Noelle’s POV:

  I can’t focus on a word Bell is saying because my brain keeps replaying the moment with Check Guy. The way his voice dropped when he asked about staying off my bad side. The way he leaned forward. The curve of his mouth when he smiled.

  “...and that’s when I told Sebastian Stan that his problem wasn’t blocking, it was that he couldn’t feel the connection,” Bell says with sweeping gestures. “We spent an afternoon making eye contact while listening to Pink Floyd. By the end, even the grip was crying.”

  Beside me, Harlowe whispers, “Ten bucks says he was just an extra in a movie with Sebastian Stan.”

  Bell paces the room with his linen pants swishing. “Chemistry isn’t manufactured, it’s excavated. It’s already there, buried under your ego.”

  I catch myself looking at Check Guy. He’s running his thumb along the edge of his notebook. When Bell claims he once made Lupita Nyong'o change her whole approach, I see Check Guy’s mouth twitch.

  This is ridiculous.

  “Remember,” Bell continues, “when you’re stuck in a scene, the answer is never in your head. It’s in your partner’s eyes.”

  My stomach flips. Don’t look at him again. Don’t do it.

  I do it. Our eyes meet for a half-second before I snap my attention back to Bell.

  Jason’s hand shoots up. “Professor Bell, I’ve actually been studying connection the past year. There's this exercise where you create manufactured intimacy through eye contact and certain questions. It’s supposed to trick your brain into creating false attachment.”

  “The brain is never false,” Bell cuts in. “Only our interpretation is.”

  Amelia leans in close to me. “He must’ve read the BuzzFeed article about 36 questions that make you fall in love.”

  “Alright, my children,” Bell announces as he checks his watch. “Take five minutes to hydrate and realign your chakras. We’ll get into some physical work when you return.”

  Everyone stands. Their joints pop in the protest after an hour on floor pillows. Amelia, Harlow and I file into the hallway and walk toward the water fountain.

  “My ass has fallen asleep and died,” Harlowe complains. “It’s going to need a closed casket funeral.”

  “Tell me about it. I'm pretty sure I have a pillow imprint on mine," I say, rubbing my cheek inconspicuously.

  Harlowe giggles. “Maybe we could convince him to invest in yoga balls, or–”

  She stops suddenly, her eyes widening. Then I hear what she hears: the boys are right behind us.

  “–not even kidding. She had the nipple clamps in her bag the whole time,” Ethan is saying, his voice carries down the hallway. “So, I had to ask if they were for recreational use or if she just happened to have them.”

  “You had to?” Danny shakes his head.

  “I think it’s the kind of thing you’d want to know about the person supposedly playing your stage wife,” Ethan defends.

  “Why are you even talking about this?” Danny sighs.

  “It’s relevant to the class. You heard Bell about connections, and I’m just saying—”

  “That BDSM creates better scene partners?” Elliot cuts in, his voice full of amusement. “I don’t really think that’s in the class curriculum.”

  My face burns and I want to be anywhere else. Harlowe, however, is shamelessly eavesdropping. She tilts her head to catch every word.

  Eventually, we make it to the water fountain. It makes a sad sputtering noise when I press the button. A perfect metaphor for how I’m feeling right now.

  When we return to the classroom, the pillows have been pushed to the walls and create a clear space in the center. Bell stands in the middle of the room, barefoot now, and wiggles his toes on the floor.

  “Now,” he says, gesturing for us to form a circle around him, “we’re going to get our energy moving with a little game. Who’s familiar with Zip, Zap, Zop.”

  The room lets out a collective groan.

  “We’ve been doing this since elementary school,” someone calls out. “Can’t we do something more advanced?”

  “Sometimes,” Bell says, lowering his volume, “the simplest games reveal the most profound truths. Circle up, children.”

  No one moves for a moment. Jason is the first to step forward. The rest of us follow and form a loose circle.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  “I,’’ begin. Feel the energy flow between you.” He turns and claps toward Kristi. “Zip!”

  Kristi straightens and points at a tall guy across the circle. “Zap,” she says.

  “Zip,” the guy responds and points to Danny.

  The game continues and picks up speed. I haven’t gone yet, but that changes when Harlowe suddenly claps toward me. “Zap!”

  I don’t miss a beat. “Zop,” I say and clap to the guy who came in late.

  The game speeds up despite our initial reluctance. There’s something mindless about it. Like washing dishes or folding laundry. It’s calming.

  Until Bell claps his hands together, “Now let's add a twist. When you point to someone, add their name beforehand. Like this–” He turns to the guy who came in late. “Christian, zip!”

  Christian flinches. “Uh. Jason, zap,”

  “Danny, zop!”

  Danny looks around the circle. “Harlowe, zip!”

  “Michael, zap!’

  Michael locks eyes with Check Guy. “Elliot, zop!”

  Elliot.

  His name settles in my brain and fits there like it’s been waiting for a place to land. Elliot. Not Check Guy. Elliot.

  I’m testing how it feels in my thoughts and wondering if I’ve ever known an Elliot before.

  “Noelle, zip.”

  His voice snaps me out of it. He’s looking right at me, his dark eyes steady, and I realize I’ve been standing here silently while I silently repeat his name like a lunatic.

  “Noelle,” Bell prompts gently.

  “Sorry,” I stammer as I feel the heat creep up my neck. I look at the guy he called Elliot. “Martin, zap!”

