Invisible (13 page)

“S
orry I'm late.”

I had entirely forgotten about Scott's plan to accompany me to lunch. Probably because accusations that include
indentured servitude
aren't usually followed up with a friendly meal. He also had no business sitting in on
my
time with
my
friends—regardless of Lisa Anne's opinions, I was still entitled to a private life. Although I found it doubtful that his presence at our table had anything to do with me. He was probably just trying to piss off Logan by joining us.

I suspected that angering Logan was all the motivation Scott needed.

“Uh, hey. I didn't expect you to show.”

Scott merely nodded and took a massive bite out of his slice of pizza. That's when he noticed the tickets in Kenzie's hands.

“Are we going to a concert, Grammar Girl?”

“I—uh, wasn't really invited.”

It hurt to admit. I probably would have sounded less pathetic if I had made something up.
I can't make it. Too much homework. I have my great-aunt Millicent's memorial service to attend
—
I would skip it, but the two of us were really close.

Any of that would have been less humiliating than answering his inevitable question.

He studied me too intently for my great-aunt Millicent story to work. “Why weren't you invited?”

“I, uh—because I, well,” I stuttered.

I couldn't say that. Even if it was the truth.

“I didn't think you'd want to go, Jane.” Corey's brow was furrowed in concern. “You always do your homework once you get off work on Fridays.”

I doubted it was possible to make me sound any more painfully predictable.

“Oh, sure. I mean, you're right. That's what I do. It's fine.”

I couldn't seem to escape that word. I half expected someone to create a video montage of me just saying it over and over again.

Fine, fine, fine. Me? Oh, I'm just
fine.

But I didn't want Corey to feel bad about the situation. After all, he hadn't been
intentionally
rude . . . he just didn't see the point in inviting me to something that I wouldn't want to attend.

Although it did make me wonder what other opportunities I had missed.

“Good thing we're free this weekend, isn't it?” Scott took another bite of pizza as the table descended into awkwardness.

“I can call Tim and look into getting another backstage pass. No promises, but I can try.”

Scott grinned. “Why don't you make it two passes? I'll be attending as Jane's plus one.”

“No, you won't,” Logan growled, unable to hold himself back any longer. “You aren't going anywhere with her.”

“Really? Why don't we ask Jane? I have a feeling she's going to side with me this time.”

I didn't know what I was supposed to say. Corey probably wanted me to back out of the concert, Logan wanted me to blow off Scott, Scott wanted to use it for his photography—or to further annoy Logan—and Kenzie . . . I hadn't the slightest clue what my best friend thought of the whole situation. This time, I definitely couldn't please everyone.

“Er . . . I—” My friends looked at me expectantly, and I felt my resolve begin to crumble.

I probably would have said it if Lisa Anne's threats hadn't still been ringing in my head. Scott didn't have to say a word—I knew this was my best shot to deliver the kind of story she wanted . . . and that meant Scott had to tag along. “Two tickets would be great.”

“Okay, I'll get on that.” Corey pulled out his cell phone and started texting Tim. “I know the guys have been working on their Wii skills in the hopes of having another face-off with you, Jane.”

The only time I had met the rock stars of ReadySet, I had crushed them with my superior gaming skills. The guys weren't exactly known for being gracious losers, which might explain why the two straight members of the band displayed no interest in dating me afterward.

I grinned. “Yeah . . . they still don't stand a chance.”

“Are you that good?”

Coming from anyone else, I would have dismissed it as a normal follow-up question without an ulterior motive. But Scott was always working an angle . . . unless I'd been wrong about him from the very beginning.

Because
that
was likely.

Still, I didn't see the harm in answering. “I'm great when it comes to anything with a controller.”

His grin was full of challenge. “I bet I could beat you.”

A lot of guys think that their childhoods spent playing Super Mario Bros. can compete with my gaming abilities. They also tend to pout when I prove them wrong.

Kenzie smiled at Scott indulgently. “Jane annihilates everybody when it comes to Wii Tennis. Don't take it personally.”

“I take it the two of you have frequent battles.”

That particular statement sure seemed laden with subtext to me, but Kenzie didn't appear to notice anything suspicious about it.

“Hell no. I can't compete there. Jane's better off just playing against herself.”

Scott nodded, his attention fully focused on Kenzie. “So do you play any sports?”

“Not unless you count Rollerblading.”

“Interesting.”

I didn't know what to make of their exchange, but at least Logan had restrained himself from shooting Scott more death-ray glares. Not that he was suddenly all smiles and double rainbows . . . but he did appear to be silently reevaluating Scott. I wondered what he thought of him now. Then again, Logan didn't exactly have a good track record when it came to assessing the character of others.

I mean, the guy had dated
Chelsea Halloway
for a year.
... That
had to count as a mistake.

He had also initially dismissed Kenzie as little more than a socially inept history geek.

Okay, so maybe he hadn't been
entirely
off the mark that time.

Still, it was weird sitting there while Scott and Kenzie chatted away like old friends. I had expected Kenzie to show a little more solidarity with me after the whole “she doesn't have what it takes to be a reporter” thing. Then again, Kenzie probably thought she was being helpful, given the whole Logan/Scott parking lot debacle.

Mackenzie Wellesley, my very own ambassador of goodwill.

Although I soon discovered that I preferred her verbal conversation with Scott to the nonverbal one she launched the moment the guys were suitably distracted comparing college sports teams.

She jerked her head slightly in Scott's direction, then raised an eyebrow.

I've been asking her opinion about the accuracy of my guydar for
years
while she rolls her eyes. Now she suspected there was something lurking under the surface with
Scott?

