Bad Blood (12 page)

“Something like that.” Stormy beams.

“Aren’t you afraid of getting caught?”

“Nah. I go through a ton of international proxy servers to hide my trail.”

“You realize I have no clue what you just said.”

She laughs. “No one ever does. But don’t worry, these places are already way corrupt. If they report a disturbance, they’ll get the gambling commission nosing around. And then they’d definitely have some explaining to do.”

Okay, that logic I can understand. “Well, just don’t tell the evil twin you can do this. She’ll probably make you hack into the Bellagio or something to increase her odds.”

“I don’t think she’s poor enough to need my help.”

“She might be soon, at the rate she’s going.” I shake my head. “Anyway, how about those waffles?”

Stormy turns to me, an excited look on her freckled face. Suddenly she’s eleven again. “Really?” she asks. “You really want to make some?”

“Absolutely.”

She leaps off her seat and dances to the kitchen. I join her there and soon we’re in major waffle-making mode, mixing the batter, heating up the iron, making a total mess. I accidentally drop an egg on my shoe, and she cracks up. Her laughter is infectious and soon we’re both giggling like crazy.

“Let’s add chocolate chips!” she cries, pulling over a breakfast barstool to stand on so she can reach the high shelf. “I know Mom has some up here somewhere,” she adds as she starts rummaging through the cabinet.

“Chocolate chips in waffles?” I say, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Gives them added yum,” Stormy explains confidently as she pulls the Toll House morsels from behind the bag of flour. Unfortunately in doing so, she manages to knock over the flour and a moment later I find myself completely covered head-to-toe in white powder. Stormy looks down at me, her expression hesitant. “Oops?” she says.

“Oops?” I cry, grabbing her by the waist and yanking her down from the stool. She squeals in protest as I grab the Toll House bag away from her. “I’ll give you oops,” I tell her, tickling her and laughing so hard I can barely catch my breath. I grab a handful of chocolate chips and try to stuff them into her mouth. She screams as I roll her in the flour on the floor at my feet and wiggles free, retreating to the other side of the breakfast bar for cover.

“What’s going on here?”

We whirl around and realize that in the midst of our laughter we hadn’t heard Heather walk through the door, home from work. Yikes. I assess the kitchen, which is completely trashed by this point. Flour and chocolate chips strewn everywhere. She’s going to be so pissed. And I, as the almost adult and the guest in the home, am really the one to blame.

“We’re making waffles, Mom!” Stormy announces cheerfully. “With chocolate chips for extra yum.”

“And we had a little accident,” I start to explain. “But don’t worry—I’m totally going to clean—”

“So who’s winning?” she interrupts.

“Um, what?”

“The food fight, of course.” She grins at both of us.

“I think we’re about tied,” I manage to say, relief washing over me. I can’t believe she’s not mad.

“No way. I’m kicking Sunny’s butt,” Stormy insists.

“Mmm-hmm.” Heather rubs the top of her daughter’s head affectionately.

“Sure you are.” She turns back to the kitchen. “Need some help?” she asks.

“With the waffles, I mean, not the food fight.”

I toss her a grateful smile. “Definitely.”

Somehow, with Heather’s help, we’re eventually able to produce a few edible waffles out of the mess and sit down at the breakfast bar to eat them. I glance over at my sister, who’s stuffing waffle into her mouth, still unable to stop giggling. I reach over to brush a smudge of flour from her cheek, affectionately. It still feels weird to have a newfound sister and even more so to know where she came from. But at the end of the day she’s adorable and sweet and smart and really impossible to dislike. If only Rayne would give her half a chance. We finish eating and Stormy begs me to play Dance Dance Revolution with her on the Wii. I agree—after a shower to wash off all the flour, that is—and soon we’re dancing up a storm. I’m sweating like crazy trying to keep my balance and pound out the dance moves, which, if you’ve never tried it, is a lot harder than it sounds. Of course Stormy is a total natural (or has had a lot of practice) and whips my butt in every game.

“Okay, okay, I give in,” I say, collapsing on the couch next to Heather, who’s been watching us with amusement. “You win.”

“Aw,” Stormy says. “One more round?”

“Stormy, it’s almost time for school,” her mother reminds her. “I need you to go get dressed. You can see Sunny when you get home this afternoon, if she’s free.”

“But Mo-om!”

“Don’t worry. I’m sure I’ll be ready for a rematch then,” I assure her. She looks appeased. “Okay. You’d better be.” Then she scrambles off to the bathroom.

