adolescent,” I said. “I don’t even know enough people for a party. Besides, I’m supposed to be starting a unit on Our Town tomorrow, and I haven’t even read it yet.”
Jill fanned her face with her hand. “Small town in New Hampshire. Boy meets girl. Boy gets girl. Girl dies. That’s really all you need to know.”
Lars walked out of the school and headed for his Prius, a rarity in a parking lot filled with tired-looking Civics, Escorts and Sat-urns. It was easy to tell the faculty lot from the students’. The students’ cars were much nicer.
“Hey, Lars!” Jill held up her arm and waved. “You wanna go over to Natalie’s house later? Her parents are out of town.”
“Jill’s coming,” I said as he got closer, just to make sure he didn’t get the wrong idea. How ironic if I finally got a shot at Lars now that I was no longer interested. After all, I was dating Jonathan. Or, someone who looked just like me was dating Jonathan, at any rate.
Lars approached, twisting open a water bottle. “Actually, Natalie, I was hoping we could go over some audition stuff, anyway.” He poured some of the water onto his cupped hand and splashed the back of his neck. He did it again, dousing his forehead this time.
“It can’t go too late,” I told Lars. “I’ve got to put together my first Our Town lesson for college prep.”
“Just assign parts and have the kids read it out loud,” Lars said.
“But they’ve already read it,” I said. “I assigned it for homework.”
Lars raised his eyebrows. Mentally, I ran through the kids in my college prep classes. “Well, some of them read it. Two, maybe.”
Jill took Lars’s bottle and splashed her own face. “Okay, then. I’ll bring the food. Lars, you bring the booze. We like margaritas. Six o’clock work for everyone?” She handed the bottle back to Lars. He took a swig.
“And what about me?” I asked, eyeing the water bottle. I wanted some to dump on my own sweaty face, but taking it would seem oddly intimate now that it had touched Lars’s lips. “What should I bring?”
“You just sit there and look pretty,” Jill said. Then she took the bottle and drained it, returning the empty container to Lars.
Jill, hauling a brown bag, got to the house first. “Where’s Lover Boy?”
“Oh, please. Lars is just a friend. Besides, I’m seeing Jonathan now.”
She strode into the kitchen and put the bag on the counter. “Oh? And who does Jonathan think he’s seeing?” When I glared at her, she laughed. “Just tell him. He’ll probably think it’s funny.”
“I’m not so sure,” I said.
“Would it be such a great loss?”
I blinked at her. “I like him.”
She shrugged. “Okay.” She reached into the bag and pulled out a bag of sushi rice. “You got a rice cooker?”
“Yes. Except in this house, we call it a pot. So—what? You don’t like Jonathan?”
“Of course I like him. What is there not to like?”
“Meaning?”
“He’s just a bit, you know. Sedate. And he has absolutely no sense of style.” She retrieved more items from the bag: baby zucchini, ginger root, bagged lettuce, brownies, and a package wrapped in white butcher paper. “Ahi,” she informed me. “You do have a grill, don’t you? I’m making seared ahi.”
“Of course we have a grill. Stainless steel, enormous. You could roast a turkey on that thing.” I folded up the paper bag and stuck it on the shelf of the walk-in pantry specially designed to hold brown paper bags. “Lars has style, and you think it makes him look gay.”
“I don’t really think Lars is gay. Confused, maybe.” The doorbell rang. “Speak of the devil.”
“I brought margaritas,” Lars said, holding up a giant yellow bottle. He gazed up at the ceiling fans whirring high above us. “Wow. Nice place.” He wore linen Bermuda shorts and a silk floral shirt that looked Tommy Bahama—but surely a teacher didn’t spend that kind of money on clothes. I wore shorts and
Jill fanned her face with her hand. “Small town in New Hampshire. Boy meets girl. Boy gets girl. Girl dies. That’s really all you need to know.”
Lars walked out of the school and headed for his Prius, a rarity in a parking lot filled with tired-looking Civics, Escorts and Sat-urns. It was easy to tell the faculty lot from the students’. The students’ cars were much nicer.
“Hey, Lars!” Jill held up her arm and waved. “You wanna go over to Natalie’s house later? Her parents are out of town.”
“Jill’s coming,” I said as he got closer, just to make sure he didn’t get the wrong idea. How ironic if I finally got a shot at Lars now that I was no longer interested. After all, I was dating Jonathan. Or, someone who looked just like me was dating Jonathan, at any rate.
Lars approached, twisting open a water bottle. “Actually, Natalie, I was hoping we could go over some audition stuff, anyway.” He poured some of the water onto his cupped hand and splashed the back of his neck. He did it again, dousing his forehead this time.
“It can’t go too late,” I told Lars. “I’ve got to put together my first Our Town lesson for college prep.”
“Just assign parts and have the kids read it out loud,” Lars said.
“But they’ve already read it,” I said. “I assigned it for homework.”
Lars raised his eyebrows. Mentally, I ran through the kids in my college prep classes. “Well, some of them read it. Two, maybe.”
Jill took Lars’s bottle and splashed her own face. “Okay, then. I’ll bring the food. Lars, you bring the booze. We like margaritas. Six o’clock work for everyone?” She handed the bottle back to Lars. He took a swig.
“And what about me?” I asked, eyeing the water bottle. I wanted some to dump on my own sweaty face, but taking it would seem oddly intimate now that it had touched Lars’s lips. “What should I bring?”
“You just sit there and look pretty,” Jill said. Then she took the bottle and drained it, returning the empty container to Lars.
Jill, hauling a brown bag, got to the house first. “Where’s Lover Boy?”
“Oh, please. Lars is just a friend. Besides, I’m seeing Jonathan now.”
She strode into the kitchen and put the bag on the counter. “Oh? And who does Jonathan think he’s seeing?” When I glared at her, she laughed. “Just tell him. He’ll probably think it’s funny.”
“I’m not so sure,” I said.
“Would it be such a great loss?”
I blinked at her. “I like him.”
She shrugged. “Okay.” She reached into the bag and pulled out a bag of sushi rice. “You got a rice cooker?”
“Yes. Except in this house, we call it a pot. So—what? You don’t like Jonathan?”
“Of course I like him. What is there not to like?”
“Meaning?”
“He’s just a bit, you know. Sedate. And he has absolutely no sense of style.” She retrieved more items from the bag: baby zucchini, ginger root, bagged lettuce, brownies, and a package wrapped in white butcher paper. “Ahi,” she informed me. “You do have a grill, don’t you? I’m making seared ahi.”
“Of course we have a grill. Stainless steel, enormous. You could roast a turkey on that thing.” I folded up the paper bag and stuck it on the shelf of the walk-in pantry specially designed to hold brown paper bags. “Lars has style, and you think it makes him look gay.”
“I don’t really think Lars is gay. Confused, maybe.” The doorbell rang. “Speak of the devil.”
“I brought margaritas,” Lars said, holding up a giant yellow bottle. He gazed up at the ceiling fans whirring high above us. “Wow. Nice place.” He wore linen Bermuda shorts and a silk floral shirt that looked Tommy Bahama—but surely a teacher didn’t spend that kind of money on clothes. I wore shorts and
Similar Books
