A Tale of Two Centuries msssc-2

by Rachel Harris

  Finally, Cat breaks the silence. “We danced…”

  My stomach turns, remembering another dance, one I witnessed her sharing with Lorenzo. Cat’s ball was magical for many reasons, but seeing the way they looked at each other that night changed something inside me. I have always wondered what it would be like to be on the receiving end of such adoration.

  Cat drops her head and scratches her neck, using the action to steal a subtle glance at Lucas’s table. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she says, “And now, it’s like he’s everywhere. I can’t escape him, Less, and believe me, I’ve tried. I even went to my nana’s house in Mississippi for Christmas break, but distance doesn’t stop him from texting or calling.”

  A stunning blonde in a short skirt bounces up behind Lucas and brazenly wraps her arms around his neck. I hear my cousin’s sharp inhalation as the girl leans in to whisper in his ear, blocking Lucas’s face from our view. Cat emits a close impersonation of a growl.

  Though I feel fiercely disloyal to my friend back home for doing so, I have to ask. “Cousin, perhaps this is another cultural thing I do not understand, but why are you so desperate to avoid him?”

  Cat slaps the table in clear frustration. “Everything’s just so confusing. I mean, he looks like Lorenzo, but he isn’t. And I get that I’m never gonna actually see Lorenzo again, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less, you know?”

  She shoves both hands through her hair, and I nod in encouragement, because I do understand.

  But then she says, “I have to tell you, though…there’s a part of me that wonders if Lucas being here, looking so much like Lorenzo, if it’s like a cosmic sign from Reyna, telling me I need to move on. That it’s okay. That it’s not horrible to like him and I should go for it. But then, I don’t know.” She laughs humorlessly. “Maybe it is just a random, crazy fluke. And I’m just pathetically fickle.”

  Her eyes are dark brown pools of self-condemnation and confusion, imploring me to give her an answer I simply do not have. So I shrug, as clueless about gypsy magic as she is, even as I wish I could do so much more.

  At the back table, the blonde raises her head and says, “Oh, Lucas,” giggling in such a way that manages to sound girlish and incredibly annoying at the same time. Cat grits her teeth, intentionally avoiding the scene behind her. “Plus, all of it…it just feels wrong, you know?”

  I push my tray away, no longer having any interest in food, cheese-filled or not. “What feels wrong?”

  “You know.” She swallows. “Having feelings for someone else. At the party, when Lucas asked me to dance, I honestly didn’t see the harm—it would’ve been rude to say no, and it was a chance to kind of relive my dance with Lorenzo at the ball. But it ended up being more than that. And then it got weird.” She bites her lip and squints at me. “There was…a connection.”

  I cannot help it; I flinch.

  Cat hangs her head. “I know! After an entire month of not being able to think about anyone else but Lorenzo, all Lucas had to do was slide his arms around me on the dance floor and my insides melted like in a freaking romance novel.”

  Shoving her own plate away, she bangs her head onto the table in an obvious display of berating herself. My heart feels torn. I so badly want to ease her distress, to pat her shoulder and say everything will be okay. But my hand hesitates midair.

  Since Cat transported through time, Lorenzo has been my only real friend. Granted, he was and will always be more my brother’s friend than my own, but he has looked out for me, protected me. And I know he would be devastated to know another man was trying to steal Cat’s heart—much less someone who looks so much like himself.

  But Cat is my family.

  I stare at her long brown hair for a beat and then place my hand on her shoulder.

  From the table behind us, a bubbly giggle breaks out. Cat twists around in time to see the blonde practically throw herself into Lucas’s lap.

  “And that would be Desiree. It took her long enough to find the fresh meat. School started what, a whole three hours ago?”

  My cousin shakes her head in disgust and turns back to me. “Here I am all conflicted on what I should do while there’re girls like her around, more than willing to introduce him to American ways. And I swear, it’s like he’s everywhere. I can’t even get a moment to think, to process, without turning around and finding him behind me. Lucas is even in my art class, my sanctuary, of all places. And of course he’s awesome, which means we have that in common, too. You should’ve heard Mr. Scott going on and on about how impressive Lucas’s technique was and his stupid use of negative space.”

