“Probably. Let’s meet here tomorrow. We can ask Mrs. Mac about skipping.”
“Okay. Sounds good.” Like a nightmare.
“See you later,” she said and walked off without looking back.
How badly did I really want that part in the stupid play? Probably not bad enough to endure time with Lindsey. But if I had to be honest with myself, she’d been pretty nice today, complimenting my asinine performance. Sunlight sparked gold highlights in her auburn hair as she moved past the remaining cars in the parking lot. Maybe there was more to her than I’d thought.
I adjusted my backpack higher. Right. I was about to find out. Whether I wanted to or not.
Nine
Lindsey
Once I reached my subdivision, I turned down my music. Might as well. It wasn’t driving away the sense of dread that had given me a headache. I should’ve told Mrs. Mac exactly what had happened to me up on the stage. About Adam’s empty auditorium seat. But if I’d done that, she wouldn’t trust me anymore. She’d always wonder if I was going to lose it during a performance or something. No. It was better to act like everything was fine. That’s what people expected.
Only now I had to work with Trey Berger.
I turned into my driveway and pushed the garage door button. Mom’s Lexus was parked on one side. Dang it. I was hoping she wouldn’t be home. I pulled onto the section of the driveway that wouldn’t block my dad from the garage and turned off the car.
What was it Berger had said? Just my luck. And he was absolutely right.
It was just my luck that I focused on Adam’s empty chair at that particular moment of the audition. It was just my luck that it made me screw up. It was just my luck that Mrs. Mac was punishing me by making me rehearse with Berger.
I got out of the car, tensed against the freezing air, then hurried into the garage. Adam had been wrong when he said we’d run out of luck. I had plenty of luck. Of the really bad variety.
But there were ways to combat that. I stopped. Right there before the door into the house.
An idea sparked and burned like a light at the end of my very dark tunnel. Luck didn’t have to be bad. It could be good. Just like it used to be.
Now if I could only keep the conversation with my mom short. She usually worked in the kitchen in the late afternoon, either starting dinner or doing something on the computer. So, if she was busy, there was a slight chance I could sneak right past her.
I twisted the door handle slowly, then ever so carefully pushed the door open. I held my breath. So far, so good. She was sitting at her kitchen desk, her reading glasses perched on the end of her nose.
“Hey, honey,” she said, without turning away from her computer.
Great. So much for stealth. “Hey, Mom.” I walked over and kissed her on the cheek.
She smiled up at me. “How was school?”
Definitely not going there. “Fine. How’s your day going?”
“Okay. But I’ve more analyzing to do on this fundraiser report. Let’s talk in a little while, okay?”
Perfect. “Okay.” I made myself stroll through the kitchen as if I were in no hurry at all. But once at the stairs, I took them two at a time. When I got to my room, I set my books and purse on the carpet, then snatched up my laptop. I plopped onto my bed, shoving stuffed animals out of the way. The cleaning lady must have come today. Everything was too neat.
I glanced up at my Storm poster. They grinned back. I scowled. They were obviously not bringing me good luck anymore. Time for something new. I flipped open the top of the computer and typed into a search engine: “lucky charms.” Up popped about a million references to the breakfast cereal. Nope. Instead, I went straight to an online retail giant and tried again: “good luck charms.” Ah, now we were talking. There were feng shui coins, bead bracelets, and good luck mojo bags. Necklaces with horseshoe, wishbone, or elephant charms. Stuff for poker. Figurines. Ladybugs, four-leaf clovers, and turtles. Brightly colored, fake rabbit’s-foot key chains. Real rabbit’s-foot key chains. Ugh. It went on and on. How the heck was I supposed to choose?
I needed to change my luck in a big way—especially if today in drama club was the way things were headed. But I didn’t want to spend hours researching the best tokens. Maybe I could buy one of everything. The thought of the certain scowl on my dad’s face caused me to shelve that idea. But, wow, a bag of rabbit’s-foot key chains was only four bucks. I could buy a bunch of those. And several of the beaded bracelets. The charm necklaces, too.
