“No, maybe I stop because I’m trying to find someone familiar in the room. If I don’t know anyone, I try to figure out which group of people looks open to having someone else join their conversation.” He had paused and was checking out the tables now that more of our group had sat down. “Dad always does…” he blinked, then, at my pointed look, said, “Oh.”
A giggle escaped at his clueless expression. “This is hilarious. You really didn’t realize you were doing it? Wow.”
“Son of a career politician. I guess it was unconscious.” He ducked his head as a sheepish smile spread across his face. With a shrug, he pushed his hair out of his eyes and followed me to one of the tables with a lot of our regular regional group and Ann, where he ended up sandwiched between me and New York girl.
“I’m never letting you live this down, you know,” I whispered, and he responded with a light jab to my ribs with his elbow.
Our server, an incredibly hot college-aged guy in breeches and a red waistcoat knocked on the table to get our attention. At least, the attention of the guys and any girls who hadn’t yet seen him. How could anyone not notice his tight-fitting pants or his romance-novel-cover-worthy long brown hair, which he had tied back in a low colonial-ish ponytail? “How do you fare, sirs and ladies?” he asked in a somewhat British accent.
I couldn’t help it. I itched to take on a character that would fit into this amazing place. I’d spent time at a lot of historic sites, but there was something magical about being somewhere “new.” Who knew what stories and scandals and romances these walls held? I straightened myself up as if I was wearing a pair of stays, pulling from my memory of the ones I wore from July to August while interpreting the daughter of a merchant from the islands.
“Very well, thank ye, sir,” I said, with a bow of my head. That earned me a weird look from Kris and a smile from Historical Hottie.
“And from whence have you travelled to come to this fine establishment?”
Ann was the first to speak up. “Montana.”
Historical Hottie made a show of tilting his head in confusion. “I have never heard of such a place. Mont- ana?”
Ann’s eyebrows drew together in confusion.
“’Tis out west,” the guy from Maryland said, getting into character, too. If I counted right, there were at least four of us at the table who were seriously into theatre and you could tell by the way we were lighting up. Maryland had transformed, too, his body language mimicking our server.
“Far, into the backwoods,” the girl from Virginia added in a serious near-whisper, as if she were a proper lady surprised anyone would admit to not being from a colony.
“Ah, now I understand.” Historical Hottie smiled at Ann and made a mini-bow with a small flourish of his hand. “I am glad you will be able to enjoy civilized company now that you are back from the wilderness.” Ann blinked at him while I tried not to laugh. Historical Hottie winked at me, then kept up a steady stream of banter for five-ish minutes with all of us acting types while the rest of our table just watched.
When he left to get our first course of stewed pompion, I turned back to the table with a grin so wide it almost hurt, as if the edges of my lips were trying to reach my ears. “That was awesome.”
Kris twirled his fork on his metal plate, making a scraping sound. “You theatre people are really weird.”
New York nodded, reaching over to pat him on the arm. “I agree.”
Lia shook her head. “It’s fun. You should try it.” Maryland nodded in agreement.
“Oh, no, Kris is too cool to do anything fun,” I said, keeping my voice light and teasing instead of how I’d normally make digs at him.
“I don’t know if talking in a funny accent to a guy in tight pants would qualify as fun,” Kris said.
“Well, that could be a lot of fun in the right context.” I couldn’t help it. He had given me such a great opening and I was still me.
“Seriously?” New York said, sounding a little annoyed. “Seriously?” She looked at Kris as if to say, And this is what your state sent to our competition?
Virginia blushed for me, but looked like she was holding back a giggle. “That was wrong on so many levels.”
I reached over, stilled Kris’ spinning fork, and put it back on the table, issuing a challenge. “It’s only us here. No one’s taking a video,” I paused, then thought it might be good to add, “yet. How many chances do you get to eat in a historical place with people acting like they’re straight out of the seventeen-hundreds?”