  Except his name isn’t Martin. I can tell by the way his eyebrows shoot up.

  “Michael,” he corrects with a small smile as I take his place.

  “Right,” I mumble. “Michael.”

  The humiliation burns hot in my chest. Perfect. Now I look like an idiot who can't remember names, and it’s entirely Elliot’s fault. He caught me off guard and singled me out from everyone in the circle. He could’ve picked anyone–Danny, Harlowe, literally any other person–but he chose me. Like he knew this would happen.

  Michael points to someone else, and the game continues. I’m listening just for my name. The rest of my brain is tallying the ways I am mortified: forgetting Michael’s name, stumbling over my words, feeling his eyes on me as I fumbled. Everyone saw. Elliot saw.

  When Harlowe gets zapped, she points to me. “Noelle, zop!”

  I know exactly what I’m doing before I do it. My eyes find him across the circle. “Elliot, zip,” I say, my voice steady now. Let’s see how he likes being put on the spot.

  His lips part slightly in surprise. Then something shifts in his expression. “Noelle, zap.”

  What the hell? That’s not how this works. He’s supposed to choose someone else, spread the energy around like Bell said. Not throw it right back at me.

  “Elliot, zop,” I say, my voice hardening. If he thinks this is cute, he’s mistaken.

  “Noelle, zip.” His voice drops a register, and something pools in my lower belly.

  Shit. I was supposed to fluster him, not get pulled into whatever this is.

  “Elliot, zap.” My body leans forward.

  “Noelle, zop.” His eyes haven’t left mine.

  I’m aware of the circle around us. Someone coughs. Someone else shifts their weight. But all I can focus on is the way my name sounds coming from him, like he’s unwrapping something precious.

  “Elliot, zip.” My voice is soft and low.

  “Noelle, zap.” The way he says my name makes it sound like it belongs to him somehow.

  Each exchange feels like a hand brush against places hands shouldn’t be brushing in a classroom. I hate that I like the way my name sounds in his mouth, the way he watches me form his.

  “Elliot, zop.”

  “Noelle, zip.” He steps closer to me, and everyone else in the room recedes until there’s nothing but the invisible threat pulling between us.

  “Elliot, zap.” When I say it, I feel like I’m running out of oxygen.

  “Noelle–”

  “Let’s spread the energy around,” Bell interrupts gently. Though his eyes crinkle knowingly. Kill me now.

  Elliot blinks like he’s surfacing from underwater. For a moment, he looks at me. Then he reluctantly turns.

  “Amelia, zop,” he says, but he sounds bored now.

  I release a breath. I don’t know if I’m glad it’s over, but I am glad my heart no longer sounds like a gong.

  The game continues around us, but I can still feel him watching me. And god help me, I want him to.

  After thirty minutes more, including a yoga session, Bell releases us. I shove my notebook into my bag and keep my eyes fixed on my own movements rather than scanning the room for a certain someone. Which is absolutely what I’m not doing when I accidentally catch Elliot rubbing his lower back by the door.

  “That was…” Amelia trails off as we step into the hall.

  “Criminal,” Harlowe supplies. “I’m pretty sure making us hold a plank for five minutes violates the Geneva Convention.”

  “My thighs are still shaking from the lunges,” I admit. “If I collapse, just leave me for the custodial staff."

  Amelia stops to tie her shoe, and I see Elliot coming out of the classroom door. His theater track friends are heading in the opposite direction. He glances at his phone, then in our direction.

  Harlowe notices him, too. “Elliot!” she calls out, waving. “You’re going to scene study with us, right?”

  He looks up and seems relieved as he nods. “Yeah, just making sure I’m going the right way.”

  “You can just walk with us,” Amelia tells him. “Apparently, Noelle studied the campus map over the summer.”

  I send her a glare.

  “Thanks,” he says as he falls into step beside us.

  “So, Elliot,” Amelia says after a moment of walking, “Have you ever been to a Buc-ee’s?”

  He looks confused. “A what?”

  All three of us stop walking.

  “You’ve never been to a Buc-ee’s?” Harlowe gasps. “The gas station? With the beaver? And the cleanest bathrooms in America. A cultural mecca of the South?”

  “I’m from Boston,” he says, “we don’t have those.”

  “You have to see what you’re missing,” Amelia says as she pulls out her phone. She scrolls for a moment, then turns her screen toward him. It’s a ridiculous TikTok someone made of the Buc-ee’s beaver mascot set to “Pony” by Ginuwine.

  Elliot stares at the screen. His expression cycles through confusion, disbelief, and reluctant amusement. “That’s just…disturbing.”

  “It’s kind of a catch-all gas station,” I explain. “They have beef jerky, fudge, camping gear, the weird decorative signs about wine suburban moms love.”

  We reach our next classroom and as we walk through the door, I;m acutely aware of how close Elliot is standing to me right now.

  Scene study is in room 204, a standard classroom with actual desks and chairs. Jason is already there, getting his notebooks out, while Kristi scrolls through her phone.

  As we sit down, I notice that Elliot takes one of the seats next to me. I take a deep breath and focus and unpacking the things I need for the class. Today has already been weird enough with zip-zap-zop and now sitting together.

  “Quite a first day so far,” Elliot says quietly, just to me.

  I glance at him, then quickly away. “Bell was an experience.”

  I risk looking at him and feeling that same electricity from earlier. I just need to ignore this. I just need to get through the rest of the day.