I set the computer aside and grabbed my purse. I dug the credit card out of my wallet. I had a $200 spending limit, but I’d already used some of that this month. Hmm. Was this stupid? Maybe. Probably. But I had to do something, anything I could, to get my good luck back.
My doll Vivi stared at me from my bedside table. I’d left her sitting there instead of replacing her on that stupid stand. “Well, Vivi, what would you do?”
No response. Not that I expected one, but still.
“Not gonna answer, huh? Okay. Guess I’m on my own then.”
Half an hour and a hundred dollars later, I closed my computer and swallowed hard. If my parents found out about this … well, the least they would do was take away my credit card. They might even take away my computer. Gulp.
But they probably wouldn’t find out. I doubted they even looked at the credit card statement except to see that I hadn’t gone over the two hundred dollars. I’d only paid to overnight one of the items, and hopefully most of the others would arrive on different days. It wouldn’t be too horrible if my mom was home when one package was delivered. She was used to me buying things online. But if she was there when three or four arrived? That would definitely make her curious. I’d better find a way to be home every afternoon so I could intercept the deliveries.
Still, it was too late to worry about it now. A sense of excitement swam through my veins. This was going to work. I just knew it. How could luck not change when you bombarded it with a boatload of charms? It had to.
Ten
Berger
The next afternoon after school, I strolled through the auditorium trying to look totally chill while I waited for Lindsey to show up. She usually got there ten minutes after the bell rang, and it had already been fifteen. People milled around, getting ready for the auditions to start. Lindsey should’ve been right in the middle of it, even telling people where to go or what to do. But she wasn’t. In fact, I didn’t see her anywhere.
Down front, Mrs. Mac frowned as she stood talking to Mike Morales. I really didn’t want to approach her to ask about skipping the auditions—not with that expression on her face—but since Lindsey wasn’t around, it was up to me. I had just reached the end of the rows when someone called my name.
“Trey!”
I turned. Parker Sims edged his super tall self out of a row. I walked back toward him.
“Hey,” he said. “Lindsey was looking for you. She said to meet her outside.”
Now what was that all about? “She did?”
“Yeah. Said Mrs. Mac okayed y’all skipping the auditions.” A weird look passed over his features. “You get to rehearse together?” His face settled into a perturbed expression, as though I were taking something that belonged to him.
“Yeah. Mrs. Mac wants us to.” I started back up the aisle, and he kept pace with me.
“You’re really lucky,” he said. His gaze bored into the side of my head, but I just kept walking. “Every guy in here would kill to rehearse with her privately.”
I stopped. What an idiot. “Really? You’d murder someone?”
“Practically.”
I huffed out a laugh. “Well, okay, good talk.” I walked on, and this time he didn’t follow. I didn’t know why all these guys worshipped Lindsey so much. She was hot, that was true. But didn’t they see how she always acted so entitled? Like the world and everyone in it owed her something?
I stepped out of the theater building and blinked in the late-afternoon, cloudy haze
. A new cold front was moving in tonight. I couldn’t wait.
But I couldn’t think about that right now. I had to find Lindsey. Lines of cars inched along the road just past the parking lot. It was peak everybody and their dog leaving school time. I scanned the small groups of people that were standing around by the buildings or parked cars. Where was she? I sighed. I should’ve gotten her phone number so I could find out what was going on. I’d give it five minutes, and if she didn’t show, I’d head home.
Three minutes later, a silver sedan that had been working its way around parked cars pulled up to the curb in front of me. The automatic window went slowly down. “Come on, Dragon Boy,” Lindsey said, leaning over the passenger seat. “Let’s go.”
A Honda? And by the scratches on its doors, it wasn’t even new. This was a surprise. I climbed in, setting my backpack between my feet. “Where are we going?”
