Under a Bear Moon (5 page)

“He thinks he's all that,” Greg muttered under his breath.

“And a bag of chips,” Lynda agreed. She glanced at the clock. “Gotta hurry, or I'll be late to pre-calc.”

He followed her into the hall. “Matt and I are dropping by Goodspeed Hall after the rehearsal today. I've got to pick something up for my dad. Want to come? We're get-ting ice cream on the way back.”

“Sure.”

Greg broke into one of his brilliant smiles. “Great. See you later.” He waved and turned toward his civics class.

“Greg?” Lynda called. He stopped and looked back. “Would you do me a favor?”

His eyes brightened. “For you, anything.”

Lynda's tummy tingled. She tore her eyes away from his electric gaze and stared at the scuffed linoleum floor. “It's no big deal. Dr. Lopez just wanted me to ask around and see if anyone's spotted a large raccoon or other animal near campus. Would you mind asking the kids in your classes?”

Greg's smile vanished. “If you want.”

Lynda watched him disappear down the corridor. Hurrying to math, she wondered what was bugging him. Greg had looked so happy before she asked for his help and so grim afterward.

She tore into the classroom, slid into her seat, and opened the book seconds before the second bell rang. The lecture started, but Lynda didn't hear it—she was too busy puzzling over Greg.

BY THE END of rehearsal, Lynda had something else to worry about.

A sleepy afternoon heat had settled over the campus. Students strolled under thick canopies of leaves, or lounged on the carpet-like lawn. Sandwiched between Greg and Matt, Lynda fretted as she strode across the Quadrangle toward Goodspeed Hall. “Poor Richard. This will be the first play he's missed in three years.”

“I was backstage when he talked to Miss Mendelson,” Greg said. “What did he say?”

“That he wouldn't be able to take the part of Nigel. He says he needs to concentrate on his school work this quarter.” Lynda shook her head. “Richard seemed so excited about the play.”

Greg snorted. “Maybe he didn't want to play opposite Keisha.”

She kicked a pebble off the path and watched it roll in-to the lawn. “No, he said his father threatened to take away his sports car if he didn't pass Chemistry. He thinks drop-ping drama club will improve his chances.” Lynda looked up at Greg and grinned. “Richard really loves his Beemer.”

They stepped off the path and headed for Goodspeed's main entrance. Lynda's grin broadened as a thought came to her. “At least the rehearsals should go smoother. Richard can be a real prima donna.”

“And we bit players get another shot at the lead,” Matt added. Lynda saw his timid smile before he turned and walked into the building.

Greg opened the door and waited.

Lynda walked past him and paused in front of the second set of doors. “You don't have to hold the door. I can get it myself.”

Greg smiled. “Dad would disown me if he caught me being rude to a beautiful woman.”

Lynda had never been called beautiful before. Hoping her face didn't look as red as it felt, she watched him release the outer door and step toward the inner one.

A girl holding a small spotted terrier burst into the entryway. The dog snarled and lunged at Greg.

“Terriers can be so aggressive,” Lynda said after the girl disappeared outside. “She should really get him trained before ... What's wrong?” Greg stared after them, as white as computer paper.

He blinked and tried a shaky smile. “Nothing. Dogs make me nervous sometimes.”

Lynda nodded and pushed the door open. While they followed Matt up the stairs, it occurred to Lynda that “nervous” didn't begin to describe Greg's reaction. He'd looked terrified.

HE HID behind a juniper hedge, waiting.

Light streamed from the auditorium's doors and pooled on the lawn outside. Headlights shattered the street's dark calm; streetlights added their rosy glow. It was dangerously bright, much brighter than the lunar crescent lurking above the treetops.

A door on the side of the building swung open, and she stepped out. She was beautiful, standing in the doorway with her friends. He raised his head and sifted the breeze for her scent. Make-up. Sweat. Joy. He could almost feel the blood racing through her veins. Only a lifetime of control kept him from running to her.

Instead, he crept behind the bushes, paralleling her path to the parking lot. He winnowed her voice from the many filling the night and thrilled to the happiness in it. Peering through a break in the foliage, he saw her unlock a small sedan.

Two girls stood behind her, talking and giggling. Friends. The smaller one smelled of candy and rosebud—he knew her scent well. The other, taller and darker than most, had a musky scent not found in bottles.

