The Kissing Deadline (6 page)
Brooke punched buttons on the keyboard, and
the image of a basketball game appeared on the smart board. To make
his point, Coach diagrammed his picks for the season, which teams
would likely be knocked off, and which would advance. “The Aggies
have a shot this year. The Longhorns are going down.” Coach drew
his alma mater’s maroon logo one bracket closer to victory. His
loyalty outweighed the reality of their statistics.
Sierra tossed a note.
Check out number
three’s shoulders.
Cassie glanced up at the player on the
screen. Hmm--sports just got a little less boring. Coach
freeze-framed the picture to point out a move. Sierra held a
numbered score card behind her head for Cassie and Brooke to see,
seven
. Cassie held up an
eight
and Brooke a
two
. Guess biceps weren’t her thing. What was her thing?
That sparked thoughts for a new note. She grabbed a piece of paper
and scratched out a message. The notes reminded her she still
needed to get yesterday’s from Ryan. She waved the triangle at him
and held out an open palm.
Give me the bra note
. He raised
his eyebrows.
Erg! He wanted to make her ask for it.
Give it back, Ryan. You know I don’t want to ask you.
She
shook her palm again.
Noise from across the aisle interrupted
Cassie’s silent demands. Her gaze swung to antenna guy and Lizard
Larry. Larry’s STOP flag rode high atop his John Deere cap. Antenna
Guy pointed at the STOP flags on his own chest. “Dude, I got two,
how many
you
got?”
Larry’s tongue slicked out. “I'll have two by
fifth period.”
* * *
Rehearsals occurred after school. Everyone
had their places. Main characters stood center stage. Actors with
small parts, like Cassie, sat in the audience to learn. Crewmembers
painted sets and sewed costumes inside the wings.
“Cassie, you're up,” the director said. She
tucked her frizzy brown hair behind her ears.
Cassie’s palms became clammy and her head
light. Her feet fell from the chair in front of her, and she looked
up at the director. “What? Where's Amber?”
“She didn't show.” Sierra sent a fake look of
concern toward the entrance. Cassie glanced that way, but she
didn’t see Amber either. She rose slowly to climb the steps to the
stage.
“Okay. Let’s see Act I. Use your script if
you must, but try to be off script as much as possible.” The
director handed her a folded white script, and Cassie clung to the
paper with cold fingers.
“We'll read straight through Act I. Don't
quit if you mess up. Feel the moment and continue until it’s
done.”
Sierra gave Cassie two thumbs up behind
Ryan's back, pursed her lips, then mouthed, “
’til it’s
done.”
* * *
The Dragon's Nest
set roughly
resembled a medieval store. Villagers sat at tables admiring their
goods, while some traded across a counter with the shopkeeper. The
props and backdrops were only partially constructed, and the cast
and crew bumped into each other repeatedly. Cassie, as the heroine,
Madrageen, sat at a table across from the hero, Yourgath, played by
Ryan. Ryan looked cute, even with a piece of burlap tossed over his
shoulder. His shoulders were wide. He’d give that basketball
player,
hot number three
, some competition in a wingspan
contest. The costume designer had measured him earlier, running her
hands down the length of his arms. Lucky girl.
Following the script, Ryan reached out and
stroked her arms, then clasped her hands.
Tingles raced along Cassie’s skin as his
rough warmth enveloped her hands, and her face grew warm.
Hot
guy touching me--cool.
A crewmember tossed a length of white
chiffon over the table. Ryan lifted their hands out from under the
chiffon and situated them on top of the white fabric. Cassie tugged
free so she could center her script. She stared at the page. The
script said stare into Yourgath’s eyes, but she was too embarrassed
to do it. She held her hand still, enjoying his warm fingers
against her cold ones and stifling her instinct to run her thumb
over his rough palm. His hand felt so different from hers,
stronger, more capable.
Larry came on stage in character, as a
raggedly dressed poor boy. He headed toward Mike, the
shopkeeper.
The Poor Boy held up a dollar at the counter.
“I want that fancy shirt you have back there.”
The Shopkeeper pointed at the bedazzled
shirt. “That one? One hundred coins.”
The poor boy held up one coin. “I have this
to offer.”
