The Cutting Room Floor Read Online Free Page B

would answer back with three quick flicks of my light switch. Then I’d go to my window. She’d look out of hers and wave, and finally drift off to sleep knowing everything was safe.
    It took her about a month to get over her fears. For me, that meant a month of standing guard at the window and falling asleep in class after my late nights. It was worth every second.
    I flick my lights now, seven years later, and go to the window. Riley looks up. She smiles and waves.
    After a few minutes she goes inside.
    And answers me with her lights.

RILEY
    The next morning, as I get ready for another day on social death row, I’m welcomed by a breakfast that I would definitely choose to be my last meal—banana chocolate chip pancakes. It’s quite a step up from the normal knock-off cereal I’ve become accustomed to. I mean, the Fruit Rings, Happy Shapes, and Crispy Rice taste okay, but breakfast is not the same without the toucan and the leprechaun and Snap, Crackle, and Pop. It’s lame, but I really miss those guys.
    Dad looks at me over his glasses and smiles. He quickly plants a kiss on my forehead and gets back to the stove. Instead of his usual morning routine of grading English Lit papers for his class, he’s cooking. And instead of rushing around getting ready for her day rounding up toddlers, Mom sits at the table with two monster cups of steaming coffee.
    Yep, they know something’s up.
    I sit next to Mom and she quickly turns over the newspaper. It’s too late. I’ve already caught the headline: Community Honors Slain Teacher . As if the newspaper will suddenly remind me that Ms. Dunn was murdered. As if I don’t think about her every day. She wasn’t just my teacher; she was so much more.
    Mom pushes the paper to the side and hands me the coffee cup. I soak in the caffeine and it helps clear my head.
    Mom gives me a few minutes before she dives in.
    “So, do you want to talk about what’s been going on the past few days?”
    “Not particularly,” I tell her.
    “Riley, you’ve been so quiet and not eating. I’m starting to get worried.” She leans in and holds my hand. “Talk to me—maybe I can help.”
    I shake her off and take a gulp of coffee.
    “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
    “But, honey—”
    “It’s okay.” I cut her off. My parents don’t know about Emma and I’m not about to play catch-up. Not that they wouldn’t understand—they’re pretty open about that kind of thing. Dad even has a few gay friends from the college. But I wasn’t about to come out to my parents before I was absolutely sure.
    And Emma made me promise to keep us a secret. I did, because I wanted to keep her happy and I liked having her all to myself. I liked that I didn’t have to share that part of my life with anyone. I did at first, anyway. It was exciting. The soft looks that passed between us at school; the love notes she left in my locker; the way we held hands in her car when we snuck out for lunch. It was the first time I felt like someone could actually see me. The real me.
    It’s hard to breathe just thinking about it.
    “I’ll tell you everything, Mom,” I assure her. “Just not now, okay?”
    From the corner of my eye I can see Dad motioning to Mom. He’s pushing his hands down—the universal sign for take it easy .
    I offer up a silent thank you for giving me a dad who understands.
    “Okay, Riley.” Mom sighs. “You’ll come to me when you’re ready?” We both know it’s not a question. It’s an order.
    “I will,” I reply, happy to say anything that will get her off my back. For the rest of breakfast, we play a normal family—we make small talk, eat banana chocolate chip pancakes, and pretend nothing’s wrong.
    At school, Dez and I spend first period hanging in the edit suite going over footage from one of my scenes. It’s a tiny, soundproof room. Three of the walls are covered with gray acoustic foam and the back wall is glass with a small sliding door. A computer used for