APRIL

Everyone talks about how cold Chicago is in the winter, but no one bothered to tell me how unbearably hot it is in the summer.

By the time everything is inside my tiny studio apartment, I'm sitting in the middle of the floor wearing shorts and a sweat-soaked tank top, wishing I had air conditioning. Central air is a luxury I can't afford, but I saw a window unit in the alley across the street and I'm seriously considering lugging it up here to see if it works.

Not now. Now, I'm way too exhausted. Later.

When I have enough energy to get off the floor, I walk to the window and look outside. The street below is clogged with cars and people are milling about the sidewalks, tourists and natives alike.

This activity is very different from what I'm used to. I graduated from Kenyon College in Ohio with a degree in theater just a month ago, and while I was comfortable and thrived in that environment, I knew I couldn't stay there forever. My name was never going to be up in lights if I stayed in rural Ohio, hoping to make it big.

Making it big isn't just about hope. It's about work, taking risks, and being afraid beyond belief. And I think I can check all three of those boxes, having just uprooted everything I've ever known and transplanted myself in the middle of downtown Chicago.

I've never lived alone before. In school, I always had roommates whether I was on or off-campus. The quiet is foreign to me, because before college my house was full of sisters. Even the street noise isn't enough. My thoughts are way too loud.

I work on setting up my small space, basically just one room for everything. My bed goes on the far window by the wall and radiator, couch facing the small TV, and a low dresser to offset the kitchen space.

Once I'm finished setting up everything, plants, picture frames, and all, I stand back and admire my work with pride. It's not much, but it's nice. I'm thankful I don't own that much stuff, otherwise this place might overflow. It's just enough.

I take a shower to rinse all the moving sweat off, and come out with my hair in a towel, wearing only underwear. I don't have to worry about being conservative walking around this little place, because there are no roommates to jump out and scare me. I nod to myself and smile, thinking that I could definitely get used to this.

I flip through the channels shirtless with a lollipop in my mouth - this apartment will never be without candy, my one weakness - until I find something to have on in the background while I unpack the kitchen. At least, that was my intention. What ends up happening is that I get sucked into the show, and stand there barely-clothed until I'm chewing on the meager bubble gum inside the hard candy.

Tearing me away from the screen, my phone rings with the sound of an incoming FaceTime call. I lean to see who's calling, and when I see it's my mom, I hurry and put on a t-shirt.

"Hi, mama!" I say excitedly, waving at the camera.

"Hi, honey!" she says, waving back in the same manner. "Is this a good time?"

I plop down on the couch, legs crossed at the ankle on the small coffee table in front of me. "It's a great time," I say. "I'm almost all settled in."

"So, you made it there safe?"

"Yep," I say, looking around. "The movers were a big help with getting stuff up the stairs. We were all sweating like crazy once it was done, and I arranged it all by myself. Wanna see?"

"Of course!"

I show her around without having to go far, and she fawns over my cute space.

"It's adorable, sweetie," she says. "It looks perfect for you."

"I love it so far," I say. "I'm really comfortable here. I think I'm gonna just chill today, then tomorrow go out and try to find a job. Maybe the day after that, find some open calls." I sigh and shake my head. "I'm too tired for that today, though."

"Take a day," she says. "I don't want you overworking yourself."

"Mom, I won't."

"April, listen to me," she says. "Number one, I'm your mother. I'm allowed to worry. Number two, it's not like it hasn't happened before. I don't want you to get to a place where you can't pull yourself out and remind yourself that these are jobs. There are other aspects in life, too."

"I'll be fine, mama," I say. "I promise. I'm older now. That whole obsessive nervous breakdown thing won't happen again."

She gives me a look like she doesn't believe me, but I ignore it.

"Oh!" Mom says, looking to the side. "Alice just walked in from practice. Allie! Come say hi to your sister."

"Duckie?!" I hear, then Alice's face appears on the screen, replacing Mom's. "Hi, sissy!"