“Sorry about that,” Heather says. “She can be a bit of a whirlwind.”

“I don’t mind. I like it.” I rise from my seat. “I should probably clean up the kitchen anyway.”

Heather shakes her head. “No need. I’ve got it. You just enjoy your day.” She looks around the apartment. “Did your sister ever get home?”

“Yeah. Sorry. Just like an hour before you did. She fell asleep in your bed.”

“That’s okay,” Heather says with a grin. “I’m fine for now.”

The woman has energy, I’ll give her that. I, on the other hand, am already exhausted and it’s only eight A.M. After thanking her for being a saint about the whole kitchen thing, I head back into the bathroom for shower #2, this one to get rid of the dance sweat.

After showering and changing into clean clothes, I decide to head out and continue my investigation by returning to the Hotel Sun and seeing if I can find out more dirt on Jane/Sasha. It’s my best lead so far. And maybe Jayden will be there again; after all, he did say they were holding auditions today. This time I force myself to wait for the bus instead of taking a cab to the hotel. An effort to save some money. After all, with Rayne seemingly burning through her life savings on a nightly basis, I can’t depend on her as a backup if I get low.

The bus is slow and I have to transfer three times, so it’s past ten A.M. by the time I finally make my way into the hotel. It’s just as I left it, filled with degenerates intent on gambling away their last quarters on Earth. Did any of them even leave for a few hours of sleep? I wonder if I should mention this particular casino to my little hacker sister. Being a Vegas Robin Hood, I realize, must be a full-time job.

Passing through the dingy casino, I enter the theater lobby and notice the double doors leading to the theater are wide open and I decide to take a peek inside. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, but eventually I’m able to get a good look. The place is no Carnegie Hall by any stretch of the imagination. Small and run-down like the rest of the building, it’s filled with rows upon rows of faded red velvet seats below a wooden stage that’s in desperate need of refinishing. A drawn, moth-eaten purple curtain rounds out the décor.

I hear voices and quickly duck behind a row of seats. A moment later, three people enter the auditorium. The first I recognize as Jayden, the cute emo actor from yesterday. Then there’s a twenty-something guy who sports the same kind of mustache as Brandon Flowers of the Killers often does. The third of the trio is a pretty brunette who’s the spitting image of Katy Perry—complete with envy-inducing curves. Cowboy Man is not with them.

The three take their seats two rows back from the front of the stage. They pull out clipboards and pens and settle in. A moment later, the boy with the mustache calls out, “Next!”

The curtain pulls back and a girl wearing a dangerously low cranberry-colored tank top (showcasing her enormous and oh-so-obviously fake breasts) appears onstage. She smiles down at the trio below her and I notice she’s missing a few teeth.

“I’m Candy and I’m going to read a poem,” she announces in an overly nasal voice.

“Wonderful,” says Mr. Mustache, not bothering to stifle a grimace. It’s not long before I realize the reason for the face. The girl is absolutely terrible. She stumbles over her words as she tries to recite the most horrific poem I’ve ever heard in my life. It’s all I can do not to run screaming from the auditorium just to get away. I guess they don’t get Broadway-caliber actresses trying out for parts at the Hotel Sun.

“Thank you, that’ll be enough,” the Brandon guy says, interrupting the girl onstage, mid stanza. He yawns again, then adds, “Like, don’t call us, we’ll call you. Or, you know, not.”

The girl on the stage scowls and stomps off in a huff. I feel bad for her, even though her performance was cringe-worthy. I know how stressful auditions can be. After all, I’m the actress in my family. Last year I played Kim, the lead role in our school’s production of
Bye Bye Birdie
. (Which ended up being a bit awkward since I had to play opposite Jake Wilder after dumping him midprom.) This year I’m planning to try out for our senior class production of
Camelot
, even if it means going up against Heather Mills for the part of Guinevere. (The way I figure it, I’ll be way more authentic than her, seeing as my boyfriend was once a real knight in King Arthur’s court and totally knows the 411 on the place.)

I watch as three more girls take to the stage, each worse than the last. Finally, after they boot the fourth girl off stage without even bothering to hear her speak, the Katy Perry girl rises from her seat with a frustrated huff.

