Almost Final Curtain (18 page)

With your mysterious guest,
I thought but didn’t say.

I should try to sneak out a little early and see if I could catch them together. “I might be out late,” I said.

“Fine,” she replied cheerfully, which was strange too. Usually if I was open-ended about when I thought I’d be home, she’d take the opportunity to give me a curfew. Or, given my late night, say something about needing to be responsible and get enough sleep.

Something was definitely up with her.

My back itched again, as if someone was watching me. I spun around, half expecting to see that red-haired vampire, but it was Thompson. Malcolm was talking to him by the stage doors, but Thompson’s eyes were locked on me. I felt that heat rising again, and I managed to say good-bye to Mom without stammering too much.

“I invited Thompson,” Lane said, his voice almost a mischievous purr. “I hope that’s okay with you.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Chemistry,” he said meaningfully.

“More like hormones,” Bea added as she came up to us.

I shrugged them off, and pointed to my temple, making the crazy twirl of my finger. “It’s all in your imagination.” Of course, Thompson chose that moment to come up beside me, and so I choked a bit on the last word.

Everyone laughed.

“What’s so funny?” he wanted to know.

“Nothing, darling,” Bea said, taking Thompson’s arm, although he hadn’t offered it. “We just love watching Ana get all gaga over you.”

As she swept him out the door, he craned his neck to look back at me. I tried to avoid his curious glance, but I think Thompson noticed my I’m-so-busted expression. How was I going to make it through a whole dinner with him?

I noticed Taylor looking glum, so, to distract myself, I tugged her sleeve. “What’s wrong?”

“I really wanted to be in this show.”

“What makes you think you won’t be?”

“Come on, he hardly called on me,” she said, suddenly angry. “Anyway, I’m the only girl in a
hijab
. I’m never going to get a lead.”

I understood how she felt, sort of. My eyes had kept me from a lot of the good roles too. So I told her my theory about stage time and callbacks, and that made her brighten a little.

Lane, who I was now pretty sure had a crush on her, reminded her of his idea about how she could be the perfect Eliza. “Besides,” he said, “the only way it wouldn’t be racist is if he cast Malcolm as the good professor. You saw how he had Malcolm read with everyone. I think for sure he’s going to get the part.”

I frowned at Thompson’s broad shoulders. Despite the light rain, we’d decided to walk.

Lane saw where I was looking and said, “No way. I’ve got him pegged as Freddy. You heard him sing ‘On the Street Where You Live.’ He’s perfect for something light, but there’s no gravitas, you know. Not for Higgins.”

I wanted to dismiss Lane’s predictions, but for past shows, he’d proven remarkably accurate at guessing Mr. Martinez’s taste. And given that we were going rock-opera-y with the music, making the story about something as relevant as the Somali immigrant community finding a way to fit in to “high” society had some merit.

Rain soaked the cotton of my shirt and clung to my shoulders heavily. The drops pitter-pattered as they fell through the canopy of leaves. The smell of wet reminded me of the river, and the kiss Elias and I had shared.

He’d be sleeping now. Younger vampires could stand being out on overcast days, but it was a struggle for Elias.

The conversation continued to buzz around the topic of the play.

I listened halfheartedly, my eyes scanning the street for any sign of the red-haired vampire. Had he been sent to watch over me? That seemed likely, but was he one of the good guys or one of the loyal servants who worked for witches? I kind of doubted Mom had sent him. After all, it wasn’t like she didn’t know where I was or what I’d be up to. She’d driven me here herself.

He seemed kind of spooky to be one of Elias’s knights, though. They tended to at least
try
to be courtly and deferential around me.

As tired as I was, I wondered if maybe I’d imagined him.

The restaurant wasn’t too crowded for a Saturday evening, and after getting our food, we managed to find a spot that fit all of us. I ended up squashed in a booth between Lane and Bea. Thompson sat directly across from me.

Taylor looked around helplessly for a moment before determining there was no other option, and put her tray down beside Thompson. “I’m not going to bite,” he said.

She seemed unconvinced, especially since he seemed to be inspecting her food choices.

“Are you a vegetarian or something?” he asked.