“We live right outside of Philly. That’s every other restaurant in the city during Welcome America,” he pointed out. “Isn’t that basically what you did all last summer, anyway?”
“Whatever. Try it. Say ‘tis.’”
“‘Tis a stupid idea.”
I straightened up again into my colonial lady persona and tilted my chin so I could look up at him through my lashes. “My heart ‘tis aflutter with the dulcet tones of your voice.” It was hard to keep a straight face, so I hammed it up instead, exaggeratedly batting my eyelashes and putting my hand over my heart. “Pray, speak again, dear sir, so I may bask in your words.”
He narrowed his eyes at me, but his serious expression was starting to crack. “M’lady, you are insane.” His really bad accent had me torn between letting him off the hook for humanitarian reasons and egging him on.
Of course, I picked the latter. “Bestill my heart, he speaks.”
Historical Hottie came back just as I finished saying that and, as he dropped bowls of what looked like pumpkin mush in front of us, said to Kris, “Are you courting this lady?”
He blinked confusedly, and shook his head. “What? No. Just…no.”
I didn’t appreciate the distaste in his tone. “We did travel together. It was a rather long and trying journey.” I turned my eyelash-batting colonial harlot persona on him and earned a grin.
“Scandalous!” Virginia shrieked, back in her own character. I watched “I’m always confident” Kris squirm in his seat from the attention. If my plan to out-nice him into losing failed, I’d have to remember how much he seemed to hate being in situations that forced him out of his element.
“It’s obviously not like that,” Kris muttered while trying to shut me up with a death glare. “We’re…”
I wasn’t going to let him break out of character, or at least break me out of character. An idea flashed into my head and I couldn’t help it, “Cousins.” Kris would get the in-joke. He used it all the time with all of his real, if distant, cousins in school. His snort confirmed it.
“Since you are not taken, I hope this offers no offense.” Historical Hottie swept forward and, keeping his eyes trained on mine, picked up my hand and kissed it. He slid his hand back until my fingers dropped from his hold, giving a bow before starting to walk away with a wink at Kris.
My heart gave a little flutter and I let out a sigh. One of the other girls at the table whispered, “Lucky.” Yes, he was probably a college acting student playing a part and probably did this at every dinner to someone at the table he served, but still, I was human with hormones. Phoebe was going to die of jealousy when she heard about this. I turned to Kris, positive I still looked a little goofy and definitely out of character. “And that is why the guy in tight pants with an eighteenth-century accent wins every time.”
“Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds?” Kris asked.
I waved one hand dismissively at him. “You’re just jealous that someone from colonial America has more game than you.”
“Doubtful.”
“They were just so polite and poetic back then,” Virginia said, putting her hand to her forehead in a fake swoon.
Kris looked at the other guys for help, but they all made “it’s all yours” gestures at him. “Considering they probably smelled like livestock and B.O., they needed something if they wanted anyone to get close to them.”
“You know, George Washington had a favorite cologne. Assuming he doused
himself in that stuff, chances are he smelled like livestock, B.O., and lots and lots of citrus,” I said, almost without thinking, then decided to toss a little jab his way, “They still sell it. I’m surprised you don’t have a case of it. ‘Eau de Founding Father: a must-have for every aspiring politician.’”
Maryland opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. “Okay, I bite. How do you know something like that?”
“Em’s really into history. She just tries to look cool by hiding under all her acting stuff,” Kris said. When I frowned at him, he raised his hands: “What? We’re in the same class. It’s pretty obvious. You practically drooled when we started the Revolutionary War module.”
As if liking history and acting were mutually exclusive. “Anyway…” I blew air through my lips, “weren’t we talking about colonial guy having more game than you?”
“This is the most ridiculous conversation ever,” New York said with a shake of her head.
