Invisible (14 page)

Not that I cared. I didn't want Scott's attention, photographic or otherwise. As far as I was concerned, the guy alternated between annoying and insulting whether or not he had a camera glued to his face. If Chelsea Halloway wanted to play his manipulative little games, I wasn't going to stand in her way.

Scott glanced over at me, smirked, and then said something to the girls that had peals of feminine laughter filling the theater. There was no doubt in my mind that I was the punch line when he raised an eyebrow in a silent challenge.

A challenge that wouldn't go unanswered.

Straightening my shoulders, I walked over to them without hesitation, although I berated myself for stupidity the entire way. Chelsea Halloway couldn't do any permanent damage to my social life as I had virtually nothing to lose. In fact, any calculated deviousness on her part might serve as the very catalyst that Kenzie and I needed to
talk
. Logan's perfect ex-girlfriend was one subject that Kenzie didn't feel comfortable chatting about with her boyfriend.

“Um, hi,” I said brilliantly when I finally stood within the half circle of Scott's admirers. “Are all of you auditioning?”

Chelsea looked past me as if I had already bored her to the point of immediate departure. “Yes.”

“Oh. That's great. Always good to audition.”

Inwardly, I winced. Speaking like a stilted robot was
not
part of my plan to play it cool.

“Have a lot of experience auditioning, do you?” Chelsea asked snidely. “I never would have guessed.”

Ouch.

She was right, though: I'd never been to a single audition. Mainly because Elle insisted that if I even
watched
her try out, I would somehow jinx her or do something superembar-rassing in front of all her friends. Steering clear wasn't exactly a hardship. Not when the alternative was to receive nonstop death glares culminating in sororicide. Or even worse, being referred to exclusively as Elle's little sister. Theoretically, I could have auditioned after she graduated, but I knew there would be no escaping comparisons from her younger cast mates.

I might not be all that crazy about Scott's nickname for me, but I'd still pick Grammar Girl over Elle's little sister.

Yet strangely, my favorite part was always standing in the lobby after her performance, waiting for her to change out of her costume so I could give her the bouquet of flowers our parents had purchased. That's when she would give me a hug, and for a brief moment my older, more talented sister liked me.

That one moment meant more to me than any amount of time spent center stage.

But it also meant that I was now completely out of my comfort zone. I couldn't do tongue twisters or musical scales or high kicks . . . and Chelsea knew it just from looking at me. She's the queen for a reason. No one can crush the self-esteem of Invisibles with a single sentence quite like Chelsea Halloway.

Then again, after the debacle in the cafeteria, I wasn't exactly Invisible.

And I had the black-and-blue bruising to prove it.

So I put on my best poker face and reminded myself that Alex Thompson's fists might break my bones, but Chelsea's words could never hurt me . . .
too
much, before I said airily, “I've never auditioned personally. I let my sister take the limelight. Perhaps you know her? Elle Smith?”

Maybe Ms. Helsenberg was right about my acting potential, since this performance had captured the full attention of three popular girls, leaving Scott all but forgotten.

That tends to happen whenever a former reigning Notable comes up in conversation. A momentary hushed reverence fills the room before all the current Notables try to use the opportunity to cement their standing.

Oh, I remember her! I was her understudy for
The Nutcracker
back when I was only in middle school.

That kind of thing.

Although now the fifty million reasons why I kept that bit of familial trivia to myself came flooding back. It wasn't just because Elle had threatened to destroy my life if I spread it around—it was the
look
. The one that made it clear that Mackenzie Wellesley's boring best friend had no business being a
Legacy
. She should be disqualified—potentially disowned—on the grounds of extreme geekdom.

It hurt every bit as much as I suspected.

That was why, even though I knew my sister's reputation had the power to change mine . . . I hadn't ever intended to use it. Back when Kenzie and Corey were equally Invisible, I didn't see the point. Sure, if I didn't oversell my hand, my Notable connection could have been enough to position me within the inner sanctum, or at least within the Not-able crowd.

