A Tale of Two Centuries msssc-2 Page 15

  At the worry shining in her eyes, I lower my lashes.

  She’s right. Regardless of how excited I am to be here, and how eager I am to discover all that life can truly hold, there is no excuse for upsetting my loved ones. Running my fingers along the rough texture of denim, remembering the similar dark blue of Austin’s eyes during his admission at the Snack Shoppe, I confess, “I suppose I got swept away with the possibilities of adventure. But it was wrong and selfish of me to cause you concern.”

  “Yeah. It was.”

  At the blunt words, I look up. Cat flashes me a frazzled grin. “But you know what? I’m not your mama. And really, it’s not that I care what you do; it’s your journey, and you should spend it how you want. But I need to make sure you’re safe while doing it. This world—my world—is totally different from what you’re used to. And I’m not even talking about cars and phones and electricity. You can’t even imagine all the ways you can get in trouble or lost around here.”

  I wrinkle my nose. “But Austin was with me the whole time.”

  “Yeah,” she says, shoving a section of hair behind her ear. The skin around her eyes and mouth tighten as if she is about to say something unpleasant. This cannot be good. “About that.”

  My entire being stiffens, waiting.

  Cat waves her open palms in the air. “Don’t get me wrong, if you’re gonna be gallivanting around town, I’d much rather you be with someone you trust than by yourself. And it’s not that there’s anything particularly wrong with Austin.” She pauses, tilting her head back and forth, obviously conflicted about something. She bites the corner of her lip and says, “It’s just that he doesn’t really get where you’re coming from. Or how, er, new all this is for you.”

  I get the distinct impression that was not what she had intended to say. Ever since Austin and I started spending time together, she has acted strangely.

  “Look, if you’re bored with school and want to be doing something else, I can take a few days off,” she continues. “You’re only going to be here for a short time, anyway, and skipping school is, like, a rite of passage. There are tons of places I’d love to take you.” The flash of excitement in her eyes transforms back to worry and I wonder if she is finally going to reveal what has been bothering her. Her teeth trap her lower lip and release it as she says, “But I’m not sure it’s the best idea to be hanging around with Austin quite so much.”

  Time seems to stop for a moment. And the sole thought in my head is that I can’t lose Austin.

  Without him, the exciting, passionate side of me that I always knew existed yet refused to let out will vanish. He’s the one who brought it out; he’s the one who gives me the courage to embrace it. But even more than that, the thought of spending the remainder of my time here without all his challenging taunts and devilish smiles causes a crushing heaviness to settle over my chest.

  Cat’s gaze sharpens, and I realize I’m rocking back and forth. I loosen my grip around my knees and let them sink back onto the mattress.

  Forcing a casual smile, I say, “I promise you, Austin is harmless.”

  “Harmless?” Cat says incredulously. “I mean, it’s not like I think the boy’s gonna do bodily damage or anything, but that’s not exactly the description I’d choose. We are talking about the boy who got you—the textbook definition of Renaissance propriety—to break a bazillion rules, dye your hair like an Easter egg, and dress like a quote-unquote courtesan. Though”—she tilts her head—“it does kinda prove what I’m really worried about.” Her eyes pierce into mine, and I hold my breath. “You like him, don’t you?”

  Clarity dawns. For Cat, a girl hurt so badly in the past, it makes sense that this would be what terrifies her the most. I rub my hands together and release a breath, pondering her question.

  A few days ago, my answer would have been easy: an automatic and resounding no. But that was before my conversation with Austin at the Snack Shoppe.

  So how do I feel about him now?

  Well, there is no escaping the fact that the boy drives me crazy. That he somehow simultaneously inspires me to want to tear his eyes out and wrap my arms around him. Or that his past brings forth my sympathy, and just one of his smoldering looks ignites a delicious fluttering in my belly. Austin pushes me. He questions me. He makes me laugh. We’re practically strangers—I’ve only known him for a fraction of the time I knew Matteo—but there is still something achingly familiar about him. It is as if his soul calls to my own, almost as if we met in another time.

  No. Even though I did not come here wishing to lose my heart, denying my affection for him now would be a lie.

