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“How long’s a while?” Len asked.
I’m so fucked. “Kindergarten.”
“Well…” Lorraine laughed. “If your audition was any indicator, you’re a natural. I’m looking forward to seeing what you can do with poor, sweet Ophelia.”
You and me both, I thought.
As I shed my jacket and took a seat in the circle, I tried to keep the warm welcome and the unexpected praise around me. The energy in the room revved my stomach with a little thrum of anticipation. Despite a dire case of Imposter-itis, I felt g
ood here. At least, it was better than being huddled alone on my bedroom floor wrapped in blankets, with only a book, a Sharpie, and the dark for company.
Isaac Pearce stood in the corner where the mirror met the wall, staring through and beyond the room to some private place. The angle duplicated him—two handsome, contemplative profiles and four arms crossed over a red, three-ring binder.
He looked at me then, blinking as if he were waking up. I gave a small wave and a smile. The corners of his lips started to turn up in return, then his gaze cut away again and his aloof mask dropped down.
Well, nice to see you, too.
“Hey.” Justin Baker now stood over me, slicing Isaac off from view. He indicated the empty chair next to mine. “You mind?”
“Uh…sure. Go for it.”
As Justin sat, a tiny whiff of cologne wafted from his clothes. He wore jeans, Timberlands, and a blue T-shirt under a blue North Face jacket. He looked sleek, expensive and relaxed. Like he owned whatever room he stepped in, or would, eventually.
Old Me would’ve been thrilled to sit beside Justin. New Me felt more drawn to worn out jeans, black leather, and stormy gray-green eyes.
But both guys were inaccessible. Walled off by the ice coffin Xavier had left me in. I clicked my ballpoint and drew an X under the heel of my hand.
“You’re Willow, right?” Justin said. “I’m Justin. We’re in Paulson’s class.”
“I’m aware.” It came out bitchier than I intended.
Justin chuckled. “Of course. Dumb opener, right? You ever acted before?”
“Once. Long time ago. You?”
“I’ve done a few shows. I blew out my knee a couple of years back, so instead of playing second base, I ended up in Death of a Salesman.”
“Cool.” I managed a smile.
“Your audition was really good.”
“Thanks. I…didn’t see yours.”
He shrugged. “I did okay. I think I got the part because of my hair.”
“What?”
He grinned and tugged a bit of his blond hair. “Same color as yours, so boom—I get to be your brother.”
I laughed a little. “I’m sure that’s not why you got it.”
He held up his hands and wore an easy smile. “I’ll take it.”
I smiled too while I drew a line of X’s down the side of my notebook. His friendliness almost scared me more than if he were a dick.
My gaze flickered to Isaac.
He hadn’t moved from the corner to take a seat, and the chair on the other side of me was unoccupied. I wished it were filled with Isaac’s faint scent of cigarette smoke and soap, rather than Justin’s expensive cologne. But Isaac was X’d out in other ways: my father signed HCT’s release form, only under the condition I had nothing to do with Isaac beyond the stage. Dad would yank me out of the show if he found out I was socializing with “that troubled dropout who lives in a junkyard.”