Taylor looked at me for help. So I explained, “She’s Muslim, Thompson. She can’t eat meat that’s not halal.”

“Seriously?”

“Don’t be such a bigot,” Lane admonished. “It’s almost exactly like keeping kosher, which I could do, but it’s a hassle.”

“You’re Jewish?” a bunch of us asked at once.

Lane rolled his eyes, “Yes, yes, Lane Davis, just like Sammy
Davis
Jr. And, let’s see, Bea and Ana are witches, and Malcolm is an atheist.”

“Secular humanist,” he corrected around a mouthful of burrito.

“And you’re Catholic, right?” Lane continued, ignoring Malcolm. Thompson nodded. “So that’s everyone.”

Thompson raised his hands as if in surrender. “Okay, okay, I was just curious.” We all went back to our food momentarily, and then, after a thoughtful chew, Thompson asked, “Wait, Sammy Davis Jr. was Jewish?”

We all laughed, the brief tension broken.

I wondered what would happen if Thompson really did get a part in the play. He was so different from the rest of us. Most of the theater people were politically and socially liberal, academic, and, well, a bit odd.

Thompson sort of defined the norm at our school. He was a straight-C student whose only hope for college involved a sports scholarship. I didn’t know that for certain, of course. Let’s just say I’d never seen his name on the honor roll, and his picture was all over the trophy case.

I shook my head. After all, he wasn’t really one of us yet. If he got a part, then we’d have to see if we could transform the jock into the theater geek.

I ate my burrito, letting the familiar banter distract me. I kept a close eye on the clock in the restaurant. My plan was still to get home and surprise Mom at whatever she was up to.

Finishing, I crumpled up the tinfoil. Lane was in the middle of regaling Thompson with a story the rest of us had heard a hundred times, about the time he fell from the catwalk in the middle of opening night of
Macbeth
. Of course, then he had to explain how “that Scottish play” is always cursed. When he was done, I motioned for him to let me out.

“Going already?” Thompson asked.

“Um, I have some ... stuff I have to do.”

“Can I give you a lift?”

I must be the only sixteen-year-old without a license, and everyone at school seemed to know it. “It’s okay. I can walk; it’s just a bit of a hike.”

“If you’re sure.” The disappointment was obvious on Thompson’s face.

“Aw, give the boy a break,” Malcolm said. “He couldn’t be more obvious!”

Pretty soon everyone was encouraging me to let Thompson take me home. I gave up with a sigh. “All right, all right. I’d love a ride home, Thompson.”

“Matthew,” he said. “My first name is Matthew.”

“Oh, uh, right. Sorry, Matthew,” I said, but I was afraid he’d always be “Thompson” in my head. The problem was that all his buddies called one another by their last names and, of course, it was written on their jerseys.

“It’s okay,” he said, standing up to follow me out the door. “Everybody calls me Thompson. I just sort of wanted to hear you say my name.”

That was
awfully
sweet. What was going on here? It was one thing when we were pretending to be other people onstage, and something else entirely in real life.

He grabbed the door for me and held it open.

I heard someone back at our table whoop. I couldn’t believe Thompson had a cheering section. It wasn’t like I could date him. We were in different social circles. His buddies would mock him mercilessly. The cheerleaders would murder me in my sleep.

“Ignore them,” he said as I passed under his arm. For a second I thought he meant the homicidal cheerleaders, but he jerked his square jaw in the direction of where Lane was flashing us the thumbs-up. “They’ve never seen a gentleman before.”

“They’ve never seen
you
be a gentleman, you mean,” I said before I could censor it. “Oh, sorry. I tend to forget we’re in détente.”

The rain had mostly stopped, but everything was covered in a wet sheen. Car tires hissed through puddles as they passed. “Actually, that’s why I wanted to talk to you.”

“To be insulted?”

I’d meant it as a joke, but he shook his head seriously. “Everyone else has been treating me like . . .” He groped for an appropriate metaphor for a moment, then gave up with a shrug of his massive shoulders. “I don’t know. Not you, though. You’re still the same.”