“I agree one hundred percent, Marina,” Kris said, turning one of his bright smiles on her, his face glowing in the candlelight. It was weird how he actually knew New York’s name, just like he seemed to have memorized everyone else’s name in the competition already. I was lucky if I remembered their states. “Unfortunately, it looks like Em thinks tonight’s dinner needed a debate and decided Mr. Tight Pants had to have an advantage over modern humans to support her side of the argument. But, she’s going to lose to my defense of modern courtship rituals.” Kris cleared his throat, turned towards me, and tugged on one of my curls. “Ahem. Excuse me, miss. I like your hair. It’s so twisty, it’s like playing with a spring.”
“Ha. Funny.” I swatted his hand away, almost knocking over the wooden bowl of chowder one of the wait staff tried to put in front of me. I gave the lady an apologetic look before turning back to Kris, who had triumphant little smile playing cockily over his lips as he took a drink of water from his big pewter mug. I pulled up as much colonial language as I could remember, then innocently twisted that same curl around my finger and leaned in close to him. “Sir, I’m afraid I’m somewhat of a loose woman at the moment. Pray, will you help me tighten my stays?” I was rewarded when his ears turned bright red and he nearly choked on his water. I sat back, satisfaction buzzing through my body at his reaction. “Eighteenth century wins again.”
Kris finally stopped coughing and shook his head at me. “I thought this was between a modern, normal human being and colonial pants. Not a game of ‘let’s see what totally inappropriate thing Em can say next.’” His voice still sounded rough from all the coughing.
“True. But I couldn’t help it. It’s easy to push your buttons.” A sentence came into my head and I didn’t even bother to filter it. “I like pushing your buttons.”
“Obviously.” Vermont put down his soup spoon and looked from me to Kris and back again. “Are you two really related? Because your conversation is creeping me out.”
I let out an involuntary snort. “Hell no. Our town might be small, but thankfully, I’m not a Lambert.”
“You just wish you were,” Kris said back at me with a crooked grin. He then moved the conversation on to the conference that afternoon, talking about NGOs and governmental policies with Ann, Maryland, and New York as the rest of us dug into our dinners and talked about the latest episode of Vampire Teens. For two people from the same town, we were so incredibly different.
After dinner, one of the actors led us all on a lantern-lit tour of the inn and its grounds. The building was so cool and eerie with its sparsely furnished rooms and paintings of people hanging on the walls. While half our group ogled a fancy travel writing box, I stared down the hallway and shivered as our guide told the story of a girl who died in that room on her wedding night. Vermont leaned in and whispered, “See, I told you: Ghosts.”
“Why would a female ghost want to latch onto me?” I pursed my lips and took a step back, pretending to look him up and down. “If I was a ghost and had to pick between me and a hottie farmboy from Vermont, I’d pick farmboy any time.”
“I’m not a farmboy. That’s such a stereotype,” he muttered. “But I’ll take the hottie part.”
“Good.” I pushed him slightly towards the hallway. “Now, go, flirt up a ghostly girlfriend.” Vermont shook his head, then headed towards Lia and Ann, probably to see if he could scare the crap out of them better than his fail with me.
“You’re evil,” Kris said as he came up beside me. We made our way outside and the guide led us over a narrow wood and stone bridge towards a building with a waterwheel attached to it. “Sometimes, I wonder if most of that is an act.”
The rough wood of the bridge handrail dug into my palm as I clutched at it with every step. A good ten feet below us, a creek or river or something churned over rocks. It definitely didn’t look like it was deep enough to cushion a fall.
“‘All the world’s a stage and all the men and women merely players,’” I quoted between shallow breaths. We reached the other side and I tried not to let relief show on my face. “Everything we do is an act—a part of this carefully constructed story we have about who we are and what we want the world to see about us. You do the same thing, every time you pretend to care about people right before the class president elections.” Be nice, Em, the plotty voice said in my head.
“That’s not an act. Maybe I do take extra time to talk to people I don’t usually hang out with in the beginning of the year, but do you know everyone in our class?” Before he could answer, he added, “Who aren’t in band or theatre?”
