Almost Everything (12 page)

“He’s not even looking at me, girlfriend.”

It was true. Bea could have been invisible for all that he seemed to notice her. And I’d helped her pick out her cutest outfit too. She wore a sparkly belly-shirt that showed off a tiny bit of skin and low-slung, curve-hugging jeans. We’d learned from experience that it helped to show off your, uh, assets when auditioning. It usually worked even with gay-guy directors. But Thompson was apparently immune.

“Hey,” he said to me, stopping just short of the steps. Standing as I was at the top, we were almost eye to eye. For the first time, I noticed that Thompson’s eyes were blue—a soft, sort of denim color. Like the jeans he wore, they seemed faded but lived-in.

Bea broke the spell by clucking her tongue disapprovingly. “You look as if you’ve been rolling in the grass,” Bea said, pointing to the flecks of clippings that clung to his cuffs. “Where’ve you been?”

“Work,” Thompson said, his gaze finally leaving me for a brief glance in her direction. “I didn’t have time to change.”

Thompson worked for his dad’s landscaping company during the summer. I hadn’t told him, but I’d actually seen him earlier in the week. His crew woke me up at nine o’clock when their gigantic mowing machines trimmed the neighbor’s lawn. Surreptitiously through the lace curtains, I’d watched Thompson clip the hedges that I’d crashed into last year when I attempted a vampire-ninja jump off my carriage house roof. I probably should have gone out to say hello, but, honestly, I was kind of worried I might embarrass him.

“You look fine,” I said quickly.

But Bea
already started in, saying, “You can’t wear that to an audition. They’re not doing
Oklahoma!
”

“You really think it matters?” Thompson looked down at the dusty T-shirt that fit him oh so well and frowned.

“No,” I said honestly. It was a classic double standard, but the truth was that usually shows were so hurting for male bodies that directors would take any boy, even if he came dressed in a gunny sack. I wouldn’t have thought a few grass stains would matter.

Bea shot me a look. “Of course it does. There are going to be a ton of other guys there. This is Festival, not some high school play. We should skip lunch and get you some better duds. Do you live close?”

He looked around at the large perfect houses in Bea’s neighborhood and shook his head as if she must be kidding. “I live in Phalen.”

I watched Bea struggle not to make some kind of derogatory comment or look down her nose. “Oh. Well then, we’d better hurry.”

If Thompson noticed, he didn’t say anything. He just went over to where I’d tossed my bike on the ground, and picked it up. We trailed behind. I scrunched my face at Bea. She lifted her shoulders and opened her palms, as if to ask what I was so cranky about. Bea could be so insensitive. Ever since we were in
My Fair Lady
together, I knew how much Thompson struggled to feel a part of our theater clique. He might not be my boyfriend, but I didn’t like to see him hurt.

I hurried
to stand beside him as he lowered the tailgate. “You know, if this is awkward, I honestly don’t think it’s absolutely necessary. Like I told you before, I heard the audition is all improv. I don’t think they’re really going to care if we’re dressed up. I mean, I’m going in this.”

After moving aside a toolbox and a case of Diet Pepsi, he carefully set my bike down. He wiped his hands on his jeans and straightened up. He looked me over. “Yeah, but you look good in anything,” he said with a smile. Then he looked down at his broad, manly chest, clearly seeing something I didn’t, because he looked disappointed. “Bea’s right. I should probably clean up a little. If I’m going to be a knight in shining armor, I probably shouldn’t be sweaty.”

Actually, standing as close as we were, I wanted to tell him that the scent of freshly cut grass and musk smelled damn good on him. But Bea pulled at the car handle impatiently. “Are we going or what?”

A brief flash of irritation flickered across Thompson’s face. “Yeah, let’s go.”

I
should
date him,
I thought. He and my best friend already hate each other.

The drive to Thompson’s house continued the awkward mood.

Bea insisted
I sit in the middle. The cab wasn’t really meant for three. My thighs pressed against Bea on one side and Thompson on the other. Every time he used the stick shift, Thompson’s arm grazed my breast. Worse, I was kind of tippy because my butt straddled a raised section of the slippery upholstery. Each corner we took brought me much closer to either of them than I would have liked.

