“Don’t wait too long. If he hears from somebody else, he’ll be so pissed.”

“I haven’t even told Andie yet.”

“Well, you should then.” James glances at me uneasily. “Unless there’s a reason why you…”

“James.” I shake my head. “I want to go with you, more than anything. I just suck at good-byes.”

He smiles a little, knowingly. “Or we could just skip that part and elope in the middle of the night.”

“Tempting. Far too tempting.”

That’s when Jeff calls everyone to the stage for some final instructions, and I smile at J as I get up.

“Break a leg, sweet Prince,” he calls after me.

I turn around, and wink at him, slipping into character. “Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks.”

I give him my best small Hamlet bow. James pretends to swoon, and I’m on my way, laughing to

myself. I’m gonna miss the theater, no doubt. But with a little luck, I’ll be back on stage some day with

my music. A thought a million times more terrifying, and about three gazillion times more exciting. The

possibility of my most secret dream coming true with time makes my eyes shine with anticipation.

Damn, I cannot wait.

Chapter 14

Break a Leg

NICK: I know I should’ve been paying more attention to the calendar, or the syllabuses for my classes

or something, but I’ve been so focused on getting shit done and working on the show that I completely

forgot about this group project that we’ve been assigned in one of my classes. I can’t ignore it any more

though, when I rush into class and the professor’s there early and already started reading off pairs of

names and the topic of their project assignment.

Great. Just what I needed at this point in the semester. It’s not like I can really complain about it

though, so I just wait to hear my name and hope that I get a partner that will at least pull their own

weight. I’m still actually doing pretty well this semester. I know, I’m pretty surprised by it too. I’m not

going to be winning any academic awards or anything like that, but I think I might be able to swing a

pretty solid B average this semester. It’s not going to help much with the disaster of my cumulative GPA

from my first three semesters, but it might help a little at least.

“Keller.” The professor finally calls my name, and I wait to find out my partner. I haven’t been

paying attention, so I don’t even know who’s left. “And… McKenna. Let’s see if you can maybe keep

us from losing one of our better soccer players.” It takes me a minute - a really confusing minute - to

realize that the prof’s talking to me. And that I’m supposedly the smart one of this pair? Seriously?

I don’t think that’s ever happened to me before.

We must’ve been the last pair called, because people are turning to one another, exchanging the

information and shit and talking about meeting up to work. I look around, waiting for someone else to

come to me, because yeah, I admit that I don’t really know anyone’s name in this class. Hell, I don’t

even know if this McKenna is a guy or a girl.

“So I guess I should at least get your number or something, right?” I turn to look a who’s talking to

me, and of course. Of course. Because it’s super jock of the blue eyes and big smile that’s got his phone

out and is waiting for me.

So much for getting a partner that’ll pull their own weight. Now I have to keep a jock from getting

kicked out of school for being an idiot. Like I didn’t have anything better to do with my time.

* * *

We decided to meet at the cafe the next day because it’s really my only day off from rehearsals this

week. Which is great, but I’ve been at the cafe for over an hour now, and he still hasn’t shown up. And

when I tried to call him at the number he left in my phone, it went right to voicemail. If I wouldn’t have

already been here working on other shit, I’d probably be even more pissed off. Not that I’m happy about

waiting around for someone to show up.

So I’ve been here for about an hour when Mister Big Shot Jock decides to finally show up. He

doesn’t even look like he’s that sorry, not that I’m that surprised, really. What else should I expect from

a jock like that. It’s a good thing I don’t have rehearsal today though, or we’d never get anything done

before I’d have to run off again.

SuperJock (sorry, Mac, as he put himself into my phone) gives me a smile as he sits across from me,

and I swear that I can see just about all of his very straight white teeth. I’m not falling for that sort of

shit though. I’ve been dealing with Rizzo’s brand of smiles for over a year now, and Mac’s got nothing

on Riz. I mean, it’s a nice enough smile, I guess. If you like teeth.

He drops a bag next to the table, and it actually sounds like it might have books in it. I don’t think

I’ve ever once seen him carrying a bookbag. But he starts pulling shit out of it - books, papers, a

highlighter - as he angles another smile over at me. “Sorry. I lost track of time starting on some of the

research.”

And damn. The books have pages marked by little flags of paper like he’s actually gone through

them already looking for shit. So much for being too dumb to stay in school. What the hell is up with

this guy? By the time he pulls out a stack of typed notes, I can’t stop the “what the hell?” that slips out.

He smiles at me again (white teeth blue eyes) and shrugs, like this shit happens every day. “Spring’s

my off-season, and I know that something’s got you running around, so I figured I’d get a head start for

us.” And yeah, that explains absolutely nothing, but I guess I shouldn’t complain, right?

Maybe this project won’t be so awful after all.

* * *

Another hour into our meeting, and I’m convinced that there’s been some huge mistake. Mac actually

knows what he’s talking about, keeps pulling books over to make some point, and is writing down

things we both are coming up with so that we can use them in our project. There’s no way that this is the

same guy that needs someone to save his ass from failing.

He’s reading over a few paragraphs when I finally decide to call his ass on it. He looks up when I

clear my throat (blue eyes smile without teeth). “So what’s the deal with you needing help? You know

this shit just as well as I do.” If not better. In fact, his only problem seems to be that he looks up every

time the front door opens, like he expects someone to come in and catch him doing some actual

homework or something.

“I dunno.” And there’s that smile again. The ‘you want to like me’ smile. “I like the project, I guess.”

It’s a lame-ass, cop-out answer, and it doesn’t sound even vaguely true. What I don’t get is why he’d lie

about something like being as stupid as all the other jocks.

The door opens again, and right on cue Mac glances over toward it. “And why do you keep doing

that? You waiting for someone? One of your jock friends? Or maybe the paper wanting to interview you

about doing an actual school project?” A strange look crosses his face, and it finally hits me that he

doesn’t want his teammates knowing that he’s smart. Which is ridiculous, but I guess it makes sense,

too. In a twisted way. “Relax. The paper’s not going to print your sordid academic secrets or anything.”

I shove another book across the table at him and he takes it with a wary look, like he’s not sure

whether or not he should. It’s one that discusses a point he was making earlier, though, so he takes it and

finally starts to read again. It gives me a chance to look over at the last person that had walked into the

cafe. And I see Riz standing about halfway across the room, coffee in hand, like every other time he’s