Laughing, the one he followed opened the door and reached back to fold down the front seat. She was turning to her friends when a pair of headlights lit her from behind. Her smile vanished. Her eyes seemed to lock onto his. He froze, praying she didn't see him. An instant later the car turned.

“Did you see that?” he heard.

“No,” said her friends. “What?”

A moment of silence, then, “Nothing. I guess.”

The breath he'd held whooshed out, but he remained motionless until the car door slammed, cutting off her scent.

After the car drove out of the lot, he sat back and snorted angrily at himself. Stupid. He'd been stupid to-night, and she'd nearly seen him. Next time she would look harder. The wisest thing would be to stay away. His father had warned him...

Shaking his heavy head, he lumbered home. His father was always warning him. And he'd already stopped listening.

THE WEEKEND the show opened, Lynda picked up Ellen at her mother's townhouse around two o'clock Saturday afternoon and drove west to get Keisha. She thought she'd given herself plenty of time before the matinee, but hadn't figured on missing every light on 55th Street. Screeching into the parking lot behind the auditorium, Lynda checked the time and realized she had less than an hour before the performance started.

Slamming the car into Park, she threw herself through the door and ran to the shrubs lining the lot.

Ellen ran after her. “Where are you going? We don't have time to play in the bushes. We're already late.”

“I'm not playing.” Lynda knelt beside the hedge. “I saw something in these bushes last night, maybe what killed that dog in August.”

Keisha unfolded herself from the back seat and slam-med the car door. “Was it a raccoon? Grandma Jones caught sight of one in the dumpster a couple of weeks ago. Said it was as big as a pony.”

Ellen bounced impatiently. “Raccoons don't grow as big as ponies. Come on, Lynda. I'm more afraid of Miss Mendelson than any stupid animal. She's going kill us if we don't get in there.”

Lynda sifted through the bed of leaves under the plants, but the hard, dry ground showed no sign of being disturbed. “I'm not stopping you,” she said, checking deeper in the evergreen hedge.

“She'll blame me if you're late. The cast members are my responsibility, remember?”

A dark tuft caught Lynda's eye. She reached into the tangle of branches and pulled it out. “All right,” she said, standing. Without waiting, Lynda started for the auditorium. Ellen trotted after her.

Keisha's long legs caught up with them before they reached the building. “What you find?”

Lynda shot a glance at her friends. “Proof I'm not seeing things. Look.” She held out her hand and showed them a clump of coarse, brown hair.

THE BOX office sold only thirty tickets for the matinee, but the audience's enthusiasm more than made up for its size. Lynda knew they had a great show going even before the audience started booing every time the villain walked on stage. During the final climactic scene, the auditorium was so silent Lynda could hear Nigel's wingtips squeak as he crept up on his intended victim. The silence lingered after the curtain fell, then the audience exploded into applause and rose to a standing ovation. After curtain call, the cast stayed on stage to congratulate each other.

“Keisha, you were wonderful!” Lynda said, hugging the exuberant lead. “You had the audience on the edge of their seats the whole second act.”

“Couldn't have done it without Nigel here.” Keisha bent down and kissed her co-star.

Matt blushed.

Miss Mendelson had surprised Lynda by choosing Greg's friend to replace Richard, but the director's prediction that Matt's bland appearance would heighten his portrayal of the smiling murderer had turned out to be right.

“You were good last night, but this afternoon you were outstanding.” Lynda hugged him in turn. “Next stop, Broadway!”

They all laughed.

A deep voice interrupted them. “Get me front row seats.”

“Greg,” Lynda called and ran over to the side door where he stood.

She threw her arms around him and felt him stiffen before he relaxed and returned the hug. Lynda looked into his eyes. Hugging him was different, somehow, from hugging her other friends. Maybe it was his size; she'd never stood so close to him before and had forgotten how big he was. Even standing on her toes, she barely reached his cheek.

Greg smiled and the warmth in his eyes scorched her face.

“I wasn't expecting you today,” she said, pulling back. “I mean, you saw the show at school yesterday.”

