of pain he didn't want anyone to see.
When he finished, I leaped up and cheered.
"Really?" Archer asked. "You really thought it was good?"
"Good? It was
great!
There's no way they can give this part to anyone else. You're perfect for it. If they don't give it to you, I'll boycott the theater. I'll stage a sit-in in the lobby. I'll go on a hunger strike."
"Thanks. But given your food proclivities, it might be more effective to go on an
antihunger
strike. You could sit in front of the director and force him to watch you eat until he gives me the part. He'd make it through two chocolate-shake french fries, tops."
"You're just jealous that my palate is sophisticated enough to appreciate eclectic flavors."
"If by sophisticated you mean 'dulled' and by eclectic you mean 'disgusting,' then yes, you're absolutely right." He nodded toward the Ping-Pong table. "Ready to play?"
"Am I ready? I'm not the one who let a little audition pressure affect her game."
"Oooh, ow!" he cried, grabbing his heart as he staggered back to the table.
Two days later, I was sitting in my room after school, amazed by how strange it felt to be home and not at Archer's. It was audition day, and he'd stayed late with all his friends. I had no clue what to do with myself, but I eventually decided to make the most of it. I pulled on comfy sweats, mixed a treat of peanut butter stirred with chocolate syrup, and settled onto my bed to eat and dive into a novel. I'd just gotten the third book in Jasper Fforde's Thursday Next series, and I couldn't wait to read it ... but the words kept melding into goo.
Had Archer finished his audition? I didn't want to bother him if he was still there, but I couldn't think about anything else. The part was so important to him. Should I have stayed after school with him for moral support? Maybe that would have been presumptuousâit's not as though he'd invited me. I might have just been in the way, or made him more nervous. But maybe he would have appreciated it. Maybe he'd been hoping I'd volunteer to come, whether he actually wanted me there or not. Wasn't that what good girlfriends did? Not that I was his girlfriend...
Whatever. I was his friend, and I was dying to find out how it went. I jumped up and grabbed my phone to text him, but it rang before I could even open it.
"Hello?"
"Cara? It's Archer!"
I could barely hear him over a chorus of voices screaming along to Madonna's "Holiday."
"Archer? Hey! How did it go?"
"Great ... I think!" he shouted, then his voice muted a bit as he said, "You guys, come on..." Then I heard him more clearly. "So, um ... how's everything going?"
"Oh, for God's sake..." a voice rang out.
"Hey!" a muffled Archer cried. "Give it back!"
"Cara, it's Ember. We're done with auditions, we're going mini-golfing, and we're picking you up. Give me your address and I'll put it in my GPS."
Ember? Mini-golfing? Now?
"Cara?" Her tone made it clear that obedience was my only option.
"Oh. Sorry, um ... four-eighteen Avery Lane."
"Cool. We're five minutes away. Meet us out front."
She clicked off.
Five minutes? I looked at myself in the mirror: a shapeless blob of filthy old sweats, with sticky smears of chocolaty peanut butter glued to my face from licking the bowl. And peanut butter breath, no doubt. Disaster. I lost a full minute gaping at the horror, then raced to wash my face, brush my teeth, and change before zooming out front just as Ember's battered SUV scraped against the curb. I opened the door to the back seat and was blown backwards by the insanely loud music.
"Postaudition eighties sing-along!" Ember cried. "Get in!"
I wanted to ... but there didn't seem to be any room. Ember was in the driver's seat, Archer in the passenger seat, and Sue, Doug, Molly, and Dinah were crammed onto the back seat. Even the cargo area was filled with Tom's massive bulk and the wiry frame of Noah.
"I, um ... I don't think I can," I said.
"Of course you can!" Ember shouted over the music.
When he finished, I leaped up and cheered.
"Really?" Archer asked. "You really thought it was good?"
"Good? It was
great!
There's no way they can give this part to anyone else. You're perfect for it. If they don't give it to you, I'll boycott the theater. I'll stage a sit-in in the lobby. I'll go on a hunger strike."
"Thanks. But given your food proclivities, it might be more effective to go on an
antihunger
strike. You could sit in front of the director and force him to watch you eat until he gives me the part. He'd make it through two chocolate-shake french fries, tops."
"You're just jealous that my palate is sophisticated enough to appreciate eclectic flavors."
"If by sophisticated you mean 'dulled' and by eclectic you mean 'disgusting,' then yes, you're absolutely right." He nodded toward the Ping-Pong table. "Ready to play?"
"Am I ready? I'm not the one who let a little audition pressure affect her game."
"Oooh, ow!" he cried, grabbing his heart as he staggered back to the table.
Two days later, I was sitting in my room after school, amazed by how strange it felt to be home and not at Archer's. It was audition day, and he'd stayed late with all his friends. I had no clue what to do with myself, but I eventually decided to make the most of it. I pulled on comfy sweats, mixed a treat of peanut butter stirred with chocolate syrup, and settled onto my bed to eat and dive into a novel. I'd just gotten the third book in Jasper Fforde's Thursday Next series, and I couldn't wait to read it ... but the words kept melding into goo.
Had Archer finished his audition? I didn't want to bother him if he was still there, but I couldn't think about anything else. The part was so important to him. Should I have stayed after school with him for moral support? Maybe that would have been presumptuousâit's not as though he'd invited me. I might have just been in the way, or made him more nervous. But maybe he would have appreciated it. Maybe he'd been hoping I'd volunteer to come, whether he actually wanted me there or not. Wasn't that what good girlfriends did? Not that I was his girlfriend...
Whatever. I was his friend, and I was dying to find out how it went. I jumped up and grabbed my phone to text him, but it rang before I could even open it.
"Hello?"
"Cara? It's Archer!"
I could barely hear him over a chorus of voices screaming along to Madonna's "Holiday."
"Archer? Hey! How did it go?"
"Great ... I think!" he shouted, then his voice muted a bit as he said, "You guys, come on..." Then I heard him more clearly. "So, um ... how's everything going?"
"Oh, for God's sake..." a voice rang out.
"Hey!" a muffled Archer cried. "Give it back!"
"Cara, it's Ember. We're done with auditions, we're going mini-golfing, and we're picking you up. Give me your address and I'll put it in my GPS."
Ember? Mini-golfing? Now?
"Cara?" Her tone made it clear that obedience was my only option.
"Oh. Sorry, um ... four-eighteen Avery Lane."
"Cool. We're five minutes away. Meet us out front."
She clicked off.
Five minutes? I looked at myself in the mirror: a shapeless blob of filthy old sweats, with sticky smears of chocolaty peanut butter glued to my face from licking the bowl. And peanut butter breath, no doubt. Disaster. I lost a full minute gaping at the horror, then raced to wash my face, brush my teeth, and change before zooming out front just as Ember's battered SUV scraped against the curb. I opened the door to the back seat and was blown backwards by the insanely loud music.
"Postaudition eighties sing-along!" Ember cried. "Get in!"
I wanted to ... but there didn't seem to be any room. Ember was in the driver's seat, Archer in the passenger seat, and Sue, Doug, Molly, and Dinah were crammed onto the back seat. Even the cargo area was filled with Tom's massive bulk and the wiry frame of Noah.
"I, um ... I don't think I can," I said.
"Of course you can!" Ember shouted over the music.
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