Ryan ran his hand up Cassie’s arm and placed
one hand under her hair.
Cassie shivered.
Wow.
That was even
better than both hands down the arms. She hoped he’d attribute the
shiver to skilled acting or not notice. She didn’t look up to see
if he noticed. No one else had noticed, had they?
Mike continued reading his script. “My
shelves are a mess. I cannot afford to pay someone to straighten
them for one coin. It will have to be the whole hundred.”
Ryan stroked his hand through Cassie's hair
and took her hands again.
Cassie’s mind blanked. She hoped she didn’t
have any lines, but knew she did. Had he just used his nails
against her scalp? Her head dropped forward. His hand was
strong.
“Fine.” Poor Boy stomped out.
Ryan’s deep voice startled Cassie. “If I
could sit here all day and just hold your hands, it would be the
happiest day of my life.”
His voice resonated across the stage.
Beautiful. She assessed his mouth--nice curve, full, but not too
full, white even teeth, no braces.
The director said, from off stage, “Cue,
Cassie.”
Oops, yep, that was her cue. Her gaze dropped
to the script. She definitely concentrated better when she wasn’t
looking at Ryan.
Taking in a deep breath, she worked on
lowering her voice so it would resonate too. Instead, her lines
came out in a hushed tone. “But, then these hands couldn't
turn
this fabric into a wedding gown, and our love would not
be sanctified in holy matrimony.”
Ryan dramatically dropped her hands and then
grabbed her shoulders. He tilted his head left and drew her forward
for a kiss.
Cassie flinched away, and the director
crossed the stage. “No, no Cassie. Not the reaction we're looking
for. Your expression will scare people.”
Cassie’s face heated again, and she bit her
lip. Was Ryan going to kiss her at rehearsal? Ryan!
Why had he
leaned left? She was going to kill Brooke and Sierra.
The director scribbled something on a 3x5
note card and handed it to her. Acting tips. Ryan got one too. He
took his and moved off to talk to his friends.
Her card read,
PERFORMANCE NOTES:
The script is a barrier between you and the
audience. Let them in.Get off script by next rehearsal.
Let your soul see Madrageen’s world.
Comments number three through twelve
continued along those lines. She didn’t understand half of them.
She flipped the card over. The remarks continued along the back.
She folded the card and put it away.
Sierra approached, and Cassie held her hands
up in surrender. “I know, I know.”
“You loser,” Sierra said. “You flinched.”
“I panicked. His hands were all over me.”
Cassie ran her hands through her hair.
“And?”
“I liked it.”
Sierra put her hands on her hips and stared
at her in exasperation. “Then why did you flinch? You had
him--
the freakin' Ferrari.”
“He tilted left. The direction threw me. You
said right. Everyone is supposed to tilt their head right when they
kiss.”
“Left?” Sierra said in a considering manner.
“Really?”
“I know.”
The confusion on Sierra’s face cleared. “He
must be left-handed.”
A metallic clunk sounded on the other side of
the auditorium. The double doors swung open, and Amber sauntered
in. When she reached the stage, the director dropped a sheet of
paper into her hands. The director turned away from Amber and
addressed the whole drama club. “Here’s the rehearsal schedule. See
me if you have a conflict.”
Amber frowned at the schedule and pursed her
orange-tinted lips. “Uh, Ms. Herrington, I have cheer, my
charities, and volunteer work. I may be late some days.”
Ms. Herrington clicked her nails against each
other. “This must be a priority.”
Amber frowned, and her cell phone beeped.
The director said, “I would like the cast to
have a few extra rehearsals. You'll need to work out a place to
meet.”
Ryan stepped forward. “We can use my
house.”
“Mine too,” Larry said.
“Very nice. Thank you both for volunteering.”
The director gestured toward the audience. “Break into groups, and
go over your lines. Amber, please join Cassie and Ryan for line
reading.”
Amber, Cassie, and Ryan sat together, an
uneasy trio. Cassie shifted and looked away from the couple. Other
people probably needed help with their lines. Megan seemed ready
for a break. Her pale hair was covered in paint, and some type of
the burlap had wound around one of her calves. It trailed the
floor, long enough to trip her.
