Life in the Lucky Zone (The Zone #2) (7 page)

A Honda? And by the scratches on its doors, it wasn’t even new. This was a surprise. I climbed in, setting my backpack between my feet. “Where are we going?”

“To my house,” she said, pulling into the line of cars exiting the lot.

“How am I supposed to get home later? And you can stop with the ‘dragon’ stuff. I don’t play that many games with dragons in them.”

She pursed her lips as though she were fighting a smile. “But you play at least one, right?”

“I have.”

“Then ‘Dragon Boy’ stays.”

I let out a huge exhale. “Whatever happened to ‘Dragon Master,’ anyway? Why’ve I been reduced to just a boy?”

“I like the sound of it better. And, don’t worry, I’ll take you home later.”

“Okay. But why aren’t we rehearsing at school?”

“You’re just full of questions, aren’t you?” She checked out her side window, then turned right onto the road. When I didn’t say anything, she mumbled, “I’m expecting a package.”

I thought she might tell me more, but instead she turned on the radio. Pop country music almost shattered my eardrums, and she lowered the volume. Oh, goody. We were going to listen to,
“You cheated on me and I’m getting revenge,”
all the way to her house. Maybe I could fix that.

“Do you want to run some lines right now? Save some time?”

“No,” she said. “I like to focus on one thing at a time.”

“Driving and listening to music are two things.”

We made it through the major four-way stop and sped on, the traffic thinning out. “That’s different,” she said. “I don’t have to focus when I listen to music.”

I had to give her that point, but I still wanted the music off. “Is there any other kind of music we could listen to? You know, like music without words?”

She laughed. “You don’t like this?” She gestured to the radio. “Were you born in this country?”

“Very funny.”

She pushed the radio button, cutting off some guy mid-wail. “Whatever you want, Dragon Boy. I was just trying to save us from awkward silence.”

“Awkward silence is completely underrated. You should try it sometime.”

She looked over at me, her eyes narrowed, but I gave her an encouraging smile. She stared back through the windshield, shaking her head. “Are we going to argue all the way to my house?”

“If you want.”

The light ahead turned red, and she slowed the car to a stop. “Not particularly.” She sounded tired all of a sudden, which surprised me so much that I kept my mouth shut.

About a mile down the boulevard, she turned into the Leighton Heights subdivision entrance with its towering rock walls and spurting fountains. Of course she lived in Leighton Heights. I should’ve known.

A couple of turns later, we pulled into a long driveway on one side of a massive red brick house. This ought to be interesting. You could tell a lot about people from the inside of their houses. Would there be evidence of Lindsey’s personality anywhere? Or would that be hidden away in her bedroom? My parents still kept embarrassing photos of me and Ash in the hallway and on the refrigerator.

I followed Lindsey through the garage and into the kitchen. A middle-aged woman sat at a built-in desk, talking on a cell phone, a pair of reading glasses on her head. She had white-blond hair and a tanned face, as though she liked to be outside even in the dead of winter. That alone made me like her.

She twisted in her seat and said, “Just a sec, Veronica.” She held the phone against her thigh—probably to muffle our voices—then smiled.

“Mom,” Lindsey said, “this is Berger. He’s here to rehearse with me. Berger, my mom.”

Time to do a little parental brown-nosing. I walked over and held out my hand. “Trey Berger,” I said, smiling politely.

A look of delight lit up her face, making her seem years younger. She had probably been really beautiful when she was young, but in a completely different way than Lindsey. I couldn’t exactly put my finger on what the difference was. She set the phone aside and took my hand in her warm one. “Very nice to meet you, Trey.”

“And you, Mrs. Taylor.”

“You’re in drama club, I take it?”

Behind me, kitchen appliances beeped. “Yes. It’s my first year.”

“Well, good. I’d love to chat more, but I have this call … ”

I took a step back. “No worries.”

Mrs. Taylor looked past me. “Lindsey, get some snacks for—”

“Already on it,” she said, leaving the oven and heading for the freezer.

Her mother started talking on the phone again. I edged closer to Lindsey. “You don’t have to feed me,” I whispered.