"Hey, babe!" I say. My heart aches for a fleeting moment as I wish I could reach through the waves and hug her. I haven't seen my littlest sister for what feels like forever. I'm used to living without my family, seeing as I was away in college for four years, but they were tangible then. We were in the same state. Now, it feels like I'm worlds away.

"I'm so happy to see you!" she exclaims.

"I know," I say. "How was practice?"

Alice is 14, a freshman in high school, and on a travel volleyball team that plays year-round. She surprised all of us with her athletic skills, seeing as no one else in the family has them.

"Good," she says. "I banged up my elbows, but I'm alright."

"You're gonna come visit me soon, right?" I say.

"Yeah, duh," she says. "As soon as Mom lets me take the train by myself."

"Not gonna happen!" Mom shouts from far away, and Alice rolls her eyes.

"Yeah, so like, when I'm 40," she says, scoffing.

"She'll cave one of these days," I say. "Is Kim around?

Alice shakes her head. "Her car's gone. I think she's at Brian's."

Brian, her boyfriend. It doesn't surprise me, Kimmie is boy-crazy, much to the chagrin of our parents.

"Well, tell her I said hi when she gets back," I say.

"Have you heard from Libby lately?" Mom calls.

"No," I answer. "Last time she texted was probably… last week, maybe?"

"You should call her," Mom says. "She'd like to hear from you."

"Maybe," I say.

Interrupting the call, another incoming one comes in - and it's no one but my oldest sister.

"Oh, that's her," I say. "I should answer. I'll text you, Allie, okay? Bye mom, love you!"

"Love you, sweetheart! Call if you need anything. We miss you!"

I switch over and answer the call, seeing Libby's face on my screen now. "Hi, baby sis," she says, flashing a smile.

"Hey," I say. "I was just FaceTiming with Mom and Allie, talking about you."

"Gossips," she says, laughing.

"You know us," I say. "What's up?"

"More like what's up with you?" she says. "Big city girl, moving out on your own. I feel like I barely know you… what happened to the baby who held onto the skirt of my dress to learn how to walk?"

I roll my eyes playfully. Libby brings up that story every chance she gets, and people eat it up.

"Where's Maeve?" I ask, referencing my 6-month-old niece. Libby graduated college two years ago, and has since gotten married to her high school sweetheart and had a baby.

"Napping," she says. "That's how I got a chance to call. She has been crazy fussy lately."

"Aw, poor baby."

"More like aw, my poor ears," she laughs. "So, how's Chicago? Are you liking it?"

I walk to the window and look outside again. "I am," I say. "But it doesn't feel like home yet."

"It will," she says, voice warm. "Just give it time."

…

The following day, I spontaneously find a job working at a cosmetics store called Lush. They sell a ton of organic products, and I find myself fascinated with everything. We never had anything like this back in Ohio, and my bubbly personality is perfect for selling and relating to customers. They hired me on the spot, right after the interview, and were flexible with my specific hours. I need to audition during the day, so I can only come to work after 3. They were glad to oblige.

On the night after I get the job, I sit on my couch going over a monologue I plan on using to audition tomorrow. There's a big call for a few different theaters, and I want to make it to all of them. My philosophy is to never put all my eggs in one basket; if I spread myself out, I'm bound to get a job somewhere.

Hopefully, one that pays.

I'm going to the Highland Park Players, the Three Brothers Theatre, and the Circle Theatre tomorrow. The next day, my list is even longer. I need to learn a strong monologue now and get it down before I leave in the morning.

I should've done this sooner, I realize. But so many things were happening at once over the past few days that I barely got a chance to breathe, let alone memorize an audition piece.

I flip through a folder I've kept of good monologues to audition with. After choosing between two, I decide on something from a play called And Turning, Stay.

I stand in front of the full length mirror I've placed in the living room, wearing a pair of underwear and a tank top, my hair tied up in a curly, messy bun. I still haven't gone and gotten that air conditioning unit, and even so, I'm pretty sure someone else already did. My loss.

"You're in high school," I tell myself. "You've been led on and had your heart broken too many times."