“But that was a dress rehearsal, and I was backstage most of the time. I couldn't resist coming and seeing the whole thing from the audience. Matt, you were awesome.” Keeping one arm around Lynda, Greg gave his friend a high-five. “All you guys were great!” he called to the half dozen actors milling around the stage.

Miss Mendelson swept through the curtain, waving her notebook. “They'd be even better if they picked up the tempo in the first act, and if George would remember his lines.”

George Goldstein, the boy who played Father Neville, Nigel's first victim, smiled guiltily. The director glared at him a moment before she turned to the rest of the cast. Her scowl eased into half a smile. “I'll tell you my other observations this evening before the performance. Overall, though, I agree with Greg.”

“Me, too.” Ellen followed Miss Mendelson onto the stage. “Come on, people!” she called in her best Assistant Director's voice. “The sooner you change, the sooner we eat dinner.”

Lynda turned to Greg. “Coming with us to the Medici?”

There were only three hours between the two Saturday performances, and the cast and crew had decided to go out for pizza rather than go home.

He hesitated before answering. “Sure. But I'll have to cut out afterward.”

“Oh.” Lynda smiled to hide her disappointment. “I thought you might stay for the closing night party.”

“Can't. My father—”

“Lynda, get out of that costume. I'll take care of Greg while you get ready.” Ellen grinned and pointed after the other actors who'd already left the stage.

Nodding, Lynda stepped out from under Greg's arm and hurried to the dressing room. He was still on stage, chatting with Ellen until she returned in street clothes.

He stopped talking and stared.

Lynda knew her dress was a big change from the jeans and T-shirts she normally wore. The intense shade of blue brightened her pale eyes. The slinky cut emphasized her long legs. The gauzy fabric draped her hips and swirled when she walked.

“You look ... incredible.” Greg walked over to Lynda and tentatively put his arm around her. “And smell good, too.”

The tingling in her stomach turned to full-fledged flutters. She tried to shrug them off. “That's just the cold cream.”

“No, it isn't,” he said quietly. “You smell like happiness.”

Before Lynda could think of a reply, Keisha stuck her head through the side door and beckoned. “Let's go. Ellen called ahead for the pizza. It'll be ready soon.”

Surprised, Lynda looked around the empty theater. She hadn't noticed the others leave.

“Be there in a bit.” She turned back to Greg. “Want to walk, or take my car?”

“Let's walk. I prefer walking, especially with you.”

For a moment, she couldn't speak. Licking her lips, she squeaked, “Forgot my coat.” Running back into the dressing room, she threw on her blue striped windbreaker and ran back on stage.

Greg stood next to the exit with nothing over his cotton knit shirt. She'd seen the shirt before—it was tan and had a brown bear on the pocket instead of an alligator. Lynda thought it was cute, but not warm enough for mid-November. “Get your jacket. It'll be chilly tonight.”

“Don't worry, I'll be fine,” he said, holding open the door. “Come on, we're gonna miss the pizza.”

Lynda walked out into the autumn evening. The brisk air felt invigorating after the stuffy theater, and Lynda un-zipped her windbreaker.

Leaving the building, they followed a tree-lined path to 58th Street. Their feet crunched through a carpet of fallen leaves.

Greg glanced past the nearly bare branches to the cloudless sky. “Chicago's weather's really not that bad. It gets cold like this in Santa Cruz all the time.”

Lynda shook her head. “Wait a couple of months. Compared to a day in January, this is a heat wave.”

“That's what I like about it here,” Greg said after they left the path and started walking along the street. “The weather keeps changing. The day we flew in from California, it was ninety degrees and raining.” Lynda giggled at the incredulous tone in his voice. “I can't wait to see what winter's like.”

“Don't worry, winter will be here before you know it.” As if on cue, the sun dipped below the horizon, dropping the temperature ten degrees. The breeze that had seemed so refreshing, twirled leaves off the tops of their piles and raised goose bumps on Lynda's arms and legs. She paused to close her windbreaker, but the zipper jammed. “Shoot,” she muttered, struggling to free it.

“Here, let me.” Before Lynda could refuse, Greg bent forward, unsnagged the clasp, and pulled the zipper closed. “It's easier to do from the outside.”

They stood, almost touching.

“Thanks,” Lynda finally said and a shiver that had no-thing to do with the temperature raced across her shoulders.