was so involved with the game that I wasn't thinking as much about whether or not Archer wanted to kiss me. I did hope he'd try before I went home, but when he gave me a high-five instead of a handshake, I figured it wasn't happening. I wondered if he'd lost interest overnight. But I'd promised Claudia I'd be patient, so I pushed those thoughts out of my head. I had plenty of breath strips and lip balm—I could wait.
Wednesday afternoon Archer couldn't concentrate on Ping-Pong at all. We didn't have a single volley; he missed every other shot. I was sure I knew what he was thinking. I wondered how I could get him to admit it.
"You know I love slaughtering you, but it's not fun when you don't even put up a fight," I said.
"Sorry. I just keep thinking about auditions."
Oh. Fall play auditions. Of course. Sitting with Archer and his friends at lunch every day, I'd heard all about them. The play was Cyrano de Bergerac. I'd never read it, but the lead was a role Archer had been dying to play for as long as he could remember. All his friends thought he was a shoo-in, but Archer himselfhad seemed pretty philo sophical about the whole thing—until now.
"Friday after school, right?" I asked.
Archer nodded.
"Do you think you're ready?"
"I think so. We've known all summer this was going to be the show, so it's not like I haven't been practicing, but ... Would you listen to me do it?"
"Of course!"
"Great." He raced upstairs to grab a dog-eared copy of the text, then opened it and pointed to a section. "Right here. This is the part I'm going to do. You can follow along and make sure I have the lines right. Just ... picture me with a really big nose."
"Big nose. Got it."
Archer stepped back a little, giving himself space, then launched in. "Ah no, young man! That was a trifle short!...'"
It was a long monologue describing a million ways the "young man" could have better insulted his—Cyrano's—nose. I tried to follow along in the book, but it was impossible; I couldn't take my eyes off Archer. His lines were so funny that I was laughing out loud, but I could also sense his Cyrano was covering a layer of pain he didn't want anyone to see.
When he finished, I leaped up and cheered.
"Really?" Archer asked. "You really thought it was good?"
"Good? It was great! There's no way they can give this part to anyone else. You're perfect for it. If they don't give it to you, I'll boycott the theater. I'll stage a sit-in in the lobby. I'll go on a hunger strike."
"Thanks. But given your food proclivities, it might be more effective to go on an antihunger strike. You could sit in front of the director and force him to watch you eat until he gives me the part. He'd make it through two chocolate-shake french fries, tops."
"You're just jealous that my palate is sophisticated enough to appreciate eclectic flavors."
"If by sophisticated you mean 'dulled' and by eclectic you mean 'disgusting,' then yes, you're absolutely right." He nodded toward the Ping-Pong table. "Ready to play?"
"Am I ready? I'm not the one who let a little audition pressure affect her game."
"Oooh, ow!" he cried, grabbing his heart as he staggered back to the table.
Two days later, I was sitting in my room after school, amazed by how strange it felt to be home and not at Archer's. It was audition day, and he'd stayed late with all his friends. I had no clue what to do with myself, but I eventually decided to make the most of it. I pulled on comfy sweats, mixed a treat of peanut butter stirred with chocolate syrup, and settled onto my bed to eat and dive into a novel. I'd just gotten the third book in Jasper Fforde's Thursday Next series, and I couldn't wait to read it ... but the words kept melding into goo.
Had Archer finished his audition? I didn't want to bother him if he was still there, but I couldn't think about anything else. The part was so important to him. Should I have stayed after school with him for moral support? Maybe that would have been presumptuous—it's not as though he'd invited me. I might have just been in the way, or made him more nervous. But maybe he would have appreciated it. Maybe he'd been hoping I'd volunteer to come, whether he actually wanted