“Lola, Spencer, and Scarlett got into specialized high schools,” Scarlett’s mother chimed in proudly, “Spencer went to the High School of Performing Arts, Lola just graduated from Beacon, and Scarlett goes to Frances Perkins.”
“That’s one thing that seems so weird about New York,” Eric said. “There are so many kinds of high schools. In my town, there was just the one high school. That was it. One football team. One prom. Here, it seems like everyone does something special.”
He looked at Scarlett again when he said special. She suddenly realized she was clutching the edge of the table with both hands, like a bar on a roller coaster ride. She quickly released her grip, praying that he hadn’t noticed. Maybe he had, and he hadn’t meant the good kind of special. Maybe he meant the kind of special associated with people who are only allowed to use plastic safety scissors.
“You in a show or something, Spence?” Chip asked. He often tried to bond with Spencer, which was about as wise as a chicken trying to bond with a hungry alligator. But before Spencer could open his mouth, Eric answered.
“We’re in a show together,” he offered, happily spooning up a second huge helping. “We’re in Hamlet. Spencer just joined the cast today.”
It was like someone had made that needle-being-dragged-across-a-record screeching noise that they sometimes use in movie previews. Both of Scarlett’s parents turned in unison.
“It just happened,” Spencer said quickly. “Really. Today. About four hours ago.”
Mrs. Amberson latched on to this at once.
“Hamlet, Prince of Denmark!” she exclaimed, unaware of the myriad expressions flying across the table, the drama that was silently being played out. She launched into a half-hour-long story about her friend getting mugged while he was on his way to perform in Shakespeare in the Park. She talked so long that dinner was finished when she concluded, and she had clearly exhausted herself. Marlene openly glared at her in boredom.
“If you’ll excuse me,” she finally said, “I need to head to bed. Thank you for a lovely evening, everyone.”
Eric stood when she left, then made his own polite farewells.
“We’ll walk you out,” Spencer said, nodding at Scarlett.
“Make sure to come back,” her dad said knowingly. “We should talk.”
Out on the sidewalk, Eric remained blissfully unaware of the furor he had accidentally caused.
“I have to get going,” he said. “Your family is…so different from my family.”
“We know what that really means,” Spencer said.
“No. They’re great. I mean it. Thanks for bringing me along. See you tomorrow, Spence. And thanks for the invitation, Scarlett.”
He reached out to shake her hand as well, holding it just a moment longer than necessary. His hand was strong, a little rough along the bottom of the palm. This beautiful creature had actually come into her life, had dinner at her house, touched her hand, and now he was leaving.
There was no time to revel in the moment, though.
“Can you help me think of a way to keep from ruining my life in the next fifteen minutes?” Spencer asked, spinning her around to face him. “I’d really appreciate it.”
THE DAY OF RECKONING
“I had kind of been hoping to lay it on them myself later, when I had time to think of a clever story in which I became famous and highly-paid, but it looks like it’s going to be now. Why did you invite him here?”
Spencer was about to lose it. He was pacing up and down the sidewalk in front of the door and rubbing his face so hard that it looked like he might be in danger of snapping off his own nose.
“What should I say?” he begged, his voice cracking a little. “It’s not Broadway. It’s not TV.”
“It’s Shakespeare,” she offered weakly, knowing that that made no difference.
“Do I lie?” he asked, peeling his hand off his face. “I’m okay with lying, except…I’m going to get caught, when, you know, they actually come and see it’s in a parking garage. Or when they ask me how much I’m going to make, and I say, ‘Four dollars a day.’ They won’t be impressed. They will be the opposite of impressed. I have to make this work, Scarlett. Think.”
Scarlett bit her finger and thought.
“Why?” he said. “Why are we not Chip? He doesn’t have this problem.”
“He’s going to rich camp in Boston,” Scarlett said, trying to cheer him with that morning’s gossip. “He wants to drag Lola along because he can’t hack it there by himself.”
This did not have the desired effect.
“Great,” he said, pressing the heels of his hands into his forehead. “That’s just great. I can’t think about Chip. I can’t think about why Lola is with him, I can’t think about any of it. How does that guy…live? How can he do so much nothing and get paid for it?”
“You’re not thinking about this,” Scarlett said.
“Yes, I am,” Spencer said. “This is all I am going to think about all night. Why are all rich people so useless? And why are they all around us?”