“It’s okay,” she said in a low voice. “If I don’t, she’ll have to do it, and then—” She made a slashing gesture across her throat.

I chuckled. “Okay.”

“Do you like Bagel Bites?”

All of a sudden I wanted to throw my arms around her. Which would’ve been a little more than the situation called for. So I tried for subtlety. “I want to marry them.”

Something gleamed in her eyes. “Too late. I already have, and I know they won’t commit bigamy.”

I hung my head. “I wish I’d known that before I agreed to come over.”

Wearing a grin, she gave me a little shove. Right in the middle of my chest. I backed up, and she opened the freezer wider and pulled out a huge box of Bagel Bites. “This calls for more than just one tray.”

“You have my eternal gratitude.”

She smirked and proceeded to get everything going while I stood there like a useless slug wearing a backpack.

Eleven

Lindsey

Trey Berger was a funny guy. Both funny ha-ha and funny weird. We’d never really gotten along since we’d been forced to spend time together because our closest friends were dating. We’d developed a kind of mutual stalemate of aggression toward each other.

But now that we were being forced to spend time together for a different reason, I had to admit that I wasn’t hating it. With no one else around, he’d cut down on the snarky comments. In fact, it seemed like he really did want to get better at acting. Which I could relate to.

And he liked Bagel Bites. With that knowledge, my opinion of him had taken a giant leap forward.

After half an hour of running lines, my restlessness got the better of me, so I stood up and wandered over to the window. When was the FedEx guy going to show? Pretty soon I’d have to take Berger home, and I really, really needed to grab the package before my mom saw it.

“Okay,” Berger said, shoving the last Bagel Bite into his mouth. “Should I say the line like this?” he asked, mumbling over the food.

I held up a hand. “Swallow first.”

He sipped his soda. “Yes, your majesty,” he said, with no irritation in his voice at all. Then he rubbed his forehead with his knuckles, messing up the strands of brown hair resting there even more. He spoke in a high-pitched voice, “‘I’m coming, Ma.’ Or like this, more grumpy. ‘I’m coming, Ma.’”

He sounded exactly like one of those kids Claire was always babysitting. “What feels right in your gut?”

“Not sure, but I think the grumpy one.”

“Good. I like that one better, too. And unless a director tells you something else, you should usually go with the one that feels right, because it’s the way you’re most likely to say it during a performance.”

He nodded like I’d said something profound. “Huh. That makes sense.” He leaned against the back of the couch and clasped his hands behind his head. A sneaky gleam entered his light brown eyes. “You know, watching the street won’t make it get here any faster.”

For some weird reason, heat rose up my neck and into my cheeks. I frowned at him. “
Au contraire.
They’ve done studies on it. When you’re waiting for something, if you watch out for it, it arrives faster.” Pretty lame joke, but I didn’t want him to have the upper hand.

He grinned. “That’s only if you’re standing in the middle of the street.” He started to get up. “Should we try that now?”

“Oh, shut up,” I said, dropping into the armchair across from him.

He chuckled, but then his face grew slowly serious. “Why do you think Mrs. Mac wants us to rehearse together for weeks and not just a few days?”

Because she was mad at me. “I don’t really know. I mean, she’s supposed to decide on the parts by Friday, and after that there’ll be regular full-cast rehearsals.”

“Maybe she thinks I’m too stupid to pick up on your brilliance right away.”

I shook my head. This topic made me want to pace across the room. “You know how quirky she is. Sometimes she does stuff that doesn’t make sense to anyone.”

The loud peal of brakes made me jerk. Through the wood blinds, I could just make out the white van with its huge purple and orange letters on the side. I jumped up.

Berger waved his hands up and down. “It’s here, it’s here!”

“Shh,” I said. What with squealing brakes and Berger’s noise, my mom was sure to saunter into the room.

“Oh,” he whispered and then got up. “Is this a secret from Mommy?”

I wanted to laugh. I also wanted to put my hand on his face and shove him back onto the couch. “Would you relax?”

“Are you kidding? This is
way
too exciting.”

“Come on, then,” I said, leading the way to the front door. I had to stop the FedEx guy from ringing our doorbell.

