Discover Top Posts Tagged with #vanessa johnson

If you had asked Vanessa how she expected to finish her first semester at Turner Academy, ending up in the passenger seat of her ex-boyfriend’s boyfriend’s car would definitely not have landed anywhere near her bingo card.

Although, that might actually the least unbelievable element about how she’s spent this last weekend. Ending up as a supporting dancer in a real music video, let alone a music video by an artist people actually care about, is probably crazy shit numero uno. That artist being the reigning diva at her former rival high school, the same girl who twerked to “Talk Dirty” by Jason Derulo to beat them at volleyball, is the next layer of what the fuck. Finding herself in conversational vicinity of Charlie Gardner again—who she figured she would likely never have to see again—would definitely land somewhere underneath all of that. Still wild, and not something she realized she was signing up for, but at least remotely plausible in the realm of “two young people existing in the same general radius of Manhattan at the same time.” The odds aren’t large, but they aren’t zero.

Then again, crazy as it all is, this weekend almost didn’t happen. When Maya reached out to her (how she got her number, Vanessa doesn’t know, but she assumes Riley was involved), requesting to pull a favor and recruit the Turner cohort for assistance on a “secret project” she was cooking up, Vanessa wasn’t sure how to respond. Firstly, because she isn’t totally sure how to interact with Maya Hart, period. She seems to be her own unique brand of Adams-adjacent loco (even more than the Jason Derulo volleyball) and makes Zay Babineaux look like the pinnacle of humility. Additionally, because Maya was asking her to pull some weight she isn’t convinced she had, roping the entire Turner class into one of her schemes when Vanessa has barely been in their ranks for a full semester. She didn’t know if she had the charisma—or frankly, the permission—to ask so much of her classmates when she feels like she’s still trying to prove herself worthy of joining their company so late in the first place.

Most predominantly, though, Vanessa just isn’t sure where she stands. Not just with Maya; with all of her circle. She was given an in, a window into the world of Riley Matthews and her bewildering band of misfits, because she happened to be banging Zay. They are decidedly not doing that anymore, and as her usefulness in that regard evaporated (ever so swiftly replaced by the Catholic ex-boyfriend Zay most certainly was not over and is most certainly banging now), she assumed so did her relevance to their lives. Any of their lives. That’s how it usually goes, anyway.

She’s seen this film before—she knows what happens to the other woman they bring in to fill the gaps of the lead couple and their whirlwind romance. Funnily enough, you never hear from her again. Like she was never there at all.

To be fair, no one has made any indication that’s the case. Riley has continued to be friendly and keep in touch, but Vanessa could write that off as just being an anomaly (like most things Riley Matthews, it seems). She’s actually been talking with Nigel on and off pretty reliably, surprisingly, the two of them having hit it off pretty organically when he asked for her help last semester in his dance course. Even Zay himself didn’t leave things on a sour note with her, being totally good-natured when they ran into one another at the end of last semester; he even suggested that they’d see each other around, though Vanessa assumed that was a rote kindness rattled off by habit rather than any sort of promise.

Even so, she feels weird about it, so she has half a mind to politely but firmly reject Maya’s invitation to get embroiled in her madness. It would be so easy. She wouldn’t even have to explain why; a lie about being double-booked is already primed on the tip of her tongue and her fingers.

Thankfully, she has friends with far more common sense than her, and they dutifully intervene to tell her she’s being a dumbass.

“V, be so serious right now,” Summer gawks after she tells her and Henrik about the message, the three of them sharing takeout at the girls’ apartment between studying for finals.

Henrik agrees. “Are you fucked in the head?”

“I mean, probably.”

“Maya Hart is asking you to be in her video. As in, viral sensation, built-her-own-career-out-of-thin-air Maya Hart. The one everyone in the pop sphere is talking about.”

“Not just you,” Henrik cuts in. “All of us. The entire cohort! This isn’t just about you—don’t take my opportunity to have my breakout moment from me.”

Vanessa chews her lip. “So you think the class would be into it? I didn’t want to just assume. Or like, sign people up for something without…”

“Um, yes bitch, they’ll be into it? It’s like, one of the biggest exposure gigs we could possibly get right now, and we didn’t have to lift a finger to book it. They’ll slaughter you if they find out you had this chance and didn’t accept it for us, not the other way around.”

Suppose that makes sense. Vanessa might have a better grasp on this sort of thing if her own perception of taking handouts wasn’t so warped by a lifetime of being underestimated, having to do it all on her own, and a touch of stubborn pride.

“Cohort aside,” Summer says, redirecting focus back to her. “This is also about you. Maya asked you to make this connection, not anyone else. That’s a networking boost you scooped on your own merit.”

“I think that’s just because I’m her only in to a cheap source of labor.”

“Girl, we live in New York. There are far easier sources for cheap labor, especially in an industry as fame-thirsty as this.”

“Yeah, and that’s not even true,” Henrik interjects. “If she wanted a Turner buy-in, Maya could’ve asked me.”

“She doesn’t know you,” Summer retorts.

“That’s your opinion.”

“More realistically, she could’ve asked Zay, who then could’ve asked Henrik. But she didn’t—she went straight to you. Clearly, there’s a respect there, even if you don’t know one another that well.”

“I guess…”

Reasoning aside, after talking it through, the answer to the invitation does feel glaringly obvious. Particularly when it’s commanded in unison by her friends.

