I want to ask if this is about her double-majoring, which is practically unheard of for animation majors. I wouldn’t be surprised if she is struggling with pursuing art, especially animation, a medium she derided until I gained a modicum of success and notoriety, however small and fleeting. Sure, she’s talented. I mean, her portfolio was good enough to be selected for one of the most competitive animation programs in the country. But a few decent ideas and the ability to mimic people who actually love the art form is nothing without drive, passion, or willingness to learn and grow and take risks. Especially as an artist, a career I’ve been told (by my father) is not guaranteed. Knowing Leila, her parents probably pressured her to declare a dual business major as a backup, and I know firsthand how art imitates life …

“Do you ever question what you’re doing?” she asks unexpectedly. She’s let her guard down, putting away her fake theatricality for a moment.

“All the time,” I say, then add, “and not at all. I think it’s unrealistic to not question your own choices as you create. But I have to make mistakes in order to figure out how to correct them.”

“Yeah, right, total same,” she says. “It’s a good thing I don’t make mistakes.” She winks, and just like that, the wall is back up. “I can’t wait to share Eggbért and Unscramblé a Flambé with the world. It truly will be my magnum opus. I can hear the announcers at the Academy Awards now. ‘And the winner is …’ ”

She doesn’t have to finish the sentence. I know her well enough to realize she’s masking a pain she won’t share with me. I want to ask her to drop the act, to talk to me, because deep down, even after everything that happened, I can’t erase the fact I cared about her. Maybe a part of me still does.

She gathers the rest of her belongings and breezes straight out of the classroom before I can find out.

Chapter 15

15

My interaction with Leila is a ghost that haunts me.

It hovers over every moment with Jack and makes me want to know every part of him, especially the parts he keeps to himself. I think about what my old therapist might say if I told her I felt possessed by memories of a phantom friendship. She’d probably tell me not to project my fears onto Jack, but, yeah, that doesn’t work.

I want all of him. And it kills me that he still hides pieces of his life from me. I should probably find a new therapist to help me deal, but obsessing in my head feels easier.