What You Always Wanted (9 page)

“That's funny, because it sounded like you were talking about the auditions,” she says, spinning the silver bracelet
around her wrist, charms clinking together. “And since the part of Corie is mine, I'd say it concerns me. I overheard you asking to audition with a partner.” She slides closer to him on her chair. “If you want to be Paul so bad, you should read with me.”

“You can't have the lead in everything, Rica,” Brian says loudly, so that everyone in class is now turning to look. “And Maddie is just as good as you, if not better.”

As flattered as I am by his words, I don't need help making her hate me.

Rica's cheeks redden and she stares me down. “We'll see.”

Since Jesse did such a great job of ignoring me in English—not that I tried to speak to him either—I'm surprised when he appears at my locker after school.

“Ready to go?”

I nod, attempting to shove one last book in my backpack, but it won't fit. He takes it from me, tucking it under his arm, and starts for the parking lot. The clouds overhead are dark, and a soft rumble echoes off the building behind us. The wind kicks up dust and we move a little faster to get inside his truck.

“I'm sorry about Friday night, what I said,” I tell him as I buckle the seat belt and he takes off.

“It's fine, really.” He scratches his arm near the elbow and then lets his hand rest there, steering with one hand.

“You just seemed so open about everything, I didn't—”

“I'm not sure why I told you all of that. I don't usually . . . talk so much.”

Drops of rain splatter against the windshield and Jesse clicks on the wipers, which I'm relieved to see actually work. And the rain won't turn to snow. And we won't be trapped in here. It was just a stupid, sugar-induced dream.

“So,” I say, breaking the silence. “Why aren't you involved in theatre? Angela told me she didn't have the patience for it, learning lines and stuff, but what about you?”

“That's what she said? That's not why she quit.” He laughs. “Angela's just a terrible actress.”

My protectiveness comes out with a gasp. “What an awful thing to say about your own sister!”

“Even if it's the truth?”

“What's your truth? Are you terrible too?”

He shakes his head. “Of course I'm not terrible.”

“So . . . ,” I prompt him to elaborate.

He shoots me a quick glance with playfully narrowed eyes. “Are you trying to get me to say too much again? Going to spread pretty little rumors about me all over school?”

“Me?” I ask innocently, a hand on my chest. “Anything you say to me from now on gets locked in the vault.” I pretend to zip my lips.

Nothing but a smirk. This is going to be like pulling teeth.

“So you're a good actor, then? Do you dance?” My heart flutters at the thought. I let my eyes fall to his legs, remembering how muscular they looked when he was working in the yard, but his jeans hide them now. Even though it's wishful thinking, I continue, “If you sing too, you'd be a triple threat.”

If only I could find a triple threat . . .

“Oh, I'm a triple threat, all right,
mi reina
.” He winks.

There's no way. He's probably just messing with me. “Sing something.” I hold my breath and stare at him.

He turns down our street. “Nope.”

“Come on, it's just me. Let me hear what you got.”

“Nope.”

“What are you afraid of?” I huff.

Jesse's jaw sets in a hard line. “Just drop it, Madison.”

I shrink back into my seat and watch the drizzle outside until we make it to my house. Without even trying, I've become an expert at irritating him.

“You got a key yet?”

I peek up the drive. No one's home. I retrieve my key from the front pocket of my backpack and dangle it so he can see.

The sky rips open with a flash and tear of thunder. The truck gently rocks with the sudden onslaught of heavy rain.

“Great timing,” I groan. I hug my backpack close to my chest, ready to bolt.

“Hang on.” Jesse unbuckles his seat belt and leans toward me, reaching behind my head for something. My eyes find the strip of tan skin exposed just above his jeans.

I don't look away.

He returns to his seat, clutching an umbrella. I try to take it but he's out his door and opening mine in a matter of seconds. He holds it high over us as I slide off the seat and shut the door. But it doesn't close all the way. I turn, preparing to slam it with my hip, but Jesse extends his free hand, palming the door just next to my head. He pushes hard and it clicks, his arm brushing across the top of my shoulder in the process. I refrain from looking up into his eyes and instead study every detail of this potentially romantic scene.

The darkened sky, the grumble of thunder. Water coming down in sheets around us. The black umbrella. Black with an old-fashioned hook handle. Just like the one from . . . My heart kicks up speed. I look at Jesse just as a stray droplet falls along his temple, and I'm sucked into one of my favorite scenes.

The sky turns to night and I'm standing on the front stoop of an apartment, sporting a bright yellow rain slicker. Jesse's plaid, button-down shirt transforms into a gray suit, and a dark brown hat appears on his head. The taxi in the street waits for him to kiss me good night and then get back in the car.

I lean into him. “Take care of that throat,” I say, flipping the collar of his jacket to cover his neck. “You're a big singing star now, remember? This Texas dew is just a little heavier than usual tonight.”

“Uh . . .”

Please tell me I didn't say that out loud.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

My eyes clear and I realize my hand is resting against Jesse's chest. I shake my head and shrink against the truck as much as possible, completely mortified I zoned out right in front of him. This is not
Singin' in the Rain
.