“Say yes!”

So Vanessa does. She tells Maya she’ll see what she can do, then gets to work communicating with her cohort and seeing who is willing to jump onto the project. Perhaps not shockingly, basically all of them immediately sign up, just like Henrik said they would.

And once December rolls around and the details are finalized, Vanessa kicks off the weekend by going onto campus on a Saturday to meet the rising star herself and see this thing through.

Her peers are already present when Vanessa arrives at the studio they booked, obviously eager to get some early face time in with the newly ascended pop girl. It’s an odd sensation, having a perception and knowledge of someone before they smashed into public consciousness; to her classmates, this is a once-in-a-lifetime paths crossing moment, whereas she’s already found herself at a holiday gathering or two with Maya and watched her literally goad on the tripping of her former classmate from the sidelines during a needlessly intense relay race.

But clearly, the usual rules of decorum don’t mean much in Adams world, and those battle scars are long forgotten—because said former classmate she so gleefully cheered biting dust is there at the front of the studio with her.

“And this is Charlie Gardner. You probably don’t know who he is, and that’s fine, because nobody else does either.”

She isn’t entirely right about that. Vanessa sure knows who Charlie Gardner is—she didn’t get much of a choice in the matter. His name has been present in her subconscious like a specter for over a year, the haunting memory of a lover lost that her lover at the time couldn’t seem to exorcise no matter what Catholic rituals he tried (that he may have picked up from their past dalliances). She only met him around this time a year ago, but his shadow has been looming over her for much longer than that.

Suffice to say, Vanessa was not expecting to hear his name invoked this morning.

But nevertheless, there he is. Charlie Gardner is in fact present, standing in front of the mirrors with Maya and politely letting her pontificate. He offers a patient smile at her offhanded dig in his direction, hands clasped together behind his back and not bothering to argue her on it.

“But he’s already helped me pull off the impossible once, so I’m hedging my bets and bringing that winning formula back together for round two. So Charlie Gardner will be joining us for this audio-visual adventure.”

Charlie gives the rest of the class a nod, smile a tad shier than moments before. “Thanks, Maya. Happy to be here.”

“I know you are. And I’m sure the rest of you are still confused, but fear not. Believe it or not, there’s actually quite a sharp choreographer hidden in this vanilla wafer frame.”

“Thanks, Maya…” he repeats, tone flatter this time.

Maya gifts him a smile in return, tossing her (increasingly famous) blonde hair over her shoulder.

It’s at that moment that she notices Vanessa, her bright blue eyes zeroing in on her standing in the studio doorway. Before she can prepare, Maya suddenly directs all attention towards her instead, granting Vanessa no time to process the unexpected presence of Charlie Gardner and making her second guess her choice to go through with this insanity at all.

“And there’s the secondary woman of the hour. Your alls ticket to fifteen seconds of impending fame.” Maya starts a little clap, the kind that could easily come off mocking but somehow seems sincerely intended coming from her. “Welcome, Vanessa. Props to your fashionably late entrance.”

She wouldn’t call thirty seconds after call time late, necessarily, but she is the last person to arrive apparently, so there’s little point in debating. She also feels a slight natural instinct to bristle at the notion of being secondary, but given Maya is factually and undeniably the star, so to speak, she can’t get too huffy. Her peers follow her lead in applauding her, also oddly sincere, grateful for what they think is her successful advocacy on their behalf rather than being brave enough to accept a wild opportunity that fell into her lap by virtue of somehow being tangled into the social web spun by Riley Matthews.

“Um, thanks,” Vanessa says awkwardly, coming fully into the room. She drops her duffle by the barre and shuffles to join Henrik in the throng, who elbows her playfully.

“In all seriousness, though, you all can thank Vanessa for this opportunity. I only pull the best into my endeavors, and if she was talented enough to best Zay Babineaux for entry into your ranks, then I knew she had to be legit. And, thusly, the rest of you.”

Vanessa isn’t expecting the compliment. She also isn’t sure how true it is—she is standing in their midst with Gia as the two transfers, yes, but much of that result is complicated by Zay leaving to go on tour. She doesn’t know, like the chicken or the egg, which came first; if Zay actually was bested by the two of them and not admitted to the program, so he took the touring gig instead (which she finds hard to believe), or if he accepted the gig and thus freed the spot for the two of them to be admitted by default. She’s too scared to know the truth, dreading the possibility that she was granted this spot by charity and not wanting to open the door to that level of self-doubt, and she also can’t fathom the possibility of asking Zay outright. Talk about a kick to the ego.

Also to her surprise, no one seems intent to argue with Maya on the credit. She catches Gia subtly roll her eyes, but she doesn’t dare disagree with the diva (she’s far too clever for that). Even Charlie nods along, sending an amicable smile in Vanessa’s direction.

Somehow, that’s what catches her the most off-guard; if anyone was going to go to bat for Zay’s superiority, or jump at the chance to knock her down a peg, she would’ve assumed by all common law of the universe that it would be him.

But he doesn’t. He simply smiles, and bizarrely, it seems genuine.

Gratefully, she doesn’t get any more time to obsess over it.

“Okay! Now that we’re all here, let’s get to grooving.” Maya clasps her hands together. “Today we’ll learn the choreography, and then tomorrow, it’s all day on set, baby. So pay attention now, lest I have to kick your asses off the shoot. Please and thank you. Time for you all to prove you’ve got the stuff.”