We spilled out onto the front walk, jostling each other and laughing. Berger was worse than my brother, Austin. I started to stride forward, but Berger grabbed my elbow. “Have a little dignity,” he said, laughter still in his voice.

“I would if you’d just let go.”

“All right.” He released me.

By this time, the delivery guy was approaching us slowly, as if we were rabid dogs or something. I hurried forward and met him before he’d even made it halfway. “Lindsey Taylor?” he asked.

I smiled. “Yes, that’s me.”

“Here you go,” he said, handing me a padded mailer the length of a piece of paper.

My heart thudded somewhere near my throat. My luck was about to change. “Thanks.”

The guy headed back to the truck. I turned. Berger watched me with his hands on his hips and a smirk on his face. “Well?”

I made myself walk to where he waited. How could I get out of telling him what was inside? “Well, what?”

“Is it everything you wished for?”

“I don’t know yet.”

We headed for the house. Behind us, the engine of the delivery truck roared as the guy drove off.

“Aren’t you even going to open it?” Berger asked.

I had to mash down on the urge to rip the mailer open. Inside, I hoped, would be the three beaded bracelets I’d ordered. Wearing those had seemed the easiest way to jump-start my good luck without a lot of questions from people. I held up the package. “I think I need scissors.”

“No you don’t.” He took the package and pulled an opening strip across the mailer, then handed it back to me with a grin. “You’re welcome.”

Okay, now I felt dumb. Inside, a paper invoice nestled among the individual plastic bags of bracelets. I couldn’t keep from smiling. I wanted to drag them all out right there on the front lawn and put them on. That wouldn’t be too crazy, would it?

“What is it?” Berger asked.

I worked to make my voice sound casual. “Just some bracelets I ordered.”

“Which your mother doesn’t know about.”

“Right.”

Just then, the front door opened, and my mom stepped out, her arms crossed over her chest against the cold.

Gulp.
“Take this,” I hissed to Berger and shoved the mailer into his stomach.

His eyes widened at me. “What am I supposed to do with it?” he asked in a harsh whisper.

Mom’s gaze was on the street behind us. “Did I just hear a delivery truck?”

I spoke to Berger out of the side of my mouth. “You charmed her once. Do it again.” I motioned toward the car. We walked steadily closer. “No truck. We just needed to get something from the car.”

Now my mom’s full attention was on the package in Berger’s hands. “Oh?”

If my heart had lodged in my throat earlier, now it was practically jumping out of my mouth.

Berger, however, wore an easy smile. He held up the package. “Just my play notes.”

She smiled back at him and ushered us inside. “It’s so cold. Why don’t you kids have your jackets on?”

“We were only out for a minute, Mom.” We moved as a group into the living room.

“But you got your … ?”

“My notes,” Berger said. “I made notes about the play on index cards. I’m still really new at this. I feel like I’m never going to be prepared.”

She gave him an indulgent smile. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry. I think you’ll do fine.” She surveyed the empty snack tray. “Would you like anything else to eat or drink?”

“No, thank you, Mrs. Taylor,” he said. “This was great.”

“Very good, then,” she said. “Excuse me, I have a few more calls to make.” And she left the room.

I collapsed into the armchair, bent over, and put my face in my hands. That had been close. So close. I wasn’t stupid enough to think she might never find out about all I ordered, but maybe if my luck changed fast enough, she wouldn’t. I looked up to find Berger watching me, his expression somewhere between laughter and irritation.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

He sat on the couch and tossed the mailer beside him. “You’re welcome. I think.” He spoke quietly. “I didn’t really like being sucked into your—”

“I’m sorry. It all happened too fast.”

He rubbed his forehead again. This time with his fingertips. “I don’t like lying to people,” he whispered.

“I know. I’m sorry. On the bright side, you’re a really good actor.”

He let out a reluctant laugh. “Ya think?”

I smiled. “I do.”

But he didn’t return the smile. He tugged his phone out of his jeans and checked it. “I need to be getting home.”

“Oh, okay. But can we work for another five minutes? So it doesn’t look like we brought your notes in for nothing?”

He shook his head slowly. “You think of everything, don’t you?”

You have to when you have secrets.
“I try.”

Twelve