“What's going on
here
?” a voice calls from down the driveway.

The vehicle in my periphery isn't a taxi. It's a little blue car. And Brian.

CHAPTER NINE

Jesse removes his hand from the door and turns toward Brian. “Who's this?”

Brian moves closer to us, hiding a small book under his shirt from the rain and holding a flat paper grocery sack over his head. “Who am I? That's really funny, Jesse.”

I glance up at Jesse, curious. “Are you just being funny, or do you really not know Brian? He's in your mom's theatre class with me.”

He doesn't laugh. “Just because everyone at school knows who I am doesn't mean I know all of
them
.”

If I knew him better, I'd jam my elbow in his side for that.

“But you sure know all the girls, don't you?” Brian sneers. “And you've run through your options, so you've moved on to the new girl.”

Now I want to elbow Brian. “What are you talking about? Nothing's—”

“Nice shoes,” Jesse scoffs, raising an eyebrow at Brian's obnoxiously bright sneakers.

Behind Brian, a thick bolt of lightning pulses down from the sky, followed by an ear-splitting boom that makes me jump.

“That hit something,” Jesse says, nudging my shoulder and leading me toward the house. “We shouldn't be standing out here.”

Brian's paper-sack umbrella droops and he runs ahead of us through the front yard, water sloshing up around his feet. By the time he makes it up the steps to the porch, the bottoms of his jeans are soaked.

I unlock the front door and turn to Jesse, who's still standing close to me with the umbrella over his head, even though we're safe on the porch. I have to push back my movie-scene daydream. He's not going to burst into song and start splashing through puddles, no matter how much of a fantasy come true that would be.

Brian pushes open the door and steps inside, treads squeaking on the faux wood in the entryway.

“Let me go get a towel so you don't make tracks on my mom's new flooring. I'd never hear the end of it.” I follow him in and hold the door open for Jesse. But he's already halfway across the yard.

“Thanks for the ride,” I call out over the rain.

Without looking back at me, he waves his free hand with a slow, careless flick of his wrist.

You just think you're
so
cool.

I lock the door, though I briefly consider leaving it open like they would have in the olden days, back when it was improper to be in a room with a boy without a chaperone. And here I am
riding home with one boy and locking myself in an empty house with another. I was born so far out of time.

“So why's the Baseball King bringing you home?” Brian asks, one hand clutching the dampened script, the other shoved in his pocket.

“He lives across the street.” I shrug indifferently as I walk through the house toward the laundry room to grab an old rag. “I don't have a car yet.”

“I don't live that far from here. I could bring you home after theatre from now on.” He takes the fraying towel from me and stares at it. “If you want.”

Suddenly I'm forced to look at him not just as an audition partner, but as a potential beau. That's all it took: three sentences and shifty eyes, and everything's different. There might be interest tied up in this audition hoorah. I'm not sure how I feel about that.

“That's okay. Thanks, though.” I leave him to dry off and make room for my backpack on the coffee table. “What part do you want to work on? Did you discuss a particular scene with Mrs. Morales for the audition?”

Brian slips out of his awful alien-green sneakers and joins me on the couch. Too close. “Maybe we should make sure we have chemistry first, like you said.”

“Chemistry . . . right,” I carefully agree, scooting away from him while reaching for his script. “I know just the scene to test that. The one where—”

“That's not what I mean.” Brian laughs, keeping a firm grip on the book and using it to pull my upper body closer. “We have to test out the kissing.”

I catch a whiff of spearmint.
You've got to be joking
.

I pull my lips in and bite, shaking my head rapidly.

Brian leans against the back of the couch. “Aw, come on, Maddie. These characters are newlyweds. If we end up doing this play together, we're gonna have to kiss like crazy, you know. I'm just suggesting we get that out of the way first. Like Leo and Kate when they filmed
Titanic
.”

“What are you talking about?”

His cheeks redden. “They, uh, filmed the nude scene first. To break the ice.”

Great. Now he's probably picturing the two of us in that scene. And now I am. Gag.

“Well, I'm not stripping down and lying on this couch for you to draw my likeness, and I'm not kissing you. I don't kiss—”
Oh, no, what was I about to confess?

“You don't kiss? Now what are
you
talking about?” Brian crosses his arms and cocks his head to the side.

Blast.

“I didn't say that,” I hedge.

“Yes, you did. You said, ‘I don't kiss.' That can't mean anything else.” He lets out an amused sound, more from his nose than his throat. That, combined with the sudden spark of mischief in his eyes, and I think I might actually be getting nervous.

“Sure it could.”

Smooth. Real smooth, Madison. I could have finished with “
I don't kiss boys in months ending in R
,” anything! But it's way too late to recover now.

“But . . . I thought—before you said . . .” He's tiptoeing around something, but I'm not sure what. “You've had a boyfriend before, right?”

“Of course.” Which isn't
exactly
true.

I've gone on plenty of dates, but they've just never inspired me to give up that first kiss. Stage kisses don't count, obviously. Those aren't real. Sure, the emotions you develop for performance night might make it seem real, but it's called
acting
. I'm just one of those girls who's good at keeping my personal and professional lives separate.