Actually, I think Thompson and I would have been fine. Each time gravity threw me at him, we shared a secret, amused smile.

Bea, however, was complainy and seemed determined to start a fight. “You don’t have an MP3 player?” she asked, though the answer was pretty clear, especially given that she was pointing at the simple dashboard radio.

“You can listen to music if you want to,” Thompson said, reaching past me to flick the knob. Heavy metal blasted from the speakers.

Even though Thompson clearly knew the song as he bobbed his head along with the rhythm, Bea knocked into me as she grabbed for the tuner. I scrunched up against Thompson’s shoulder as she spun the dial. She settled on an alt-rock station … which just happened to be playing Ingress, my ex-boyfriend’s band.

Bea gave a squeal of delight. “Hey, Ana! It’s Nik!”

Did she really think any of us in the truck needed the identification, or the reminder that I used to be romantically attached to a rock star?

Beside
me, I felt Thompson’s body stiffen. To his credit, he tried to act mildly interested. “I heard they’ve got some kind of record deal.”

I’d heard that too, but even so, something weird twinged in my chest. Jealousy?

“Columbia,” Bea agreed. “The big league.”

The twinge suddenly felt more like a punch in the gut. She knew
details
? Was Nik still talking to Bea? She once wanted to date him, but she was with Malcolm now, wasn’t she? I opened my mouth to ask her when she last talked to Nik, but she shushed me to sing along.

To a song, I wanted to point out, that he wrote for
me
.

I
had a hard time concentrating on anything else for the rest of the trip. Memories and emotions roiled around in my head to the point that I didn’t even notice when we’d turned up Johnson and sped past the lake Thompson’s neighborhood was named after.

Apparently
sharing gossip about Ingress constituted some kind of truce between Bea and Thompson, because they chatted amiably about the upcoming audition. I didn’t really pay the conversation any mind until Thompson’s admission: “My dad thinks I’m at a job fair.”

“You lied?” Bea was horrified, although she herself rarely told her folks anything; I couldn’t even remember the last time she had.

“I had to,” Thompson said, turning down a narrow street lined with brick apartments. Kids playing kick ball in the street moved out of the truck’s way. “My dad would never give me time off to go to an audition.”

Remembering
that his dad never came to see him star in the show, I gave his leg a sympathetic squeeze. He tried to smile at my gesture, but his expression looked sadder than anything else.

“What are you going to tell him if you get in?” Bea wanted to know.

“It’s on the weekends. It won’t interfere with work,” he said with a defiant lift of his shoulder. “Besides, there’s a paycheck. It’s like a second job. He has to respect that.”

He seemed to be trying to convince himself. But it was true that the Renaissance Festival paid. It wasn’t much; in fact, the amount was laughable for first-year rookies, which we would be, but it
was
money.

“Your dad sounds like mine,” Bea said.

Thompson grunted. I wasn’t sure if it was in disbelief or sympathy. Directing his question to me, he asked, “What about your dad, Ana? What does he think of your theater stuff?”

“My dad?” I remembered the crazy haze that clouded his eyes before he suggested that his hungry subjects devour me, and I shivered. “I don’t know, and I don’t care. We don’t really talk.”

Bea was gesturing over my head when I looked up, and I thought I saw her mouth “separated,” which I guessed was technically true.

“It’s cool,” Thompson said. “My parents are divorced too. My mom moved back to Ohio, and we lost touch. I heard she might finally be in rehab, though.” He trailed off then, as if he suddenly realized he’d said just a bit too much. His announcement, “Here we are,” spared us the opportunity to completely mess up a thoughtful response. He pulled the truck up to a curb. There were no sidewalks in this part of town, and the houses were one-story squares in various states of repair. The one I guessed to be Thompson’s had the nicest, greenest lawn, and the framing around the front door had recently been replaced, as the wood was bare and unpainted.

Bea started
to open the door, but Thompson reached across me to put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m just going to be a minute. Why don’t you girls wait here?”

