"You're scenic."
"You wouldn't be impressed by my neighborhood," Whitney said. "Too many cheap houses." He could see that she wanted him to pick her up for school, but she was worried.
That surprised Bron. "I like cheap houses," he said. "I've lived in them all my life." He realized that he wasn't the only one at the school hiding behind a uniform. "Somehow, I thought you were rich."
"Why's that?" Whitney asked. She inched toward him, and he felt stunned by her nearness. His heart was pounding.
"Your smile," he said simply. "That alone looks like it's worth a million or two." He was telling the truth. He'd seldom seen teeth that were so perfectly aligned, so white. Her smile spread slowly, opening like a morning glory when touched by the sun. "Then there are your eyes: you should get a patent on that shade of green. Your freckles are really cute, too. I think each one is worth at least a couple of bucks."
Whitney grinned widely and moved closer, until her shoulder bumped his. Bron had earned forgiveness.
"You're not really jealous of Galadriel, are you?" Bron asked. "I mean, she's got nothing on you."
Whitney's expression hardened. "Look," she said, "my dad died when I was eight. My mother got just enough money from dad's life insurance so that with luck we'll survive until I get out of high school. Then mom will have to try to live on her income as a waitress. The only way I'm ever going to get through college is if I can rack up a couple of scholarships, and to do that, I need parts in plays. Even better, I need summer jobs at the theater.
"Now when someone like Galadriel comes along, she's got something that's worth a lot to casting directors: she's breathtaking. I don't know if she's got any talent, but even with a little, she turns into major competition. I hear that she's rich. She's got a great look to her, and with her money, if she needs a little enhancement—a nose job or her lips collagened—she can run to the best plastic surgeon in Hollywood, and the next day she'll be twice as gorgeous.
"So ... we're in competition. I have to be worried. That girl is a dream breaker. I'm kind of hoping that she has zero talent, or that she falls off the stage and snaps an arm or something."
Bron laughed and bumped shoulders. "It doesn't have to be that dramatic, I hope."
"Life is hard enough without her. Bron, I want to hang out with you, get to know you. But time is not something that I have much of. Play season starts today, and for the next eight months, I'm going to be working my tail off each night."
"So," Bron said, "if we're going to hang out, it sounds like I'd better sign up for theater tech."
"You'd do that for me?"
"Of course. I want to hang out with you, too."
Whitney nodded toward his pizza. "Are you going to eat that beast, or just gaze at it longingly?"
Bron realized that he hadn't touched it. She hadn't tasted hers. She raised an eyebrow at his pizza, as if admiring it.
"I've been waiting for a royal food taster to come by," Bron said. "You never know what someone might try to sneak onto your pizza, like arsenic or roofies. Want some?"
He held up his pizza, and Whitney looked into his eyes as she leaned forward and took a bite, then smiled. When she'd chewed it slowly, she said, "Seems safe. Alas, I have no food taster of my own."
Bron leaned forward, took a bite of her pizza, and Whitney stifled a chuckle.
He swallowed quickly. He was surprised at how great it tasted—sundried tomatoes, marinated steak, forest mushrooms and ... something he couldn't name. "Wow," he said. "That's the second-best thing I've tasted today."
She looked confused, as if nothing could be better than her pizza. "What was better?"
"You."
She raised an eyebrow. "Hmmm. I don't really remember how your lips tasted."
"If you want a kiss," Bron said nonchalantly, "you don't need to beat around the bush. For most women, my lips are off-limits. But for you...."
He leaned forward, peered into her startling green eyes. Part of their attraction, Bron decided, was the size of her eyes. They were so large, he could get lost in them.
Whitney grinned, glanced around the room. At least a hundred students were milling about. She leaned into him and kissed.
Bron's heart pounded and his cheeks flushed, but he didn't dare stop. He took it long and slow, and he didn't care whether anyone saw. He reached up and cupped her head with his hand, just holding her lightly....
It wasn't until almost eight at night that Galadriel took the stage. She wore a yellow designer raincoat that went fantastic with her blonde hair, and she carried a matching umbrella. She cued up music from the sound booth, and then went into a little soliloquy that launched her into a tap routine while she sang "Singing in the Rain."
She started out a little wooden with her first lines, but quickly her voice took on a sincere tone, and she slid into the role as easily as if she'd just pulled on a sweater.
Bron was surprised to find that she had real acting skills. Her singing was nowhere as cool as Whitney's, not as soulful.
As she began to sing, he realized that she had a pretty voice. It wasn't amazing. She had probably never been trained, but it was better than average.
Her tapping was impeccable. The stage had a few leftover props here and there—stairs that went to nowhere, an overturned bucket, a barber pole.
Galadriel danced up the stairs, twirled the bucket, swung on the pole.
When she finished, there was enthusiastic applause, and Bron saw Whitney and Olivia with the other judges exchanging urgent notes. When they finished, Olivia nodded, and Bron felt sure that Galadriel was in.
The sun was setting after the auditions, when Bron walked Galadriel to the car.
When they left the school, Tuacahn had a festive air. Orange lights lit up the school and the theater. People had begun to arrive for the Tuesday performance of "Tarzan," and were lining up on the plaza, talking contentedly. The snack counters wafted a scent of cinnamon-coated almonds and caramel corn, while lights in the gift shop illuminated bronze statues and wall hangings.
"That was so great," Galadriel said. "That was so great!"
Bron said nothing. He realized that he should be on the lookout for strangers. He saw plenty, but none with the cruelly focused gaze of Olivia's enemies.
Bron and Galadriel strolled down in the evening shadows, into a parking lot that was rapidly filling. It was that gloaming time, when shadows deepened toward pure darkness. A crimson glow limned the red rock cliffs behind the school, and bats weaved crooked patterns across the sky, as if writing words that only prophets might read.
If a squad of enemy masaaks is hiding down here, Bron realized, I'll never see them.
Bron got in his car, as Galadriel hopped in the passenger seat. He turned the key with a sense of relief, and sat for a moment, just letting it idle. Some old people walked past on their way uphill to the outdoor theaters.
He glanced at Galadriel. She'd surprised him. He wondered, Do I really have any talent? Sure, I played the guitar today, but that wasn't really me. Olivia loaded me with memories, taught me to play.
But where does the teaching end and me begin? I'm not sure that I'm any better than a karaoke singer.
Bron didn't want that. He wanted the music to be a part of him, as natural as a laugh, as essential as bone.
"That Whitney girl has a crush on you," Galadriel said.
"Yeah," Bron said. "I've got a crush on her, too."
He wondered where he should take Whitney on Friday.
He wondered how he could even be thinking about Whitney with Galadriel in the car. His mind spun. Galadriel was pretty, and apparently talented.