I pointed.
He turned to the Older Woman. “Ready, Phoebe?”
She rolled her head in a half circle, stretching her neck muscles, before resuming her perfect posture. “Okay.”
“I’ll seeyoulater.” Anton blew her a kiss.
We watched the two of them saunter out of sight, Alex’s arm draped across her shoulders. Crossing to Anton’s chair, I slumped onto the armrest.
“You really think she’ll get a part?” I asked.
“Oh yeah. But that’s not what we need to talk about.” He gave my knee an encouraging pat. “Tell Uncle Anton everything.”
“What do you mean?”
Anton tipped his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose. “What’s the story with you and that boy?”
I shrugged. “He’s the school Don Juan.”
“And?”
“There’s no story.” It would have been too complicated to explain the Vronsky intervention, so I opted for a change of subject. “How’s your head?”
“Terrible.”
“Want me to ask Karen for aspirin?”
“You’d do that for me?” He pretended to wipe away a tear. “Back to the issue at hand. You’re holding out on me. I may not be in peak form, but I saw the way he looked at you.”
“He looks at everyone that way. It’s his nature.”
“Hmm.” He did not sound convinced. “Someday Uncle Anton is going to explain the difference between good-bad and bad-bad when it comes to boys.”
“I think I’ll stick to good-good.”
Anton feigned a yawn. “Sounds a little dull—which that one definitely was not.”
Usually I enjoyed his teasing, but on this subject, Anton had pushed far enough. “You know he has a girlfriend,” I admonished. “Atleastone.”
“Does he?” Anton sounded surprised, which made me want to check his forehead for fever. He really was out of it if he’d failed to register what was going on withPhoebe.
The scuff of footsteps drew our attention to a stocky young man with a stubby ponytail. “Hi,” he said, shuffling to a stop. “Is this where you get measured for a costume?”
Anton held up a hand. “Wait there.” To me, he said, “If that’s the case, I revoke my approval. You let Uncle Anton know if he tries to toy with your emotions again.”
Tape measure in hand, I stood. Perhaps I lacked the elegant posture and charming first name of a Phoebe, but my sense of self-preservation was fully functional. “Trust me. That’s not going to be a problem.”
Dear Diary,
I’m not saying I want to eat kippers or kidneys or any other strange animal products, but I do like the sound of a “breakfast room” with an array of tempting items arranged on the sideboard. Usually our sideboard is covered with books and student essays and piles of half-opened mail.
Plus, Mom is way too invested in ancient grains to let us step off the cereal bandwagon any time soon.
M.P.M.
Chapter 9
After auditions, Arden drove usto a minimart near campus. Our purpose was twofold: to fill her car with gas and undertake the essential teen experience of scrounging an entire meal from convenience store provisions.