Charlie makes his way over to the sound system in the corner, cueing up the rehearsal track.

“I also hope you all signed the NDA I sent over, as you’ll be hearing a hit-to-be for the next two days, and if you leak it in advance, I promise you it won’t be pretty. I haven’t had much of a reason to use it yet, but trust me, I was born to be litigious.” She exhales a sigh, giving them all a charming grin, then turns towards the sound system. “Without further ado! Charlie Gardner, if you’ll do the honors.”

As instructed, Charlie hits play. Vanessa inhales a deep, steadying breath.

Buckle in. No turning back now.

The next forty-eight hours whirl by in a blur, filled with cobbling together choreography and repetitive rehearsals. And sweat. Lots and lots of sweat.

But Vanessa has fun. She’s pretty sure she’s having fun. Dance has always been a stabilizing force for her, an avenue for connection and confidence that she doesn’t get in other parts of her life. That holds true here, and she finds the experience does her the added benefit of greasing the social wheels of her cohort somewhat. It ends up being more bonding than she anticipated, giving all of them the opportunity to work on something together rather than as subtle competitors (now that she’s part of the program, the outright comparison is significantly less, but it still lingers between them). The long hours, shared meals, and shared exploit makes for a lot more laughter and camaraderie than their usual course work. If she wasn’t already accepted into the class before this, she has the buoying sense that pulling this off might just get her there.

The production side of it all is interesting too. Vanessa is pretty certain Hollywood isn’t her scene—she’s far more comfortable in the realm of Broadway and ballet than having to muck it up for cameras—but dipping her toe in it all in an objectively safe space isn’t too shabby. It’s fun getting glammed up in the hair and makeup, their styling channeling the dance movies of the aughts with a pop edge. The two sets that they occupy are a tricked-out warehouse that they’ve outfitted to be like a club with cool blue lighting, and an outdoor space nested on a block of the west side, north of Adams. It seems like a random pick, but she hears Maya refer to it as “the dance lot” with Charlie in one exchange, so it clearly has some familiarity in their circle. Maybe it’s a Triple A thing.

It’s clear that the parts they film that night aren’t the entire video, but the bits they do get done are energizing nonetheless. It seems that Maya is going for a youthful, block party dance night sort of vibe, and she definitely pulls that off with the vision she’s put together. Vanessa has no clue how that will fit with the rest of the concept—if it will at all—but based on what she’s seen and her exposure to Maya’s past efforts, she’s willing to bet it’ll fall into place somehow.

Picking peers her age via the dance college route was wise, too, as the energy feels far more authentic seeing her surrounded by people she could ostensibly actually be hanging around with on her own time. Rather than a bunch of thirty-something professional dancers she’s obviously never met, nor will ever see again, after this shoot. She has good chemistry with the group of them in spite of her bombastic persona, winning basically their whole class over by the time the late-night shoot rolls to a close (except Gia, who still seems unconvinced, but Vanessa thinks that’s just diva recognizing diva more than anything).

Maya has unexpectedly great chemistry with Charlie, who essentially ends up as her dance partner in the video when needed. By her choice, it appears—Vanessa got the impression he would’ve been more than happy to stay on the sidelines, but when push came to shove and Maya needed to select a guy from the pack to be eye candy and tastefully grind up on her, she didn’t hesitate. Suppose familiarity and comfort (whether you’d admit it or not) trumps all else, but the decision also works on an aesthetic level—despite his sexuality and Maya’s blatant disinterest, it’s hard to argue that the two of them don’t look good together.

Vanessa can’t help but wonder how Zay is going to feel about that later. The thought makes her snicker just a little bit.

If Maya’s instincts are so sharp, then in theory, that must also apply to when she specifically picks Vanessa to be her right-hand dancer. While all of their cohort participates in the dance lot portion of the video, there’s an additional section in the warehouse where Maya specifically pulls aside the women to do a routine without “any of those pesky men present” (direct quote). For this, Maya takes front and center as expected, but there are two pretty focal positions on either side of her that help lead the dance, and she chooses to spotlight Vanessa in one of them without missing a beat. It could just be the familiarity talking again (using that term as loosely as possible), but Maya also has a clear knack for singling out creative strength when she sees it.

Maybe, just maybe, Vanessa’s ability is strong enough to speak for itself. Maybe it’s time for her to start believing it herself.

So overall, she’ll give Summer and Henrik the win on this one. Aside from the awkward moments where she accidentally makes eye contact with Charlie and doesn’t know how to respond to his friendly beam so she quickly looks away and then overthinks it for several minutes afterwards, she has fun. She’s glad she said yes. She’s glad she did this. She’s glad she put her weapons down and accepted a hand for once. She could probably afford to do this more often; open herself up and be ready to see what curveballs the universe throws at her. They may not always be so bad.

She thinks that, and then almost immediately, the powers that be lob her another one. Because Henrik was meant to be her ride back to the apartment, but a bunch of the cohort are going out for impromptu drinks, so now he wants to change their plans. Henrik is potentially the most extroverted person Vanessa has ever met—there’s no way he’s going to miss a cohort rager, especially after a night as wild as this one.

But Vanessa can’t partake.

“C’mon, why not?” Henrik nudges her, trying to get her to change her mind. “It’ll be like an hour. Then I’ll drive you home. No biggie.”