But then people would always be comparing me to Elle.

Not exactly the way I ever wanted to get people to notice me. Although now that Kenzie had accidentally out-Notabled the Notables, my position as a second-string teammate relegated to the sidelines felt inevitable. At least being dismissed by strangers couldn't possibly hurt worse than being ignored by my friends.

So I had nothing to lose.

“Elle is
your
sister?” There was no disguising Fake's surprise, which probably meant she wouldn't stay on top for long. A true Notable must remain elusive, which means they can't go around broadcasting their disbelief for everyone to see. I learned that one from observing Elle.

“Ever since I was born.”

What did they expect me to say?
No, I just go around randomly making up siblings.

I wondered if it was really so impossible for them to conceive of an Invisible sharing the same gene pool with a Notable that even our common last name didn't raise any red flags. I thought that should have been a pretty good-sized hint.

But if Chelsea was surprised, she didn't let it show. “How is Elle? I haven't seen her around in ages!”

The warmth in her voice left me confused, like Elle was a beloved babysitter or a mentor who had moved away. I couldn't tell if it was genuine or if it was just her way of maintaining her Notable credibility—not that Chelsea had any real competition for the title. Still, I've always seen my sister as a nightmare who critiques my clothes and criticizes my social skills. Not someone I would get misty-eyed over. Then again, Elle would never treat anyone besides me that way. Sister's privilege, according to her.

Bullshit, according to me.

“Uh, she's fine. She's doing great actually,” I corrected myself. “She's leaving for an internship soon, but I'll be sure to have her call you.”

Great. I'd been promoted from Invisible to the role of my sister's secretary.

“Thanks, I'd love to catch up with her.” Chelsea's smile transformed her into someone who actually looked approachable. “Are you nervous about the audition?”

“Oh, you know. Just mildly petrified,” I replied honestly, because Chelsea Halloway would easily be able to detect a lie.

Actually, anyone who glanced down at my white-knuckled grasp of the audition forms could see my nerves clearly enough. Chelsea's laugh lacked the mean-spirited edge I thought I caught in Fake's bizarre little titter. The Notable queen seemed honestly amused by my reply, as though she hadn't expected that I had it in me.

Kenzie had once confided in me that when she'd broached the subject of Chelsea with Logan, he had said there was a lot more to her than her looks.

Or something along those lines . . . Kenzie's memory of that night was rather hazy since that particular conversation took place after her first party. And her first time drinking.

According to Kenzie, it was also her
last
time drinking, because her bonding time with Logan's toilet remains her most vivid memory of the night.

I had laughed at the notion that there was more to Chelsea Halloway than her social position. I even pointed out to Kenzie that if Logan hadn't created an excuse for dating her—beyond her looks—he would have come across as completely shallow. As far as I was concerned, Logan Beckett wasn't a reliable witness when it came to this particular character testimony.

Now I wondered if maybe Logan had been right all along.

The flash from Scott's camera brought me back to my surroundings. He would probably want to call that particular photo “Beauty and the Geek.” I tensed all over again.

“I'm nervous too.”

Chelsea had to be lying. No way could she captain the dance team and star in every one of Mrs. P's dance recitals with my level of stage fright. But it was nice of her to say it. Especially since the only calculated objective I could see in it was to make
me
feel better.

The weirdest part was that it worked.

“Oh, me too,” Fake chimed in quickly. “Butterflies every time.”

Scott covered with a cough what sounded awfully like a snort of contempt, and I couldn't help grinning at him. I had a sneaking suspicion that we were in complete agreement when it came to Fake's acting skills . . . or lack thereof.

“I should probably get ready to perform,” Fake's Not-able friend announced, but she didn't move to leave. She hovered, as if waiting for us to protest her departure, but I didn't have the faintest idea what to say.

Probably because none of it was aimed at me. The girl was clearly hoping for some Notable's acknowledgment of her existence, but she had already broken the cardinal Notable rule to never let anyone see how badly you want it. Although maybe the Notables would've overlooked that slip, if I hadn't walked over to them. Chelsea appeared marginally interested in me, and since Fake was obligated to find anything preapproved by her Notable leader
fascinating,
I had accidentally snagged the spotlight.