  She plucks the straw from her carton and attempts to snap it. When it refuses to break, she tosses it down the table. “If the boy’s not teaching the class by the end of the year, it’ll be a freaking miracle.”

  I study my lap to hide my smile. Not at the situation, but at my cousin’s surprising reaction.

  Never have I seen Cat show such straightforward agitation—not even when battling for her freedom during her stay in my time. Then she kept her distress and planning neatly contained, at least around my parents and brother. She never expressed her frustration in public…though the fact that Lucas has the power to make her so openly distraught now is telling in itself.

  The realization is sobering, and my heart hurts for Lorenzo. But I know more than anything he would want Cat to be happy.

  Back at Lucas’s table, I see him gently but firmly move Desiree off his lap. She does not appear fazed. She continues to prattle beside him while a pained smile crosses his handsome face. He transfers his focused gaze about the room as if he’s searching for something—or someone—and when it lands on Cat, Lucas’s pained smile becomes genuine.

  As if of their own accord, the corners of my mouth lift at the sight.

  Chapter Eight

  It is the second to last class of the day, thank Signore, and as destiny, the scheduling gods, and our mysterious gypsy girl would have it, I enter drama class. According to Cat, this is one of the most highly sought-after electives in the school, and I am fortunate to have been admitted.

  We both know there is much more than mere luck at play.

  Almost as soon as I enter the small theater where the class meets, a pretty brunette sidles up beside me. She looks over my outfit and the hands I have clenched into anxious fists at my sides and says, “You’ve gotta be Less.”

  “And you must be Hayley,” I say, smiling as I take in her outfit. She has paired a bright blue hat with a yellow T-shirt and red skirt, a skirt that is both long and modest in the back and chopped scandalously short in the front. Cat told me her new friend desires to be a fashion designer one day, and after seeing what society deems “fashion” today, I silently wish her luck. “I was hoping we would soon meet.”

  Hayley nods her head toward the front of the classroom where a large stage awaits, and I fall in step beside her. “So, Cat tells me you’re quite the talented actress.”

  Heat fills my cheeks, and I shake my head. “I fervently wish to be an accomplished performer, yes, but I am afraid my cousin is overzealous in her praise. I have only been in one play.”

  She gives me a look over her shoulder. “Living around here, you learn pretty quickly that experience has very little to do with talent. Trust me, with that girl’s background, Cat can spot talent. And if she says you’ve got it, then you’ve got it. Thank God, too, because heaven knows this place could use some fresh blood.”

  When we arrive at the front row, she tugs down the bouncy bottom of a dark blue chair. She takes her seat and waits for me to do the same. With a grin, I pull my own chair bottom down, and then on a whim release my hold, watching it snap back up. I bite my lip to contain my laughter. Life here is filled with hidden amusements.

  I am still standing, smiling at my latest discovery, when a bored voice dripping with condescension asks, “Never used a chair before?”

  A tall blonde sashays past me, not bothering to wait for a reply to her
rude question. She marches up the four steps leading to the stage and comes to a stop in the very center, thumbs flicking over the screen of her phone.

  Taking my seat, I whisper, “Please tell me she is not the teacher.” The girl does not appear much older than I am, but the way she commands the stage with her presence implies a sense of expertise.

  “Oh, heck no,” Hayley says with a roll of her eyes. “That is Kendal Williams, Wicked Witch of Roosevelt Academy and a star in her own mind if no one else’s. She’s the main reason we so badly need new blood in here. She thinks she’s a bag of awesome because her résumé’s filled with lame commercials hawking tampons and a half dozen forgettable walk-on sitcom roles.” She looks at me and says with complete earnestness, “She’s the teacher’s pet and the source of all that is evil in the world.”

  Having learned the fine art of sarcasm from Cat, I smile and casually cast a glance at the back of the theater, wondering when the real teacher will appear. That’s when I spot the true source of evil in the world tromping through the open door.

  “Him again,” I mutter.

