“That was my cardio for the day,” I said.

He took a card out of his pocket, waved it in front of a black square on the door, and when it lit green, he opened it.

“Okay, who are you and where are you taking me?”

“This is the student gardens.”

I stepped through the door and onto the rooftop. Bordering the entire edge of the roof were pot after colorful pot of plants. In the center were several groupings of lounge-like areas with couches and coffee tables and more plants. Several students sat around reading or doing homework. The view over the campus from up here was incredible.

I waved my hand at Donavan’s pocket, where he’d stored the key to the door. “Why? What?”

“You have to earn access.”

“How?”

“Grades and a teacher recommendation and extracurriculars and seniors only.”

“Wow. This is amazing.” I slowly walked around, taking in the different plants and what I now saw was art displayed around as well. “But this wouldn’t be my favorite place if I went here.”

“No?” he asked, surprised he had guessed wrong.

“No, because I wouldn’t be allowed in here.”

“Drama counts.”

“I barely maintained a 3.0.”

“It’s not only 4.0 people up here, though probably most are.”

I walked to the far end of the roof, where a group of chairs sat empty, and I collapsed into one. He was absolutely right. I loved it up here and I’d been here less than five minutes.

“I’m sure you’d figure out a way to score a key to this place if you went here. Didn’t we already establish that you get what you want?”

“Did we? Because I thought we established that you aren’t doing my homework for me.”

“You don’t want that.”

“I do, I really do.”

He lifted a corner of his mouth into a half smile. Yes, that was very satisfying to have earned.

“How did you know?” I asked.

“How did I know what?”

“That I’d like this?”

He took in the rooftop, his eyes scanning slowly over the path we just walked. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something but stopped. Then he shrugged one shoulder and said, “Who wouldn’t like this?”

I looked up at the clear blue sky and let out a sigh. “I’ve decided I do miss it a little.”

“Um . . . what?”

“High school.”

“Why?” he asked as though he didn’t understand that thought.

“Mainly because it’s senior year and I’ve missed things like this.” I gestured around us.

“You had a student garden at your high school?”

I sat up and met his eyes. “No, but there are certain perks that come from seniorhood and I’m missing them.” I fell back in the seat again. My dad would probably have gloated if he heard me repeat this realization. “But then, I remember what I actually get to do right now and know it’s all worth it.”

Donavan nodded, then his attention was drawn to the door, where a group of students came in and sat on the other side of the roof.

“So you still haven’t answered my question about what you write for the pap,” I said.

“Stop using that word.”

“But it’s bugging you so much. I can’t stop now.”

“I write . . .” He toed at the edge of a blue-and-green-striped rug that sat under the coffee table. “Entertainment.”

“Entertainment? Like book reviews and such?”

“Yes. And plays and television and . . . movies.” With that last word he looked back at me.

“Oh. So you’ll be reviewing Dancing Graves for the paper when it comes out?”

“Not necessarily. We vote on which movies we’re going to see and which will make the section.”

“And my movie won’t be good enough for the section?” I already knew he thought it was second-rate.

“I’ll vote for it.”

“You better.” I twisted a bracelet I wore around my wrist. “Do you review your school plays or just professional theater?”

“School ones too.”

“I want to read something you’ve written.”

He was back to picking at his palm again before he said, “You probably already have.”

“What? No I haven’t.”

“One of my reviews went viral.”

“I thought your school only has a physical paper.”

“I have a personal review site online as well.”

“Oh.” I slowly started piecing a few clues together. I gasped. “Wait. ‘Grant James Goes Down in Flames’? Was that you?”

He bit his lip and shrugged. “I stand by it.”

“You’re not a Grant James fan?”

“He has enough fans without me.”

“You’d be surprised at how much the review bothered him.”

“He’s read it?”

“Of course. It’s all over social media.”

“I wasn’t the only one who reviewed it badly. There were a lot of big-time reviewers who did as well.”

“I know, but yours got passed around more. It was witty and clever and funny and very, very shareable.”

He ran his hand over his hair a few times. “Thanks.”

I was right. Reading something he had written did give me more insight into who he was. It wasn’t that I didn’t think he was witty or clever or funny, I’d seen bits of all of those things, but how much they popped on page surprised me. In real life, he seemed more reserved. Maybe he was just private. Pretty much the exact opposite of me. “So is that why you didn’t want to meet Grant? Because of the review?”

“No, because I’m not a fan.”

I chuckled. “Yeah right. If I had written that review I wouldn’t have wanted to face him either.”

“I’ll face him.”

If I were talking to anyone else, I might not think that were true. But this was my tutor. This was the guy who was on the set of Grant James’s movie all the time. He probably would have to face him. I wondered how that would go down.

“So is that what you want to do with your life? Become a professional reviewer?”

“Yes, actually.”

“Wait,” I said, a realization coming to me. “Is this why you don’t date actresses? So you don’t have to worry about trashing their performances?”

He laughed, but then the smile slid from his face. “Pretty much. I like to stay objective.”

“I’ll do you a favor and warn all my costars away from you.”

“No need. I’ve never been tempted.”

Ouch. Well, the feeling was mutual. I wasn’t tempted at all.

Dancing Graves

INT. ABANDONED CHURCH—NIGHT.

SCARLETT’s appearance has changed. She looks more zombie than human now even though her logic hasn’t left her. BENJAMIN brings supplies to the church, fearful that any day he’ll find her mind fully changed. She hides in the shadows when he arrives.

BENJAMIN

Scarlett? Are you here? It’s me.