10 Robin Avoids His Problems

July 17th

Getting out of bed was hard, but I did it, and even made it all the way to rehearsal. Fortunately, it was a wire-work day, which was mostly for the benefit of the tech-crew and didn't actually require much from me. At least, intellectually.

"Loosen up!" Maggie, our set designer, assistant manager, jack-of-all-trades and also my friend, yelled at me from down below. "We're trying to make this look fluid!"

I tried. But I couldn't. My entire body was clenched around the idea that Terri was back, and the nightmare of high school was happening again.

Less than an hour spent on social media last night had produced the factual pearl that Terri had officially transferred to Norse-U. He'd been straight-up kicked out of his prestigious East Coast pre-law program, but luckily, our no-standards garbage program had been more than happy to have him.

He was back in town to stay.

Which was a thought that I absolutely could not maintain inside my body.

So I tried to make my body not my body. It was a tool, and I forced it to relax, to let itself swing from side to side like the carefree Peter Pan I was meant to be—as far from that sad helpless little bastard who'd got a face full of paper as possible.

"Better," I heard Maggie mutter. "Now, less wet rag being shaken, more leaf fleeting on the wind?"

I closed my eyes and let the wires rock me, leaning into the swing and trying to keep each one from ending. Letting every swing be its own endless moment. Fuck endings. Endings aren't real.

Like how the nightmare hadn't ended.

Over the years at school, I'd learned to avoid Terri; I'd memorized his schedule every term and had done my best not to call attention to myself: his or anyone else's. But despite my efforts, it had become an established fact that Terri Bishop bullied Robin Finch—even teachers accepted it with a helpless shrug. The school colors were red and yellow, the mascot was a hedgehog, and Terri Bishop bullied Robin Finch.

I'd spent years hiding my light under a bushel, when all I'd wanted was to set the fucking bushel on fire. But now I was supposed to be able to be my fully authentic, loud, extroverted, and sparkling self.

So much for that.

Whatever, I could do this.

All I had to do was avoid him for another two to three years and everything would be fine. I'd done this before. I'd survived this before.

It was like paying taxes, only I paid in dignity and bodily autonomy.

After a while, the crew lowered me and unhooked the harness, finally freeing my limbs. While I struggled to regain my land legs, my mind desperately searched for something to focus on other than Terri.

Like, for example, how fantastically awkward Armand had been yesterday teaching his first class. Even now, I full-body cringed just thinking about it. It had been a little adorable, in a really neurotic way ... like when you watched a video about a diabetic, two-legged pig learning to walk again.

Hopefully tonight would go better; according to the syllabus, we'd be talking about gutter lines and how they could be used as narrating Greek choruses. Okay, sure.

I was being mean. He'd actually been pretty informative, and if I hadn't still been shaken up from my run in with Terri, I would have been geeking out with the rest of the class. Especially since he'd reiterated that at the end of the workshop, we'd be displaying our final projects gallery-style at the Drawn Quartered Comic Convention. It was going to be so cool; three full pages of my art (a tasteful meet-cute between a vampire and a wizard, in a coffee shop, no less) on a gallery wall. And other peoples' too, but whatever.

It was disconcerting how Armand had just assumed that our work would be worth displaying. As if we were as cool as him. Armand Demetrio, still dark, alternative, and indie to the core. Perhaps he could be forgiven a certain complete lack of elegance.

That's what I was for. That and bureaucracy. Which reminded me, I still needed to write up that job posting for the workshop—Armand had asked if I could find him a live model for next week's classes.

"You want me to find you a naked guy?"I'd asked him.

He'd blushed and sputtered, "I need a life model, gender hardly matters, just— We need a body, someone with a presence—" He'd gone on to explain a bunch of technical things that made it clear he wanted to make the selection himself, but we both knew he'd struggle to figure out the campus job site. The key to a happy life was reasonable expectations, so I'd set it up so applications were sent directly to his email.

I chugged some strawberry-flavored vitamin water and stretched. I still had time for a good long shower and maybe a few hours studying my script before I had to go pick him up. Maggie had disappeared somewhere into the bowels of the theater, but I was hoping to pull her away from whatever important work she was doing and get her to run lines with me later on.

I started back toward my dorm, letting the sunshine dry my sweat and already reaching for my phone to text Maggie.

I was about to turn the corner when—

My hair stood up and my blood ran cold.

Hide.A deep, animal part of my brain yanked me into a crouch behind a hedge. He's coming.

"—so that sets precedent. Obviously. Professor Yang couldn't be more wrong."

Terri. I shut my eyes tight and tried as hard as I could to not exist.

It worked. Terri and the gaggle of pre-law students disappeared behind the museum, and I finally let myself breathe.

I could feel my pulse in every single part of my body. Even the tips of my fingers.

See? All the old instincts were coming back. I could do this.

I could survive this.