I take a deep breath and close my eyes, holding the script between both hands as I look down to read.

"Don't you dare walk away from me!" I say, making fiery eye contact with myself in the mirror. "And don't tell me you're sorry! And don't tell me to forget it, and don't you dare tell me to 'let it go.' God knows, I'd like to. Wait," I stop, scanning the lines because I got lost. I pinpoint the spot with my finger and nod, continuing. "Right. Okay.. um, God knows I'd like to. I wish I could, but I can't! I can't forget that we had something, and you're running away. You're running away!"

I stop, clear my throat and mouth the words. Then, say them stronger.

"You're running away!" I say, tone changing. "Don't you see, Mark? You're running from what I've searched for all my life! Why, because you're scared? Well, I'm scared too, but you and I - we have something worth fighting for." I stop. "Hit that. Hit… fighting for. We have something worth fighting for."

I nod, encouraging myself, and continue.

"We could make it work, I'm not saying it would be easy, but I care about you. And I know deep down, under this bravado - wait." My eyes backtrack. "Spitting out the word. Oh, okay. Bravado, under this bravado… you care about me. And that's what it's all about, Mark, don't you get it? It's the human experience. You can pretend all you want, but you're only lying to yourself. You're denying the simple and wonderful fact that you are emotional, vulnerable, and alive."

I let out a deep breath, raising my eyebrows at the mouthful of words. I don't let myself get intimidated, though. Partly because I'm confident I can do this, and partly because there's one more paragraph left.

"Can you honestly stand there and tell me that I mean nothing to you? That everything that happened that night was a lie? That you feel nothing?"

I read the stage directions: Amy is crying or close to it. The following is a painful statement that she makes not to attack or threaten Mark but rather, allow herself closure with the situation. I steel myself and start in on it.

"I feel sorry for you, Mark," I say. "I'll move on. I'll find someone else. I'll be alright, because I will know that I tried. That I did everything I could. But someday you will look back, and you will realize what you threw away. And you will regret it always."

I nod, giving the piece a once-over before raising my eyes up to the mirror again. I lock in with myself and can't help but smile. I'll learn this piece, and I'll own it tomorrow. There's no way I won't get a part in something.

I lay in bed later that night, staring at my ceiling fan as I try to get the words right. I know I'm going over it too much, that if I keep at it, all my memorization will cancel out and I'll blank tomorrow. I need to rest; sleep is the best option at this point, but I can't seem to make myself.

"I feel sorry for you, Mark," I murmur. "I'll move on, I'll find someone else. I'll be alright, because I will know… I will know that I… I tried."

My eyelids are heavy, sinking lower with every word. But as I realize I'm falling asleep, lying there in bed next to the window in my pajama shorts and no shirt, sweating, I jolt awake.

"That I did everything I could," I say. "But someday you will look back, and you will realize what you threw away. And you will… you will…" I yawn. "Regret it always."

I reach over, tug on the string of my bedside lamp, and fall asleep.

…

The auditions are like cattle calls. They keep men and women separate, and while I was always a standout in my hometown, here I feel like anything but. I wore my best audition clothes - neutral colors, no patterns, nothing showy, but not marmy either. It's a delicate mix. I tied my hair away from my face so my features would be memorable, and kept my face mostly free of makeup. But still, though I'm perfectly memorized and have done everything to prepare, my stomach jumps with nerves at the sight of all these other girls coming to audition for the same part I'm here for: Vera, in Harvey.

"You can do this," I mutter to myself, jiggling my knee. My hands and feet are sweating - my shoes hide the latter, but I keep having to wipe my palms on my pants. And it's way too hot to be wearing full-length pants, so that was a mistake in itself. I just hope my face isn't tomato-red.

"April Kepner?"

I stand up from where I'm sitting, trying desperately to avoid eye contact with any of the women looking my way as I walk toward the audition room. Once the door shuts behind me, I'm encapsulated in a bubble of silence and cool air. Suddenly, I feel much better. Though there are four pairs of eyes watching me, waiting on me, I feel at ease.

