Page 51 of Landon & Shay: Part One

“I know you think you somehow managed to figure out a way to hang out with me outside of school, but the joke’s on you—I haven’t even gotten the role of Juliet yet. You could end up spending your time with some other girl.”

“Come on, Freckles,” he whispered, shaking his head. “You were made to be Juliet. There’s no one better.”

I kind of liked Freckles. Most people didn’t even notice I had freckles. You had to look pretty close to notice them.

I didn’t tell him I liked the nickname, though. I didn’t want him to have that pleasure.

I narrowed my eyes. “Truth or game?” I asked.

“What?”

“Is that the truth or is it just part of the game to try to get me to fall in love with you by being sweet and crap?”

“What do you think?” he questioned. His eyes locked with mine, and there seemed to be such sincerity in his stare. Then again, he could’ve just been trying to get in my head and mess with my thoughts.

If so, it was working.

Gosh, it was working. Every now and then, he’d say rude comments, but then he’d slip in a few nice gentle words, and my heart would start to melt like butter. For a second, I almost fell for it, almost succumbed to his cheesy kindness.

But you know what you get from a melting-butter heart?

Clogged arteries.

That was what Landon did to me—he clogged my freaking arteries.

* * *

Mr. Thymes waiteda week to announce the cast. Each day that passed felt like a ticking bomb, and I was certain it wasn’t going to go in my favor. To my surprise, it all worked out. Even though I felt as if my audition hadn’t been strong enough, Landon was spot-on about me being his Juliet, and even though it killed me inside, he was the perfect Romeo.

After I found out, I hurried home with joy racing through my veins. I knew it was stupid, but being Juliet was a dream come true for me. I’d been giving it my all, and the first person I wanted to share the news with was the man who’d helped me perfect my audition piece.

“Dad! Dad!” I shouted, rushing into the house and tossing my backpack to the floor. After searching the whole house, I hurried downstairs to his writing cave, where he was sitting at his computer, typing frantically.

“Dad…” I paused and raised an eyebrow. “Are you writing again?”

He turned around to look at me and gave me a dopey smile as he ran his hands over his head. “Yeah, I am.”

“I thought you gave it up, since…you know…”

You seemed unable to write without a joint in your hand and whiskey in your cup.

“I know, but I felt inspired, and when an artist is inspired, we have to create. You know this better than anyone.”

True. An artist without art lives a very lonely life.

“Well, I don’t want to take up too much of your time, but I got it!” I shrieked, unable to hold in my excitement. “I got the part of Juliet!”

“Of course you did,” he said, his voice not getting excited, because Dad didn’t get excited about things. “There was no way you wouldn’t have. You did the work, put in the time, and it paid off.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you. Thanks for helping me perfect the monologue.”

He gave me two nods.

He was proud of me.

He didn’t say it, but I saw it.

My feelings were still soaring from excitement as I raced over to him to give him a thank you hug, and as I wrapped him in my embrace, he turned his head slightly away from me, but it was too late.

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