Page 5

Chapter Five

I decide to skip the rest of the day. What good will it do me to stay at school if I can’t even focus? I need to get my head on straight before I have to run lines with Zayne this evening.

When I get home, I go straight to my room. Beau is still at school and Dad is at work, so I could sit in the living room and watch TV. I could heat up a frozen chicken pot pie and stuff my face while I stare at the pretty flower arrangement in the center of our dining table, freshly picked by Dad.

But to be honest, I just feel like hiding.

From no one. From everyone. From myself.

At least until five, when I’ll inevitably have to see Zayne.

There’s got to be a way for me to somehow pull all this off: getting Carlton to like me again. Staying in his circle. Getting the attention of that admissions director, Nigel Weathers, to prove Zayne wrong. Not making a complete fool of myself in front of the entire school now that Little Birdie has it out for me.

All of this may have been plopped into my lap, but it doesn’t seem like it’s going anywhere, so I better get started.

I open my script and flip through it, testing some of my lines aloud. I can’t ignore the dread in my stomach when I hear myself talk, when I hear myself act. I just don’t have the emotion my friends so easily deliver. My voice sounds stiff and…scripted.

Still, I continue, throwing in some hand gestures and facial expressions for better effect. I scoot over on my bed until I can see myself in the round mirror attached to my vanity, and then I keep reading. I watch my expressions as I utter my lines and adjust them to match the tone of my dialogue.

Better. Still not great, but better, and dare I say…fun? I’m having fun. It’s liberating to pretend to be someone else for a little while, and the more enthusiasm I put into my lines, the more I enjoy speaking them. Catherine Earnshaw is entertaining to read because she has a tough choice to make: she can be with Heathcliff, the poor orphaned boy who would bring down her rank in society, or she can marry Edgar Linton, who is higher status and kind of a snob. In her high society lifestyle, her choice should be obvious. Who wouldn't want to advance their social status? The only problem is that she loves Heathcliff.

The next time I glance at my clock, it’s four-thirty. I peek out my bedroom door. “Beau?” He should have been dropped off by the bus two hours ago. I check my phone and see a message from him.

Beau

At an ASL club meeting.

Relief floods my chest. Relief, and then envy because Beau is now learning his fourth language. I can’t help but wish I had something that lights me up inside the way learning new languages lights up Beau.

And instead of figuring out what might excite you, Dot, you decided to blurt that you want to go Ivy to impress your parents.

My stomach knots itself as I text Beau back.

Me

Would have been nice to know.

Somehow, my little brother has found his place here faster than me. I can’t remember ever struggling so hard to fit in when we lived in Stockbridge, but then again, when you live in a small town with no homeschooling co-ops nearby, there’s not much to fit into.

Another text comes through, this time from Mabel.

Mabel

You okay???

Me

Yes. Just needed some space.

I pause, then add,

Me

On my way to Zayne’s house…

Her response is practically instant.

Mabel

Zayne Silverman?!?!

Me

Yeah

Mabel

Why?

Me

To run lines. Duh.

Mabel

OMG. Does Carlton know you changed your mind? I thought you said you weren’t going!

I stare at my phone, biting my lip. I did say that, didn’t I? I wonder if I should bother saying anything to him. It’s not like he’s my boyfriend, even if I want him to be. I could just send him a quick text. Or I could ignore Mabel’s question.

I opt for the latter. There’s no need to start even more unnecessary drama. Carlton might not like him, but it doesn’t change the fact that Zayne is my co-star.

I slip into some leggings and a hoodie, not wanting to be in my pristine school uniform a moment longer. I gather the top strands of my braids into a bun, brush my teeth, and splash some blush on my cheeks before heading out the door.

According to my GPS, Zayne Silverman lives in Kendall Square—only an eight-minute walk away from me, and only eleven minutes from Carlton, who could possibly drive by and see my car parked in front of Zayne’s, so walking is the safer choice.

My hoodie keeps me warm, protecting me from the New England air. The smell of a pumpkin spice latte makes my mouth water when I pass a cafe along the way. My boots crunch the brown and orange leaves that have fallen from the trees lining the sidewalk as I approach Zayne’s two-story condominium.

