You were soooooo in love with him—until he ran off to make out with Trista—”
Another thwack, but she’s laughing. Probably because I’d gone out to the Alcove of Sin, bought a can of Diet Coke, shook it, and then accidentally-on-purpose opened it toward Ben and Trista.
When Trevor finally arrives, Mrs. Reynolds yells up the stairs for us.
“Hey, Amanda,” Trevor says when we appear at the bottom of the stairs. He glances over and says, “Casey,” complete with sexy smile.
“Hi,” I say in my most not-interested, Friday-didn’t-happen voice.
“Ready to run lines?” Trevor asks Amanda.
“Sure. Want to go up—”
“You kids can stay in the living room or kitchen,” Amanda’s mom shouts, from the kitchen this time.
I stifle a giggle. Amanda’s mom will probably float in and out of the living room the whole time Trevor’s here. She likes to hover that way. When she finally caved to Amanda’s begging for a boy-girl party in eighth grade, I had to distract her with a made-up sprained ankle emergency so that Amanda could finally get an orchestrated-by-Casey moment with Joey Barnes, who she’d had a raging crush on for a year and was the whole reason she’d even wanted a boy-girl party to begin with.
Amanda rolls her eyes, flips her hair over her shoulder, and points at the couch. “Well, let’s just sit here, I guess. Sorry. Maybe we can go to your place next time. My mom’s a control freak.”
I snort. Trevor’s place wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t inhabited by the Grimaldi twins 90 percent of the time. Trevor looks at me with eyes that clearly say, You can come to my place . I shift and act like I’m deciding where to sit.
They take the couch. I grab a spot on the floor and lean against the recliner, ignoring the space on the couch that Trevor creates for me.Toby lies on my feet. Or, actually, he lies on the whole lower half of my body. Good thing I’m not planning on going anywhere.
“Where do you want to start?” Trevor asks Amanda.
“Mmmm . . . how about the scene where Maria and the Captain first meet?”
“Why don’t we start at the beginning?” I ask.
“Why the beginning?” Amanda frowns.
Because I have lines at the beginning, obviously. Instead, I sing a line from the show: “Because it’s ‘a very good place to start.’”
“Well . . .” Trevor trails off as he pages through his script.
“Casey, I think Trevor wanted to run through the lines he has with me, remember?” Amanda gives me a pointed look that reads, This is not all about you .
I get that she’s trying to be professional. But this is going to be one long day if I never get to run my own lines. Except . . . the faster they get through their parts, the sooner this whole awkward thing will be over. So I shrug. “Okay. No problem. I’ll fill in for the other parts.”
They start reading, and I distract myself by trying to get into the different characters as best as I can.
“Case, you don’t have to do that,” Amanda says after I read Gretl’s line with a little-girl voice.
“Why not? I’m making it more realistic.” Out of habit, I turn to Trevor to get my back, but he’s looking at Amanda.
“Just read the lines, okay? Otherwise, we’ll be doing this all night.”
Usually Amanda is super tolerant of my quirks. I chalk it up toher being nervous about the role, and I read the lines in a dull monotone. But is it a crime if I can’t help adding an accent when I do the Baroness’s lines? It makes Trevor smile, as usual. At least someone appreciates my talent, even if Ms. Sharp can’t see it.
“I’m trying to be happy for Amanda,” I say to Harrison as my locker door clicks shut on Monday afternoon. “But I really can’t figure out what Ms. Sharp was thinking.” And it’s turning me into a bad friend.
“I’m wondering if I’m meant to be an actor,” Harrison says.
“What?” I stare at him.
He’s leaning back against the lockers, his backpack hanging loosely from
Another thwack, but she’s laughing. Probably because I’d gone out to the Alcove of Sin, bought a can of Diet Coke, shook it, and then accidentally-on-purpose opened it toward Ben and Trista.
When Trevor finally arrives, Mrs. Reynolds yells up the stairs for us.
“Hey, Amanda,” Trevor says when we appear at the bottom of the stairs. He glances over and says, “Casey,” complete with sexy smile.
“Hi,” I say in my most not-interested, Friday-didn’t-happen voice.
“Ready to run lines?” Trevor asks Amanda.
“Sure. Want to go up—”
“You kids can stay in the living room or kitchen,” Amanda’s mom shouts, from the kitchen this time.
I stifle a giggle. Amanda’s mom will probably float in and out of the living room the whole time Trevor’s here. She likes to hover that way. When she finally caved to Amanda’s begging for a boy-girl party in eighth grade, I had to distract her with a made-up sprained ankle emergency so that Amanda could finally get an orchestrated-by-Casey moment with Joey Barnes, who she’d had a raging crush on for a year and was the whole reason she’d even wanted a boy-girl party to begin with.
Amanda rolls her eyes, flips her hair over her shoulder, and points at the couch. “Well, let’s just sit here, I guess. Sorry. Maybe we can go to your place next time. My mom’s a control freak.”
I snort. Trevor’s place wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t inhabited by the Grimaldi twins 90 percent of the time. Trevor looks at me with eyes that clearly say, You can come to my place . I shift and act like I’m deciding where to sit.
They take the couch. I grab a spot on the floor and lean against the recliner, ignoring the space on the couch that Trevor creates for me.Toby lies on my feet. Or, actually, he lies on the whole lower half of my body. Good thing I’m not planning on going anywhere.
“Where do you want to start?” Trevor asks Amanda.
“Mmmm . . . how about the scene where Maria and the Captain first meet?”
“Why don’t we start at the beginning?” I ask.
“Why the beginning?” Amanda frowns.
Because I have lines at the beginning, obviously. Instead, I sing a line from the show: “Because it’s ‘a very good place to start.’”
“Well . . .” Trevor trails off as he pages through his script.
“Casey, I think Trevor wanted to run through the lines he has with me, remember?” Amanda gives me a pointed look that reads, This is not all about you .
I get that she’s trying to be professional. But this is going to be one long day if I never get to run my own lines. Except . . . the faster they get through their parts, the sooner this whole awkward thing will be over. So I shrug. “Okay. No problem. I’ll fill in for the other parts.”
They start reading, and I distract myself by trying to get into the different characters as best as I can.
“Case, you don’t have to do that,” Amanda says after I read Gretl’s line with a little-girl voice.
“Why not? I’m making it more realistic.” Out of habit, I turn to Trevor to get my back, but he’s looking at Amanda.
“Just read the lines, okay? Otherwise, we’ll be doing this all night.”
Usually Amanda is super tolerant of my quirks. I chalk it up toher being nervous about the role, and I read the lines in a dull monotone. But is it a crime if I can’t help adding an accent when I do the Baroness’s lines? It makes Trevor smile, as usual. At least someone appreciates my talent, even if Ms. Sharp can’t see it.
“I’m trying to be happy for Amanda,” I say to Harrison as my locker door clicks shut on Monday afternoon. “But I really can’t figure out what Ms. Sharp was thinking.” And it’s turning me into a bad friend.
“I’m wondering if I’m meant to be an actor,” Harrison says.
“What?” I stare at him.
He’s leaning back against the lockers, his backpack hanging loosely from
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