Life in the Lucky Zone (The Zone #2)

by Patricia B Tighe

  Lindsey took it from me and wiped her face.

  Oh, that’s what it was for.

  “Ugh,” she said, looking at the black residue on the paper towel. “That’s disgusting.” She balled it up in her hand as though she was embarrassed by it.

  Sheesh, girls. “Don’t worry about it.” I pried her fingers open and tossed the wet ball into the trash by my desk.

  “Y’all are being so nice to me,” Lindsey said in a quiet voice. “Nicer than I deserve.”

  What? She couldn’t possibly feel that way about herself. “It’s only because we’re used to emotional outbursts. You should see my father wail and shake his fists at the ceiling when we run out of Bagel Bites. Oh, wait … that’s me.”

  She exhaled a puff of air that might have included a laugh. “You’re such a goon.”

  There we go. There’s some of that fighting spirit. “Takes one … ”

  She raised one eyebrow and sipped more tea. “I should probably go.”

  “When you feel better.”

  Her eyes got all watery again. “I’m not sure when that’ll be.”

  Way to go, Trey! Help her focus on the bad stuff, why don’t you? “Take as long as you need.”

  “He cheated on me, you know,” she said, her voice a dull monotone.

  Right. Not talking about Nana anymore. “No. I didn’t know.”

  “What? Didn’t you hear all the gossip?” Tears poured down her face.

  Oh, boy. “I’m not interested in gossip. I just heard y’all broke up.”

  “We did.” Her voice wavered. “He dumped me for his pregnant ex.”

  Whoa. That was low. I couldn’t do anything but stare at her beautiful, bloated face.

  “He isn’t even sure the baby’s his. Isn’t that noble of him?” She practically shrieked the question.

  “No.” The tea in her mug was sloshing around—her hands must’ve been shaking, but I couldn’t tell. I took the mug away as gently as I could.

  She didn’t even notice. “He said we ran out of luck. I loved him, Berger—I still might, and I hate myself for it.” She was full-on sobbing now, her face buried in her hands.

  With a weird sensation in my gut, I set the tea on the TV stand and then awkwardly put both arms around her. She turned her face into my chest and gripped my flannel shirt in her fists. I held her shaking body tighter, which seemed to make her cry even harder.

  Well, this was fun. It looked like more comfort equaled more tears. Who knew? And why hadn’t that unnamed person ever told me? Jerk.

  I had no freaking idea what to do next. Apparently Rose and Claire were right. Lindsey was in a lot of pain. Should I say something? Pat her on the back? I went for the easiest thing I could think of. I moved one hand to the back of her head and just held on. Some kind of citrusy scent floated up from her hair, and I had to swallow the urge to sneeze.

  It must have been three minutes, but it felt more like three days before she stopped shaking in my arms. Then she shifted, resting her cheek against my chest. Her breathing began to slow. She wasn’t falling asleep, was she? But no. She let go of my shirt and slid her arm around my torso. Holy moly. How long was I expected to stay in this position? I mean, she was soft and everything, so holding her was nice, but we were only friends. If this went on much longer, it was bound to get seriously awkward.

  I had to do something. I started running my hand up and down her back. “You asleep?” I whispered.

  “No.” She lifted her head and yawned.

  I chuckled. “But you were close.”

  She sighed. “Yeah, guess I was.” She straightened and pulled herself out of my arms.

  “It’s okay.”

  Her green eyes looked huge against her blotchy face. “You’re an amazingly good person.”

  I tilted my head slowly from one side to the other. “Don’t say that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because if you think like that, then you probably won’t argue with me. And I’d miss our fights.”

  She smiled. “I promise to always fight with you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Even though you’re amazingly good.”

  “Shut up.”

  This time she actually laughed.

  I smiled. Good, no awkwardness. We’d gone back to the way we were before. I showed her to the restroom, then helped her get her stuff together and walked her to the car.