With all the talk about chemistry and hormones, I felt exactly the opposite. I thought I’d been acting the strangest around Thompson. “You think so?”

He hunched his shoulders again. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his jacket. “I trust you to tell me the truth.”

“About what?”

“The play. Do you think I really have a chance?”

Though the sidewalk had already dried in places, the clouds remained thick and gloomy. As I considered my answer, I watched a crow soar lazily through the gray sky. “You have a phenomenal voice,” I said. “There’s always more spots for boys, and a lot fewer boys who try out. I’d be surprised if you didn’t get in. Everyone would.”

“I’ve never done anything like this before,” he admitted. His eyes watched his shuffling feet.

I nodded, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. Theater could be scary when you weren’t used to it, all that standing up in front of people and the massive opportunities for embarrassment. But that was the exciting part too, like when you had to ad-lib your way through a missed cue or a misplaced prop. Nothing was quite like the kick of the audience’s response—a laugh or applause.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, suddenly angry. “Man, you really are an evil witch.”

“Wait—what did I do?”

“Here I’m trying to talk to you, you know, seriously, and you’ve been laughing at me.”

I hadn’t realized I’d been smiling. “Oh, hey, listen, it wasn’t like that. I was thinking of something else.”

“Oh. I see.” For some reason my explanation made him madder. “You really haven’t changed, Parker. I don’t know what I was thinking. Walk home for all I care,” he spat. He stalked back in the direction of the restaurant.

I had no idea what had just happened exactly, but at least our relationship was back to normal. Thompson hated me. All was right in the universe.

 

 

About a block from home, I noticed someone on my trail. The sun remained obscured by a blanket of storm clouds, so I had no idea if the person who followed me was human or vampire. But in St. Paul, there’s just not a lot of foot traffic, so I noticed my shadow once I turned off Lexington and headed onto side streets.

Whoever it was stayed about a block and a half behind me. I kept twisting to see if I recognized any of the person’s features, hoping against hope it was just Thompson acting all stalkerish or Elias checking up on me.

The only thing I could really make out at this distance was a dark leather jacket, like a biker might wear. I was pretty sure it was a guy. Turning again, I saw him pass under a streetlamp just as it flicked on. Was that reddish hair?

Crap.

Picking up my pace, I randomly turned a corner. The neighborhood near my high school was a mix of houses and apartment buildings. Even though many of the single-family homes dated from the same period as mine, they seemed shabbier and neglected. A chain-link fence surrounded a yard that was more dirt than grass. A filthy pink plastic tricycle lay tipped on its side, abandoned.

I hazarded a glance behind. Had he gained on me?

I started to run.

At the corner, I turned again. But I instantly regretted my choice. A bunch of guys leaned against a sports car smoking. The stereo blasted something in Spanish. It was too late to change course if I wanted to outdistance my pursuer. “Hey, sweetheart,” one of the men teased as I raced toward them. He wore a basketball jersey that showed off toned, muscular arms and a dragon tattoo. Black hair was shaved to little more than stubble. “What’s your hurry?”

“There’s a guy following me,” I said honestly, my breath coming in puffs. I pointed just as red-haired vamp turned the corner and kept running.

Jersey pushed off the hood of the car, and shouted, “Yo, what you doing, scaring the lady?”

Being verbally accosted seemed to stump the vampire. He slowed, as if assessing his chances against the four guys, who now stood a bit taller and began to close ranks behind me.

As I made the corner, I apologized to the Goddess for thinking ill of anyone, especially when I heard someone shout, “Hey, I’m talking to you.” Red-haired vampire had been quite effectively slowed down. I had a good chance of losing him, thanks to my would-be champions.

 

 

I was fairly certain I made it home alone. When I got to my block, I set out for the alley. Even though our house was in the middle of the block, I could see the nose of Mom’s MINI sticking out from its parking space. I crept along the alleyway to our carriage house. Finally, some luck! A window was open, and I could hear voices coming from inside.

I pressed myself to the wall. Virginia creeper climbed much of the brick, and its wide leaves had begun to unfurl, providing extra cover. Droplets from the brief shower collected in the nooks and crannies of the vine, and now and again random drips snaked down my neckline.