  I lift my eyes. Cat gives me a knowing look, and I’m tempted to lie. The last time I thought I felt this way, it turned out quite unfavorably. It would be easy to save myself from the embarrassment I suffered with Matteo and feign indifference—thanks to my unfortunate skill for telling falsehoods of late, my cousin would no doubt believe me. But I can’t, I won’t, mislead her about something like this…not when she is trying so hard to do the same thing with her feelings for Lucas. So I shrug.

  “Austin is different than you believe. When it is just the two of us, away from school, he is…” I frown, unable to complete that thought. “Actually, I cannot say he’s sweet. The truth is that he is still incredibly arrogant. Perhaps even more so. Not to mention horribly ill mannered. Half the time I wish to throttle him.”

  I frown, realizing I’ve gotten severely off point, and clasp Cat’s knee. “But there is more to him, too. During our time together, I’ve gotten to see the real boy he hides behind that cavalier facade of his, and I am telling you, Cat, Austin’s heart is good.”

  As I say the words, a tidal wave of emotion loosens within my chest. I wrap my arms around my waist in an attempt to keep it all inside.

  Austin is good—though I doubt even he believes so.

  I give my cousin a trembling smile, unfamiliar sensations coursing through me, and Cat catches her lip between her teeth. In a soft voice, she says, “But it’s not Austin’s heart I’m worried about.”

  Elbows on her lap, chin in her hands, she levels me with eyes brimming with concern. “I understand if you want to spend your remaining time with him, and that’s cool. Just please promise me you’ll be careful. And I don’t mean with him—though I’m not gonna lie, cluing me in on any future adventures or ditching excursions would rock, and probably save me from going prematurely gray in my twenties. But I mean with your feelings. Less, we both know your stay here is temporary. It’s been almost a week already. One day soon, maybe very soon, you’re going to leave him. And you saw what happened with Lorenzo and me. Trust me when I tell you that the pain is just not worth it.”

  My heart clenches—not at Cat’s sentiment but at her fervent belief in it. What I wish more than anything is for my beloved cousin to understand that while the pain of potential heartbreak may not be worth it, actually living life is.

  Regrettably, I do not have a chance to explain that because the doorbell rings. Cat lifts an eyebrow in question and I shake my head. I was not expecting anyone to call. The one person I know here aside from her is Austin, and he was heading home to bring Jamie to rehearsal.

  Cat pushes herself to her feet, and I follow down the rug-covered hallway. She pauses in the atrium and stifles a yawn before opening the front door.

  On the other side stands a handsome, smiling, book-toting Lucas.

  Cat practically chokes on her sharp intake of air.

  Biting off an amused grin, I look to the heavens and nod in acknowledgement.

  Without taking his eyes off Cat, Lucas says, “I saw you weren’t in French, so I thought I’d drop off what we did.” He glances in my direction as he brandishes the book in his hand like evidence. He blinks, then looks again. “Cool hair.”

  “Thank you,” I tell him, although he’s already returned his gaze to my cousin. “Is that your car in the driveway?”

  Lucas glances at the sleek black car behind him.
“Yep.”

  “And you are able to drive yourself?” I ask to clarify, ignoring the probing look from my cousin. “You do not need a driver?”

  “No.” A crease forms on Lucas’s brow but he shakes his head. “I’m seventeen and passed the test last month. No driver necessary.”

  “Wonderful.” From the corner of my eye, I see Cat’s gaze grow wide with recognition of what I’m about to propose. Before she can interject, I rush to say, “I have a rehearsal this afternoon at The Playhouse, and Cat here was just saying how she wished to watch. We were about to call our driver.” My smile grows as she wrenches my wrist. At least I discovered a way to use my lying for good. “Perhaps you could take us there instead?”

  Seeing Lucas now, I’m ashamed to admit it’s been five days since he passed all my tests. It’s even worse that I’ve spent all of them focused solely on myself. But Cat was correct earlier in one regard: the sand in the hourglass marking my stay is dwindling, as is my time to help her trust her heart again. It is as plain as the matching dimples in Lorenzo’s and Lucas’s cheeks that fate had a hand in this meeting. And the infatuated sparkle in Lucas’s warm brown eyes proves their job was well done. Cat may be scared to admit her own feelings, but I believe after a solid nudge, she will be well along the way to the path of love.