"Hi, how are you?" I say, smiling. They all nod and smile, and I get comfortable in the middle of the floor. "I'm April Kepner," I say. "I'm 23, and I'm auditioning for the role of Vera."

They nod again. The role is a little old for me, but I'm confident in my abilities.

I go through my monologue, messing up one part in the middle that I try to cover up. When I finish, they all make eye contact, thank me, and usher me out of the room, having given me no cues whether they thought I did well or whether they thought I bombed.

I stand outside the venue in the dripping heat, feeling beads of sweat roll down my neck. I don't know whether to feel confident about how that went or not. I messed up a line, one I thought I had down, and I shouldn't have. I know I won't stop beating myself up over that, at least until I get to the next audition and do better. I have to do better at the next one, doing the same or worse isn't an option. I always have to improve.

The next two go well. I still can't stop sweating, but by the time I stop back home to change into my work clothes, my stomach has settled. The auditions won't leave my mind for the rest of the night, but that's okay. I can mull over what can be worked on while I try and sell some really good-smelling products to customers.

My first day at work is by far less stressful than the day preceding, and it passes quickly. When I'm done, exhaustion hits me like a wave and it's all I can do to lift my feet and get on the train back to the Loop, where it's quiet because business hours are finished. The only thing lit up on my strip is the deli below my apartment, and without having to think, my stomach growls and lets me know what it wants.

Lord knows I don't have the energy or inclination to cook. Nothing sounds better than a sandwich from the deli and a cold drink to go along with it, because even after the sun has gone down, the air is still thick as ever.

A little bell rings when I push the door open, but no one is behind the counter. I peer outside again to check the hours and see it's still open, so I open and close the door a second time so the bell will ring again.

I sit at the bar on a plush red stool and drop my face in my hands. I don't know if I've ever been this tired, and I'm not sure how I'm going to do it all again tomorrow.

"Hi," I hear, and pick my head up. "Can I get you something? Sorry, took a sec. I was in the back. Barely heard the door."

Standing behind the counter is a boy who contradicts my expectations. I expected the employee at the deli to be an old, hairy man with a thick New York accent, why - I'm not sure. But this boy is nothing like that. He's tall, muscular, with well-kept stubble and sparkling green eyes. He's wearing dark-rimmed glasses and his voice is smooth and raspy; his skin the color of rich chestnut.

"Oh," I say. "Hi."

"Hungry?" he asks.

"Yeah," I say, realizing I don't have something in mind to order. "I… uh…"

He smiles softly. When he does that, his whole face lights up. "The King Club is really good," he says. "Especially if you're hungry. It's double everything."

I grin, but it's weak. "That sounds good," I say. "I'll take it."

"Coming right up," he says, as he starts to gather the ingredients from somewhere I can't quite see.

The place is empty, save for me and him. From his name tag, I can see that his name is Jackson Avery - working in Avery's Deli.

"Do you own this place?" I ask, breaking the silence.

He looks up while continuing to work on my sandwich. "My family does, yeah," he says.

I nod. "Cool."

He shrugs. "Kind of," he says. "Guaranteed me a job, at least. Why?"

"Oh," I say. "I don't know. Just… saw your name tag, and you know, the name of the place… put two and two together, I guess."

He chuckles. "Pretty and smart."

I blush. It's not like I'm unused to attention from boys, because I've had boyfriends before. Just two. One in early college and one for about two months in late college, until my big city dreams scared him away and he broke up with me. He was the one I wanted to give my virginity to, but it just never happened. Now, it feels like a stigma that I still have it.

I shake my head to clear it. I don't know why my thoughts wandered there.

As I look up and Jackson sees my blush, he flashes me a big, warm grin. Different than the soft one from before. It lights me up inside and makes me feel all tingly. It's the first real smile I've seen since moving in, and I know I'll keep it with me.

We sit in silence as he finishes the sandwich, then sets it on the counter in front of me a few minutes later.

"Six dollars and twenty-five cents," he says.

I dig in my purse for my debit card, then hand it over.

