Can't Stop

Chapter 6

"In fact, if not for the collapse of the Roman Empire, we would not have progressed into the era known as the Middle Ages. You see, this transitional period is essential in our study of the Renaissance..."

I couldn't listen any longer. My professor, an old and frail man who wore sweater-vests with bow ties, seemed enthralled in the history of medieval Europe, but I could care less. I didn't even want to take this class initially, but I needed the credit hours and I had heard it was an easy course. Unfortunately, no one had warned me it was a complete snoozefest.

It was Thursday morning -- two days since my drunken encounter with Dave. He sent me a few texts asking to meet for coffee or return his calls, all of which I ignored. Just thinking about what happened that night is so embarrassing, I can't bring myself to speak to him face-to-face. I didn't want to hear his condescending speech about how we'd be better off as friends, or that he wasn't emotionally available for someone like me. A virgin. A red flag. Steer clear, Dave, stage 5 clinger over here!

I tapped my pen out of frustration against my desk, receiving some annoyed glares from a few nearby students. I didn't have any friends in this class, though, and I had left my computer back at the dorm. How was I going to sit through another half hour of lecturing from Professor Bow Tie without any distractions?

My eyes scanned the lecture hall for a clock, but I couldn't find one. As I gazed around absent-mindedly, something grabbed my attention. A pudgy girl two rows in front of me had her laptop angled just right so that I could see the screen. I recognized the flashy web page as Perez Hilton, the celebrity gossip blogger, but that wasn't what caught me by surprise. It was the giant picture that lit up the screen, the bold title reading: Uh-Oh! James Franco Fights with Mystery Girl in NY.

I blinked and tried to re-focus my eyes, squinting at the photo. It was a guy leaning in to kiss a girl, but she was shoving him away. I instantly recognized two things: the little wooden table in the corner of the Greek restaurant, and the baseball cap that James wore the day we went there. And then I recognized myself. My hair covered the side of my face, but I knew it was me. Those were my jeans, that was my rain jacket. And that was James.

What the hell? I pulled out my cell phone and immediately typed in the Perez Hilton website. I had terrible connection in the lecture hall, so I held my phone up in the air, attempting to get the page to load faster. A few students turned to watch me as I waved my phone around.

"Yes, Miss... uh, Miss Teller?" I heard a voice croak out my name.

I looked up and saw my professor staring at me.

"Do you have something you'd like to add, Miss Teller? All discussions are welcome!"

I stood up suddenly and grabbed my backpack. "I have to leave," I said without explanation. I turned around and walked out to the aisle, heading as fast as I could toward the back door. The entire room fell silent as they watched me exit, but I didn't care. These people weren't even on my radar right now -- I had to get to a computer. Fast.

It took me nearly ten minutes to sprint across the campus and up my dorm building. I couldn't get my key into the door. It was stuck... I had to get in... why wouldn't the key go in... I don't have time for this...

"LIBBY!" I yelled, pounding my fist against the door.

It opened a second later. Libby looked at me, alarmed by my flushed appearance and ragged breath. "Cassidy? What's--"

"Move," I said, shoving past her and heading towards my desk. I logged onto my computer and opened the web page in record time, cursing to myself repeatedly. There it was, the front page. Uh-Oh! James Franco Fights with Mystery Girl in NY. I stared at the photograph, vaguely recalling the flash of a camera back in the restaurant. Why were James and I on the front page?

Libby peered over my shoulder. "What're you looking at... James Franco?" she questioned as she read the title.

"It's me," I breathed.

She paused. "What?"

"Its me," I repeated. "It's me and James. We're on this website. I don't know what's going on... why is he on here? Why am I on here?"

I watched Libby as her eyes widened in shock. "That's James? Like, James as in James from the plane? James Franco?"

"I--I guess so," I stammered. "I don't know, I didn't know..."

Libby looked like she was going to pass out. "You've been talking to James fucking Franco? Why didn't you tell me that's who he was, holy shit, Cassidy."

"I didn't know!" I said. "How do you know him? What's going on?"

"Wait," Libby said, throwing her hand up in the air as if to shut me up. "You're telling me you didn't know who he was? You don't know who James Franco is?"

I stood up from my desk. "No! Will you explain to me what the hell is going on!"

"Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy mutherfucking shit, Cassidy." Libby continued muttering in shock. "He's like a movie star. How do you not know who he is? Oh my god. This is fucking insane. I can't even handle this."

"You can't handle it? That's me in the picture!"

"HOLY SHIT, CASSIDY!" Libby yelled. "THAT'S JAMES FRANCO. HOLY SHIT."

"CALM THE FUCK DOWN!" I yelled back at her.

"WHY ARE YOU NOT FREAKING OUT RIGHT NOW?"

"I AM." I sat back down in the chair and returned my attention to Perez Hilton. I scrolled down the page and read the attached article.

Several sources in a local NY Greek restaurant have reported seeing James Franco and an unnamed female friend bickering rather loudly. One source snapped photos of the pair in action, where we can clearly see Franco attempt to kiss his date, but it doesn't look like she's having it! We can't help but wonder who would turn down any chance to kiss our boy James, so it must have been one nasty brawl. One employee told us that they had arrived cuddling and flirting playfully, and explained that "they spoke in hushed voices, but I know I heard them talking about how much they loved each other. They ordered each others meals, it was very cute". She does not know what sparked their argument, but says that "Franco stormed out of the restaurant, knocking over chairs and tables as he left." Yikes! Trouble in paradise?

"Oh my god," Libby stammered. "Is that true?"

"No! None of that's even true -- I told you, he just randomly left." I closed out of the page and went to Google. I slowly typed in James' name and hit the search button. Libby stood next to me; I could hear her breathing heavily, peering over my shoulder.

I was overwhelmed by the search results: his biography, IMDB page, reviews on movies and novels, hundreds of photographs of him at awards ceremonies, news articles about his instagram selfies and interviews on late night television shows. I began clicking each page madly, scanning pages and pages about James. He had entire fan websites and blogs dedicated to him. His wikipedia page said that he was born in Palo Alto, and that he was 30 years old. I clicked onto the images page and was bombarded by photos of James. Some depicted a younger version, and in some he appeared much older or more serious. The reality of what I was looking at wasn't sinking in -- until I saw a photograph of James and another man.

I clicked on the image, enlarging it. I stared at it in silence, incapable of comprehending what I was seeing.

"Wait," Libby said slowly, "That's... that's Dave, isn't it?"

I nodded. Related images flooded my screen, each labeled "James and Dave Franco".

"I don't understand," Libby whispered.

"They're brothers." As the words escaped my mouth, the truth started to sink in, and my vision began to blur. The last thing I saw was the photo of James and Dave before everything faded to black.

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