something to disguise myself.
There’s a knock at my door, and Rose appears, her brown eyes somber as she looks at me. “How are you doing?”
I nod. “Good.”
“Are you sure?”
I nod again, trying to appear more convincing. “Yeah, I’m fine. I don’t even know if she’s going to be there.” Or if I’m hoping she’s not.
Juliet jumps onto my bed, meowing when I stand just out of her reach. I take a step closer, petting her but keeping my distance, so her fur doesn’t weave into my shirt. “Let’s not knock everything off my nightstand while we’re gone, okay?”
Rose laughs. “I swear she does it to get revenge for you leaving.”
I’m starting to wonder this myself because every day when I get home, my charger, alarm clock, and lamp are on the floor.
“Want me to drive?” I ask as we join Arlo in the living room.
He shakes his head. “I’ve told you, I can’t get into your car with my knee.”
Rose slips on her jacket. “Where are we going?”
“Downtown Seattle to Abbott University.”
“Abbott?” Arlo asks.
I nod. “If it’s her, she teaches a theater class there. It starts in forty minutes.”
Rose blinks several times. “Okay. Well, let’s go, then.”
She beats me to the back seat, so I sit in the front, the windows instantly fogging. The days are starting to get longer, rays of the sun still clinging to the horizon.
“It’s going to be cold tonight,” Arlo says, turning on the defrost.
“They said it might snow,” Rose adds.
“In March?” My question is more of an outcry.
“Snow days?” she returns.
“What happened to spring?” I ask.
She smiles. “Did you hear me mention snow days?”
“But, snow? Do you want to know how warm it was today in Austin?” I flip on my phone before either of them can reply. “Seventy-eight degrees,” I cry.
“Mother nature is feeling freaky,” Rose says. “Also, I’m glad it’s not hot yet. I’m not ready to ditch sweaters and scarves and cute boots, yet.”
“You still have the weather from Texas on your home screen?” Arlo asks.
“It took her two years before she changed the time on her watch.”
The skin between Arlo’s eyes pinches as he looks at me.
30
Arlo
“Why’d you choose to stay here for college instead of going back to Texas?”
“With my dad being a coach at Brighton, I can attend for free. In Texas, I didn’t qualify for most scholarships because of how much my dad and Whitney make, and since I could have a free education here, they weren’t interested in helping me pay for college—which I can’t blame them for. Plus, Rose is here.”
“Best friend status,” she reminds me.
“That and to send my dad’s playbook back to Texas so they knew all your plays.” Liv flashes a smile, but it’s too quick and forced and never reaches her eyes.
“So, you are a spy,” I say. “I called it.”
“A spy who gives you good luck. Remember where your alliances lie.” She types away at her phone, and then her GPS starts dictating directions.
“I had no idea this place existed,” Rose says as we take seats near the back of the auditorium, rubbing her hands over her arms.
The theater is huge and drafty. I’m shocked Liv hasn’t pointed these details out until I glance at her and realize she is entirely preoccupied as she looks around.
“Should we sit closer?” Rose asks.
Liv shakes her head.
“How are we going to see her?” Rose leans forward, squinting at the others sitting ahead of us, but Liv doesn’t respond.
The door near the front of the stage swings open, and a woman with short, dark hair enters, the chatter ceasing. She’s dressed in jeans and a leather coat, more like a student than a professor.
“Is that her?” Rose whispers.
I stare at the woman, trying to recall the photos and aging them by fifteen years. Liv shakes her head. “I don’t think so, but maybe? She looks too young … I think.”
The woman in question claps her hand several times. “Let’s get started. A pair needs to be on the stage. Let’s go.” Two students beat the others, a mixed response of laughing and cheering as the two face each other.
“Begin!” The woman with dark hair yells.
“Begin? What the hell? Coach gives us at least five minutes of context before telling us to start.”
“It’s improv,” Liv whispers as the guy on stage bends over and starts packing imaginary items into a bag.
“What are you doing? Where are you going? Don’t tell me you’re leaving again,” the girl on stage says.
“I’m not leaving. I just have to