Acting Brave (Fenbrook Academy #3) (22 page)

“Is it always like this?” I asked.

She looked blankly at me. “Like what?”

I shook my head and followed her through the crowd. Everyone was beautiful, too. I mean, not as beautiful as Jasmine, but every one of them was a 10. You could tell the dancers by their slender, flat-chested figures but, even amongst the actors and musicians, none of them had Jasmine’s glorious curves, or pale, smooth skin, or that smile that made me light up inside. Even so, walking through the hallway felt like walking through a movie. It was a million miles away from the station. I wasn’t used to everyone around me being so damn...
attractive.

The walls were covered with timetables and notices of upcoming tests. “I’m back at school,” I said disbelievingly.

Jasmine twisted to look back over her shoulder at me, which made the dress cling to her ass
.
I caught my breath.

“That bother you?” she asked.

I looked around me and then back at her. “I didn’t do so well at school.”

“Well, neither did I. But this is a good place for second chances.”

She showed me through to a large, echoey hall and then climbed up onto the stage.

“The stage?” I asked. “Aren’t you meant to be...you know. Easing me in slowly?”

She held out her hand to me. I climbed up. It wasn’t like there was an audience watching us, but just being up there felt...exposed. Yeah, I know. Big guys get nervous too, okay?

“Scared?” she asked.

“No.”
Yes.

“You should be scared. You have to go past the fear stage. You’re about to make a fool of yourself.”

“...
thanks.
Aren’t you meant to be pep-talking me?” I could feel the nerves rising in me. I didn’t understand it, I mean—sure, no one likes public speaking, but I’m not a shy guy. And this wasn’t even public! The hall was empty, apart from me and her—

Oh yeah. That was it. I didn’t want to look like a dumbass
in front of her.
And it looked as if we really were going to be doing acting training. I’d wondered, for a moment, if she’d open up about what happened at the gym, once we were alone together. But if she didn’t want to go there, I sure as hell wasn’t going to push her.

“So. Let’s get you into character,” she said. “Close your eyes.”

I looked at her. “Really?”

“Do you want to do this the Jasmine way, or the wrong way?”

I closed my eyes.

“Okay. This character, Tony.” I heard her move closer to me. “Do you know him?”

“Do I
what?!”

“Do you know him? Do you understand him? Do you know him like you know your own brother?”

I opened one eye to see if she was serious.

“Eyes closed,” she said instantly.

How did she even know?!
It sounded like she was standing behind me. Really close behind me. I closed the eye. “No,” I said truthfully. “I don’t
know
him.” I was starting to get frustrated now, completely out of my depth. “It’s just some words on a page. He’s not a real person.”

Her voice came from almost in my ear. I could feel the warmth of her breath on the skin there, and that wildflower scent of her perfume. “That’s your job. You have to make him real. He has to be as real as you or me.”

I nearly opened my eyes. The sensation of being in total darkness, standing not so very far away from the edge of the stage, was unnerving. But Jasmine’s voice and her sweet, soft scent held me as tight as a rope.
If I open my eyes, she might move further away….
“Not
really,
though, right?” I asked. “Because that sounds kind of...crazy.”

“Really,” she said. Her breath was like the faintest summer wind on the back of my neck. “If they see
Ryan playing Tony,
you’ve failed. They have to see
Tony.
Tony has to walk into the room. If someone knows you, and they see you perform, it should be like they’re meeting a stranger. You have to become him, not just play a role.”

“So when you’re playing someone...you’re not...
you
anymore? I mean, you’re not in there thinking ‘hey, I should say this line like this,’ you’re actually…”—I swallowed—”
being
the person? Like, you’re not
you
anymore?”

Her voice went tight, just for a moment. “That’s right.”

I just stood there processing that for a while. “So you spend hours every day being someone else,” I said slowly. “Isn’t that...weird?”

“It’s okay,” she said. I swore her voice chilled a few degrees.

If it was all okay, why did she suddenly sound as if she was in so much pain? I had the feeling that I was standing on the edge of a precipice, and there was something important down at the bottom that I couldn’t quite see. If I could just lean out a little further—

Her palm landed on my shoulder, warmly cupping it, and every thought flew out of my head. “Let’s focus on you,” said Jasmine. And just like that, the happy, flirty Jasmine was back.

For the next two hours, she made me get to know Tony. Stupid stuff like the bands we figured he liked and the beer he drank. I couldn’t see the point. I could feel the anger start to smolder, deep inside me...and yet, with Jasmine there, the rage couldn’t take hold. I’d started to notice that—how I was calmer, with her around. I still felt like the world’s biggest idiot, though. I had to keep reassuring myself that none of the guys from the station could see me. Although they’d sure as hell all see me if my performance ever made it onto TV.

Near the end of the second hour, she told me something Tony would do—that he’d agree to swap a shift with another cop so the other guy could go watch the baseball game, and I said, “No.”

Jasmine had me standing there with my eyes closed again but, from her voice, it sounded as if she was smiling. “No?”

I shook my head. I couldn’t believe what I was about to say, but, “He wouldn’t do that. He’s...not evil, but he doesn’t do anything without getting something back. He’d ask for a favor.”

She gripped both my shoulders from behind, squeezing me hard. “That’s it! You’re getting it! You’re starting to feel him...aren’t you?”

I went to say
no,
but...crazy as it sounds, just on the edge of my brain...I sort of could
.
There was the shadow outline of an instinct there. Like when you follow your gut as a cop. I had a kind of Tony-hunch. “I...maybe,” I said at last. “Yeah.”