“You know damn well it will not be an hour,” Vanessa snaps. “And I would, normally—”

“Right. Sure,” he teases. Shading her usual introverted instincts.

“I would, but I have a final tomorrow. That dumb lit course I’ve been struggling through all semester. Last thing I need is to get plastered and write a bunch of gibberish tomorrow at 8AM.”

Henrik still seems disappointed, but he gives up the fight. He knows how serious she is about her grades—she’s always been a try-hard, even at Quincy, but it’s even more prevalent at Turner. She already worked her ass off just to get the chance to be here; she’s not going to screw that up and ruin everything because of her academic requirements.

That being said, she feels bad about making him have to miss out. Henrik has this weird essence to him, like a humanoid golden retriever, where letting him down feels worse than it does with other people. Particularly if it means denying him the fun of being with other people, as if keeping his sunshine rays from beaming on others would be snuffing out his life force. She’s only ever glimpsed a similar energy in one other person, in the brief times she’s interacted with Dylan Orlando.

It’s a bizarre quality, one that Vanessa is both endeared by and endlessly annoyed with. And yet…

“You can still go, though. It’s whatever.”

Henrik brightens for a split second, before his kind, good-friend senses kick back in. “No, I told you I’d give you a ride. I’m not just gonna leave you here.”

“It’s fine. I’ve lived in New York for most of my life, I can get home on my own.”

“Not this late. I would be the shittiest friend ever if I left you to ride the subway home alone at one in the morning. I’m not doing that.”

“Henrik, I will be fine. I’ll call an Uber or something.” She pats his arm, gently nudging him towards the doors of the warehouse. “There’s still plenty of crew here packing up, so it’s not like I’m being stranded in the middle of nowhere.”

Well, if she insists… Henrik looks like he’s about to cave, but he dutifully checks one more time. “You’re absolutely sure?”

“Positive. Go on, get lit.”

Well, if she insists! Henrik grins, giving her a salute, before exchanging a handshake with her. One they’ve had since they were freshmen at Quincy, back when they were just biology lab partners and sort of friends, yet has somehow managed to carry on through the years to now. Suppose their history and eccentricities probably aren’t so far off from Maya and Charlie—if she had to have someone groove with her in a music video, Vanessa figures she’d pick the guy with the long, familiar history too. No matter how much she actually cared for his personality.

Thankfully, she’s quite fond of Henrik’s, and the way he basically gallops off to go join their classmates is no exception. A puppy being set free at the dog park for real.

Vanessa shakes her head in amusement, then spins back around to look at the music video set slowly being deconstructed around her. Now for the part where she finds her own way home.

To start, she can find her way out of this warehouse. She thinks she wants to be on the other side of the block, actually, so she heads that way to make her exit. As she’s crossing the concrete, she passes a handful of monitors and one of the last standing cameras, where the director of the shoot is still set up. Maya has joined her, still dressed in her outfit from the dance lot portion. Like a very sexy extra who got lost on her way to the set of Shake It Up!

Only there’s no feasible version of reality where Maya isn’t the star of any show.

The two women are scrutinizing some of the takes from the shoot, Maya’s blue eyes narrowed in concentration. Despite her easy confidence—borderline arrogance, depending on who you ask—and somewhat kooky personality, watching her now, there’s no mistaking how seriously she takes her work. It’s fun and games, sure, but it’s also her passion; Maya might not be about “art” in the abstract sense, but she’s creating it anyway, just through virtue of being so committed to her vision.

Still, she breaks out of her focus briefly when she lifts her gaze and spots Vanessa making her exit. Her eyes brighten in recognition and her lips spread into a smile, then in the next instance she’s waving her over to join them.

“Vanessa! Come here, check this out.”

Well, no sense dismissing the woman of the hour. Vanessa clears her throat and strides over to the monitors, coming up to Maya’s side.

“Perfect timing. We were just looking at the cuts from the girls only routine. Stacy, run this take back again.”

The director does as requested, pressing a few keys and cueing up the shot they were just looking at. The women on screen deftly run through the choreography, Maya sparkling front and center…

And there’s Vanessa. Keeping pace, holding her own, managing to stand out in her own right amidst the crowd. It helps she has a better position, and all that, but even so…

“You are eating that choreo,” Maya says, doing her the favor of vocalizing it. She says it matter-of-factly, too, no flattery or faux kindness involved. “We’ll definitely be using this take. There’s another one where the camera caught you specifically and it looks fierce, so I’ll be finding a place for that.”

Vanessa feels her cheeks warm. “Dope. Thanks.”

“No, thank you. I love it when other people make me look good simply by delivering when they’re meant to deliver. You did not disappoint.”

Diva antics aside, there’s something to Maya’s praise that feels truly special. Like because of her reputation, because she’s known for being so self-interested and single-minded, it actually means something if she’s taking the time and effort to call out your capabilities. Any nice person would tell you when you’ve done a good job; with someone like Maya, you really have to earn it.

Vanessa doesn’t know how to deal with that, so she manages a smile and hopes that’s good enough. “Thanks. If you need a backup dancer again in the future, well… you know how to reach me.”

“Oh, don’t think I won’t.”

Guess that’s networking, and all that.

