His.
“Welcome, Ms. Appel. Thanks for joining us here at the Cultural Center.”
Seth’s voice sounded uncharacteristically adult. Chesca quieted her giggle into a grown-up smile. Important, because half a dozen children turned toward her as one.
“Thank you, Mr. Amundsen. I’m looking forward to working together.” She knew she sounded as if she addressed a committee, but her brain felt as trembly as her knees. Curious glances approached her, probed—all except the defiant stare from a girl wearing her stringy hair in four random ponytails. Where did she find those 1980s neon scrunchies? And those ill-fitting black lacy fingerless gloves?
“I just finished copying the cantata’s first act.” Seth half apologized in a whisper.
Great. He’s behind schedule already
.
He boomed out, “Introduce yourselves, please. Get to know Ms. Appel while I finish copying scripts.” He zoomed out the door. Chesca gulped.
To her surprise, the children followed his directions.
“I’m Chandler.” The boy, wearing tennis shoes that must have cost a fortune, sounded almost more adult than Seth. He extended his hand. Did she see a flicker of approval in those cool eyes?
“Thanks for volunteering for our Easter play, Chandler. In fact, thank you all for helping us out.” She didn’t know much about kids, but gratitude helped any group grow a positive attitude. She aimed her best smile at Ponytails.
She may as well have tried to impress a gargoyle. Angry eyes raked Chesca from head to foot. The girl turned and wandered away. Chesca felt as if she had failed inspection.
“Stupid weirdo,” Chandler muttered.
“You shouldn’t call her names.” Chesca wouldn’t allow this, no matter how rudely the girl acted.
“I know.” He grinned. “But Zoe’s mean. That’s her name, Zoe Eggers.”
“You’re supposed to say hello to Ms. Appel.” A curly haired girl seemed only too happy to yell at Zoe. “Mr. Amundsen won’t like it—”
“I won’t like what?” Seth, hauling an untidy stack of papers, glanced from Chesca to the children.
“Oh, they get all shook about nothing.” Zoe rolled her eyes. Still, at the sight of Seth, her sallow face colored. Her Wild Child hand brushed an escaped strand of hair out of her face. She pasted on a big smile. “I’m glad to meet you, Ms. Appel. My name is Zoe Eggers, and I want to be an actress when I grow up.”
You’re already quite good
. At least, as far as fooling an apparently clueless Seth. He gave Zoe an approving smile as he distributed scripts. For a second, Zoe dropped the facade, her hunger for his attention as obvious as her freckles.
The elaborate hairdo. The gloves. The way her eyes sparkled like rhinestones at his appearance.
Zoe had a huge crush on Seth. Chesca suspected he had no idea.
The girl seared Chesca with a triumphant glare.
We’re not dating
. She wanted to wipe the smirk off Zoe’s face.
But she knew that regardless of the facts, Zoe had just declared WWI—Woman’s War I—on her.
Chapter 5
Y ou want what?” Ryan dropped his greasy bowl of movie-butter popcorn.
Seth grabbed the bowl before much spilled onto his new living room carpet. These football film sessions always got messy. He repeated, “I’d like you to play a disciple.”
“You want
him
to be some holy guy in a church play?” Matt stared at Seth as if he’d taken a hard hit to the head.
“I want you in it, too.”
Ryan pantomimed laughing himself sick.
Matt, who crunched quarterbacks for exercise during college, looked as if Seth had offered him lace leggings. “No way.”
Seth turned back to Ryan, a history nut. “Have you studied the history surrounding Holy Week?”
“No, not that period.” Despite himself, Ryan looked interested.
“Roman era, political and religious clashes … I could use help in keeping the play authentic.”
Ryan wavered. Seth decided to use his trump card. “Zach’s gonna to do it.”
“Zach?” His friends looked at each
“Welcome, Ms. Appel. Thanks for joining us here at the Cultural Center.”
Seth’s voice sounded uncharacteristically adult. Chesca quieted her giggle into a grown-up smile. Important, because half a dozen children turned toward her as one.
“Thank you, Mr. Amundsen. I’m looking forward to working together.” She knew she sounded as if she addressed a committee, but her brain felt as trembly as her knees. Curious glances approached her, probed—all except the defiant stare from a girl wearing her stringy hair in four random ponytails. Where did she find those 1980s neon scrunchies? And those ill-fitting black lacy fingerless gloves?
“I just finished copying the cantata’s first act.” Seth half apologized in a whisper.
Great. He’s behind schedule already
.
He boomed out, “Introduce yourselves, please. Get to know Ms. Appel while I finish copying scripts.” He zoomed out the door. Chesca gulped.
To her surprise, the children followed his directions.
“I’m Chandler.” The boy, wearing tennis shoes that must have cost a fortune, sounded almost more adult than Seth. He extended his hand. Did she see a flicker of approval in those cool eyes?
“Thanks for volunteering for our Easter play, Chandler. In fact, thank you all for helping us out.” She didn’t know much about kids, but gratitude helped any group grow a positive attitude. She aimed her best smile at Ponytails.
She may as well have tried to impress a gargoyle. Angry eyes raked Chesca from head to foot. The girl turned and wandered away. Chesca felt as if she had failed inspection.
“Stupid weirdo,” Chandler muttered.
“You shouldn’t call her names.” Chesca wouldn’t allow this, no matter how rudely the girl acted.
“I know.” He grinned. “But Zoe’s mean. That’s her name, Zoe Eggers.”
“You’re supposed to say hello to Ms. Appel.” A curly haired girl seemed only too happy to yell at Zoe. “Mr. Amundsen won’t like it—”
“I won’t like what?” Seth, hauling an untidy stack of papers, glanced from Chesca to the children.
“Oh, they get all shook about nothing.” Zoe rolled her eyes. Still, at the sight of Seth, her sallow face colored. Her Wild Child hand brushed an escaped strand of hair out of her face. She pasted on a big smile. “I’m glad to meet you, Ms. Appel. My name is Zoe Eggers, and I want to be an actress when I grow up.”
You’re already quite good
. At least, as far as fooling an apparently clueless Seth. He gave Zoe an approving smile as he distributed scripts. For a second, Zoe dropped the facade, her hunger for his attention as obvious as her freckles.
The elaborate hairdo. The gloves. The way her eyes sparkled like rhinestones at his appearance.
Zoe had a huge crush on Seth. Chesca suspected he had no idea.
The girl seared Chesca with a triumphant glare.
We’re not dating
. She wanted to wipe the smirk off Zoe’s face.
But she knew that regardless of the facts, Zoe had just declared WWI—Woman’s War I—on her.
Chapter 5
Y ou want what?” Ryan dropped his greasy bowl of movie-butter popcorn.
Seth grabbed the bowl before much spilled onto his new living room carpet. These football film sessions always got messy. He repeated, “I’d like you to play a disciple.”
“You want
him
to be some holy guy in a church play?” Matt stared at Seth as if he’d taken a hard hit to the head.
“I want you in it, too.”
Ryan pantomimed laughing himself sick.
Matt, who crunched quarterbacks for exercise during college, looked as if Seth had offered him lace leggings. “No way.”
Seth turned back to Ryan, a history nut. “Have you studied the history surrounding Holy Week?”
“No, not that period.” Despite himself, Ryan looked interested.
“Roman era, political and religious clashes … I could use help in keeping the play authentic.”
Ryan wavered. Seth decided to use his trump card. “Zach’s gonna to do it.”
“Zach?” His friends looked at each
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