“To my house,” she said, pulling into the line of cars exiting the lot.
“How am I supposed to get home later? And you can stop with the ‘dragon’ stuff. I don’t play that many games with dragons in them.”
She pursed her lips as though she were fighting a smile. “But you play at least one, right?”
“I have.”
“Then ‘Dragon Boy’ stays.”
I let out a huge exhale. “Whatever happened to ‘Dragon Master,’ anyway? Why’ve I been reduced to just a boy?”
“I like the sound of it better. And, don’t worry, I’ll take you home later.”
“Okay. But why aren’t we rehearsing at school?”
“You’re just full of questions, aren’t you?” She checked out her side window, then turned right onto the road. When I didn’t say anything, she mumbled, “I’m expecting a package.”
I thought she might tell me more, but instead she turned on the radio. Pop country music almost shattered my eardrums, and she lowered the volume. Oh, goody. We were going to listen to, “You cheated on me and I’m getting revenge,” all the way to her house. Maybe I could fix that.
“Do you want to run some lines right now? Save some time?”
“No,” she said. “I like to focus on one thing at a time.”
“Driving and listening to music are two things.”
We made it through the major four-way stop and sped on, the traffic thinning out. “That’s different,” she said. “I don’t have to focus when I listen to music.”
I had to give her that point, but I still wanted the music off. “Is there any other kind of music we could listen to? You know, like music without words?”
She laughed. “You don’t like this?” She gestured to the radio. “Were you born in this country?”
“Very funny.”
She pushed the radio button, cutting off some guy mid-wail. “Whatever you want, Dragon Boy. I was just trying to save us from awkward silence.”
“Awkward silence is completely underrated. You should try it sometime.”
She looked over at me, her eyes narrowed, but I gave her an encouraging smile. She stared back through the windshield, shaking her head. “Are we going to argue all the way to my house?”
“If you want.”
The light ahead turned red, and she slowed the car to a stop. “Not particularly.” She sounded tired all of a sudden, which surprised me so much that I kept my mouth shut.
About a mile down the boulevard, she turned into the Leighton Heights subdivision entrance with its towering rock walls and spurting fountains. Of course she lived in Leighton Heights. I should’ve known.
A couple of turns later, we pulled into a long driveway on one side of a massive red brick house. This ought to be interesting. You could tell a lot about people from the inside of their houses. Would there be evidence of Lindsey’s personality anywhere? Or would that be hidden away in her bedroom? My parents still kept embarrassing photos of me and Ash in the hallway and on the refrigerator.
I followed Lindsey through the garage and into the kitchen. A middle-aged woman sat at a built-in desk, talking on a cell phone, a pair of reading glasses on her head. She had white-blond hair and a tanned face, as though she liked to be outside even in the dead of winter. That alone made me like her.
She twisted in her seat and said, “Just a sec, Veronica.” She held the phone against her thigh—probably to muffle our voices—then smiled.
“Mom,” Lindsey said, “this is Berger. He’s here to rehearse with me. Berger, my mom.”
Time to do a little parental brown-nosing. I walked over and held out my hand. “Trey Berger,” I said, smiling politely.
A look of delight lit up her face, making her seem years younger. She had probably been really beautiful when she was young, but in a completely different way than Lindsey. I couldn’t exactly put my finger on what the difference was. She set the phone aside and took my hand in her warm one. “Very nice to meet you, Trey.”
“And you, Mrs. Taylor.”
“You’re in drama club, I take it?”
Behind me, kitchen appliances beeped. “Yes. It’s my first year.”
“Well, good. I’d love to chat more, but I have this call … ”
I took a step back. “No worries.”
Mrs. Taylor looked past me. “Lindsey, get some snacks for—”
“Already on it,” she said, leaving the oven and heading for the freezer.
Her mother started talking on the phone again. I edged closer to Lindsey. “You don’t have to feed me,” I whispered.