Once Vanessa makes it through the warehouse and back out into the frigid winter air, she curses under her breath. Somehow, in the heat of busting her ass all night, she forgot it’s December. She pulls her fluffy coat tighter around her frame and cusses her kindness in her head; she shouldn’t have let Henrik dip and go run off to play at the dog park, because now she’s gonna freeze to death while waiting for an Uber. Damn his puppy dog eyes.

Her fingers are already starting to go numb from the cold as she pulls up the ride-share app, teeth chattering as she hears the warehouse door open again behind her.

“Give Zayby my best when he finally gets back! You know, once you’re done being unholy and can use your hormone-riddled brains again,” Maya’s voice calls across the warehouse, ensuring the entire crew can hear.

And Vanessa, who Charlie hasn’t noticed yet as he steps into the cold. His cheeks are flushing pink, but it’s too soon to blame it on the temperature. He pulls off another one of those patient smiles, the ones it seems he reserves specifically for Maya.

“Bye, Maya.”

“Au revoir, Charlie Gardner!”

Charlie shakes his head, laughing softly to himself and letting the door swing shut behind him. Though the laughter only lasts as long as he’s turned away, and it crystallizes into ice as soon as he spins and spots Vanessa standing there on the sidewalk. Definitely within earshot; definitely privy to the words Maya just shouted after him.

Awkward.

For a few seconds, the two of them stay frozen, mirror deer in headlights. Not sure how to escape the oops they just gracefully waltzed into, especially after doing such a good job for two days straight avoiding exactly that. Thanks, Maya Hart.

(Of course, that’s mostly because Vanessa spent it avoiding him entirely as much as she could. But that’s neither here nor there.)

Vanessa waits for him to say something. To finally acknowledge their power imbalance; he’s the one with the theoretical upper hand, after all. In the stereotypical way of things, he won the unspoken battle between them—even if neither of them ever consciously volunteered for the fight.

He got the guy. Now’s the time for her to become irrelevant, to poof out of existence. In the usual way of the world, they shouldn’t have to be facing one another here on the sidewalk because she would’ve disappeared into obscurity ages ago.

Yet, she’s still here, and there they are.

And while some of their awkward silence is definitely derived from uncertainty on both their parts, oddly, Vanessa gets the sense his is equally driven by deference. Trying to get a read on her, to see if he can figure out what exactly she wants from him. If she wants nothing to do with him, to keep pretending the other isn’t there, he’ll comply as far as his ingrained sense of cordiality will allow.

To his credit, and despite her cold shoulder and confusion, Charlie has been nothing but polite towards her. So Vanessa does her best to return the favor, at least long enough to free them from this uncomfortable stranglehold so they don’t turn into icicles.

“Hey,” she offers, forcing a smile. Knowing it comes off forced, but that’s better than nothing. She’s not very well practiced in this kind of socializing.

Permission granted, Charlie unthaws. His expression melts into another shy smile, far more natural than she thinks hers must look. “Hi. Great job tonight.”

“Thanks.” A beat. “You too,” she adds, since that’s a thing polite people do.

Charlie shrugs, spiritually waving off the praise. “You headed home?”

“Uh, yeah. Just calling an Uber.” She holds up her phone indicatively, even though she hasn’t managed to actually send the request through yet.

“Really? Might be a bit, at this hour.”

“Yeah, well, Henrik was supposed to my ride, but plans got changed around.”

“Ah.” Charlie nods. “Kind of cold to be waiting out here, though.”

As if to prove his point, a rather violent chill runs through Vanessa’s limbs. She feels her whole body shudder, but she plays it off casually, shoving her hands deeper in her pockets and clenching her teeth to keep them from chattering.

“It’s fine.”

A flash of something flicks through his features at her denial—the corners of his mouth turn up just slightly, but Vanessa isn’t sure she really saw it. She doesn’t know him, so she’s not going to act like she’s capable of reading him. She can barely read herself, most days.

Evidently, she cannot suss him out at all, because the next words out of his mouth catch her completely off-guard.

“Do you want a ride?”

Surely he’s joking. Why on Earth, in any version of reality, would the two of them want to spend time together? What person in their right mind voluntarily wastes precious minutes on their boyfriend’s ex; what pathetic loser accepts pity from the dude who scooped said boyfriend? No normal people at opposite ends of this triangular formula willingly engage like this; if they’re going to play by traditional rules, they should go on determinedly pretending the other never existed, only occasionally breaking that mindset to Insta-stalk the other person out of morbid curiosity at 2AM after a little too much wine or the chaotic goading of friends who love drama.

“You don’t have to do that,” she says. “I’ll be fine on my own.”

“For sure. But it wouldn’t be any trouble. And I’d hate to leave you standing out here in the cold.”

Okay, with all due respect—what is wrong with him? Is he for real?

“Where do you live?”

Vanessa pauses, trying to keep her teeth from rattling her skull. “SoHo.”

“Oh, that’s perfect. It’s literally on the way for me—I’m going to Tribeca.” Charlie raises his hands in surrender. “Of course, no pressure. If you’d rather take the Uber, no worries. It just would feel remiss not to offer. If I can spare you the chill, and a few extra dollars…”

For all the media Vanessa has consumed in her life, none of it has adequately prepared her for this scenario. She could handle passive aggression; she’s been dealing with that her whole life from her parents. She could handle a bitch fest, if Charlie had decided he wanted to rub things in. She was prepared for all of the worst case scenarios, even the one where she inevitably disappears into nothingness—just not the one where the evil, victorious new partner seems debilitatingly considerate and built for charity. How are you meant to respond when your theoretical romantic rival, in the traditional sense, was apparently plucked straight out of angel central casting?