It’s a bright, cheery neighborhood. Some kids are riding bikes down the street, and several cats lounge on the front steps of surrounding porches. I dodge the sprinklers stretching over from his neighbor’s front yard as I walk up, pausing before I knock on the door.

Am I really doing this? If Carlton finds out, I won’t be winning myself any points with him. I should probably just go back home. But deep down, there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to admit how much fun I had in my audition with Zayne, unbearable as he is. I kind of want to see if it happens again, or if it was just a one-time thing.

A boy who looks a few years younger than Zayne answers the door when I knock, and he has the same velvety skin, the same dreads and undercut, and the same warm brown eyes. His mouth forms a lopsided grin when he takes me in.

“Hi.” He holds out his hand. “The name’s Lenny.”

“Bardot. But I go by Dot.” I shake his hand. “I’m here to run lines with Zayne. Is he here?”

“Zayne!” Lenny shouts, not taking his eyes off me. “Bardot, who goes by Dot, is here to run lines with you!” Lenny leans against the door frame. His grin widens. “You know, I’m learning to drive this year.”

“That’s fantastic.” I shift my feet, feeling like a fool still standing on the porch.

Zayne appears behind Lenny, shuffling down the staircase. His dreads aren’t in a bun anymore, and they fall to the side of his forehead. He’s wearing jeans and a plain blue T-shirt. With a start, I realize I’ve never seen him in regular clothes before. I don’t understand how he makes such a basic outfit look just as good as our preppy Fallbrook uniform.

When he reaches the door, he scowls at Lenny. “Aren’t you going to invite her in?”

Lenny shrugs. “I don’t know, man. I’ve been re-watching The Vampire Diaries lately, and you should never just invite anyone in. She could be a vampire. You never know.”

Zayne blinks several times and turns to me. “Please excuse him.”

I can’t help but laugh. “I like that show,” I tell Lenny. “And I promise I’m not a vampire.”

“That’s what a vampire would say.” He grins, seeming pleased that I’m playing along, and steps aside so I can enter. “If you bite me, you’re in for a nasty surprise.”

Zayne runs a hand down his face. “I don’t even want to know what that means.” He turns to me. “Did you bring your script?”

I nod.

“Good. We can practice in my room, upstairs.” He turns around and starts heading toward the stairwell.

In his room? I plant my feet in the ground. “Where are your parents? Wouldn’t they rather us practice down here?” I know from experience how parents can get about teenagers being alone together. Every time I go to Carlton’s house, we remain under the dutiful supervision of his dad at all times.

Not to mention, Carlton would flip out if he knew I was here to begin with. If he found out I was alone with Zayne in his room, I might as well bury our future relationship in a cemetery right here and now.

“My mom and my grandma are at work,” Zayne says. “They won’t be back till late. Why?”

“It’s just…” I glance around the living room helplessly.

Realization finally dawns on his face. “If you feel more comfortable down here, it’s fine with me. Just know you’ll have Lenny for an audience.”

I glance at Lenny, who actually licks his hand and uses it to slick his hair back, and then waggles his eyebrows like some kind of cartoon character.

I burst into laughter. “On second thought, upstairs sounds good to me.”

I follow him to his room, leaving Lenny pouting in the entryway. There are a few family portraits on the wall, and one catches my eye with a young Zayne and Lenny wearing matching cowboy outfits, back-to-back and blowing fake smoke off their toy guns. Lenny looks proud in his cowboy hat, but Zayne looks embarrassed. An impatient frown is on his face. I bite my reluctant grin away before it can form.

We reach Zayne’s room and I take in my surroundings. The walls are painted dark blue, and there’s an iron-frame bed against the wall, neatly made up with a simple plaid comforter. There’s a large bookcase on the other side of the room filled with novels, and a comfy looking leather chair positioned in front of it. I scan the titles of the books. There’s some sci-fi, fantasy, and plenty of classics. “You read?” I ask him.