  And if nothing else comes from my time travel journey, that will be enough.

  …

  Thanks to my quick-thinking maneuvering, and Lucas’s more-than-willing consent, we ride to the theater with Cat riding shotgun and me in the roomy backseat. The uncomfortable quiet between them lasts longer than I would like, but slowly, surely, Lucas draws her into conversation, and soon they are lost in laughter and discussion. As he pulls into a parking space, I can’t help but smile. Reyna would be proud.

  The two of them take their seats in the cool shadowed house of the theater with the rest of the spectators, and I traipse up the stairs to the scuffed black stage. The balding, pudgy gentleman I have learned is Mr. Williams, our stage manager, rushes from the wings, gaping incredulously as he flies to my side.

  “Wh-wh—” he stammers, a vein throbbing on his sweat-coated forehead. “What did you do?”

  I look behind me and then down at my outfit, knowing I look no different than any of the other performers here. If anything, I actually fit in better in jeans, and it must be said they are much more comfortable in the frigid chill of the playhouse. I rub my hands over the rough denim, then scratch my head in contemplation, and realize he is referring to my hair.

  Twirling around, loving the feel of my long, dyed tresses catching the wind and fanning behind me, I say, “Oh, isn’t it beautiful?”

  He narrows his beetle-like eyes and huffs. “What it is not is Shakespearean!”

  Oh, drat. I hadn’t thought of that.

  As he mumbles ungentlemanly remarks and flings accusatory glares at my person, I fight to hold onto my previous joy. Darting my eyes at the growing crowd around us, I notice Kendal among them. Of course.

  Stiffening my shoulders, I share—as assertively as I can through a throat obstructed with dawning dread—that the dye is only semi-permanent, which the stylist assured me comes out after several washes. (As amusing as it would be to see the look on certain people’s faces, I could not chance returning home to Mama this way—she’d drop into a dead faint and then send me to church for practicing witchcraft as soon as she recovered.) Unfortunately, Mr. Williams doesn’t seem to think a few washes is fast enough.

  I hear a snicker and instinctively know who it is. Who other than Kendal would take delight in this moment? Reid materializes beside me and places a supportive hand on my elbow.

  Mr. Williams lifts his hands. “When Marilyn sees this—”

  “Oh, chill, Mark, it’s no biggie.”

  All eyes shift to Maggie, one of the hairdressers I met last week who doubles as Mr. Williams’s assistant. She fluffs her artfully coiffed blond hair and says, “The night of the dress rehearsal, I’ll mix up a quick batch of bleach and shampoo, work it through, and all that gorgeous color you see before you will disappear in moments.” She shrugs. “It’ll be a shame, but I do it all the time.”

  The tension formerly forcing my shoulders up into my ears deflates, and if it would be at all appropriate, I would kiss the woman.

  Maggie’s words seem to appease the hairy, scrunched-up monster otherwise known as Mr. Williams’s eyebrows. They settle back into their rightful place, and he shuffles off, muttering something about inconsiderate actresses. Reid plucks a strand of my pink hair and says, “I happen to like it. Totally matches that perky, bubbly smile of yours.”

  Kendal walks behind him and lifts a finger to her mouth, pretending to retch. Reid turns to see what I’m glaring at, and she gives him an innocent smile. When he turns back, she mouths the word freak and disappears offstage.

  Clearing my head from her vile influence, I say, “Thank you, Reid. As always, your flattery is appreciated.”

  “Hey, it’s not flattery; it’s the truth. I’m counting on that smile to light up the stage during our scene.” He leans in and mock-whispers, “It’s our secret weapon.”

  He flashes his childlike grin, and the familiar blush I’ve grown to loathe heats my cheeks. There is no denying he’s handsome. And I defy any woman to hear a kind word from a gentleman, especially a handsome gentleman, and not preen just a little. But as I stare at my costar’s upturned lips, the only thing I can think about is Austin’s tempting version. One hard-earned smile from him is worth at least a dozen of Reid’s easy ones.