The painters loaded a large white oval egg
into a fake nest the size of one of Disneyland’s spinning tea cups.
The egg needed speckles. She could paint the speckles. The smell of
paint lured her. Speckle paint probably smelled great, like apples,
or--
Snap.
The sound of a cell phone
closing drew her attention back to the circle.
Ryan stared at Amber’s phone. “Who’s
that?”
Amber stared blankly at Ryan. “Huh?”
Cassie gazed longingly at the light fixture
guy. He balanced on a shaky catwalk, stringing cables overhead. She
could wear a harness, hang from the ceiling, and help him.
“Oh. Yeah. Megan,” Amber said.
Cassie could see Megan. Amber wasn’t texting
Megan.
“Stop demanding to know my every move.”
Amber’s phone beeped, and she turned away to send another text,
while talking in slow obvious words to Ryan, “You’d know where I
was if we were having a party at your house. Because then we’d be
together, at our party.”
Ryan shook his head at the suggestion then
hit Cassie’s script with his own to force her gaze over to him. He
read his line. “An eternity is not long enough.”
Cassie hit him back with her script, but
glanced at the preoccupied Amber before reading Madrageen’s line.
“One eternity with you—“
“Will you get me a bottled water?” Amber
looked directly at Cassie. “My throat gets dry while reading lines.
It’s not like you need to know my lines anyway.” She ripped the
script from Cassie’s hands.
Ryan’s gaze followed the motion. “What if you
can't make a show?”
Amber rolled her eyes and waved the stolen
script at the stage. “Well, then they should just cancel that
night. I can’t be in two places at once. Can I? You know I have
charity work to do too.”
Ryan took the script from Amber and returned
it to Cassie. She took the pages gingerly, wondering what the
cleaning crew was up to. Did they need someone to hold the trash
bags or hose down the cans? She could volunteer.
A male painter bent and held out a bottle of
water. Amber took the offering but didn't thank the smitten guy.
She lifted to her knees to address the cast. “Anyone want to go to
Ryan's tonight and practice lines?”
A couple of students murmured in response.
The mumbles sounded affirmative. Ryan stiffened, frowned for a
moment, and then his face went expressionless.
“That's not a problem, is it, Ryan?” Amber’s
tone was silky.
Silence met the question for a moment, then
without looking at Amber, Ryan said, “No.” A flush washed high over
his cheekbones.
“Um, I can take tonight. Y’all can come to my
house.” Cassie spoke louder, facing the others. “Anyone who wants
to read lines can come by around five.” Ryan didn’t contradict her,
and she chose to ignore Amber’s glare. She lowered her voice, and
whispered to him, “I want that note back.”
“What note?” His gaze flickered before
dropping to her chest.
Cassie gasped and slapped him with her
script. He’d read her bra note! There was no moral fiber here. She
looked up from the swat and got caught in Amber’s dark glare.
Amber’s orange-tipped hand reached out to
grab Ryan’s arm.
* * *
Sierra, Mike, Megan, Brooke, Larry, and Ryan
stood in her foyer. Cassie led the way to the basement, where Mom
had laid out dragon-themed snacks and homemade cookies. One call of
warning, and Mom had hooked them up. The whole basement smelled
like cinnamon, oatmeal, and sugar. Cassie breathed in the bakery
aroma, sending a silent thank you.
Spencer was already there, making his
selections when they traipsed in. “Why didn't you tell Mom we
needed pizza too?”
Cassie ignored him.
Spencer took a handful of oatmeal cookies and
nodded to Sierra and Mike.
Mike said, “Hey, Spence.”
“You in this too?”
“Yep.”
“Huh. You wouldn't catch
me
in a play,
but I guess it’s okay for you.” Spencer’s gaze swiveled from Mike
to Sierra. “Your chick must a made you and all. Sometimes we men
gotta give.”
Sierra said, “Get out, Spencer.”
Mike towed Sierra closer. “Plays are chick
magnets.”
Spencer yanked a raisin from his cookie, and
moved toward Megan. “Hi, I’m Spencer.” He popped the raisin in his
mouth.
Sierra lifted a dessert. “Oh, these are the
German chocolate ones that have like thirty ingredients.”
Mike bit into the side. “I can only taste
twenty-nine.”