“I’m so sick of these ridiculous auditions!” she whines, snapping her gum loudly. “Can’t we just rent one of those call girls for, like, an hour or so on Saturday? Just have them walk onstage? “I mean, Mina doesn’t even have any lines. She just has to cross the stage, fall into Dracula’s arms, and allow herself to be bitten. So as long as the girl isn’t, like, a paraplegic or something, we should be good. And even then—she’s bound to have some sort of wheelchair access, right?”

“Please. You know very well what a picky bastard Cornelius is, Allegra,”

Mustache boy—Eric, I guess—reminds her. “Think about how many Minas we’ve brought him over the last year who try and fail to meet his high expectations. You think he’s going to be cool with some hooker—or a paraplegic for that matter—playing his precious Mina? Yeah right. He said he wants someone innocent looking. Completely naïve and virginal, remember?

Like Britney Spears, pre-mental meltdown.”

“Exactly! There’s a slew of schoolgirl-style call girls out there!”

“Yeah? How many of them will work for ten dollars an hour?”

She groans. “God, I totally picked the wrong profession, didn’t I?”

“You’re not going to suddenly pull a Sasha on us, are you ’Legs?” Jayden butts in, causing my ears to perk up. “Leave us Lucy-less as well as Mina-less?”

“Um, no, thank you. That would mean I’d have to hook up with Cornelius. Can I just say, ‘Bleh?’ I mean, have you guys ever smelled his breath?”

Eric fashions his hands into claws and looms over Allegra, baring his teeth.

“Hello, my pretty. I vant to suck your blood!” he hisses in a completely overdramatic, stereotypical vampire voice. Allegra swats back at him, giggling.

“In your dreams, vamp boy wannabe!” she cries, pushing him back into his seat. “You’d better keep your mortal day job.”

“Come on, guys,” Jayden cuts in, interrupting their play. “Let’s just keep moving. Get the next person onstage.”

The other two groan in unison.

“Next!” Jayden calls out loudly, ignoring the both of them. There’s a rustling behind the curtain and a moment later a woman steps onstage. She’s old enough to be my grandmother, complete with leathery, overtanned skin, fried from too many years in the Vegas sun. A poster child for why not to go tanning, but probably not what they’re looking for when it comes to Mina.

“NEXT!” Jayden cries.

The woman stumbles off stage.

“This is pathetic!” Eric mutters. “I’m going to kill Sasha if I ever see her again. Leaving us in the lurch like this. Not even so much as a good-bye.”

My ears perk up at the mention of Sasha again. Unfortunately, at that moment a piece of dust tickles my nose, making me sneeze. The three auditioners turn in their seats to look at me. Busted! I sheepishly rise to my feet.

“We’re closed, if you didn’t notice.” Allegra sniffs, narrowing her eyes at me.

“Unless you want to audition,” adds Eric, in a hopeful voice.

“Um,” I glance at them, then at the exit, wondering if I should just make a hasty retreat. But no. These people know Jane—or Sasha as they call her. They’re my best lead for figuring out who she really is and what she’s up to.

“I’m actually here to see Jayden?”

Jayden squints at me, then a look of recognition washes over his face. “Oh my God! I’m sorry!” he exclaims, rising from his seat and crossing the theater to greet me. Today he’s wearing a button-down striped shirt with big cuffs and a pair of skinny navy blue jeans. His black hair is straightened and plastered to his face, half covering his striking green eyes. Seriously, so cute. I may actually have to turn in my prep card and become an official Emo Boy fan club member if there are more like him out there somewhere. Or heck, maybe just on the basis of his existence alone. “I didn’t recognize you in those clothes.”

I remember yesterday’s silly showgirl disguise and blush. “Oh yeah,” I say, staring down at my feet. “These are more my . . . normal clothes. I, um, yesterday I lost a bet.” Pretty stupid excuse, but the best I could come up with on the fly.

“I’m so glad you came back!” He reaches me and throws his arms around me in a warm hug. Normally I’d be weirded out by someone I barely know hugging me, but in this case, he’s a good hugger, so I let it slide. “And I like your normal clothes,” he whispers, mid-hug, his hot breath tickling my earlobes. It gives me a chill and I shiver involuntarily, which makes him laugh, effectively breaking the tension between us.

Pulling away from the hug, he takes my arm and leads me down to the front of the auditorium. “I’ve found our Mina,” he announces to the other two. They stare at me excitedly. “You’re right! She’s perfect!” cries Eric, rising to his feet and giving me a thorough once-over. “Definitely Mina-ish.”