  Reid continues to watch me, as if waiting for me to respond in some way. But I don’t know how. Other than a handful of dance requests from gentlemen at a lifetime of balls, Matteo was my first real experience with male attention. And if his abrupt turnabout to Novella was any indication, my feminine responses with him left much to be desired.

  Although my lack of knowledge in this regard doesn’t quite matter now—for it is not Reid’s attention I wish to cultivate.

  Pity Austin doesn’t seem as interested in being my suitor as this charmer.

  Luckily, Marilyn Kent saves me from making a further awkward fool of myself. The side doors to the theater bang open and conversation around me stops. Briskly walking across the floor to the lamplit table, the click-clack of heels punctuating each precise step, Marilyn commands every eye on stage to follow her progress like the world-famous director she is. And it’s not until after she takes her seat, sets down her clipboard, and takes a long sip of water that she lifts her head to survey her awaiting cast. When her shrewd gaze lands on me, she pauses.

  My mouth goes dry, as if suddenly filled with the puffs of white cotton Cat keeps in the bathroom. I fight the urge to blink, scared to miss a twitch or tick that will give me a clue as to what she could be thinking, and curse my burning eyes.

  What if Ms. Kent doesn’t know about Maggie’s magic solution, or worse, doesn’t care? Could my first—and potentially only—touch of spontaneity result in her asking me to abandon my dream and leave the workshop?

  Finally, her mouth curves into a faint smile. And when she calls out, “Let’s begin,” my heart stops its attempt to leap from my chest.

  One of the young assistants looks at her clipboard. “Reid and Alessandra, you’re up first.”

  Relieved, and to be honest, a little light-headed, I walk to center stage. Lightheadedness turns to full wooziness as, between Marilyn and her various assistants, I am beset with thousands of minute details: where to stand, where to look, when to enter, what my character is feeling. The past few rehearsals were spent sitting around a table reading our lines, but this is the first time I’m actually onstage, surrounded by the beginnings of an actual set. I glance out into the dark audience where I know Cat and Lucas are watching, needing just an ounce of her unending strength.

  As overprotective as she can be, my cousin is my rock, the one thing that remains constant and familiar as I continue acclimating to this crazy world. And
she’s always been my number-one fan.

  Convinced she’s imparted all she can for now, Marilyn calls us into place. I chance a quick wave out into the audience, and a lone whistle answers from the darkness. With renewed confidence, I take my mark.

  …

  Standing atop my makeshift balcony, reciting the lines I now know by heart, I realize I am no longer the same aspiring actress from my audition. With my new hair, new clothes, and new attitude, it is as if I have taken on two separate roles: the one of Juliet, and the side of me that Austin has let loose.

  When Reid and I conclude the third run-through of our scene, Ms. Kent nods in approval. Reid squeezes my hand as we exit the set.

  “You are a natural,” he tells me once we reach the wings. He folds his arms across his chest and tilts his head. “I knew you were good during the read-throughs before, but man, it’s like you were born for this. On the one hand, I’m glad to hear the rumor mill was right for once. In Hollywood, that’s not normally the case. But then on the other hand, you’re forcing me to bring my A game.”

  Catching enough of his meaning to understand, I shrug a shoulder and give a teasing grin. With a friendly pat of his arm, I say, “I’m sure by opening night you will find some way to keep up.”

  Reid’s eyes widen as if I surprised him—I know I continue to surprise myself daily. But before he can issue a retort, an intern grabs him for an interview. It is with obvious reluctance that he leaves, stopping halfway to the exit door to shoot me an amused grin, and I laugh at his retreating back. This twenty-first century role is getting easier by the day. Proud of my accomplishment, I turn to watch the next performance.

  “No way in hell it’s coming close to yours,” Jamie says, appearing out of the darkness. “You were awesome out there. Kendal was practically spitting nails at all the praise Kent gave you.” She wraps me in a hug. “It totally made my day.”