Free Teaching Willow: Session Two by Paige James

points to one of the cardboard structures that are painted like an old brick wall. “We’ll be bringing in the set for Juliet’s room.”
    With a complete lack of energy, I grab a lantern, two fake swords and a small step, and I walk back stage and down the stairs to the big double-doors at the bottom. I push them open and carry my load into the storage room that’s lined with shelves that are organized with all sorts of props. I set them near the front, where I know Travis likes them to go until he can have them properly logged and stored in their designated spots.
    When I turn to leave, I nearly scream so startled am I by the shadow that’s lurking silently behind me. But then, with a rush of blood to the surface of my skin, I realize that it’s Ebon.
    “What are you doing here?” I ask him unceremoniously.
    “I came to talk to you,” he says in a wry way that suggests he thinks I should’ve been able to figure that out for myself.
    I glance over his shoulder at the door behind him. What if someone were to stumble upon us? Like Tiffany for instance. She’s already suspicious of me and of Ebon, separately. If she were to find us down here, in the dim light, together and alone…
    My worry and my pleasure are both overridden by the residual sting of rejection that I’ve nursed since class this morning. I find it easy to withdraw from him, which I do by taking a literal step backward and cupping my elbows. “What do you need?”
    I’m proud of my distance, both physical and emotional. It was hard-won, but it’s coming in handy now.
    “I read your pages,” he begins. A shiver twitches through my muscles, but I steel myself against my reaction to him. I need to learn to control myself. Nothing is going to happen between Ebon and me. I might as well get used to it.
    “Okay,” I reply flatly.
    I see a ghost of a frown flit across his forehead and then disappear. He begins to say something, but stops. He waits for a few seconds before starting again. I can’t help but wonder what he was going to say the first time.
    “Should I be worried about you?” he asks, surprising me.
    I don’t bother to try and hide it. “Worried? Why on earth would you be worried about me?”
    “This part of the story…the tone…everything about it seems… different .”
    I’m not following. “And is that a bad thing?”
    I hear his deep inhalation. “No, not at all. It’s just…well, it has me thinking that something’s going on. Are you in some kind of trouble?”
    Alarm bells are beginning to sound. Did I somehow reveal myself in my work? Unintentionally touch on something that could lead him to this conclusion? Have I given away my secret?
    “No.” I keep my answer short. The less I say, the better, I’m sure.
    “All right,” he says, nodding. He says nothing for a few seconds before he narrows his eyes on me. “Is Sage?”
    “Is Sage what?”
    “Is she in some kind of trouble?”
    “No. Sage is fine. Why are you asking these weird questions?” I hate that my tone sounds so petulant and juvenile and…defensive, but I can’t help it. I feel defensive.
    “This is still supposed to be about me and Sage, correct?”
    “Yes,” I say, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth as I utter the lie. Another lie.
    “That’s what I thought. And that’s why I’m asking you these questions. Willow, the feel of this part seems…darker. Edgier. Like something has happened in pages that I haven’t read, in pages that I’ve missed. Only I haven’t missed any pages, have I?”
    “No,” I confirm, my fingers toying with the beginnings of a hole in my jeans at my right hip.
    “Then there must be something going on with Sage. Or with you, and you just don’t realize that it’s coming through in your story.”
    The way Ebon is watching me makes me nervous. His eyes are so sharp, his expression so focused, I fear that he can see right through me, right through to the liar and the pretender and the desperate girl