(Can she even say “new” partner? Ex-ex-boyfriend? This shit is convoluted.)

Vanessa feels that stubborn side of her rear its ugly head again. The one that balks at the sheer notion of accepting help, from a stranger or friend or something in between. Accepting it from Charlie Gardner, the one who bested her in some cosmic game they didn’t know they were playing without even having to fucking show up, should be out of the question.

It should be, but it’s cold as shit, and Vanessa doesn’t want to freeze her ass off waiting for the Uber she still hasn’t called. Pride is a strong motivator, but it can’t trump survival in the hierarchy of needs.

“Um, sure. That would be nice.”

Charlie’s smile widens into a grin. With perfect teeth and everything.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Already feeling an irrational wave of shame, Vanessa hides herself deeper in her coat as she falls into step with him.

Gratefully, the humiliation only lasts as long as the chill. It melts away pretty quickly once she’s slid into the passenger side of Charlie’s silver sedan, feeling the blissful reprieve of hot air blasting from the vent. Yes, she’s a pathetic loser who embraced the pity of her ex’s beautiful, kind, apparently obnoxiously perfect new-old-cursed boyfriend, but damn, at least she’s not going to die of hypothermia.

“Feel free to adjust anything,” Charlie says as he buckles his seatbelt. “If you’re too warm, or—”

“I’m fine,” she responds, a bit too quickly. She clears her throat. “This is good. I’d much rather be sweating than freezing to death.”

That earns another smile. “I feel that.”

He places his phone on the dock to pull up navigation, and Vanessa catches a glimpse of his lock screen before it swipes away. To her surprise, it’s not Zay—it’s a dog, what she thinks is a beagle from the very brief view she gets before it disappears off screen. Their overlapping paramour isn’t present on his home screen either; instead, there are two girls in the frame of the photo, who based on their features, she makes the educated guess must be family members. Younger sisters, by the looks of it.

She doesn’t know why she automatically assumed Zay would be there. In her head, she supposes, if their fabled romantic history was so dramatic and all-consuming that it was able to be resurrected to live a second life—at her expense, some might say—then she figured that was sort of his whole deal.

Charlie exists to be in love with Zay, the obsessor and object of obsession; there shouldn’t be room for anything else in his life.

But she doesn’t know him. There was a time where she didn’t know Zay, either, and she made snap judgments before time and exposure proved his depths to be deeper than that. To be fair, it’s not that all of her judgments were wrong; Zay is obnoxiously driven, and a tad arrogant. But he was also multi-faceted, infuriatingly complex, and a damningly good guy underneath the irritating quirks.

Charlie’s fingers hover over the keyboard, ready to type in her address. “Where are we headed?”

If only Vanessa knew. They’ve already driven off the path of traditional wisdom; there are no maps or media examples she can turn to that’ll have all the answers of how to navigate this. Charlie is clearly not playing their roles in the conventional manner, and they’re not following any established rules. All this Adams-adjacent loco has her turned upside down, and she isn’t sure where it’s all going to end up.

Buckle in.

The drive to SoHo isn’t long, so the two of them aren’t forced to test the boundaries of the universe too hard. It’s not the most relaxing ride Vanessa’s ever taken, but that seems to be borne more out of natural awkwardness between two people who are just getting to know each other rather than any specific about the elephant traveling in the car with them. They spend most of the drive in silence, only peppered occasionally with small talk when Vanessa feels like if she doesn’t fill the quiet she’ll explode.

Charlie, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to mind the quiet. He doesn’t push her to talk, and he doesn’t insist on filling the void with the sound of his own voice. Even so, the muteness doesn’t feel cold; it’s content, unbothered. Vanessa gleans from the light smile that lingers on his features whenever she casts a glance in his direction that he’s not unused to companionable silences.

Another trait that seems unexpected coming from the world of Adams Academy. With rare exception, most of the people she’s met from Zay’s cohort seem almost incapable of not vocalizing their every thought.

Though, of course, Charlie isn’t just an Adams alumnus. He was part of Haverford’s race team when they competed in senior year; his swapping of sides, and the effect that would have on Zay, was the exact reason Vanessa suggested they invite Haverford in the first place.

Underhanded tactics, sure, but her instincts were clearly spot on. She sensed the potent perplexity of their dynamic back then, at a glance and from a distance, even if she couldn’t have imagined the full breadth of it. She still doesn’t know it—Zay never talked to her about Charlie’s transfer, why it happened or how he felt about it, despite his disdain being blatant to her outsider eye at the time.

Zay didn’t tell her a lot about Charlie, actually. Or the two of them. It was something he held close to the vest. Not because he was hiding things from her, or keeping it secret, she doesn’t think—he was always open and forthright about the general arc of their history, once she and Zay decided to become exclusive. Rather, it felt borne out of some… protective instinct, a natural inclination to keep it personal. To save the details as something only known between the two of them. Maybe a leftover habit from the origin of their relationship, the secrecy that being in the closet demanded.

Or perhaps that’s just the way of Zay and Charlie. She doesn’t know; she can’t know. That’s one of those things she was never going to understand.

There was at least one thing he gave her, though, a sentiment echoed by many of his former classmates.