I doubted the Not-able would care that their popular-girl politics already had me reconsidering my position on sneaking out of the auditorium.

There had to be some way for me to make it out of this thing relatively unscathed.

At the very least, I wanted to avoid alienating anyone. I might not know the girl's name, but years spent living in Elle's shadow had drilled into me just how much it sucks to be overlooked by the popular kids.

“Um . . . break a leg.” I tentatively smiled at her.

Her upper lip curled into a snarl. “Yeah, you too.”

Only I don't think she was wishing me luck.

C
helsea was the first to perform.

It made sense: She's the first at everything else at our school. And her performance only solidified her reputation for perfection, leaving little incentive for everyone else to audition. The best role even the most dedicated theater kids could hope for was probably Lady Capulet, since the drama teacher Mrs. Snider nearly declared Chelsea the new Juliet on the spot.

Something that didn't go over real well with a lot of the other girls.

Not that it should've come as a surprise. In fact, I thought it was obvious that Chelsea owned the role midway through her scene reading with Miles Kent. And anyone slow on the uptake should have figured it out when she busted out her rendition of “You Don't Own Me.”

Complete with choreography.

Nobody in the auditorium could upstage her, although a number of girls certainly tried their best. One after another, they handed in the paperwork, ran through a scene, burst into song, and exited the stage shaking with adrenaline. I observed the entire process, cringing sympathetically every time a singer's voice wobbled. The number of people who had yet to audition shrank down to a very small pool of students—primarily freshman.

And then there was just me.

Only I had no intention of stepping forward. I was so much safer hiding next to Scott.

Mrs. Snider began to rise from her chair. “Thanks, everyone; we appreciate—”

“Wait, where's Jane Smith?” Ms. Helsenberg demanded. “Has anyone seen Jane Smith?”

“She's right here!”

I should have known better than to expect
Scott
to help me keep a low profile. I glared at him but was powerless to do anything more since all eyes were on me.

“Oh good! Jane hasn't left yet. Come on up here.”

I couldn't disobey a direct order in front of everyone, so I stiffly forced myself to approach the stage. My mind jumped wildly to the time I suggested Kenzie find her inner vampire slayer before confronting the Notables. I thought if she had a less whiny Buffy-type persona shielding her that Chelsea Halloway wouldn't seem nearly as intimidating.

That plan wasn't the most effective.

In fact, it wasn't working at all.

When I finally stood onstage, my hands were shaking worse than the camera of a homemade biking video. Miles grabbed a copy of the script off the floor and began thumbing through the pages in search of our scene, while I tried to find my voice.

Surely there was
something
I could say that would get me off the hook.

Unfortunately, all the attention had me too scared to even think properly. I flinched when Scott snapped yet another picture from the audience before I focused exclusively on my scene partner. That actually kind of helped, since I knew Miles had the skill to make me look halfway decent. As one of the few legitimately talented guys auditioning, his job was fairly simple. He provided the potential Juliets with a real, live Romeo that they could essentially take for a test-drive.

Then Ms. Helsenberg and Mrs. Snider would know if the pair had any onstage chemistry.

Miles could probably convince an auditorium full of high school students that he was madly in love with a rock, if necessary. He was also
really
cute with a mop of curly blond hair that only emphasized his strong nose and chiseled jaw. I could easily picture his profile carved by a Renaissance sculptor. Trade in his jeans and striped polo shirt for period garb, and Miles would look like Shakespeare's ideal star-crossed lover.

Although the same could definitely not be said of me.

Miles blocked our faces from view with his script before he whispered, “Are you sure you're ready for this? I can help you get out of auditioning if you want.”