Any suspicions I might have had on that front had ended when he'd approached Lisa Anne behind my back—again.

Yeah, nothing romantic was ever going to happen between the two of us.

I told her as much with a subtle shake of my head. At this point, Scott could even say,
Jane, darling! I'm so deeply sorry I said you couldn't hack it as a reporter. At the time, I was overwhelmed with the strength of my ardor for you
. . . and I would politely inform him where he could shove his stinking apology.

Okay, I might not have the guts to say it to his face, but I would still think it really loudly.

The whole thing was a non-issue since Scott would never apologize, even if I confronted him about what I had overheard. The guy would probably just dismiss me with a shrug before snagging
my
free backstage concert ticket.

Then again, once I nailed my concert story, none of that would matter.

Grammar Girl would cease to exist.

Just as long as I survived observing the play audition. Not something I relished even before my journalism incentive had been removed. For a happily-ever-after addict like me,
Romeo and Juliet
sort of . . . sucks. I mean, it's about a thirteen-year-old girl who freaks out and kills herself when she thinks her boyfriend is dead. Not exactly my idea of a good time. And I tend to call that behavior
creepy,
not romantic.

So watching a group of competitive, high-strung theater kids auditioning for a play I genuinely hate sounded about as appealing as attending a country club luncheon with Lisa Anne.

Not that I had a choice.

That's what I kept reminding myself when I hesitantly slipped into the theater after school . . . only to find it full of devoted performers doing tongue-twister warm-ups with the kind of fanatic fervor usually reserved for religious zealots. Ms. Helsenberg appeared entirely focused on handing out audition pieces, and I nearly seized the opportunity to bail. Unfortunately, my attempt to avoid a stampede of eager audition-ers had only propelled me deeper into the madness, leaving little room for a stealthy retreat.

My exit strategies were rapidly shrinking to include only spraining an ankle, faking a terminal illness, or hollering “Macbeth!” until the superstitious among the drama department demanded my removal from the building.

“Mac—” The intense beady-eyed stare from the girl next to me had me quickly rethinking my plan. “—kenzie is one of my best friends. You haven't seen her around by any chance, have you?”

She barely spared me a head shake before hurrying over to the stage.

Compared to drama club, my time in detention had been downright social.

A flash caught my attention, and I turned to find Scott chatting up two girls who were happily mugging for his camera. The guy could probably declare himself the foremost expert on Dungeons & Dragons and still have girls flocking to him . . . but the camera didn't hurt. It probably allowed him to use tons of lame compliments without sounding like a total creeper.

Gag.

Then again, I knew firsthand how effective that stupid modeling line was at making a girl feel special. Or maybe it was the delivery. I had almost believed that Scott meant it when he handed me the makeshift ice pack.

Apparently, the drama girls were every bit as susceptible to his flattery, since they continued posing for him and the camera—it was impossible to tell which one intrigued them more. It was only when one of the girls shifted so that her boobs were even more prominently displayed against the tightness of her shirt that recognition kicked in.

Fake.

Chelsea Halloway's regular wingwoman.

I tried my best not to panic when I spotted Chelsea casually flirting with the hottest of the theater boys. The Notable queen probably didn't even know my name. And as long as I sat in the darkest part of the auditorium, I might be able to keep it that way.

That was the only way I would be leaving the theater unscathed. Otherwise, I had no doubt she would happily use her Notable powers to destroy my social life. Not that it would take that much effort.

“Jane!” Ms. Helsenberg placed a welcoming hand on my shoulder. “I'm so glad you made it. I was worried you wouldn't show.”

“Uh, wouldn't miss it,” I lied. “So where do you want me to sit?”

“Don't be silly. Now I just need you to fill out these forms before you run through a scene. A little singing and you'll be done. Simple.”

“Sing?” My heart started pounding even harder. “I can't sing. Really. Even my parents don't think I could hit a note—
any
note—even if my life depended on it. And . . . wait, is this a
musical
production of
Romeo and Juliet
?”

“There are a few musical numbers, but nothing too elaborate,” Ms. Helsenberg said calmly. “You can sing anything. A few bars of ‘Happy Birthday' and it's over.”

“I can't do it.”

“That's simply the nerves talking.” She cut off my protest by leaning in and whispering, “Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them. Go be great, Jane!”

Then she waded into the crowd, convinced that her Shakespeare quote solved everything.

I glanced down at the forms she had handed me. Maybe Ms. Helsenberg would realize her mistake if I spelled it out for her. I inflated my work schedule and then scrawled
TONE-DEAF
in big block letters under the heading of
Music/Dance Experience
. Hopefully, that would be enough to make Ms. Helsenberg reconsider auditioning me.

And if that didn't work, maybe Scott could pretend we had urgent journalism business.

Ms. Helsenberg could hardly blame me for being called away by one of her colleagues. The tricky part would be convincing Scott to flee the theater with me, especially since Fake and her Not-able friend (the Smith High School equivalent of a B-lister) were still pouting prettily for his camera. He was looking rather pleased with himself, and that was before Chelsea sauntered toward them. Scott's grin widened farther when she murmured something in his ear.

I tried objectively to consider them as a couple.

Physically, they complemented each other well. His unruly dark brown hair contrasted nicely with her long, sleek waves of blond, and they both moved with natural self-assurance. Definitely a power couple. Scott's interest in photography also made their hookup inevitable. The guy was already snapping enough photos of Chelsea's perfect ballerina body to fill up an entire memory card exclusively with her.