“I know a few cheerleaders and football players,” I said, and my defensive wall shot up.
“There are over three hundred of us and I want to make sure I understand what everyone wants and needs from the school, even if I don’t hang out with them.” He ran a hand through his hair and his smile turned infuriatingly smug. “Of course, if it gets me votes, I’m not complaining.”
That last comment proved my whole point. “Of course,” I parroted him, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Because that’s what you care about, anyway.”
Kris stopped short and grabbed at my sleeve so I had to back off the path to keep out of everyone’s way. He didn’t look too happy. “Last year, the student council brought back Spirit Week and I was the one who suggested we add the hallway decorating and music competitions to include you artsy people.” At “you,” he stepped even closer and pointed his finger at me so I had to press up against one of the fences surrounding the fields to keep from getting poked in the nose. “I spoke with alumni and businesses to get all those extra tablets and e-readers for our library because we didn’t have enough. All stuff I learned by talking to people. It’s not an act.”
I debated slipping through the rails, but instead closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to assume you didn’t care. It’s just, what normal person does that? Memorize everyone’s names and campaign for votes?”
“Someone who wants to make a difference.” Kris seemed to realize how close he’d gotten and backed off. He started walking again and I had to pick up speed to catch up to him. Damn my shorter legs. “We’re both here because we wrote speeches about how we can make positive change in the world. You can’t put the kind of words and passion into a speech that gets you this far unless you believe what you wrote. Or was that all an act for you?”
“No.” A breeze blew over us and I crossed my arms, pulling my sleeves over my hands at the same time. I had no idea how he could still be comfortable in only that henley. Even some of the other boys—okay, only the ones from the southern states—were wearing sweatshirts or jackets. “I mean, I really want the scholarship, but my speech means a lot to me.” Wanting the scholarship was an understatement, but he didn’t need to know how badly I wanted to win. Still, because I’d failed miserably so far with plan “Be Freakishly Nice to Kris” between Historical Hottie and arguing with him about class presidency, I bumped him with my shoulder and said, “Truce? We’re both real and aweso
me. Since we keep getting stuck together here, we can’t fight all the time, right?”
“True and truce. Unless we’re debating, and you’re on the wrong side.” He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “Is that why you’ve been civil to me today? It’s been a little Twilight-Zone-y, to be honest.”
“I’m civil all the time, I just don’t fall over myself around you like you want me to. Besides, our state gets enough flak from bad comedians. It doesn’t need us giving it a bad name, too.” This time, I was the one who invaded his personal space, smiling up at him. “Besides, I think I’ve been a lot nicer than just civil.”
“Right. Thanks for making fun of me back there with that loose stays thing.”
“It’s not my fault you have a dirty mind and interpreted that in a modern context. Besides, it’s an all-day summit tomorrow. I’m sure you’ll have a lot of chances for payback.” The organizers always sat us next to each other because of the state thing, but I’m positive they regretted that decision daily.
Kris’ teeth were bright in the moonlight. “I can’t wait.”
One of the reenactors walking from the barn to one of the other outbuildings caught my eye and I watched her silhouette in the moonlight, time freezing as if the hands on a clock suddenly whirred backwards two hundred and fifty years. The entire farm around us took on a surreal feel that buzzed across my skin, like I really was a time traveler.
“You really do like history, don’t you?” he asked, breaking the spell and dragging me back into our time.
I turned back to Kris, who was watching me with an amused expression, his features softened by the moonlight. “I love history.” I closed my eyes, remembering back to the exact moment I fell head over heels in love with the past. Even though it was years ago, that initial “this is right,” key fitting perfectly in a lock feeling rushed over me again. “Do you remember our fifth grade field trip to Philly?”
“When Andrew threw up on the bus before we even left town so we had to smell it the whole way there?”
Dramatically Ever After Page 11