  She tossed her purse and books into the front passenger seat and lifted her head as though she were steeling herself for the drive home. She smiled up at me. “Thanks, Dragon Boy,” she whispered, and then kissed me on the cheek.

  Um, okay. My face tingled where her lips had touched. I held on to the door while she climbed in and then waved as she drove off.

  Nope, nothing different at all. Right.

  Seventeen

  Lindsey

  I shut my car door and headed across the half-full student parking lot. It was freaking early, but I had to talk to Mrs. Mac before she posted the list today. There was still a chance I could convince her to pick me for the Ma Kirby part despite my sucky audition.

  I’d gone over my little speech ten times, practicing in front of the mirror until I felt like a total dork. But most importantly, I was loaded up with luck. I was wearing a new silver necklace with three different charms—I liked the elephant charm the best, but the four-leaf clover and the horseshoe were cute too—and another beaded bracelet to add to the other three on my right wrist. I had a plastic bag of fake rabbit’s-foot key chains in my purse, and I’d hung a pink rabbit’s foot from the rearview mirror of my car.

  It was the best I could do. A couple more packages still hadn’t arrived, but I couldn’t worry about that now. The charms I had would be enough. They had to be.

  A finger of icy air snuck its way underneath my scarf, and I shivered. I was so ready for it to warm up a little. The cold had become just one more thing battering against me. I zipped my jacket as high as I could without snagging the scarf and plodded on, my breath puffing around my face.

  Two minutes later I’d made it to the theater building. I almost stopped outside to make sure I had my head together, but forced myself to keep going. If I hesitated, the fear pinging around inside me would make me turn around and go the other way.

  The darkened auditorium seemed cold and hushed, as though it was waiting for people to bring it alive again. I headed backstage, not stopping to take in the stillness and deliberately not looking toward Adam’s seat. A heater kicked on as I passed through the shadowed workroom, nearly making me jump. Okay, keep it together. You’re almost there.

  A light burned through the frosted window on the closed door of Mrs. Mac’s office. Here goes nothing. I knocked.

  A voice called out, “Come in.”

  I opened the door. It was toasty in there. A tiny space heater whirred from one corner.

  Mrs. Mac lifted her chin at me. “Ah, Lindsey, I thought I might see you this morning. Have a seat.”

  No friendly hello. No smile. I slipped off my jacket and took a chair across the desk from her. The same one I’d sat in countless times over the past two years, where I’d received encouragement and laughter. “Good morning,” I finally managed to say.

  She smiled and sipped her coffee. Good, a smile. That was something, at least. I cleared my throat, but she held up a hand. “Before you say anything, I need to tell you that my decision has been made.”

  Crap. “May I—”

  “Please let me finish.” She lowered the brow she’d raised. “I’ve thought long and hard about this situation, and my decision should be the best for all involved.”

  This couldn’t be good. I slid one hand inside my purse and clutched the entire bag of rabbits’ feet.

  “I’ve chosen Marta to play Ma Kirby.”

  “Marta?” What the—? Marta couldn’t act her way out of a paper bag, off a paper plate, or through a paper towel.

  “Yes. Did you see her audition?” Mrs. Mac shook her hea
d. “No, of course you didn’t. You were working with Trey. Well, it was brilliant. She’s truly matured into a fine actor. You’ll see during rehearsals.”

  Rehearsals? Had she given me a different part? Everything in me wanted to jump across that desk and shake her. Just spit it out!

  My face must have shown my anticipation because Mrs. Mac smiled and nodded. “Yes, I want you to be Marta’s alternate for the competition. I can think of nobody better to support her. She can still learn a lot from you.”

  A foghorn blasted through my brain, drowning out anything else she said. Alternate? I had to basically understudy Marta? The girl who was the very definition of pretentious? I should turn it down. I should just tell Mrs. Mac I need to take a break from acting for a while. But the thought of not acting scared the crap out of me. I had to have acting in my life. If I didn’t … there would be nothing.

  Mrs. Mac swallowed more coffee, watching me over the rim of her mug. When she spoke, her voice was gentle. “Lindsey, I know this is a shock to you. But it will give you the ability to heal, to get over a relationship that only time can help.”