  Hayley follows my gaze and laughs. “Don’t tell me. Your first day here and you’ve already fallen for the Michaels charm?” I scoff, and she shrugs. “Don’t get me wrong, the boy’s a hottie. I just wouldn’t waste my time or heart on him.”

  I abruptly turn back around and busy myself with smoothing the wrinkles in my skirt. “Certainly not. The boy is insufferable.” Austin stomps down the center aisle, the tread of his heavy boots sounding even louder as they echo off the theater’s walls, and tosses his bag on the ground. I wait until he slumps in his seat and closes his eyes, again failing to notice my existence, to ask, “But purely for the sake of curiosity, why not?”

  She laughs. “Inquiring minds, huh? Well, for one, you could do better. I don’t really know you that well, but you seem like a sweet girl. Plus, Austin’s not the relationship type. You see Wicked Witch over there? As far as I know, she’s the only one he’s ever actually dated, and that was years ago.”

  My gaze snaps back to the stage. Kendal, the wicked witch, has looked up from her phone to watch a napping Austin, a line creasing the skin between her eyebrows.

  “It all happened before I got here,” Hayley continues. “But from what I hear, they were pretty hot and heavy. Up until she cheated on him in front of the whole school. Since then, girls fawn all over him, drawn to the whole bad boy thing he’s got going on, but he ignores it. The surf is his mistress,” she says dramatically, flashing me a smile.

  Despite Austin’s obnoxious behavior, I cannot help feeling a sense of sadness listening to the tale. I do not know what a surf is, but I do know what it is like to be betrayed by the one you care about most. Did Kendal give him any warning, or was he caught as unaware as I was? I fight the urge to go to him and offer him a hug. To let him know that I understand his pain.

  But then he opens his eyes.

  I try to look away, even though I know that I have already been caught, but it is impossible to do so. The deep blue depths of Austin’s gaze ensnare me. The rest of his face is a mask, hiding away his secrets from the world…but in the eyes riveted on mine, there is an unmistakable flash of emotion.

  Anger.

  It is there and then gone in an instant, but my breath catches at the intensity. I blink my eyes and spin back around.

  “Holy cow, girl,” Hayley whispers under her breath. “That boy looked like he wanted to eat you for dessert.”

  “We had a disagreement earlier today,” I explain as my heart attempts to beat out of my chest.

  “Must have been an epic one.”

  A woman with curly brown hair and large spectacles enters through a side door, and Hayley pulls a notebook out of her bag. Scooting low in her seat, she whispers, “Looks like Satan’s spawn saw that little eye showdown, too.”

  Looking to the stage, I see the previous squiggle between Kendal’s eyebrows has transformed into a series of deep grooves between narrowed, hateful eyes. Centered on me.

  “Girl, you sure know how to make a first day interesting.”

  “It does seem to be a talent I possess,” I confide, already wishing the day were over.

  As our teacher, Mrs. Shankle, goes over all that the drama class has accomplished in the last few years, I quickly learn that Hayley was right. Kendal is the teacher’s pet—a title she seems to hold thanks to a succession of starring roles.

  Shuffling a stack of papers in her hand, Mrs. Shankle says, “Last semester our classes concentrated on set design and costumes, but this spring our focus is on performance! We’ll explore what it truly means to be an actor. How to prepare for an audition, how to block a scene, and how to improvise as well as the various methods you can use to get into character. And what characters will those be, you may ask?” Expressive eyes land on each of us as she extends the anticipation. “Our play this semester will be…Back To The 80s: The Totally Awesome Musical! by Neil Gooding!”

  The room erupts in enthusiastic chatter, and Hayley jots down the words bubble skirt and parachute pants.

  “This is a high-energy play that is fresh and unique, and I know you are all up to the challenge. Eighteen speaking roles will be open for audition, with the two main stars being Corey Palmer and Tiffany Houston. I have copies of the script here for everyone’s perusal. Take the rest of this class to look it over and begin thinking about which part speaks to you.”

