Page 38

After skirting around a flounder of freshmen and waiting for a girl in front of him to squeal and run to her friends, Bren was able to get close enough to drag a finger down the list.

He spotted a handful of names he’d picked up in his three weeks at Peacock. Morgan Clark had been cast as Grizabella, and a guy named Marc from his English class was Carbucketty. He didn’t know what the bloke who wrote Cats was smoking when he picked the names but didn’t think he’d want to give it a try himself.

A.J. Walker . . . Brendan O’Shea . . . Dustin Richards.

“Alright. You wanna hear it, or do you need a few minutes, Robolad?”

Arlo didn’t get to respond before Dustin clapped him on the shoulder.

“A.J.’s dying over here, Ireland. Let ’er rip.”

Arlo glanced at his shoulder as Dustin rocked it back and forth before letting go. Then he met Bren’s stare and nodded.

“Alright. I’m, uh, McCavity and you’re . . .” Bren furrowed his brow. “Monkey-strap?”

Arlo’s eyes went wide as every speck of colour drained from him.

“Alright!” Dustin clapped him on the back and his booming voice made people turn around.

“You’re kidding.”

He glanced from Bren to Nat who looked like she might die from a serious case of smugness.

“Told you, dude.”

“What about me?” Dustin asked, apparently ignorant to the fact that Arlo was melting down.

“Old Deuteronomy,” Bren said absently—blame years of church for him not stumbling over that one. “But what’s a Monkey-strap?”

He wasn’t anything close to an expert on the show, but he’d sat through the movie more times than any self-respecting bloke should, and the name wasn’t ringing a bell.

“It’s, like, the male lead,” Nat said, and Arlo squeaked.

“Excuse me, I think that’s me. Leader of the tribe,” Dustin said.

Bren forced himself to take an eye off Arlo and settle on Dustin, who shrugged.

“I rented the movie.”

Arlo shuffled through the crowd, running his finger along the list as Bren had done, and squeaked again. When he returned, the only colour that had returned to his face were two pink patches on his cheeks.

“The lead, huh?” Bren asked, clapping a hand on Arlo’s trembling shoulder.

Arlo shook his head.

“There’s not really a lead in Cats.”

“Yeah, but Munkustrap is on stage the most. By a lot,” Nat replied.

“Well, alright, Arlo!” Bren said, shaking him by the shoulder with what he hoped was more love than Dustin had shown him. “I knew Mrs. Lovell had good taste. Shoulda seen the face she made when I tried to belt out my number.”

Arlo’s eyes brightened, something like a smile flickering across his features.

“There’s my lad.”

The heat on Arlo’s cheeks crossed the bridge of his nose.

“Which one’s Bomby-rina?” Bren asked.