I shook my head. “Auditions aren’t until tomorrow.”
Her attention shifted to Alex Ritter.
He inclined his head in a mock bow. “Cam.”
“Alex.”
He made a show of trying to see something behind her. “Where’s your shadow?”
In the doorway, I glimpsed a broad-shouldered young man watching Cam intently, as though she’d abandoned him midconversation. Were they here together? Like on a date?
“I need to talk to my sister,” Cam said, her gaze never leaving Alex. “My very young sister.”
A slow smile bloomed as he looked from Cam to me, clearly delighted at having solved the mystery of my identity. “I guess I’ll go—before it getsunnecessarilyawkward.” I refused to make eye contact, certain that if I did he would wink at me. “See you around,Mary.” He raised a hand in a general farewell.
Terry watched him melt into the crowd before pushing off from the wall. “I’ll give you guys some privacy.”
Cam held up a hand. “That was for him. You can stay.” My sister gave me a considering look. “You’ll be there tomorrow. For the play?”
“Othello,” I supplied. “And of course I will. Just like always.” Going to one measly party didn’t mean I was lost to all sense of responsibility.
“Did you sayOthello?” Arden had materialized with a silver mixing bowl in one hand, trailed by a red-faced Lydia.
“Sorry, I’m being rude.” She held the bowl out to Cam. “Snack mix? I made it myself.”
“These are my friends,” I said to Cam. “Arden, Lydia, and Terry.”
My sister’s assessing gaze lingered on each of them in turn before she nodded a greeting. Only then did she help herself to a handful of snack mix. “It’s good,” she told a visibly relieved Arden before returning her attention to me. “You don’t need a ride?”
“We’ve got her covered,” Arden promised, linking her elbow with mine.
Before turning to go, Cam sent me a loaded look. “Be careful.”
“I’m a very safe driver,” Arden assured her.
I suspected the warning had more to do with Alex Ritter. As if I didn’t know any better; I was fifteen, not five.
“So.” Arden leaned into me. “Tomorrow. The play.”
“It’s just auditions. The performances are in December.”
“Are you trying out?” Lydia asked.
“Me? No. I always help out behind the scenes.”
“You’re a volunteer,” Arden translated. “Which means you’re basically doing community service.” She handed the bowl of snack mix to Lydia, freeing both hands to grab hold of mine. “Andthat’sflipping perfect, because guess what else is on my list of activities?”
“Um, community service?”
“Bingo!” Arden squeezed my fingers. “Technically I had it down as ‘padding your college application,’ but it’s basically the same thing. And you know whatthatmeans?”
Lydia, who was clearly more accustomed to this type of leading question, answered first. “We’re going to watch a bunch of people try out for a play.”
“Yes,” Arden agreed. “But also, Mary’s season, scene two!” She paused, nose wrinkling. “No pun intended.”
Dear Diary,
Maybe it’s a touch melodramatic, but the part inNorth and Southwhere Thornton sees Margaret with her brother at the train station and assumes it’s a tryst but decides to keep her secret because he loves her so much kills me. That’s what I call a romantic moment.