"Oh," he says, eyes darting to the sign on the register reading: CASH ONLY.

"Oh…" I echo, without meaning to. "I didn't know… I didn't… I didn't see. I'm sorry. You…" As I stumble over my words, my eyes grow hot with the onset of tears. It's stupid to cry over something as small as this, but after the day I've had, it's inevitable. "I'm sorry," I whimper. "I'm not… I don't mean to cry, I won't take it. I don't have any cash. I'm sorry."

"Hey, hey," he says, shaking his head. "It's cool. You're fine. On the house."

"No," I say, sniffling. "I can't do that. I don't wanna take it from you, that's not right, I-"

"Hey," he says again, this time more insistently as he pushes the plate closer. "Have it. You'll like it. Seems like you've had a long ass day, and it'll make you feel better."

I pause for just a moment, locking eyes. "Really?" I say, raising my eyebrows. "Because you don't have to. If you just feel sorry for me…" My voice dies off. "You really don't have to."

"I want to," he says. "If you don't eat it, I will. And I've already had like, three today. I don't need any more. You're saving me, really."

I snort and wipe my nose with the back of my hand. "Well, when you put it like that."

I take the sandwich off the plate and attempt to wrap it in the paper underneath until he sees what I'm doing. "You don't have to leave," he says.

"Aren't you…" I point to the door. It says they close at 10pm, and it's 9:58 now. "You're closing."

He walks to the door, pulls the chain on the lit-up neon sign to turn it off. "I'm closed," he says. "But you can stay and chill."

"For real?"

"Yeah," he says, walking from the door to join me at the bar, sitting at the stool right next to mine. "You look like you could use a friend."

I make a small, pitiful sound. "I really could," I say.

As I take my first bite, Jackson stands and walks to the old-school jukebox in the far corner. He flips through the music, and as he walks back to me I hear the first notes of 'The Best You Had' by Nina Nesbitt.

"I love this song," I say, mouth full of sandwich.

He laughs, shoulders bouncing. "What was that?" he says.

I swallow and roll my eyes at myself. "I said, I love this song," I repeat.

"Oh," he says, sitting. "I do, too. I always pick it first on that thing."

"Looks like it's from 1940," I say.

"Probably is," he says. "My mom likes vintage stuff. But I like new music, so we compromised."

I smirk. "That works."

He leans with his elbow on the counter for a moment, eyes roving around the room. "So, you work at Lush?" he asks, when they land on me.

I chew, screwing up my eyebrows. I took my apron off and left it at the store, and my outfit consists of just a black shirt and black jeans.

"How'd you know?" I ask.

"I can smell you," he says, laughing again. "I'd know that smell anywhere. Girls are obsessed with it."

"They have guy stuff, too," I say.

"I never said I didn't appreciate it," he says. "I've used their bar shampoo before. Makes my hair super soft."

"Oh, yeah," I say. "That stuff's nice."

"You should hook me up sometime," he says.

"I can," I say.

"Oh, no," he says, waving one hand. "Totally kidding. You don't have to."

I reach up and touch his hair, smoothing my hand over it. It's softer than anything I've ever felt, and that action catches us both off-guard for a split second until I pull my hand away. "Sorry," I stammer. "That was weird."

"It was fine," he says, running his hand over where mine had just been. "It was… yeah."

I clear my throat. "But, um, yeah, I work there," I say. "Just started today."

"Oh, for real?"

"Yeah," I say. "I just moved here."

"To Chicago?" I nod. "I didn't know you were a newbie!" he says. "Well, welcome. What brings you here?"

"Theater," I say.

He groans, smiling playfully at me while rolling his eyes. "Oh shit, a theater kid," he says. "I changed my mind. You gotta leave."

"Shut up," I say, eyes wide as I fight a smile. "Seriously, shut up. We're not all the same. I'm not some psycho like Rachel Berry."

"As if I have any clue who the fuck that is," he says, laughing at himself. "Somebody from Shakespeare, or something?"