  With a flourish, she sets the papers on the edge of the stage, sends the class a maniacal grin, and then ambles off into the darkened space beyond the curtain.

  Hayley and I look at each other and burst into laughter.

  As we walk to get our own copies of the script, Hayley addresses the rest of the class. “Guys, I’ve heard about this play. Imagine every awesome cliché that exists in high school, set against retro music, big hair, and slouch socks. It’s supposed to be hilarious.” Jabbing an elbow into my side, she grins, lowering her voice to say, “And from what Cat says about your acting skills, the part of Tiffany is yours if you audition.”

  Sensing her suggestion has more to do with dethroning a certain teacher’s pet than it does with me, I smile and say, “I believe—”

  “Now, Hayley,” a voice dripping with false sweetness interrupts. The murmurings of fellow students cease. “Are you trying to get the poor dear’s hopes up? A starring role? From what I hear, the girl can barely speak English.”

  A sensation as though I have been struck steals my breath. Kendal strolls in front of me, pinning me in place with an expression that is at once innocent and cruel. “I’m sure you’d be more comfortable with a role closer to home. I don’t know, one of the outcasts, perhaps?”

  I blink once, twice, then look at the papers in my hand. The roles for the musical are divided into groups—the regular kids, the popular girls, the cool guys, and finally, the nerds and outcasts. Nerd is a new word for me, one that Cat left off her list last night, but I am well familiar with the other term—and Kendal’s intent.

  Tingles crawl up my skin, gathering at the base of my skull where cold hits my veins. The weight of my classmates’ stares crushes me. I am like one of Michelangelo’s sculptures, frozen and powerless.

  I have never been so embarrassed in my life.

  Under my lowered gaze, a tattered brown boot appears. I raise my head and collide with Austin’s intense stare, wordlessly daring me to stand up for myself. A glance at Hayley proves she wants me to do the same. But I am not Cat. As much as I wish it were in my nature to be bold, to say what is on my mind without worry over decorum or propriety, that is not who I am.

  I lift a shoulder in silent apology and compress my lips together.

  Hayley offers an understanding smile. Austin shakes his head in disappointment.

  Grabbing his copy of the script, he stops in front of Kendal and stares at her. After a tense moment, she looks away.

  Austin hops down from the stage and returns to his seat in the front row, closing his
eyes and effectively shutting me out. The rest of the class seem to act as one, breaking off into groups and pairs, discussing the various roles and, if I were to guess from the blatant glances in my direction, me. And as for Kendal, there is no guessing required. Her singular focus remains on me.

  Hayley hooks her elbow around mine and tugs me toward our seats with an apologetic smile. “Remember what I said about you making a first day interesting?” I nod, and she tilts her head in Kendal’s direction. “My dear, I do believe you just became Enemy Number One.”

  Chapter Nine

  “Remember what I said before,” Cat tells me. “The name of the game is confidence.”

  A huge gulp of air fills my lungs. On the other side of the clear glass, a packed room of aspiring actresses—otherwise known as my competition for the afternoon—wait restlessly. I reflect back to Reyna’s tent and my claim that I was no longer the timid girl she once knew…and wonder if perhaps it is not too late to change my mind.

  The second I stepped out of French—a subject I thankfully did not share with Austin or Kendal but did share with the much-discussed Lucas—Cat grabbed my arm, squealing over a text she received from her father. That should have been sign enough, for my cousin never squeals. But when she shoved her cell phone into my hand and I glimpsed the reason, I could not help but scream as well.

  Twenty-first century nepotism is apparently a force equaled only by gypsy magic, because Mr. Crawford did not merely get me an audition for the Shakespeare Winter Workshop—he got me one for this very afternoon!

  Through the wide window, I assess the other actresses, girls with much more experience than my sole performance as a wicked queen before a whopping audience of three.

  “Confidence,” I repeat, squaring my shoulders, my spine, and even my teeth.

  I can do this.

  Cat moves to open the door, but I quickly beat her to the task. It may seem silly, but performing this small action gives me a much-needed sense of control. She steps back with a wink, waving me on, and I push into the room before I can change my mind.