  “I’m really okay, Mrs. Mac,” I said, even though I was so on edge I would’ve leapt through the ceiling if anyone touched me just then. I chose a few lines from the speech I’d memorized. “No matter what’s happened to me personally, I need you to know that I am completely committed to the role of Ma Kirby. I would not let anything interfere with bringing my best to that part.”

  Her expression turned sad. “I’m sure that’s true. But for now, I need you to be equally committed to supporting Marta if she needs it. And I need you to keep working with Trey.”

  Did even Berger have a part? A guy who’d taken theater last semester for the very first time? It felt like I was breathing through a straw.

  “He’ll be the alternate for the role of Arthur,” Mrs. Mac said. “But I can’t tell you more than that. It wouldn’t be fair to the others for you to know who’s playing every role.”

  An alternate. Just like me. Hooray for the alternates! I forced myself to smile. “He’s been doing really well when we rehearse.”

  “Glad to hear it. I appreciate your hard work.”

  I should have denied it, told her it was no big deal, because it really wasn’t. Berger had natural talent and wasn’t the jerk I’d always thought he was. But I didn’t. I needed that small bit of approval from her. How lame was that?

  I forced my fingers to let go of the bag of rabbits’ feet. Where was my luck now? A tiny spark of desperation made me blurt, “Are you sure I can’t be Ma Kirby?”

  Instead of being all touchy-feely, she went back to business as usual. “As an alternate, you will be. Remember that. Alternates are vital. You need to know Ma Kirby’s part backwards and forwards.” She stood. “You’re going to be fine, Lindsey.”

  What the heck? If you think that, then why don’t you give me the stinking part? But she was clearly ready for me to go. I got up and put on my jacket. “Thanks, Mrs. Mac. You’re right. I will be.”

  I left her office, forcing myself to walk, not run, to keep my steps fluid and moving. I would not let her hear how much this was killing me. I had to be in control. I made it all the way into the auditorium before tears burned behind my eyes.

  No. No crying. I’d done enough yesterday.

  I needed to be completely focused if I was going to convince everyone else that I was fine with not getting the part. So, goal for the day: act the hell out of the role of Lindsey Taylor.

  Eighteen

  Berger

  I jogged up the backstage stairs, not sure if I should walk normally to see the list or if I should run in screaming like a maniac, tear the list off the wall, and escape with it. The other people gathering to read it might be a tad freaked by that.

  Something flickered at the corner of my vision, so I paused. Lindsey stood in the wings, staring out across the stage. I hadn’t talked to her much that day, except a brief Yeah, I’m doing better exchange during lunch.

  “Hey,” I said, going over to her.

  I thought she smiled at me, but it came and went so quickly I wasn’t really sure she’d done it. “Hey.” Her voice was soft. Like she hadn’t spoken in a while.

  “Have you seen the list?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” she said. “Have you?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Go on.”

  “Is it bad news? You’re too quiet.”

  She touched my forearm. “Just go look.”

  “Okay.” I started to go, but then stopped and looked back. “Will you still be here when I get back?”

  “Sure,” she said, so quietly it was almost a whisper.

  I walked on, pretty sure I wasn’t going to like what I was about to see. I neared the group of six people clustered around the paper posted outside Mrs. Mac’s office. A girl swept by me so fast that I actually felt a breeze. Good grief. She stuck her dark head in front of the others reading the list, then let out a sharp, “Whoop!” She broke out of the crowd, her pink cheeks gleaming. “Yes! I can’t believe it! Yes!”

  Marta Kowalski had apparently gotten some very good news. One of the freshman girls grabbed her, and they did a little obnoxious victory dance, mostly composed of twirling in a circle. But that was okay. Guess if you got what you wanted it was cool to be obnoxious—at least for a little while.

  “Congrats, Marta,” one of the guys said.

