The Perfect Escape (The Perfect Escape #1) - Suzanne Park Page 0,15
“I just picked something easy and useful.” His rubbed his chin with the back of his hand. “I don’t love poop or anything—”
I interrupted. “I was kidding. I’m not a poop fan either.” The heat pulsing in my body went straight to my cheeks, setting them on fire. Attempting more humor, I said, “I’ll keep this in a safe place,” and slid the card in my bra, like I’d seen sassy, sexy women do on TV shows. What Hollywood never revealed was that the stabby corners on rectangular card stock were extremely painful when poking boob flesh. My eyes quickly filled with tears of agony.
A voice boomed from the hallway, “Can you two stop talking about excrement? The first group starts in like five minutes.” One of the zombie actors entered the employee area and slapped Nate on the back. “Hiya, boss man.”
Nate glanced at his watch. “Damn it. I have to go. I need to collect waivers. But, uh, message me? And I hope you get to come out of the closet this time,” he said, rushing out the door. He turned around, and his eyes widened. “Er, not in a gay way. I mean, not that there’s a problem with that at all, but you know, good luck with your role.”
The zombie dude and I took the back passage to the escape room and took our positions: him behind the chained metal door, me in the supply closet. I pulled out the business card from my cleavage for immediate relief and shut the door. Slivers of light streamed in from the vents at the top of the locker-like closet. Crouching down, I pulled my key chain flashlight from my pants pocket. I flicked the light on and committed the business card info to memory.
Nate Kim.
Entrepreneur.
NateKimEntrepreneurgmail.
Nate Kim.
And Kate.
Kate Kim.
Nate and Kate Kim. I liked the sound of that.
With some downtime squatting in the closet, my mind drifted to an earlier conversation I’d had with Zoe this morning on video chat.
“Hey!” she’d said. “Sorry I’m calling so early. You busy?” She adjusted her chunky black glasses and pulled the camera back so I could see her newly dyed purple hair. “Whaddya think? Oh, last night I saw a girl at a school Future Filmmakers event who looked just like you, and I got all sad because we hadn’t talked in so long.”
Zoe was going to fancy film events now. Fancy college girl. “LOVE the purple. I’m glad you called. I miss your face.” I’d sighed. “I wish I could visit you. Are you coming home soon?”
She’d shrugged noncommittally. “I’m staying here for Thanksgiving, but probably coming home for Christmas for a few days. You’d love New York. You should visit me! NYU’s campus is a little hard to get used to, though. It’s all spread out all over downtown. But it doesn’t matter. I’ve found my theater people. None are as talented as you, though.” She winked.
She always knew what to say to cheer me up, even at six in the morning. “Thanks. I wish I could go to Tisch. My grades are borderline.” I bit back my yawn. “Same with my SAT scores.”
“Well, I’m getting more involved in the musical theater scene here. If you wanted to take a gap year or visit this summer, you can stay with me. I have a trundle bed. And my roommates have annoying boyfriends who stay over all the time and don’t pay rent. So, whatever. You can be my houseguest!”
“Thanks for the offer, and thanks for calling. I’ll think about it. I have to get ready for school.”
“Yeah, I gotta get to class. Why’d I think it was a good idea to take Russian at ten a.m.?” She scrunched her nose in the camera. “So think about it. New. York. Freakin’. Cit-aaay! And if you’re listening to this conversation, Kate’s dad, I’m just kidding about all of this.”
If it was his decision, Dad would never let me go to New York to act and write screenplays. Theater is garbage, he’d said to me in the parking lot after this past spring performance of our school’s production of Kiss Me, Kate, not