"Get out," I say, taking a big bite of the sandwich. After I chew, I say, "Seriously. I'm a cool theater kid."

"Oxymoron," he says. "Those don't exist."

"Wow…"

"Hey. Just stating facts."

"You'll be eating your words when you see my name up on that Chicago Theater marquee," I say, pointing a finger in the air.

"Just because you're talented doesn't mean you're not a nerd," he says.

"Suddenly, I regret coming here," I say.

"No, you don't," he says, without missing a beat.

I sigh. "You're right." I finish the sandwich and take a long drink of the water he poured for me, feeling better now than I have all day. "So, what do you do? Besides work here?"

"You mean slaving away at my mom's deli isn't enough to impress you?" he asks, eyes glinting.

"That's not what I meant at all," I say, eating my words. "Of course it's-"

"Chill," he says. "This isn't all I do. I'm fucking with you."

"Oh," I say, smirking.

"I'm saving up to go to law school," he says. "Well, to take the LSAT. I finished college, and that's what I wanna do. So, I'm working to make it there."

"That's so cool," I say. "I could never be a lawyer."

"Oh, yeah?" he says. "Why not?"

I shrug. "I don't argue. I tend to cry in situations like that, and I don't think that'd be very badass in the courtroom."

He snorts. "Probably not," he says. "But I'm sure you're a badass on stage."

"I am," I say.

"Humble, too."

"Actors can't be humble," I say. "That's not our thing."

"Being cool isn't your thing, either," he says, and by the look in his eyes I know he's joking.

"If anyone's the nerd, it's you. Your face is probably in a book all the time," I say, trying to come up with a witty comeback and failing.

"Good one," he says, and we both crack up laughing. "I mean, I have the glasses and everything."

"I like your glasses," I say, looking at them.

"Oh," he says. "Well, thanks. They like you, too."

I scoff. "They're pretty funny."

"They think you're pretty, funny enough," he says.

"Smooth," I say, but duck my head because the blush is back.

"Let me take your plate," he says, standing as he walks with it behind the counter.

"I should get going," I say, standing too. I clear my throat. "I have another long day tomorrow. I have to get some sleep."

"Oh, yeah," he says. "Okay. Let me walk you out so I can lock up."

I grab my purse and head out the door I came in, back into the thick, muggy air. I only take a few steps before opening the door next to the deli entrance, the one with stairs leading up to my studio.

"Wait," he says, lingering. "You live up there?"

"Yeah," I say.

"That's where you just moved into?"

I giggle. "Yes."

"Damn," he says. "I had no idea you were so close. That's kinda awesome."

"Yeah," I say. "It kinda is. Especially if those sandwiches are gonna be a thing."

"I told you, you'd like it," he says. "But, um, hey. We should exchange numbers, or something. Just in case. Like, you know, we're practically neighbors. Neighbors have each other's numbers."

"Yeah, they do," I say. "Here, give me your phone. I'll put mine in."

We exchange devices, and there's a brief, quiet moment between us after we hand them back.

"Thanks for the sandwich," I say finally, shifting my weight from foot to foot. "And for keeping me company."

"I should thank you for that, actually," he says. "First good conversation I've had in weeks, probably."

"Anytime, then," I say, then giggle.

"No, really," he says. "Stop in whenever you want. There'll always be something for you."

"Okay." I can't stop grinning for some reason. "I have to go to bed," I say, hand on the doorknob. "So… text me, or something."

The smile on his face lasts. "I will," he says. "Goodnight."

"Night," I say back, and give him a little wave before disappearing up my stairs and into the apartment.

Once I'm alone, I close the door behind me and set my phone down. I flick a soft light on and get in the shower, taking my time while under the steady stream of water to think about the night I had.

I've never spent time with a boy like Jackson before - one who teases me, but who's flirty at the same time, and who makes me feel like we've known each other for years. I smile as I think about his face, his smile, the way his cute glasses looked on his face.

I wonder if I have a crush, then wonder if that's stupid. I'm 23 years old; shouldn't I be over crushes at this point?