“You’re a good dancer,” Vanessa says, in another one of those moments where she thinks the silence might suffocate her. They’re only five minutes from her place, but one more minute of dead air will kill her before they get there. “Sorry, I should’ve said that earlier.”

Charlie makes a face, bemused smile facing the dashboard window. “Don’t know why you’re apologizing. But thanks.”

“I didn’t mean—no, yeah. Sorry. I mean—”

“No worries,” Charlie chuckles. “Trust me, I get into that trap too.”

Cute, considerate, relatable. This is just ridiculous. At this point, Vanessa doesn’t see how Zay managed to break up with him and create a gaping wound in their history long enough for her to even enter the picture.

“Anyway, your choreography was good. Worked for the song well.”

Another humble shrug. “It was a mix of me and Maya, so I can’t take all the credit. Working with her is kind of like… throwing spaghetti at the wall and then letting her peel it off and slather it in her secret marinara sauce so she can call it her own. It’s very much her, but the bones of some of my ideas are there.”

Colorful metaphor. Vanessa lets a dumb thought slip out of her mouth before she can stop it. “Maya-nara sauce.”

Even though her cheeks flush in embarrassment, Charlie laughs at that. A real one, not a polite huff.

“Yeah, exactly.”

“Well, regardless, it was cool. You clearly know what you’re doing.”

He smiles; nodding, but clearly resisting the urge to dismiss her words. Vanessa wonders if he’s even capable of accepting a compliment. There’s humility, and then there’s… whatever he’s got going on. It’s amazing Zay doesn’t crush him with his big head when they’re together.

Or maybe that’s why it works. Opposites attract, or whatever…

“And Maya obviously knows that, since she keeps bringing you onto projects. Though she didn’t exactly act like it.” Off his curious eyebrow raise, Vanessa elaborates. “She was ragging on you constantly.”

Again, surprisingly, Charlie smiles. “Yes, Maya has a unique way with words.”

“That doesn’t bother you? I’m honestly surprised you opted to help her, given the way she talks to you.”

“You get used to it. Maya’s a character, for sure, but she’s mostly harmless.”

“Still. If someone was picking on me like that all the time, I know it would piss me off.”

Charlie shrugs, searching for the explanation. “I’m not saying that’s the wrong approach. Zay is the same way—half the time when Maya says stuff to me, he acts like she just wished death upon me and I should sue for damages.”

It’s the first time they’ve addressed him. Casually dropped in the context of an entirely different topic; mentioned so breezily, it’s almost as if they could pretend that name doesn’t carry immense weight.

But maybe that’s the case. Because while the name initially causes Vanessa’s heart to skip a beat on instinct, waiting for the nuclear implosion, it never comes. The car doesn’t spin out and kill them both; she doesn’t suddenly become consumed with bloodlust and fly into a jealous rage or feel like breaking down into tears.

It just is.

“But I don’t know. I’ve had people say far worse things to me, and coming from a much darker place. Maya picks on me, but her words are just words. I’ve learned that that’s not always the best way to gauge someone’s intentions; in fact, it almost never is. With Maya, her actions say a lot more—like you said, if she didn’t actually trust me, she would never let me within spitting distance of her career. I wouldn’t have credits on now two of her music videos. Maya is loud, and has a lot to say, but if you ignore the noise and pay attention, you’ll hear what she’s actually telling you eventually.”

Vanessa stares at him, glad that he’s obligated to watch the road so he can’t see her gaping. He spoke so calmly, as if they’re just exchanging small talk, but meanwhile he dropped several insights and points of intrigue that Vanessa will spend the next several hours puzzling over. Who said worse things to him than the potshots Maya spent the last two days tossing around; who would have a reason to say them to him, the picture perfect saint of Adams Academy? What wounds in his own personal history—the one beyond Zay that she’s just starting to conceptualize actually exists—gave him the armor to withstand these cat scratches? What prompted him to take this perspective, to develop this nuanced sense of perceiving someone else, let alone have the patience to wait long enough to find it?

Suddenly, for the first time, Vanessa thinks she gets Zay and Charlie. Just a snapshot, but something; for a fleeting moment, she understands why Zay is in love with him. Not for the obvious reasons—the perfect teeth and egregious humble charm and undeniable talent in dance—but the deeper pull. Because if Charlie has a habit of saying shit like that all the time, dropping some profound, thought-provoking observation like he’s just remarking on the weather with no pretenses of brilliance, Vanessa can imagine how Zay would get hooked. She can imagine it easily; the way Zay would latch onto each of those little threads of narrative and want to unspool them. To complete the tapestry of Charlie Gardner, to puzzle him out and discover how his mind works. It will probably take him the rest of their lives to do it, if he even can.

But Zay loves a challenge. He’ll never get tired of it; he’ll love every second of it.

Vanessa can’t blame him. Because in that same moment, for the first time, she wonders if she might want to know more too.

It’s a terrifying thought. One that goes against all logic of the world—like, is it even allowed to want to be friends with your ex-boyfriend’s new-old-cosmic-cursed partner? Who does that?—so it’s a relief when they arrive at her street a few seconds later. She’s going to need the time to process this, to update her perspective, before she figures out what she’s meant to do next.

And yet…

“Here we are,” Charlie declares, pulling up outside her building. He clicks on his hazard lights, even though he’s probably not going to be there for longer than thirty seconds and there’s no one else on the road at this hour. “Hopefully this was at least not as painful as developing frostbite—”

“Are you crazy?”