“It’s okay,” she said in a low voice. “If I don’t, she’ll have to do it, and then—” She made a slashing gesture across her throat.
I chuckled. “Okay.”
“Do you like Bagel Bites?”
All of a sudden I wanted to throw my arms around her. Which would’ve been a little more than the situation called for. So I tried for subtlety. “I want to marry them.”
Something gleamed in her eyes. “Too late. I already have, and I know they won’t commit bigamy.”
I hung my head. “I wish I’d known that before I agreed to come over.”
Wearing a grin, she gave me a little shove. Right in the middle of my chest. I backed up, and she opened the freezer wider and pulled out a huge box of Bagel Bites. “This calls for more than just one tray.”
“You have my eternal gratitude.”
She smirked and proceeded to get everything going while I stood there like a useless slug wearing a backpack.
Eleven
Lindsey
Trey Berger was a funny guy. Both funny ha-ha and funny weird. We’d never really gotten along since we’d been forced to spend time together because our closest friends were dating. We’d developed a kind of mutual stalemate of aggression toward each other.
But now that we were being forced to spend time together for a different reason, I had to admit that I wasn’t hating it. With no one else around, he’d cut down on the snarky comments. In fact, it seemed like he really did want to get better at acting. Which I could relate to.
And he liked Bagel Bites. With that knowledge, my opinion of him had taken a giant leap forward.
After half an hour of running lines, my restlessness got the better of me, so I stood up and wandered over to the window. When was the FedEx guy going to show? Pretty soon I’d have to take Berger home, and I really, really needed to grab the package before my mom saw it.
“Okay,” Berger said, shoving the last Bagel Bite into his mouth. “Should I say the line like this?” he asked, mumbling over the food.
I held up a hand. “Swallow first.”
He sipped his soda. “Yes, your majesty,” he said, with no irritation in his voice at all. Then he rubbed his forehead with his knuckles, messing up the strands of brown hair resting there even more. He spoke in a high-pitched voice, “‘I’m coming, Ma.’ Or like this, more grumpy. ‘I’m coming, Ma.’”
He sounded exactly like one of those kids Claire was always babysitting. “What feels right in your gut?”
“Not sure,
but I think the grumpy one.”
“Good. I like that one better, too. And unless a director tells you something else, you should usually go with the one that feels right, because it’s the way you’re most likely to say it during a performance.”
He nodded like I’d said something profound. “Huh. That makes sense.” He leaned against the back of the couch and clasped his hands behind his head. A sneaky gleam entered his light brown eyes. “You know, watching the street won’t make it get here any faster.”
For some weird reason, heat rose up my neck and into my cheeks. I frowned at him. “Au contraire. They’ve done studies on it. When you’re waiting for something, if you watch out for it, it arrives faster.” Pretty lame joke, but I didn’t want him to have the upper hand.
He grinned. “That’s only if you’re standing in the middle of the street.” He started to get up. “Should we try that now?”
“Oh, shut up,” I said, dropping into the armchair across from him.
He chuckled, but then his face grew slowly serious. “Why do you think Mrs. Mac wants us to rehearse together for weeks and not just a few days?”
Because she was mad at me. “I don’t really know. I mean, she’s supposed to decide on the parts by Friday, and after that there’ll be regular full-cast rehearsals.”
“Maybe she thinks I’m too stupid to pick up on your brilliance right away.”
I shook my head. This topic made me want to pace across the room. “You know how quirky she is. Sometimes she does stuff that doesn’t make sense to anyone.”
The loud peal of brakes made me jerk. Through the wood blinds, I could just make out the white van with its huge purple and orange letters on the side. I jumped up.
Berger waved his hands up and down. “It’s here, it’s here!”
“Shh,” I said. What with squealing brakes and Berger’s noise, my mom was sure to saunter into the room.
“Oh,” he whispered and then got up. “Is this a secret from Mommy?”
Life in the Lucky Zone (The Zone #2) Page 5