I gulped and forced myself to meet his eyes, which were a dramatic mix of brown and gray. Honest concern radiated from him. Ordinarily, I would be too tongue-tied around a guy like Miles to reply, especially since I'd had a tiny crush on him ever since Kenzie, Corey, and I saw him in
A Midsummer Night's Dream,
but I had bigger issues now—like whether to accept his offer. I didn't doubt that Miles could find a way to get me out of this mess. He struck me as being cast in the same stand-up guy mold as Logan, which meant that his ethical code wouldn't allow him to stand idly by while a girl nearly hyperventilated. Although, unlike Logan, I wasn't picking up on anything particularly brotherly about his interest in helping me.

Especially when his gaze lingered on my new shirt. The hint of male appreciation I caught didn't exactly help with the whole shortage-of-breath situation.

But if I accepted his offer, I would be wimping out.

Not to mention, Scott would never let me live it down.

“I'm r-ready,” I stuttered. “Thanks. I . . . nerves. Not really my scene.” I flipped over the page of his upheld script. “No pun intended.”

He laughed in honest amusement, and I found myself tentatively smiling in return.

“Whenever the two of you lovebirds are ready,” Mrs. Snider called out. “Some of us have places to go and things to do.”

“Right, sorry.” I focused on finding the scene I'd chosen. “Uh, ready.”

Drawing in a deep breath, I tried to imagine what it must be like for Juliet. Young, stupid, crushing on a guy she should want to avoid, and totally screwed over by fate. I could relate to more of that than I wanted to admit, even to myself.

“O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?”

My knees trembled as I read straight from the script. “Deny thy father and refuse thy name.”

Translation:
Yeah, don't plan on inviting your family over for the holidays, lover boy. I don't have to meet them to know that they suck. All of them.

“Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love and I'll no longer be a Capulet.”

Miles took a step closer to the stage, not even bothering to look at the script before he delivered his one line, “Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?”

I forged ahead, but the lines all felt flat in my mouth. It was obvious that I was simply going through the motions, repeating words that someone else had written. Even if the quavering in my voice could be overlooked, my performance was less than inspired.

I wasn't passionate enough and it showed. I could hear Mrs. Snider start tapping her pencil against the table in an unconscious gesture of impatience. Miles tried his best to salvage the scene by infusing his every line with enough passion for both of us.

Not even his expertise could disguise my complete lack of skill.

Although I did catch an unprofessional glint of laughter in his eyes when I fumbled over something about a maiden blush bepainting my cheek.

So maybe I wasn't the only one struggling to take Shakespeare seriously.

Time slowed to an excruciating crawl the whole time I stood onstage clutching my script in a death grip. The rational part of my brain knew that the entire audition lasted only a matter of minutes, but when we finished I could have sworn full hours had passed.

Days. Months. Seasons.

I just wanted to get out of there before I hit my midlife crisis.

“Okay, so . . . thanks!” I said to Ms. Helsenberg and Mrs. Snider, even though I didn't exactly appreciate being blackmailed into humiliating myself.

“Not so quickly, Jane. You haven't sung yet.”

My stomach plummeted. “That's okay.”

“Sing.”

“I can't. So I'll just go sit down now . . .”

Mrs. Snider pinned me with a glare. “Everyone sings.”

“But I
can't
. This isn't false modesty or anything. I'm physically incapable.”

“Just a bit of ‘Happy Birthday,' Jane,” Ms. Helsenberg said encouragingly. “We're not asking for much.”

“But I—”

“Just do it, already!” Mrs. Snider snarled.

I could hear the snickers already spreading among the other kids. They'd have a lot more to laugh about soon. My stomach twisted, and I thought I might hurl right there in front of everyone.

“Any song?”

“Just sing!”

“Okay.” I took another deep breath.

“Ain't no mountain high enough,” I warbled weakly, forcing myself to continue with the rest of the lyrics.

