Forbidden Love Read Online Free PDF Page B

Kastarellis’
overview of the course and how it fit into the rest of the
requirements for the theatre major. Rusty leaned against the table
with his hands in his pockets and his ankles crossed, every now and
then inserting his own commentary. The rest of the class was
riveted by his God-like looks and easygoing manner. The girls
couldn’t tear their eyes away. Even some of the guys couldn’t tear
their eyes away. He hadn’t so much as blinked in Trisha’s direction
to acknowledge her. She was boiling with frustration.
     
    “I’m going to allow Rusty to lead us in our
first drill of the semester,” said Professor Kastarellis. “Go with
it. It’s an ice-breaker sort of thing, so be prepared to get
personal.”
     
    Trisha could not believe that out of all of
the people in that room, the one individual who knew her most
intimately was one of the instructors. It was bizarre, really.
Actually, ridiculous. She suddenly had the urge to crack up
laughing. This guy had sucked on her tits and now she would have to
answer to him. Hell—he’d be grading her, determining her rank in
the department.
     
    Rusty stepped into the space at the top of
the horseshoe. A waft of that smell, that musk of forest and spice,
made her lightheaded. He still avoided her eyes. Trisha stared down
at her hands. Death come quickly, she thought.
     
    “I want to thank you in advance for opening
yourselves to this exercise,” he said. “And when I say ‘this
exercise,’ I don’t mean just this activity I’m about to put you
through. I’m talking about the exercise of cutting life open and
flipping it inside out, of amplifying it so we can learn from it
and cry about it and celebrate it, by being actors.” He was
clenching his hands. “I’m committed to dragging the best out of
you, even if it means you’re lying on the floor in pieces
afterwards.”
     
    Genevieve sighed dreamily, audibly. The girl
next to her slugged her in the arm.
     
    Rusty smiled at Gen. “Okay, Gen. If you’re
ready, you can start things off for me.”
     
    “Me?” Gen pressed her black fingernails
against her chest in mock awe.
     
    Did he know her name because he had memorized
the online roster that came with students’ ID photos? Or did he
know her personally? What was up with that? Trisha fidgeted with
the fringe on her scarf, twisting it and braiding it.
     
    “Here’s the assignment.” Rusty rubbed his
palms together. “I’m going to give you five minutes to brainstorm a
soliloquy. You can jot down notes, and bring up the notes with you,
as long as you use them only for brief reference.”
     
    Trisha was beginning to understand the
gravity of this semester-long scenario. Her realization was taking
the shape of an anchor in her gut.
     
    “You are going to tell your birth story.”
     
    She glanced up and grimaced. Now she wished
she could catch his eye and pelt him with telepathic daggers. Was
this part of his act with everyone? Rusty and his damn birth
story.
     
    “But, you are going to tell your birth story
from the point-of-view of someone else in your life. It doesn’t
even have to be a person who was around for your debut into the
world. But it should be someone who has come to know you fairly
well, and someone you’ve had an impact on, negative, neutral, or
positive. You’re going to show us how you see yourself through that
person’s experience of you.”
     
    Within a minute, all heads were bent over
notebooks. Trisha knew, without hesitation, who would tell her
story.
     
    Genevieve delivered an overdramatic tribute
to herself from the perspective of her childhood dance teacher,
complete with hip undulations and hair-tossing. Trisha couldn’t
help but notice that Rusty appreciated every moment of it. His
eyebrows jumped every now and then as he watched Gen, the way they
had when Trisha had thrown her arms around his neck at The Open
Call. The corners of his mouth trembled as though restraining a
lascivious grin. Trisha shook her