Jasmine gave a kind of excited squeak and threw her arms tight around me and—Oh God, her breasts were pushing against my back, soft and weighty and warm and—

I couldn’t help it. I spun around. Jasmine was grinning at me, our face inches apart. I lifted my hands to cup her cheeks—

She blinked at me, still grinning. “What?”

I caught myself just in time. My hands fell to my waist. “Nothing,” I said. “Thank you. That really...worked. I mean, I think I’m starting to get it.”
Moron. What the hell were you about to do? Kiss her? Seriously? Hasn’t she made it clear enough that she’s not interested?

She gave me a worried look for a second.
Shit!
Did she suspect? Did she know how close I’d come?

Then she turned away. “You take a break,” she said. “Let me do some Isabel, and then we’ll try them both together.”

I relaxed a little and then tried to concentrate. Tried to learn as much as I possibly could from her because maybe, just maybe, if she could teach me to act, I could keep being a cop.

And maybe, if I focused hard enough on learning, she wouldn’t figure out I’d fallen for her.

Chapter 27

Jasmine

I sat in a Starbucks with a venti hot chocolate with cream and raspberry syrup. It’s a ridiculous drink. It’s like 600 calories and I knew I wouldn’t even finish it. But it was a very Jasmine drink, with its zigzags of tangy syrup and its mountain of cream, and I needed something to remind me I was her.

I was thinking about the nearly-kiss at Fenbrook the day before. How good Ryan had looked. How tempted I’d been to just close my eyes and part my lips, because that’s all it would have taken. It would barely have been doing anything wrong, because it was barely doing anything at all—more inaction than action.

But I’d caught myself in time. I’d said, “What?” in that happy, singsong, Jasmine voice, as if I hadn’t any idea he was about to kiss me. And now I had to relive it, again and again, telling myself I’d done the right thing. Telling myself that I had to keep being Jasmine—today, of all days. Because today, I was meeting my brother.

Nick was on time, which made me suspicious. He’d never been on time for anything in his life.

Maybe he’d turned over a new leaf, since breaking ties with my dad.

Maybe. Or maybe he was trying very hard to impress me, putting on an act.

He looked different, too, as he stripped off his jacket and sat down. Back in Chicago, he’d always been wiry. But now he looked even leaner. He was obviously eating—he wasn’t wasting away. But his face had a sort of gaunt, hunted look. Maybe I’d been right to worry. Maybe he
was
living on the streets.

Fortunately, I had the perfect way to ask him, without having to go straight to
So, are you a homeless junkie these days?
I’d been rehearsing it all the way to the Starbucks. I even showed him the apartment listings I was scrolling through on my phone as he walked up. “Can you believe the rent in this city?” I asked. “I’m looking for a cheaper place, but I think I’m already at the bottom of the barrel.”

That was only half true. I wasn’t really looking, because I didn’t want to have to admit that I was going to lose my current place. I knew that I
wasn’t
quite at the bottom of the barrel: the bottom was the place I’d lived in when I’d first come to New York, where I’d almost wound up sleeping with the landlord in lieu of rent. No way was I going back there...but I was running out of alternatives. The bar I worked at wasn’t offering any extra shifts and, between Fenbrook and practicing with Ryan, I didn’t have time anyway. But I also didn’t have enough money to cover my rent, and it was due at the end of the week. My lie was going to become reality pretty damn fast.

He nodded sympathetically. “I’m in an okay place,” he said. “Roach-free. Rat-free. Small, but I don’t have a lot of stuff.” And he described the location—just a few blocks from the subway station I’d seen him at. I’d probably passed right underneath his window while I was searching bars for him. It sounded believable.

Then he said, “But the lease is up in a week, so I’m outta there.”

Much, much too late, the obvious problem occurred to me. How could I have been so stupid?! I sat there nodding and sipping my bucket-sized mug of hot chocolate, praying his mind didn’t go where mine had just gone.

But then he said, “You know, if you’re short of cash, I got cash. I just need a place to stay for a couple of months.”

I opened and closed my mouth a few times.
Shit!
“I only have one bedroom.”

He shrugged. “I can sleep on the couch. And I can pay. Here.” And he pulled out a roll of bills, secured by a rubber band. I remembered that sort of roll. I’d seen a lot of them, back in Chicago, tight little wads of greasy, sweat-stained dollars traded for drugs one day, sex the next, a favor the next, bouncing from person to person without ever being unrolled. As if no one wanted to be the one to open up the roll and unleash all the bad karma that must have soaked into it. I felt ill.

But without that money, I was going to be back at the bottom of the barrel.

He looked toward the counter and smiled. “I wasn’t gonna have coffee,” he said. “But I’m gonna get one. While you decide. And chill—it’s not a big deal. I’m just trying to help you out.”

He sauntered off to the counter—that bouncing, rolling walk he always did, lots of attitude, his eyes everywhere. He’d learned to walk that way in Chicago, to stay out of trouble. I’d learned the female equivalent. I remembered what it was like, to have that panicky fear inside you, the whole time. But he’d been in New York at least two years. Why hadn’t he lost the street attitude, if he’d really gone straight?

Maybe it was harder for men to let go. Maybe I’d adjusted easily...or adjusted badly, but in a different way. Maybe I was just paranoid about letting anyone from my family back in, even if it wasn’t my dad. I sighed and drank more hot chocolate.
Stop being Emma. What would Jasmine do?

Jasmine would stop being such a suspicious bitch and show her brother some kindness.

A finger touched my nose and I jerked in shock. I realized that Nick had hooked his arm around from behind me.

“Sorry,” he said. “It’s just that, if you’re going to sit there all moody and serious, you can’t do it with cream on your nose.”

I looked at the cream on his finger and then at him, and I laughed. A tired, I-can’t-believe-I’m-doing-this laugh, but still a laugh.