Chapter 11: Halfway is not enough

I stood still, staring at the exact spot Klaus had been hovering less than ten seconds ago.

Like the air still remembered him.

My lips tingled.

That’s utterly ridiculous.

We didn’t even—

My fingers developed a mind of their own, slowly drifting to my lips before I could stop them.

What if they had touched his? Would it have been soft?

Oh my God.

Within seconds, I forced myself back to reality, dropping my hand as it had betrayed me.

It had to be a joke. Klaus was the king of teasing. Pushing boundaries. Watching people squirm.

That was literally his thing.

Don’t think too much of it, Tessa, I told myself firmly, gripping my script until the edges bent.

It meant nothing.

Right?

I finally moved from the spot, determined to get back into practice mode — but I froze mid-step.

“Fuck,” I blurted. The word echoed louder than intended.

Heads turned.

“I—umm—I bit my tongue,” I said quickly, forcing out a nervous laugh that convinced absolutely no one.

A few people chuckled awkwardly and returned to their previous activities. All except Veronica.

Of course.

She was staring as she’d just watched a crime unfold.

I swear she creeps me the fuck out with her overlined lips and those exaggerated, almost aggressive eyelashes. Like she blinks and someone loses an eye.

Then it hit me. Ethan saw us. He saw us almost kiss.

And I shouldn’t be bothered.

But I am.

And I don’t know why.

It’s not like he owns me. We’re not anything.

Still… something about the way he stood there.

Quiet. Observing. It unsettled me – In a good way.

Which makes absolutely no sense.

There's just something about Ethan; I feel like he sees me, not the version of me that rehearses lines or pretends to be confident. He sees the hesitation and the hiding. Everything.

He knows without knowing me – If that makes sense.

I leaned back against the wall, pretending to read my script while silently watching Ethan and Klaus talk near the stage lights.

I had absolutely no idea what they were saying. But their body language was tight. Controlled.Measured.

I couldn’t even figure out what business they could possibly have with each other.

They’re like opposite sides of a coin.

Ethan was calm and collected. Everything about him felt organised. Precise. Intentional.

Well… except for his Spider-Man backpack.

That thing looked like it belonged to a twelve-year-old.

I’d never seen him raise his voice. Never seen him lose control.

Ethan felt safe – He was the kind of person I’d call on a shitty day. The kind who would listen instead of trying to fix me.

I liked Ethan.

A soft, sincere smile found its way onto my face.

Then I looked at Klaus and the smile shifted.

Klaus didn’t feel safe in the slightest. He felt unpredictable.

Like touching a live wire just to see if it would spark. He made my skin crawl and my insides tingle in ways I couldn’t explain without sounding insane.

He was a hard shell to crack. Always in black. Head to toe.

Never chasing attention, yet somehow pulling it without effort.

Never letting anyone order him around.

And yet—

He was helping me. Training me.Pushing me.Believing in me.

And that part?

That part scared me the most.

“Are you done ogling over my property?” Veronica’s voice slid in from behind like a blade.

I straightened slowly and folded my arms, turning to face her with a calm, deliberate don’t even try me expression.

“Property?” I echoed lightly.

She stepped closer, lowering her voice.“You really think I don’t see what you’re doing?” she said, eyes scanning me like I was something she scraped off her shoe. “Staying late. Hanging around him. Acting clueless.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I replied smoothly. “I must’ve missed the ‘Property of Veronica’ label stamped across his forehead.”

Her jaw tightened.“I don’t know what fantasy you’re living in, but Klaus doesn’t go for desperate girls who throw themselves at him for attention and especially ones that looks like –”

"a bag of potatoes" i smirked “And yet,” I added, stepping just slightly closer, “I’m the one he’s kissing in front of the entire school on opening night.”

She cracked and for a split second, her confidence slipped.

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

Silence.

Oh, how the night had fallen.

Her silence was more satisfying than watching Titanic on a rainy day. If you know what I mean.

I leaned in just enough for only her to hear me.

“So tell me,” I whispered, “who’s the bag of potatoes now?”

I walked away strutting as if I had just won a silent battle.

My phone buzzed.

It was Maya. I smiled instantly.

She sent a text: Guess what?? There’s this new fancy burger place that just opened near Oak Street. They’re doing student discounts this week!

We HAVE to go after school.

A soft laugh escaped my lips.

Yep, that sounded exactly like us– normal, easy, safe and occasionally Goofy.

Hurriedly, I texted back.

‘Sure meet you there after school’

She responded with three burger emojis and a dramatic yesssss.

I chuckled, slipped my phone into my bag and hurried back on stage.

Things had shifted between us lately and I told myself it was temporary.

It had to be.

“Alright everyone!” Miss Issa’s voice cut through the auditorium. “That’s a wrap for today.”

The room buzzed with movements.

“Theresa,” she added, glancing at me over her glasses. “My office. Please.”

My stomach dipped.

I nodded.

We walked to her office together and she offered me a seat.

I sat but she didn't – not immediately.

She walked to her desk and pulled out a thick bundle of papers from a drawer and began skimming through them quietly.

My palms started sweating.

Then she stopped. Carefully, she pulled out one sheet.

I noticed it before she even turned it toward me.

At the top, printed in bold letters:

Monroe School of Arts.

There was a sad smile on her face as she handed it to me gently.

“These,” she said softly, “are the academic credit requirements for admission.”

My heart pounded in my ears as my eyes scanned the page.

Numbers.

Subjects.

Minimum grade thresholds.

“The play,” she continued, folding her hands on the desk, “is a huge head start. Frankly, it boosts your artistic score to more than halfway.”

Halfway?

“But it won’t be enough to get you in.” The words didn’t feel cruel,they felt real.

“You’ll still need to focus on your academics this year,” she said carefully. “If you can pass at least three of your main subjects with strong grades, you’ll meet the minimum threshold.”

Silence filled the room.

For a second, all I could think about was Maya.

Miss Issa must have noticed the way my shoulders stiffened, because she reached across the desk and held my hand.

“You are capable. All you need is structure. A little discipline.”

I swallowed.

“I don’t want you overwhelmed,” she added. “So I’ve already arranged a tutor.”

My head snapped up.

She walked toward the office door.

“Come in,” she called.

The door swung open.