The next day, Ruthie studiously ignored Elliott during English, though he was sitting right next to her. It looked like their teacher was going leave them seated as they were, which meant she and Elliott were going to be in the back corner, next to the door, at least for the first quarter.

She could tell that he was trying to make eye contact with her, but she kept her eyes resolutely forward when she wasn't looking at her notebook or laptop. As a girl, she had long since mastered the art of avoiding boys who wanted her attention.

When the bell rang, she went to the front to talk to Ms. West, ostensibly to ask her about an assignment, and when she returned to her desk, he was gone.

She left the class quickly, not wanting to be late to second period.

Posters were already going up around the school for the Fall Harvest dance, and seeing them made Ruthie sad on two fronts.

As a freshman and a sophomore, she'd had her choice of escorts as boys tried to outdo themselves for the honor of escorting Ruthie to the dance. Widely acknowledged to be the prettiest girl in school, she'd had young men falling all over themselves, trying to think of creative ways to ask her, hoping she'd say yes. It had been no end of fun, and she'd accumulated quite the cache of candy and flowers. This year would've been the first year she attended with a bona fide boyfriend, an actual date, with no shilly-shallying about who it would be.

In addition, the dance was being put on by the Student Council, which Ruthie had been part of for the past two years. She had really loved being part of student government, helping run the extra-curricular events, putting together the yearbook, and of course, the dances.

Her parents had told her over the summer in no uncertain terms, however, that she could choose to do drama, or Student Council, but not both, as the time commitment was just too big.

Ms. Yarmouth, the Student Council teacher, had been devastated, and had even written to her dads, but they had stood firm. As indulgent as they were, they could be strict when they needed to.

"Ruthie, we're sorry, but school comes first," Pop had said as he sat on her bed. "We know how much of yourself you put into your clubs, you know? And there aren't enough hours in the day. Am I right?"

"Yeah, you are, I know," Ruthie had said with a nod.

"There were weeks at a time when you didn't come home before ten o'clock at night, you know?" Dad had added. He was sitting on the other side of her bed. His brown eyes had been filled with sympathy as he patted her leg. "Junior and senior years are only going to be busier with SATs, ACTs, achievement tests, college apps--you can't get all this done and do drama and do Student council too, right?"

"Not to mention swim team in the spring?" Pop put in.

Ruthie didn't tell them that many of those nights had been spent with Brett. She just nodded her agreement.

Ruthie hurried past another poster for the dance and noticed in passing that the word "harvest" had been misspelled, though someone had gone back over and managed to wedge the letter "r" into the poster before they put it up.

Such a mistake would never have been allowed in her day.

She shook her head and opened the door to her French class, unfortunately, just after the bell rang.

"Nice of you to join us, Mademoiselle Grimaldi," Madame Schwartz said, looking pointedly up at the clock. "Not a good way to begin the year, is it?"

"No, Madame," Ruthie answered, trying not to roll her eyes.

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Ruthie managed to keep things civil with Elliott in Drama over the next couple of weeks. They found a passage from Lolita that they thought would suit them both, and got the passage okayed by Ms. Piper.

"Really?" was all she said when they told her their choice. "Very ambitious, you two. Good luck."

They looked at each other, and Ruthie actually had a hard time looking away from Elliott's eyes.

And when they actually got around to doing their first read through of the script they'd written, Ruthie was shocked.

Elliott was good.

Even though she'd always felt that neither Peter Sellers nor Jeremy Irons had done the character justice in the two film versions she'd seen, her brain always went to those two actors when imagining the pitiful pedophile, and she wondered how skinny, young, handsome Elliott would convey the gravitas of those two magnificent actors. They were, after all classically trained in London; at least, Jeremy Irons was, as far as she could recall. Peter Sellers was more of an intuitive genius, a comedian and musician, too. At least Elliott was English, and she wouldn't have to listen to someone try to fake an accent.

They were outside, in the shade of one of the trees in the yard of the high school, enjoying the marginally cooler weather.

"Ready?" Elliott asked.

Ruthie nodded, and began with the first line. She knew from experience that she couldn't go full on, that she would look like she was really overacting, because most kids in high school simply didn't act at that level. Ruthie had done several regional shows as a child in San Francisco before she'd given it up when she started high school.

Elliot began reading his lines, and Ruthie looked up at him quickly, in surprise. She had to look down to find her line, but watched him again when she was finished. The cadence of his speech had changed, the emphasis of his words, even his accent was a little different. His speech was a bit oily, a bit tinged with something kind of sickening, something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

With Ruthie's next line, she let loose, giving Lolita all of the tiny, sarcastic vocalisms she thought a nymphet would have, and this time, she was gratified to see that Elliott watched, surprise on his face, when she was finished. He smiled and gave a slight nod of approval and acknowledgement before continuing.

"Very nice, RBG," he told her when they were finished.

"You too," she responded. "Have you done this before? I mean, never mind, you've obviously done this before," she answered her own question. She turned to him. "My question is, where? Where have you done this before?"