He frowns. “Don’t you?”

“Not much.”

“Well, if you ever need any recommendations, let me know.” He grabs his script off the bed and starts flipping through it. “Let’s get started.”

I take mine out of my bag, and then notice three missed calls from Carlton. Another one comes through as I pick up my phone, so I answer. “Hello?”

“Where are you?” Carlton asks. “Why haven’t you been answering?”

“Sorry.” I contemplate telling him the truth but blurt something else out on a whim. “I’ve been helping Beau with math homework. My dad is still at work.”

He pauses. “Oh. Alright. Well, call me when you’re done, then.”

“I will.” I hang up and look at Zayne.

He looks right back at me. “Why did you lie?”

“Nosiness is a very unattractive quality, you know.”

“It’s because of me, isn’t it?” he guesses easily. “Your boyfriend hates my guts, doesn’t he?” And then he does something that makes heat spark in my veins. He smiles. He actually smiles.

“You seem very pleased by that sentiment.”

Zayne just rolls his shoulders. “I don’t like your boyfriend much either.”

“He’s not technically my boyfriend. And of course you don’t like him, because he’s so much more talented and…intimidating than you.”

Zayne looks appalled. “Intimidating? Carlton? ”

His disbelief sounds so genuine that it irritates me. “You’re just jealous.”

“Not really. Why would I be? I got the part I auditioned for. Can’t say the same for him.”

“Only because you tampered with his script!” It takes more effort than I’d like to admit to keep my voice level. “You stole the part from him. You made him stumble to make yourself look better.”

Zayne glares at me with his eyebrows pulled together. “You still believe that?”

I cross my arms. “Don’t even try to deny it.”

“You know what?” He shakes his head. “I’m not surprised it was so easy for you to get cast as someone as cold and heartless as Catherine Earnshaw. It’s perfect for you.” He takes a step closer to me and lowers his voice. “It’s no wonder Mr. Saltzman asked me to run lines with you on top of rehearsals. He probably realized he mistook your real personality for acting and thought you had talent. ”

I gape at him, at a complete loss for words. I hate to admit it, but his insult stings. I can’t let him know that, though, so I scramble for a retaliation. “Funny. I was thinking about the irony of you playing Heathcliff. It’s completely unrealistic that you’d be considered a love-interest by anyone with even half a brain.” I gather up my materials, stuffing them back into my bag with harsh, jerky movements.

“Don’t forget this.” Zayne retrieves my phone from his bed and holds it out to me.

As I snatch it from him, our fingers brush and a thrill goes through me. It’s like by accidentally touching me, he zapped me with dopamine. I stuff my phone in my open bag. “I don’t know why I thought running lines with you was a good idea.”

“Apparently, we have chemistry .” Zayne says it like it’s a foreign concept without meaning.

“Well, whoever decided that is an idiot.” I sling my bag over my shoulder and glare at him one last time as a farewell. As I rush downstairs and out the front door, I can’t help but wonder why I didn’t just quit the play and save myself all this trouble. Doing so would make my life a thousand times easier. I wouldn’t have to learn how to act. Little Birdie would leave me alone. And best of all, I wouldn’t have to practice with Zayne ever again.

Mr. Saltzman would have to search for a new actress to replace me with. That wasted time could potentially hurt Zayne’s chances at getting into Underwood.

I imagine it all as I walk home. It’s a tempting outcome. One I could easily make happen.

One I should make happen.

But I can’t ignore the tiny seed of interest newly planted within me. The thought of simply returning to my linear plan of studying topics that don’t excite me, stressing over my grades and attendance, and joining the ocean of sterile individuals desperate to achieve the exact same thing makes my spirits deflate.

Acting is different. Acting is straying from the plan I’ve been promising to accomplish since I was seven. I know that should terrify me, but it does the complete opposite.

And deep down, quitting would feel too much like proving Zayne right. Not about me being talentless, or incapable of getting into Underwood, like he implied at our first rehearsal, but about me being perfect for the role I was selected for.

About me being cold and heartless, just like Catherine Earnshaw.