I get out of the shower and walk to pick up my phone wearing pajama shorts and a bralette, my hair in wild, wet curls down my back. The screen lights up - new suggested account on Twitter!

I haven't been on my account for a while, but I swipe on the notification anyway and it takes me to accounts it thinks I should follow. At the top of the list is a profile picture I recognize - it's Jackson, wearing those same glasses with a cocky grin on his face, sunlight streaming down. His display name is '~j MaN~' and his handle is 1andonlyjavery.

His bio reads: "i want pizza."

"Oh god," I say, then sit down on my couch to scroll through his account. I can't help it.

His latest tweet was from earlier today.

3:32pm- hot as balls out here damn!

I roll my eyes and look at a retweet underneath that one. It's from a quote account, the kind that that get way too much attention.

2:01pm- RT ima need my queen to show up real quick, i gotta get a girl who i can treat like a princess and show what a real mans like

But then, below that, there's:

1:38pm- tag someone who needs this awesome pancake!

I roll my eyes again, willing myself not to go any further, but it's so tempting. Underneath the stupid pancake post is a group of four selfies, pictures I find myself staring at for much too long. In one, he has his glasses off, which makes him look totally different. He's wearing a blue dress shirt with tiny white polka dots and a black hat, smiling a smile that could end all others. My heart starts beating faster as I look at him, the sun shining off his beautiful skin just right.

The second one is him on the beach, shirtless. In the next, he's flashing a peace sign with his eyes closed and a serious expression on his face, then one of him in graduation robes. He graduated from DePaul University, a college here in the city.

I scroll back to the top of his page and my thumb hovers over the follow button. Without any further thought, I press down and immediately exit out, flipping back to my own page to see what he'll see when he checks his new follower.

My display name is just simply 'April K.' and my handle is pinkladybroadwaybaby. Which I've had since I was fifteen.

My last tweet is simple, and I don't tweet often.

Saturday, 11:02am- 525,600 minutes in a year and I feel like I just spent ten thousand of those moving. But I'm finally here! #ChiCity #CityGirl #OneStepCloser

My profile picture is somewhat old, taken of me in sunglasses on the quad while I was still in college. My bio is just as simple as everything else: "April Kepner. 23. Actress. 'I'm just like my country - I'm young, scrappy, and hungry, and I am not throwing away my shot.'"

I'm stupid for hoping he likes it. Hoping he likes me. I cannot believe I have a crush.

I put my phone down and plug it into the wall, brushing out my hair painstakingly before retiring to bed. It's so hot in my apartment, I can't even have the sheet on while I sleep.

Even though I need rest, I toss and turn and can't get thoughts of Jackson out of my head. I lie on my back with my knees bent towards the ceiling, forehead creased with annoyance.

The thoughts racing through my mind shouldn't be there. I'm thinking of his hands, his lips, his body. I'm thinking of all those things on me, the way he would feel here, in my bed, tangled in the sheets with me.

I've never slept beside a man before, nor have I gone further than second base. The only orgasms I've ever had I've given myself, which is what's about to happen right now. I'm alone, in charge of myself, and there's nothing wrong with it. It'll probably help me sleep, anyway.

I flip over onto my stomach to put some weight against my hand, and slip my fingers inside the front of my underwear. I close my eyes and instantly picture Jackson's face - his beautiful eyes, light stubble, and plush lips, and start moving my fingers in circles.

"Oh…" I whimper, pressing my face into the pillow. I lift my hips and raise my eyebrows, opening my mouth as the coil tightens in my lower belly. Using my free hand, I reach to tightly grip one breast, squeezing as my breathing comes louder and heavier.

I pinch my eyes shut and can't help but work my hips against my moving hand. I take a deep, desperate inhale as I find my clit and rub my fingers rough against it, and then come with a relieved-sounding moan. It didn't take long, and I hadn't expected it to. When I have a specific vision in mind, it doesn't usually take much time.

I get up, wash my hands and change my underwear. When I get back into bed, I fall asleep easily and dream about the boy from downstairs.