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and eavesdrop.
    “Mr. Holt, your behavior in this class has been unacceptable. Explain yourself.”
    “Okay, how’s this? Masks are fucking stupid. I want to be an actor, not a two-bit mime. How the hell is this going to be relevant to me outside of this classroom?”
    “An actor’s job is to share himself with his audience. These masks challenge you to open up fully . That’s how it’s relevant.”
    “I’ve tried to share and be open and vulnerable! Every fucking lesson, I’ve tried. What more do you want?”
    “I want you to just be . Stop trying to show me a sanitized version of yourself. Show me the guy underneath all of that crap.”
    “Don’t you fucking get it yet? Under all my crap is just more crap. You think that somewhere in here is some magically well-adjusted individual, and all I have to do is find him? He doesn’t exist! Believe me, I’ve looked! All I am is endless layers of shit. I thought that would be obvious by now.” I hear him exhale. “So go ahead. Fail me. I don’t fucking care anymore.”
    His voice cracks on the last word, and I so badly want to put my arms around him.
    He struggles so hard with his self ettem, but knowing what he’s gone through, I understand why he finds being open so tough. He was a foster kid who wasn’t adopted until he was three, and when he found out about the adoption at the age of sixteen, he didn’t know who he was anymore. His rocky relationship with his dad didn’t help. Charles turned parental disapproval into an artform.
    If all that wasn’t bad enough, in his senior year, Ethan discovered his high school sweetheart had been screwing his best friend for the better part of 12 months. I can’t even imagine coping with all of that.
    Clearly, judging from what’s happening right now, neither can Ethan.
    I chance a peek into the room. He’s sitting in a chair, head in his hands, staring at the floor. Erika is opposite him. She leans forward as if trying to reach him with her words.
    “Ethan, listen. I think we both know this isn’t just about an acting exercise. You think you’re the only one who’s scared to let others see you for who you truly are? Everyone wears metaphorical masks during their lives. We all have different faces we show to our work colleagues, or friends, or family. Sometimes we wear so many masks, we forget who we are underneath it all, but you have to find the courage to drop all that bullshit and reveal your true self. That’s all I want from you. It’s all I’ve ever wanted from you.”
    He shakes his head. “What if my true self is … shit? Just defective and toxic and unlovable. Why would I ever let someone see that?”
    “Because in the end, that’s the only version of you that’s real. It’s the only one you can truly give to others. Everything else is just pretend.”
    “You’re right,” he says, his voice husky with emotion. He sounds hopeless. “I’ve been pretending. To so many people for too fucking long.”
    She puts a hand on his shoulder, but he flinches away.
    “Ethan…”
    “I’m not doing this anymore. I’ll take the F. Can I go?”
    “If there’s nothing else you want to talk about—”
    “There isn’t.”
    I move away from the door just as he strides out. He doesn’t stop when he sees me.
    “Ethan?”
    He ignores me.
    “Hey, slow down. Where are you going?”
    I grab his arm, and he spins around to face me. “Don’t, Cassie. Just fucking don’t. You need more than I can give. I’ve always known it, and now you know it, too. Let’s both stop trying to deny it.”
    “What are you—?”
    “I tried. I really did. But I’m done. We’re done.”
    He pulls his arm free and walks away, and I’m too stunned to do anything but watch him go.

SEVEN
    STRONGER
    Present Day
    New York City, New York
    The Apartment of Cassandra Taylor
    I don’t know if he’s tired of talking or if he’s just run out of words. He’s talked a lot. About fear and how to conquer it. About learning