Life in the Lucky Zone (The Zone #2) (21 page)

“I’ll go with you,” Claire said, doing her part to keep the
girls go to the bathroom together
stereotype alive.

Thirty-Nine

Berger

Through the window, Gray watched the girls leave the sunroom, then swung around to face me. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

I needed to figure out what to say before answering him. “What do you mean?” I lifted the lid of the grill to the sizzling of meat and a wave of smoke. “Are these burning?”

Gray flipped a burger with the spatula. “No.” He started turning the others. “You are completely into Lindsey. I figured you had a crush on her, but this is different. This is serious.” He closed the lid, tapping the spatula against a nearby plate. “Well? Are you gonna deny it?”

“Nope.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Oh.”

I shrugged, not sure what to say now that he knew for sure.

Gray opened his mouth. Shut it. Opened it again. “You know she’s high-maintenance.”

I laughed. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“And she’s still getting over Castro.”

I pointed toward the sunroom. “Obviously.”

“And you have taking-care-of-people issues.”

“What?”

He stuck his free hand in his pocket. “You know, always trying to make people happy whether it’s helpful for you or not.”

“Whatever.”

He waved his spatula-wielding arm around. “This whole situation is one big game of ‘make someone happy.’”

I just stared at him. What was wrong with trying to make Lindsey happy? She’d had enough bad things happen for three people.

He let out an exasperated exhale. “Do you even have a plan?”

“Sort of. I’m just trying to give her time.”

“Time. Right. How much?”

“As much as she needs.”

He gave me a sour look. “And in the meantime, you’ll be her knight in shining armor always ready to come to the rescue. I don’t want to diss you or anything, but have you thought about the fact that she might be using you?”

“Doh!” I hit my forehead with the heel of my hand. “Of course she’s using me, man. She’s hurting. She’s probably using any guy she spends time with these days, trying to find a replacement for Castro.”

Gray looked at the spatula like he didn’t know why he was holding it, then put it down. “And you’re okay with that?”

“For now. Ask me again in three months.”

“Berger, I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“She doesn’t have a very good track record, you know. Before Castro, she dated someone new once a month. And I’d know. I watched all the time.”

“I know you did. But we don’t need to get into that stupidity.”

Gray shook his head. “No, we don’t. But I don’t want to watch you go down that same road.”

“It’s not the same. You stood around staring at her like she was some goddess you couldn’t approach. I’m hanging around being her best friend.”

He opened the grill and slid the burgers onto the plate. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Why? You afraid I’ll come out of this hurt and crying?”

He looked me straight in the eye. “No. I’m afraid you both will.”

***

Kara and I had been rehearsing for ten minutes Monday afternoon when she closed her script and leaned closer. “Have you been on the website recently?”

Not only not recently, but never. “No. Been kinda busy.”

“Oh my gosh. It’s amazing. There’s been a sighting in England, outside a city called Leeds. There’s a video of this spaceship, like the kind you see in movies, only better.”

Hadn’t she ever heard of special effects? Before I could say anything, Mrs. Mac’s voice sounded behind us, making me jump.

“Kara?” She strode up to us and frowned.

“Yes, Mrs. Mac?” Kara asked, trying to secretly open the script in her lap.

But the teacher’s gaze flicked over us sitting there like plastic people in our folding chairs, most likely missing nothing. She pursed her lips and then nodded once. “I think you two are finished for today. Come watch the rehearsal with everyone else.”

“Yes, ma’am,” we both mumbled.

I put the chairs away and followed Mrs. Mac and Kara, a smile forming on my face. If Kara was in trouble, maybe I’d get to run lines with Lindsey again.

And, as if I’d rubbed a genie’s bottle, my wish came true. At the end of rehearsal, Mrs. Mac took Lindsey and I aside. “I want y’all to run lines together again. Once a week is probably enough. Work on all the parts in the play.”

Lindsey froze in the act of sliding a section of hair behind her ear. “
All of them
?”

“Yes,” the teacher said with a smile. “It’s good practice.”