“Aw, come on.” Bea pouted. “I totally want to see your house.”

“There it is, four two one,” he said, gesturing toward the house. His face was closed, and I could tell he would resist any argument. “Just wait here.”

I gave Bea the don’t-push-it glare, and, for once, she listened to me. “Fine, but I’ll expect a full tour sometime!” she called after him as he dashed up the asphalt drive.

“Yeah, maybe next Garden Stroll,” he shouted back, referencing the fancy tea and garden charity event in my neighborhood. I blushed.

“Check out this place,” Bea said gleefully, once Thompson had slipped inside. “Oh my God.”

I couldn’t see what her problem was. Okay, so these weren’t hundred-year-old mansions with sprawling, palatial lots, but they seemed homey and mostly well cared for. There was that one house in the middle of the block that had a dirt-packed yard full of filthy children’s toys and other detritus, but Thompson couldn’t control who his neighbors were any more than I could.

I was just
about to tell her to be nicer when I noticed a woman coming out of Thompson’s house. Thin to the point of being scrawny, she wore a bikini that left little to the imagination. She tottered toward us in high-heeled sandals. She waved at us. I returned her greeting halfheartedly and gave Bea a questioning look. Bea’s eyes nearly bulged out of her head.

The woman leaned into the open window on the driver’s side. She had bleach blond hair and smoked a cigarette. She blew the blue smoke off to the side and then smiled at us. I couldn’t determine her age. If Thompson hadn’t said his mother was in Ohio, I might have assumed this was his mom.

“Hi, girls,” she said. Her skin was tanned, but it had that sort of leathery look of someone who’s spent too much time exposed to the elements. “Which one of you lucky ladies is dating Matt?”

I couldn’t find words for a reply, so, of course, Bea chimed in. “Ana,” she said with a helpful point at me.

“I’m not dating Thompson,” I said for the fifteenth time that day, but my voice was very small.

She didn’t hear, anyway, because she talked right over me, “Oh, Ana! I’ve heard so much about you. Matthew says you’re so smart, and some kind of actress?”

“I guess,” I admitted, since the last part seemed to be a question of some sort.

She gave me an appraising look and seemed to decide something. “Most of his exes are total sluts. You almost look respectable.”

“Almost?” Bea gasped.

“Don’t talk to my friends, Sheila.” Thompson’s voice boomed out from behind the woman.

She started
in surprise and nearly bonked her head on the window frame. She turned in fury to face him. He’d changed into a clean pair of jeans and a white button-down. She scowled at him. “Matt, honey, what is wrong with you? I’m just saying hello.”

“Just … don’t.” Thompson’s eyes narrowed threateningly as he spoke, and he took a menacing step toward the door she blocked. I held my breath. I thought there was going to be a fight. He just kept coming, and she got out of his way, though not happily.

“You’re a bully just like your father,” she shouted as he started the engine. “You should show some respect. I’m your stepmother.”

“You’re nothing except trouble,” he growled.

Thompson hit the gas so hard the wheels squealed.

Nobody said anything for a long time. Finally, Thompson muttered, “I’m sorry. I thought she’d stay in the house. Why didn’t she stay in the house?”

“She seemed nice,” I offered, even though she’d completely insulted all his exes and me in the same breath.

He snorted and rolled his eyes at me. “That’s because you don’t live with her.”

“Honestly, I thought she was a bitch,” Bea muttered out the window.

“No shit,” Thompson snarled.

I had no comment on that, though I felt I probably should have either agreed or consoled him. Once again, the more socially adept Bea came to our rescue. “I’m starving,” she said. “Can we drive through somewhere?”

We ate
our burgers in the cab, parked outside the building marked
LITTLE THEATER
on the Augsburg College campus. It looked more like a rickety house than the sort of theaters I was used to. It had wide, plank siding and a strange sort of scalloped top, which reminded me of something out of the Old West. There were other early arrivals, sitting on concrete block stairs underneath the theater’s triangularly shaped awning. More sat in the shade of the trees in the large, flat grassy quad across the street. We’d found a spot on the curb next to the wooden noise barrier that separated the campus from the highway.