The question slips out before Vanessa can bite it back. Understandably, Charlie is caught off-guard. He raises his eyebrows.

“Sorry?”

“I just—one of us has to be crazy. Because this is… like, weird. It’s weird!” She huffs, smacking her hands down on her knees. “You don’t have to be all nice to me. I shouldn’t even want to be talking to you right now. Right? I dated your ex-boyfriend—or, well, ex then, not ex now—it’s so fucking—” She shakes her head. “I dated your star-crossed lover and interrupted your little romantic saga. Then we flamed out, I guess by cosmic consequence, and then he went back to you a month later thus making me the jilted ex in this equation.”

“Well, Zay said you broke up with him…”

“We’re like, opposite points in a real life fucking love triangle, and yet we’re sitting here chatting with each other as if it’s totally normal. But it’s not normal. You are being nice to me when you have no reason to be nice to me, beyond just… the standard programming of your Catholic upbringing or whatever that apparently you can’t override. There’s a way this story is supposed to go, in every classic sense, and yet here we are. Not doing that.” The words tumble out fitfully, about as clear out loud as they feel scrambled in her head. “So it’s just—I mean—which one of us is the crazy one here? Because it’s just… isn’t it… don’t you think this is weird?”

Charlie blinks, taking a moment to process her outburst. The outburst that she’s already viciously embarrassed by, feeling the heat crawl up her cheeks again and the ice form in her stomach. She let her emotions get the better of her, her frustration at not having everything under control in a way she can understand. She’s not built with the Adams crazy hardware; she can’t swiftly adapt to these new, upside-down rules—let alone the notion that maybe there aren’t any rules at all.

True to form, though (or the form that Vanessa thinks she’s just starting to suss out), Charlie doesn’t take the eruption personally. He remains impressively calm. She once again finds herself wondering what he could’ve possibly already experienced in his life to allow him to stay so damn calm.

After another beat of quiet, he shrugs.

“I gave up on classic a long time ago. It was pretty obvious that I was never going to live the traditional story I was supposed to.”

Suddenly, a piece of the tapestry weaves into clearer view. Maybe it should’ve been obvious, since she had all the threads from the start, but that simple response puts it together in bold color for her.

Catholic upbringing, formerly in the closet. Gay while subscribing to a religion that has plenty of sects that believe his very existence is a paradox; sharing an epic romantic saga with her ex, yes, but probably having sacrificed something to get it.

Charlie could very well be disgustingly obsessed with his boyfriend, and be as boring a vanilla wafer as Maya quipped. But he’s also probably multi-faceted, bewilderingly complex. He probably isn’t an angel sent straight from central casting—despite how the barbs of insecurity prickling at Vanessa’s rib cage are urging her to leap to conclusions.

“Shit.”

Vanessa knocks her head back against the headrest and screws her eyes shut. She takes a deep breath and holds it, counting to five in her head before she lets it go.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she confesses. Voice shaky, fragile and vulnerable in a way she definitely didn’t plan for. It feels like a recipe for humiliation, but now that the dam has broken, it’s like she can’t stop the words from spilling out. “I’m sorry. I know I’m being the crazy one. You’re just being nice. I’m just—I’m not great with stuff like this, a lot of the time, and…” She huffs. “When there’s not an obvious path for me to take, the way I’m meant to act, it just feels…”

She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know what she’s trying to say. But somehow, Charlie does, because he finishes the sentence for her.

“Weird.”

Vanessa scoffs, opening her eyes. She trains her gaze out the dashboard window. “Yeah. Weird.”

For a few moments, quiet reigns again. But this time, it doesn’t feel so smothering. Oddly enough, it gives her a little more room to breathe.

“Believe it or not, I’ve got a lot of experience with being weird,” Charlie says softly.

Vanessa glances at him, braving meeting his eyes. They’re a bit warier than before, treading with caution, but still kind. Still withholding judgment.

Then, timidly, the gentle smile returns to his face. “It’s kind of like Maya. You get used to it.”

Vanessa lets out a laugh. Weary, a little off balance, but genuine. Laced with relief, with the exhale of freeing the weight off your chest. Charlie’s smile grows.

“Well, um, thanks for the ride,” she finally manages. “Sorry it was probably the worst car ride you’ve ever taken.”

“Not even close,” he assures her.

“And sorry I unloaded on you. Being crazy. If I blame my parents for fucking me up, will you buy that and give me a pass?”

At that, Charlie snorts. “No pass necessary. If that’s your greatest sin, I think you and I might actually have a lot to talk about.”

Maybe. Maybe they do.

Vanessa gathers her duffle and steps out of the car, cold wind biting her skin. But before she escapes, flees the awkwardness and the bitter chill, she finds herself offering one more sentiment in Charlie’s direction.

“See you around?”

Not a promise. Not a guarantee. But a question—an openness to the possibility. An invitation to dig deeper, maybe, if the two of them decide they want to. On their own terms, in spite of the classic narrative the traditional universe laid out for them.

Charlie smiles. This time, Vanessa notices it’s not so picture perfect—his lips are a little lopsided. He has a small mole on the corner of his mouth. His front teeth are a little large, so he probably had buck teeth as a kid.

But it’s genuine. Somehow, it’s better that way.

“See you around.”

#vanessa johnson

Trending Tags

Recently Viewed Tags

#vanessa johnson