  I edged around the celebration and up to the white sheet of paper against the wall. I scanned for Arthur and found the name Blake Lowry beside it. And beside that was written: Alternate—Trey Berger. A sinking sensation ran from my chest to my knees. Well, crap. I was an alternate. What did Blake have that I didn’t? Besides a whole extra year of experience and being short enough to actually look like a thirteen-year-old.

  But hey, a lot of people didn’t get picked for any part, so I had that going for me.

  A deep voice spoke quietly beside me. “She didn’t get it.” Mike Morales’s stunned expression would’ve been funny if I hadn’t just realized what he meant. “I can’t believe it. This is so weird.”

  Right there next to Ma Kirby it said Marta Kowalski. And beside that: Alternate—Lindsey Taylor. I sucked in a deep breath. I couldn’t believe it either.

  “I can’t remember the last time she didn’t get the lead in a play,” Mike said, then glanced over his shoulder. “And I have to act with Marta,” he whispered. “That’s seriously messed up.”

  My gaze roamed over the list again. Mike had the role of Pa Kirby. “It’ll probably be fine. Just different.” I don’t know why I thought I needed to encourage him.

  He continued to stare at the list. “Yeah, different.”

  I turned away, smiled at whatever smiling face I saw, and headed back to where I’d left Lindsey. When I got there, she was standing in the same position, like she’d been frozen in time. I stopped next to her and stared across the stage.

  “Woo-hoo, alternates unite,” she said, holding up a hand.

  Was that just a little too happy sounding? I high-fived her. “Do we have a special initiation or anything?”

  She shrugged. “We should probably come up with one.”

  I sighed. “How’re you holding up?”

  “Okay. It’s just so exhausting.”

  “What is?”

  “Having to convince everyone I’m okay with it.”

  I bumped her with my shoulder. “You don’t have to do that with me.”

  She bumped me back. “No. I don’t.”

  Why did I feel so light all of a sudden? Did it have to do with Lindsey trusting me? Or was it just that all the pressure of the casting was over and there was nothing weighing me down now?

  Lindsey, however, looked like she had an anvil on her chest. “Need to talk?” I asked.

  She moved her head slightly to the right so that she was now staring at the auditorium seats. “Maybe later.” She found my hand without looking, squeezed it, then let go.

  “
Need me to leave?”

  “Whatever you want to do, Dragon Boy.”

  So I stood there next to her while she stared at whatever the heck she was staring at. And just like yesterday, we didn’t need to talk. We just needed to breathe.

  After a few minutes, voices and laughter came from the direction of the office, getting louder and closer. “You ready?” she asked, her eyes shining.

  What was she up to? But I had no time to ask, because the group of people had arrived. “Yup,” I said.

  She swung around, laughing as though I’d said something hilarious. “Hey, guys! I’m so happy for you.” She hugged each one of them, including Marta, who was still beaming. Mike held on a little longer than the rest, mumbling something into Lindsey’s ear, but she just shook her head and smiled.

  Mrs. Mac was right. Lindsey’s acting had artistry—especially when she was playing a difficult role. And this particular version of herself was probably one of the hardest. But she killed it. Of course.

  So why did it make me so sad to watch?

  Nineteen

  Lindsey

  My luck clearly needed a boost. And I couldn’t just sit around waiting for it to come to me.

  “So I’ve been thinking,” I said, lying on top of Claire’s bed on Saturday afternoon.

  “Ruh-row,” Claire said from the floor.

  Rose snickered. They were building houses out of LEGOs, a pastime I found so boring I’d rather stare at the dust motes floating through the air. Sunlight beamed through Claire’s window, making it seem like summer outside.

  I ignored their joke and fiddled with the charms on my necklace. Would my plan work? I had no idea. But that wasn’t going to stop me.

  “Okay,” Rose said, “I give up. What have you been thinking?”

  “You know how Adam brought me luck?”

  “What?” Claire asked, her voice raised. I could feel the heat of her glare shooting toward me.

  I rolled onto my stomach so I could see them better. “Adam brought me good luck. He really did.”