person I do get along well with is Maddi. She isn’t nosey, and she shares my cappuccino addiction.
“Sounds good,” I tell her as we walk out of the building, into the ice-cold winter air.
There is a Starbucks about five minutes away from campus, so we walk.
“This year is kicking my arse,” she says as we huddle together against the bitter wind.
“It’s full on.” So full on that I barely have time to work anymore.
Laurel still gives me a few shifts at The Waffle House, but I’m on a zero-hour contract now. It has to happen. I won’t save as much money this year but uni comes first.
“Can we cram for finals together like we did last year?”
I nod. “Absolutely.”
Maddi is a good study partner, taking the course as seriously as I do.
We rush though the door and my shoulders sink against the warmth of the heater blowing above. Maddi orders a cappuccino and a toasted cheese sandwich. I have the same, and we find a table.
I check my phone quickly to see if I have any messages.
There’s a text from Mila to our group asking if me and Wren want to get together soon. And a Google Alert.
I take a breath and open the alert, grateful that Maddi is distracted with replying to her boyfriend.
An article, or many articles covering the same topic, fills my screen. Spencer was out partying last night. I don’t open the article but the headline reading: GOLDEN BOY SPENCER LOWE GETS COSY WITH COSTAR ELLA MILLS, and a picture of them laughing together is enough for me.
I swallow the burning heartache and place my phone face down.
He’s single. He can do what he wants.
How many celebrity relationships start with being co-stars?
Is he with her?
She’s beautiful and talented.
“You okay, Indie? You look pale,” Maddi says. Her phone is away now, and she’s looking at me with wide, concerned eyes like she thinks I’m about to be sick.
“I’m fine. Is Paul okay?” I ask, knowing that she’ll get carried away with the latest boyfriend and forget what’s going on with me.
Her face transforms, the smile lighting her eyes. “He’s great. He wants us to go away together next year.”
“That’ll be amazing. Where would you go?”
She shrugs. “Somewhere hot. I want to sit by a pool and do nothing.”
“Sounds perfect.”
I would love a holiday. Wren and Mila want a girls’ week away, but I’m still saving as much money as I can to move out.
“He’s so nice. I almost think it’s too good to be true. Especially after Marcus.”
“Forget the arsehole ex.”
She smiles again. “I will. How about you? Have you spoken to Spencer?”
Okay, we’re going there.
I shrug and tear off the corner of my toasted sandwich. The cheese is still bloody molten hot. “Not for a little while. He’s doing a lot of promo for his movie at the moment. He’s back after his premiere.” Once upon a time, I was supposed to go, too. We’ve not talked about that in over a year.
He’s done countless appearances all over America, and some TV ads, too, apparently. He’s busy, busy, busy taking the acting world by storm.
“Will he come home once that’s done?”
“That was the original plan, but he’s going to be in demand now. I don’t think it’ll be long until he’s cast