“Okay,” Lindsey said, grinning. “I want to see Berger play one of the girls.”

“Nice,” I said.

Mrs. Mac laughed. “You don’t have to go that far.”

“Does it matter what day of the week?” I asked, hoping I could lobby for Thursday. Nana did her senior day care that afternoon, so I wouldn’t have to rush to get home.

“No,” Mrs. Mac said. “Whatever works.”

We agreed on Thursday, and then Lindsey took off like a shot, probably to go hang out with the Football Dude. I didn’t like it, but I sucked it up. I figured he had a week, maybe two, before she moved on. Lindsey was too smart to want to be with someone who bored her to death.

And now I had Thursdays. Excellent. More time for Operation Lindsey.

Forty

Lindsey

Berger sighed and looked up from his open script. “This is really weird, doing these other parts. I keep hearing Parker or Mike say these lines in my head.”

“Yup,” I said from the other end of the couch in my living room. The late afternoon sun slanted into the room, forming stripes on the carpet. “But Mrs. Mac is right. It
is
good practice.”

“Huh.” Berger idly dug through the bowl of mini pretzels that sat between us. “Man, if I was performing this, I’d be worried I’d say someone else’s line.”

I laughed. “When we were freshmen, one of the guys had memorized a whole play and kept mouthing the lines of the other actors.”

Berger’s face lit up. “That’s amazingly awesome. Who was it?”

“Someone who shall rename mainless.”

“What?” he asked through a chuckle.

I gave my head a quick shake. “Did I do it again? My lips always trip over that expression.”

He grinned at me. “Try it again.”

“Someone who shall remain nameless.”

“There ya go.”

I smoothed the pages of the script I held. “Yeah, but it’s embarrassing how often I do that. I mean, I’m supposed to be good with words.”

“You are. Everybody messes up at some point.”

He made it sound like messing up was no big deal. I just wished I could feel the same way.

“So, who was it?” Berger asked.

I popped a pretzel in my mouth. “Who was what?”

“The nameless one you just mentioned.”

“Oh, ha. No way am I telling you.”

“Why not?”

“Because you still haven’t told me what Kara’s big secret is.”

“That’s because it’s her secret, not mine.”

“Well?”

He folded his arms across his chest. “We seem to be at an impasse.”

“We do.”

“Lindsey!” my mom yelled from the kitchen. “The peanut butter is out. Did you mean to bring it in there?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” I called back. “I changed my mind.”

Berger took his feet off the coffee table and stretched his legs out. “What did you want peanut butter for?”

“I usually dip my pretzels in it.”

He looked horrified. “In the jar?”

“No, silly, I put some on a plate and then dip.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Are there any other food perversions you’d like to confess? I mean, I really should know who I’m dealing with here.”

I laughed and dismissed his words with a wave. I sipped my water. “Now, where were we?”

“Hold on, I have a question.” He readjusted himself so that he faced me completely.

I waited while he folded his long legs into a more comfortable position. I pretended to scratch my cheek so he wouldn’t see my smile. It seemed like that’s all I ever did when I was around Berger—either smiling or trying not to. I couldn’t allow him to always think he was God’s gift to comedy.

But as he sat there in a plain black T-shirt—forty-five degrees must feel like a heat wave to him—thick, brown hair going in all directions, his wire-frame glasses slightly crooked, all I wanted to do was grin at him. Which was kind of weird.
Focus, Lindsey.
“What is it?”

“Where do you see yourself in a year? What will you be doing?”

“That’s two questions.”

He made an
oh, come on
face. Hmm. Where would I be in a year? My senior year. Would I have a lucky boy by then? I ignored the pinch in my chest. “Well, I’ll probably be doing this.” I held up my script.

He looked at me over the top of his glasses. “Rehearsing this amazing play with me?” He shook his head. “I like you and everything, but I’m just not that dedicated. You’ll have to find someone else.”

Why did that last comment make me want to throw something? I tried to laugh it off. “Very funny. In a year I want to be rehearsing for the starring role in the drama club’s one-act play.” In other words, a completely different theater scenario than the loser one I currently found myself in. Although, spending time with Berger was not the loss I thought it’d be when we first were commanded to do this.

