A Safe Space (Someone Else's Fairytale #2.75)

One: Clues

As Devon swaggers through the gym, there’s a sweep of female heads turning like the wake behind a boat in water. He ignores them, though, and comes straight towards where I stand, by the exit.

My mind races, desperate to have a witty response ready for whatever obnoxious, arrogant crack he’s about to make. I avert my eyes from his toned body, flawless complexion, and those piercing hazel eyes. (I never thought of hazel as a piercing color before I met this guy.)

Kyra, my roommate, is digging in her purse for her keys, oblivious to his approach. When she looks up, her mouth turns down in a scowl. 

“Don’t, Devon,” she says. 

“Don’t what?” His eyes are wide with innocence and his mouth is curled into its usual smirk.

I draw myself up to my full height, unsure whether I should look at him defiantly or look away as if he’s beneath my notice. If this were a scene, I think, and he were the male romantic lead… Wait, do I want to think of him as the romantic lead? Does that give away too much of my hand? Suffice it to say I’m not navigating this situation with the kind of cool, collected air I aspire to. Whenever he looks at me, I feel like a peacock among pigeons with my ridiculous designer jeans, blouse, and boots. Though I suppose a peacock would preen, I just want to go gray and fit in.

“Have a good day, Veronica,” he says to me.

“That,” says Kyra. “Stop calling her that. Lizzie is what we call an actress. The stuff you see her do on television isn’t real. Let me know if I’m throwing too many concepts at you too fast.”

He directs his attention to her.

Now, I think. Here’s my chance. I should mock him for watching children’s television (that’s where I played the “Veronica” he’s referring to) or double down on Kyra’s insult about not understanding that I’m an actress. Anything to puncture his ego.

I’ve acted on a show watched by millions of people around the world, sang whole concerts to sold-out arena venues, and in front of this one guy, I choke. I cannot string together a coherent insult. My only saving grace is that he isn’t looking at me and doesn’t see my blank, and no doubt embarrassed, expression.

“Hey, so you said you wanted to know a good app for a pedometer,” he says to Kyra, whipping out his phone and showing her the screen.

The moment for trading insults has passed and I just stand, feeling like a third wheel while my roommate talks to her personal trainer, her silky, black ponytail bobbing as he shows her some options.

“All right, bandwrecker?” he jibes.

There—another opportunity. He just insulted Kyra. I should say…something.

“That should be fine, man-whore,” she replies. “Let’s go Lizzie. Hey, you gonna wish Lizzie good luck for her first day on her new show?”

“I’m still not over All About Veronica being canceled. This is a painful moment for me,” he says.

“Why do you watch Nickelodeon?” I blurt out.

“It’s quality programming,” he says without missing a beat. “And as your roommate here will tell you, it’s at my intellectual level.” He holds his hand horizontal to the floor, at about waist height. Then, with a wink, he turns away. “Ladies,” he says to a couple of women ogling him on the gym floor. “May I help you with anything?”

They both giggle and it’s clear they have him pegged for the superficial, commitment-averse player that he is. It’s also clear that he doesn’t mind. His confidence doesn’t diminish—not even a little bit. That’s how sure he is that he can have his way with any girl he wants. From what I’ve seen, he’s right. He’s only worked at the gym for a week, and he’s already got a reputation.