He looked at her, biting his lips for a moment. "London," he said briefly. "Before I came here." He looked away and leaned against the tree, but Ruthie put a hand on his arm.

"Obviously London," she said with a laugh. "I meant, under what circumstances?"

He moved his arm, maybe a bit more roughly than he had to, from under her hand.

"I did some theatre in London when I was younger," he finally answered. "And I'd participated in some summer programs."

"Some theater in London?" Ruthie repeated, obviously wanting more information. "Summer programs?"

Elliott's entire body was stiff, his sharp jaw tense as he looked away from her. He took a deep breath and finally met her gaze, hazel eyes bright with some emotion she couldn't name.

"Yeah, mostly West End. And I attended LDAA the last three summers. Actually, I was supposed to matriculate there starting this fall, but plans changed, and I came here--" and he waved his hand around to include the school "--instead. There you go. My life in a horrible, boring, nutshell. Satisfied?" and he stalked off, shoulders hunched as if against an imaginary blow.

West End?

That was the London equivalent of Broadway.That was as good as it got. Ruthie's eyes were wide with amazement as she played his words over in her head.

And LDAA? That was London Dramatic Acting Academy. Everyone who wanted to act had heard of that. In England there was RADA and there was LDAA. You could only get in by audition, and they were very expensive and exclusive, and they gave hardly any scholarships. No wonder he was so good.

Elliott was supposed to go to LDAA, and ended up here, at Warren fucking High School instead?

Poor guy.

Ruthie looked around to see where he'd gone. She saw him rounding the corner of the building, and went after him.

He was leaning against the building, arms crossed, looking away from her, when she came around the corner.

"Look, could you just leave me alone for a bit, please?" he asked without turning his head.

"No," Ruthie said, stepping closer. "I don't think people should be alone after they've unloaded something heavy. So I'm not going to go. I don't think it's healthy. You don't have to talk to me, but I don't think you should be alone."

In spite of himself, Elliott could feel himself starting to smile.

Ruthie could see the side of his jaw, and the little smile, and she relaxed a bit.

"Oh, you don't, don't you?" Elliott finally said, turning to look at her, keeping his arms crossed.

Ruthie shook her head and stood her ground.

"I'm so so sorry, Elliott," Ruthie said, taking a couple of steps toward him. "I don't even know what I'd do if I were already acting on the West End, and I were all set to go to LDAA, and then ended up in this backwater instead. I mean, god, I think I might die of sorrow, you know?" She nodded for emphasis.

"Die of sorrow?" Elliott repeated. "Yeah, I don't think that's possible in real life, RBG."

"I don't know, I can get pretty sad," she told him. "And that would make me really sad. I mean, to go from LDAA to Warren? Nothing ever happens here.

"Well, I mean, you know who Kelsey Carlisle is?" she asked Elliott. At his nod, she continued. "She came here, once. I mean, a few times, because the guy she hired to be her swim coach? To teach her to swim when she played Marian Lowell in that movie? Yeah, he's from here, lives a couple blocks that way, and she's been there a few times. They're like a couple now, too. And I think Marian Lowell's been there once or twice, even," Ruthie concluded. "That's Warren's claim to fame.

"I mean, I hope someday people will say, 'Warren's where that actress Ruthie Barakat Grimaldi's from,' but I doubt that's going to happen, you know?" she said, her voice getting soft.

"Why?" Elliott asked, getting off the wall and stepping close to Ruthie. "Why couldn't that happen?" He gestured toward where they'd read their lines. "Because I have to tell you, I only saw a little bit, but from what I saw, you're quite good, at least as good as anyone I've worked with in the past." He nodded when she looked at him in surprise.

"Well, all this is supposed to be 'just for fun,' you know?" Ruthie explained. "Pop and Dad want me to be a lawyer. It's all they've ever wanted for me. I can't let them down."

Ruthie sighed. "I didn't mean to tell you any of that," she said. "Please don't tell anyone I did, okay? I mean, I know we're not exactly on good terms--"

"Oh god," Elliott said. "Seriously, are you still upset with me? Are you?" He held out a hand. "Can't we call a truce or whatever?" He made a point of looking tilting his head and looking at her posterior. "I actually think you have a lovely bum, honest."

Ruthie' eyes widened, and she put her free hand on her bottom. She tried to pull her hand out of his grasp, but he held fast.

"Please, RBG," he asked. "You're just about the only person I can talk to. Please?"

Ruthie finally nodded, then surprised herself by letting him pull her into his body for a firm hug.

Up close, the smell of him was intoxicating, and his skinny body was surprisingly comforting, considering how bony he was.

He released her almost immediately.

"Thank you," he said with a smile.

"You're welcome," Ruthie said, unable to help herself. She also couldn't help the smile that crept on her face, and she could feel that he was liking the way it looked on her.

"Shall we go back to our tree and try the scene again?" Elliott asked. "You were amazing, by the way."

"Yeah, let's do it again," Ruthie said, nodding.

"Wonderful."

He held out his hand, and, after hesitating a moment, Ruthie put hers in his and they walked back to the shade to read through the scene again.