Berger didn’t say anything, just watched me with that intent look he sometimes got. The one that made me squirm in my seat. I’d better put the focus back on him. “So what about you? What do you think you’ll be doing next year?”

He picked up a pretzel and forced it onto the tip of his pinkie finger. “Probably not doing theater.”

That was a surprise. And not a happy one. “Why not?”

“’Cause I’m interested in lots of different things and if I do theater I won’t be able to do them.”

“What things?”

He bent his elbow against the sofa and rested his cheek on his hand. “Cycling, for one. I’m thinking about trying that with Gray.”

“Isn’t he all Mr. Triathlon with it?”

He laughed. “No, but he is serious about it.”

“What else?”

He leaned forward a little. “Here’s my awful secret. I still haven’t taken speech.”

I let out a fake gasp. “How have you avoided that?”

“With great ingenuity. But when I do take it, I’m thinking of doing the poetry reading competition.”

What the heck? “Poetry?”

“Or maybe just extemporaneous speaking. I’ve been told I can talk for hours on any random topic.”

I wrinkled up my whole face. “
Poetry
? That’s so wrong.”

“Why?”

“It just doesn’t seem to fit you. I can picture you in front of a crowd talking on and on about your travels in your dragon-land video games, but not reciting poetry.”

“Poetry’s cool.” He ducked his head. “Okay, some of it’s hard to understand, but the stuff I do get, I really kinda like.”

I shook my head. “This is weird. It’s like the aliens stole you and dropped a poetry-loving pod person in your place.”

He smiled, then dragged the pretzel off his finger with his mouth.

An unexpected warmth ran through me. With a start, I pulled my gaze away from his lips. “So, when did you start liking poetry?” I asked, blurting out the first thing that came to mind.

He didn’t appear to notice my sudden weirdness. He tossed a pretzel in the air and caught it with his mouth. “When I was eleven and we had to recite it in school,” he mumbled as he chewed. He took a swig of his soda. “Of course, I don’t know all that much about poetry. Like if poetry were a chicken—”

I busted out laughing. “A chicken?”

“Haven’t you heard of the famous poetry chicken?”

“No. Are you sure it isn’t a poetry dragon? Or a poetry gryphon?”

He smirked. “Definitely neither of those. Only a mere chicken.” He straightened his glasses on his nose. “Anyway, of the entire breadth and depth of the mighty poetry chicken, what I know can be encapsulated in one of its tiny toenails.”

“Toenails. Do chickens have toenails?”

He looked shocked. “The poetry chicken does!”

I laughed. I mean, what else could I do? Smile, probably. He was such a fun guy. “Berger, you are so weird.”

“And you love it,” he said with a grin.

He was right. I did. But I wasn’t ready to admit it, so I carefully sipped my water to hide my expression.

Forty-One

Lindsey

A week and a half later, my family and I were stacking up our lunch dishes to take to the kitchen when the text from Jeremy came in.

Jeremy: Can I come over for a few minutes?

Hmm. What was that about? I didn’t really feel like seeing him right then, and my parents totally wouldn’t like it. Today was another of the every-two-weeks family get-togethers, which amazingly hadn’t sucked as much as I’d expected. Maybe it was because I’d been right that my parents hadn’t been able to fix their schedules to have dinner together during the week.

I followed everyone else into the kitchen. My parents were laughing at something Austin said as he put the dishes in the dishwasher. Maybe this whole getting together thing wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Before, it had always seemed like my entire family was so busy that we only saw each other to say good morning or good night.

All the laughter reminded me of that disastrous camping trip we’d taken when I was eight where the tent fell down in the middle of the night and my dad burned eggs over the campfire in the morning. My parents were
so
not camping people, and the fact that they’d given it a try was actually amazing.

But, whether my parents liked it or not, I was curious about why Jeremy wanted to see me. “Hey,” I said to nobody in particular, “Jeremy wants to come over for a few minutes. Is that okay?”