Very crafty.
And I can add another check: displays respect for elders.
As Lucas takes his seat, my cousin gives a valiant effort…but she cannot hide the hint of a pleased smile, the subtle shift in her posture to bring her closer, nor the discreet way her eyes keep drifting toward him.
Seeing them together, side by side, is a bit jarring, to be honest. But the visual does help me understand better why my cousin is fighting her feelings so hard. Having him here seems a little too easy, a shade too convenient, even for fate. But there is no denying the palpable attraction between them.
Lucas turns a page, and a dimple flashes in his cheek. “See, this is what I love about America,” he says in a teasing voice that has Cat laughing before he even delivers the humorous line to his joke. “You pay all this money for a huge event and tell people to arrive in their underwear.”
Her eyes widen, and she pulls the book he is looking at toward her. “That’s not underwear, you Italian weirdo. They’re in bathing suits. See, it’s a beach theme.”
Lucas shrugs. “You say potato, I say potahto.”
Cat laughs again, failing to realize the rest of the table is watching their interaction with various degrees of pleased smiles.
“Yeah, you would say potahto,” she says, shaking her head. “Now say vitamin.”
“Vit-amin.”
The different pronunciation, delivered in the exaggerated notes of his accent, sends my often serious, sometimes crazy, but rarely silly cousin into a series of infectious giggles. And the triumphant look on Lucas’s handsome face for causing Cat’s happiness answers any question I had about potential sparks.
Cat lifts the back of her hand to her forehead and pretends to swoon, seeming to forget, even if for just a moment, all the reasons she should not let herself like him.
“What is it about a guy with an accent?” she asks playfully, and I add another mark to my list.
Sparks, big check.
Chapter Eleven
I ring the Michaels’s doorbell and turn to wave at Jenna, fighting the yawn building in my chest. After watching the tension between Cat and Lucas all night, though she blatantly denied it later, I laid in the soft cloud my cousin calls a bed for hours, memorizing my teenspeak list and thinking of Austin—and the conflicting version of him I met onstage.
This morning I pulled out Cat’s copy of Romeo and Juliet and discovered that in Act One, Scene Five, the titular couple kisses. And although I was shocked, my stomach muscles tightened at the thought of what would have happened had Ms. Kent given Austin and me that scene to perform.
Would he have tried to kiss me?
Would I have let him?
Would I have enjoyed it?
I still don’t know the answers, but the thoughts led me to ask Cat for help in obtaining Austin’s address—so we could work on our American government assignment, not so he could kiss me. Of course Cat suggested I call him on the telephone instead, but that is not how we do things in my time. Granted, maidens do not usually visit unchaperoned and uninvited, either, but at least face-to-face communication would put me on some semblance of an equal footing.
So here I am, dressed in the “frumpy frock” from Cat’s closet (an outfit Austin is sure to mock) arms laden with books from the Crawford library, ringing the Michaels’s doorbell for the third time, and hoping that at least someone is at home.
Perchance I did not quite think this plan through.
Thankfully, just as I am about to give up and run back to the safety of Jenna’s vehicle, the door opens.
Austin’s sister Jamie greets me, her surprise evident in the tilt of her head, the wrinkles in her nose, and the lack of invitation to step inside.
“Juliet?”
I grin and bob my head. “Alessandra, actually.”
“What are you doing here? Not that I’m not stoked to see you or anything,” she quickly adds. Jamie glances at the large load of books in my arms, and her nose crinkles. “Is this about the workshop?”
“N-no,” I stammer, no longer feeling as though the sneak attack approach was the best course of action. “I go to school with your brother—Austin? By any chance is he home this afternoon?”
Honestly, I am unsure at this point how I wish her to answer.
“Oh, sure, come on in.” She widens the opened door, allowing me to step inside the cool entryway, and takes a few books off the top of the teetering pile. “You know, you really did great yesterday. Totally pissed off Kendal.” She closes the door behind me and sighs. “Watching her fume was totally worth all of the preparation, even if I don’t end up snagging a part. I can’t believe I used to look up to her. And I really can’t believe my stupid brother used to date her. Speaking of which, AUSTIN!”
I jump, at both the subject change and her sharp bellow up the stairs. A door closes somewhere above. Eyes on the ceiling, I swallow down my mounting apprehension. “But you were so good yesterday,” I assure her. “I am certain you will be chosen.” Then, sensing an opening, I add, “Your brother appeared quite comfortable with the material as well. Acting must run in the family.”
Jamie snorts. “Austin act? That’d take way too much time away from surfing.” She glances at the curved stairway a few feet away and then leans in conspiratorially. “But he was good, huh? He must’ve read that scene at least a hundred times helping me get ready for the audition. I knew it would be one of the pieces they’d have us do—I mean, come on. It’s the balcony scene. It’s a given, right? And I read Romeo and Juliet in school this year, so I was kinda gunning for that part. But it’s totally no biggie. I dig Ophelia, too.”
Trying to keep up with Jamie’s excited, bountiful chatter makes my head spin. I grasp the insight buried within her speech and say, “So Austin helped you prepare?”
She nods. “Yeah, he’s so good at languages and stuff like that, and the words in those plays just go right over my head. Man, people talked crazy back then, huh?”
I smile but withhold a comment in reply.
But then I think about Jamie’s words and the fact that Austin supposedly has a talent for “stuff like that,” and I find myself even more confused than I was before my arrival. Cat told me Austin rarely even makes it to class, and when he does, he does not spend that time impressing the professors with his scholastic aptitude. But the boy Jamie describes sounds intelligent and talented.
So the nagging question remains: which Austin is the real Austin?
At the sound of heavy clomping, I lift my head and see the mysterious boy himself coming down the stairs. His hands glide across the smooth banister, stretching his worn black shirt across the width of his shoulders. A wisp of a memory begins to surface, but before I can place it, Austin’s eyes cut to mine. He freezes.
“What are you doing here?”
The accusation in his tone scares any reply right out of my head, but Austin does not—doesn’t—wait for one. Instead, he continues his trek down the stairs and through the adjoining dining room to the kitchen beyond, leaving me with a heavy pile of books and a mouth still open.
Jamie winces. “Sorry about that. He’s not usually so rude!” She yells the last word, but when no reaction comes from her brother, she rolls her eyes and leads me into the kitchen.