Love, Take One

Scene 3

Bo had tried to study, she really had, but her hyperactive mind had other ideas. With her school books open and waiting before her, she'd shunned them for her pencil and sketchpad. She watched her recording from today—the skies, the rain, the endearing but overconfident librarian.

And something special happened.

She was inspired.

It had been a long time coming. For months she'd merely pointed her camera and shot anything, anywhere. Now, she wanted to create. What? She didn't know. But the decision to create something, anything, was liberating. It unlocked a wealth of ideas, of drive, and Bo worked long into the evening messing with them.

Her fingers were stained with charcoal, aching in their overexertion, her mouth bone dry and tasteless. She'd barely moved from her desk in the five hours she'd been home and the effect of her stillness—in body rather than mind—had tired her. She rested her head against her unused books before her and drifted into a dream of towering bookshelves and bespeckled boys.

When she woke, she was half blind. The inner crescent of her eye line was obscured and when she swiped at the obstruction she found a post-it note stuck to her forehead. In familiar handwriting, were the words: You're welcome. Bo frowned before noticing the photocopied notes from her skipped class today, all in Eleanor's curvy script.

Smiling, she rose from her chair and flipped the switch of her desk lamp, banishing a few shadows. Their new apartment never grew completely dark, since it sat on a busy street and the blinds were paper thin—a design flaw of designer brands—but Bo had a habit of living with the lights low and Eleanor spent much of her time illuminating the place.

The building was once a warehouse, converted into four lofts only a couple of years ago, and the best friends had lived in one since they first started at UCLA. It was the first place they'd officially shared, and it was fancy, now that Bo had finally come to terms with her inherited bank balance.

Following the smell of melted cheese and bad choices through her apartment, she eventually found her best, best friend stretched out on the sofa.

"You're here."

Eleanor's eyes didn't leave the miracle hair growth infomercial. "Yeah."

"And Harry's not."

"Nope." Eleanor popped the 'p'. A sure sign all was not well.

"That's a first."

"Yep." Pop.

"Everything alright?"

"I'm hungry."

"Oh-kay." Bo eyed the empty pizza box lying on the floor before her. "Still?"

"Yeah. Could you maybe get me the ice cream?"

This was bad, Bo knew.

"Vanilla?"

"Chocolate fudge. And bring the caramel sauce."

Very bad.

Bo sighed, "Sure," before walking to the freezer. She felt Eleanor's eyes on her as she did, since the lounge overlooked the kitchen. The living area was one big space, without walls and with ceilings that reached much further than their stretched arms. Since Bo and Eleanor had become accustomed to living on top of each other, their sudden space was taking some getting used to.

Their once upon a time started when Bo's grandparents finally gave into her demands to spend her final school year in an actual school, rather than their kitchen table under the tuition of Miss Lewis. They met in photography club and bonded over their eerily similar taste in movies. That kind of kinship was hard to find. In fact, it was a first for Bo, and so she clung to Eleanor with puppy-like desperation. Bo had lived on the outside of everyone's reality for so long, and Eleanor very quickly became her mainstream portal. She let her in, and explained the craziness that was the norm.

Not much had changed.

Only, as they grew, the planes leveled a little. Bo gave as much as she received, soothing Eleanor's Type A tendencies. And this was proof of it.

Eleanor's feet moved to accustom her best friend as she fell into the plush sofa. Bo cradled the huge tub of ice cream and held one of two spoons out as an offering. Eleanor sat and together they shared the calories equally.

"What happened?" Bo asked around her mouthful.

Eleanor shrugged but answered. "He's failing."

"Harry's failing medicine?"

"He's failing everything."

"Oh."

Eleanor waved the spoon around like a wand, punctuating her rant with unsubtle stabs. "And I could deal with that if I knew he was trying, but, Bo, he doesn't even care. He could get kicked out tomorrow and it wouldn't bother him. He says his heart's not in it anymore."

"I guess that's his choice."

"A stupid choice," she snapped, turning in her seat to face Bo. "His first year was for nothing."

Taking a spoonful of ice cream, Bo thought on it. She wasn't so naïve about her situation that she couldn't see the similarities between her best friend's boyfriend and herself. They both attended college with a ball and chain around their feet made of expectation rather than actual interest in education. She was smart enough to know she was treading on unstable ground, that the honesty they'd sworn by in their early friendship could very well be the thing to turn this tirade in her direction.

She spoke quietly. "What does he want to do instead?"

"Guess," Eleanor snorted.

"The band?"

"The band. A band. The music industry in general because we all know it's so easy to find success there." She plunged the spoon into the tub like it was a knife and the dessert was a deserving victim. "He's a goddamn dreamer."

"There's nothing wrong with that, Ellie, it's—"

"I should have known you'd stick up for him," she interrupted, tossing her spoon to the coffee table before them. It rattled against the glass with enough force to potentially crack it, but she spoke atop it, uncaring in her growing rage. "You're one and the same."

Bo was not one for confrontation. She also knew that arguing her point with Eleanor when she was on a roll would only make things worse. Instead, she passed the ice cream to her seething friend and stood. "I'm going to go to bed."

She reached the bottom of the stairs before Eleanor offered her parting shot. "You're welcome for the notes."

"Thank you." Bo tapped her knuckles against the banister as she turned on the spot and weighed up her next move. "I love you."

Eleanor's answering sigh was audible even over the echo of space between them. "And I you, but I wish you wouldn't rely on that love. You know I'll always cover your ass and you're more than happy to let me."

"You're upset and taking it out on me, I get it, but—"

Eleanor turned in her seat, looking to her friend over the top of their sofa. "Maybe I'm just tired of lifting everyone up, of supporting you all and wanting what's best."

"I'm...I'm trying, Ellie."

"How?" She dropped her hands to her side, exasperated and tired. "How are you trying?"

Bo shrugged—not from indifference, although she often was, but from an inability to voice her reasons. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"Are you?" Eleanor articulated. "You're not going to class, not studying, not kicking butt like I know you can. Easily. So why are you here?"

"You're here," Bo replied with embarrassing honesty. "Where else would I be?"

With a roll of herred-tinged eyes, Eleanor turned and lowered into her seat. "Wherever you needto be, Bo. Wherever you need to be."