The muffled sound of Miles's stifled laughter stung like hell. It also decided me. If I was going to be the object of ridicule, then I was determined to go out with a bang. Unfortunately, I blanked on all the other lyrics. I knew there was something about calling if you need me, but the details were all fuzzy. So I started from the top, this time using all the strength I could pull from my quivering diaphragm. The resulting racket had the girls in the front row fighting not to clap their hands over their ears. Kenzie likes to joke that my ability to consistently miss so many notes might prove to be a secret weapon. That if anyone ever tried to carjack me, I could belt out a few bars and let my Voice of Unearthly Discord take care of the rest.

She also maintains that I should reserve it for situations of extreme duress.

Everyone in the auditorium appeared to have reached a similar conclusion.

“Yes, thanks, Jane,” Ms. Helsenberg said quickly when I completed my second pass, probably because she was terrified I might continue. “That was, erm, remarkable.”

I had no trouble believing that my singing would generate plenty of remarks. None of them good.

My stomach roiling with humiliation, I bolted for the exit. I didn't even care if an auditorium full of people laughed at my hasty retreat. All that I cared about was getting as far away from this real-life nightmare as possible.

“Hey, Jane, hold up!'

Chelsea Halloway stood between me and freedom.

Deliberately sprinting away from her would completely screw up all the progress I had made earlier. Nobody intentionally ignores a Notable order unless they have some masochistic desire to be banished from . . . something. I wasn't on any of the invite lists, but that didn't make it any less of a bad idea. I pulled up short and turned around, bracing myself for an insult.

“That was brave.”

“What?” I wasn't the only one surprised by Chelsea's compliment—Fake looked momentarily horrified before her expression twisted into a smirk.

Chelsea was being sarcastic.

Of course,
that made way more sense. Except Chelsea looked sincere to me. I even thought I detected a spark of admiration in her eyes.

“I was a freaking
mess!
” I blurted out.

“Well . . . yeah. You weren't kidding about not being able to sing. Total train wreck.”

“
But
it was brave of you to do it. Especially knowing how badly you were going to suck.”

I winced, but couldn't stop myself from smiling back at her.

Chelsea Halloway thought
I
was brave.

“Well, you didn't suck. No surprise there.” I expected her to toss her hair around and preen, but she didn't. Instead, she focused on me with an intensity that was unnerving. “I'm sure you'll get the lead.”

“Thanks.” Chelsea smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes until Scott came up behind me. Then she looked downright devilish. “We should hang out. I made some plans for tomorrow, but why don't the two of you join us for lunch on Monday?”

It sounded more like a royal decree than a question, but either way it wasn't something I could turn down. Strangely enough, I didn't even
want
to bail. Chelsea hadn't made any nasty comparisons between my disastrous audition and Elle's starring roles. No little jabs about being the failure in my family. Nothing.

If she honestly wanted to hang out, I wasn't going to turn her down. Especially since the sight of me at the Notable table with
Chelsea Halloway
would definitely make Kenzie jealous.

Maybe it would inspire her to actually call me, like she did pre-Logan.

“Absolutely. We're in.”

Scott raised an eyebrow. “Apparently, I'll be joining you.”

“I'll see you then.” She turned and left the room in long, confident strides with Fake scurrying behind her.

“So did you get any good photos?”

I was too distracted by our brief encounter of the Notable-kind to realize that Miles Kent had joined our makeshift group until he spoke to Scott.

Then I became all too aware of his close proximity and struggled to act normal.

Scott tightened his hold on his camera. “Yeah, I did. A few of them look really promising.”

“That's great, man.” Miles shifted toward me so subtly I nearly didn't notice it. “Still think theater isn't your scene, Jane?”

I laughed. “After
that
performance, you shouldn't even have to ask.”

“A little coaching and you might not be so bad.”

I shot him a look of complete disbelief.

“Okay, a lot of coaching.”

“It wouldn't make a difference, believe me. I'm a lost cause.”

“Maybe you just need the right coach.”

That's when it hit me that our whole back-and-forth sounded suspiciously like flirting. And I was holding my own. I hadn't stuttered or bolted or desperately introduced him to someone else in order to deflect his attention. His easygoing nature put me completely at ease, and I found myself wondering what it would be like to date him. If I would feel this self-confident all the time.