A Tale of Two Centuries

…

My cousin’s gentle snores keep me company as I again pore over the notepad she gave me after dinner. What started as a series of contractions became a growing list of unique words and phrases, some I have— I’ve—heard her use, and others completely original. For instance, the phrase oh em gee. Or the words dude, douche bag, peeps, duh, and legit. Under “technology,” she has iPad, iPhone, texting, and YouTube.

And then there are entries like tool and sick and hot, which all seem clear enough, but their inclusion implies they must have a double meaning I don’t grasp.

In truth, Cat should have included definitions.

As if this daunting list were not enough, my mind is still reeling from dinner. After the nice man delivered a free basket of bread to our table, Cat snatched one and then went straight to asking her father about upcoming auditions. My hand froze mid-reach.

Mr. Crawford put down his menu and pursed his lips in thought. “Marilyn Kent recently took over leadership for this year’s weekend winter workshop at The Playhouse. Lending her name added a lot of buzz, and a lot of bigger names are expressing interest,” he told us, dunking his bread stick in the delicious marinara.

Again, I had to feign complete understanding, this time over what a buzzing bee had to do with anything. I wiped my hands on a napkin and took a sip of safe, clean, non-contaminated water. Amazing.

Mr. Crawford swallowed and continued. “From what I hear, a ton of on-the-cusp actors and B-list stars are flocking to be attached, and auditions already started, but I’ll make a call in the morning and see what I can do.” He grinned and tweaked Cat’s ear. “If I can’t use nepotism on my own kid, I may as well use it on my temporary one.”

The easy affection between them and his willingness to include me made my heart hurt a little, but in a good way. I may be away from my parents and brother, but I am with family.

Then he looked at me and lowered his eyes, wincing. “It’d probably be a minor role at best, though. The workshop is a series of snippets from Shakespeare’s plays, so there won’t be an obvious breakout role or anything.”

I wrinkled my nose, wondering if I should know who Shakespeare is, and Cat jumped in. “Hmm, a late sixteenth-century playwright who loved flowery words and old-world formalese. I think my girl Less can handle that.”

Mr. Crawford picked up his menu, oblivious to Cat’s double meaning, and we shared a grin. I remained hopeful and eager throughout dinner about the opportunity, but when we returned home and Cat handed me a few volumes of Shakespeare’s work, apprehension set in.

So here I lie, tucked under Cat’s coverlet with a helpful flashlight, interchangeably obsessing over my need to learn modern jargon to fit in at the high school and poring over Shakespeare’s plays —which actually make much more sense than Cat’s list of gibberish—so I can excel at my upcoming audition. I blink my heavy eyelids in an attempt to stop the words from swimming on the page, and fight to open them again.

Perhaps I will just rest them for a moment.

In the dark, behind my veiled eyes, the maze of confusing words part to make way for a tall young man with dark hair. The features of his face are hazy, but his clothing is quite clear—dark pants I now know are jeans and a tight black shirt.

It’s the boy from the second part of my vision with Reyna.

Though I do not know who he is, it is as if my soul does. All my tightly contained disquiet dissipates, and in its place, peace…and a delicious warmth in my belly.

Clinging to those feelings and my vision of the boy for as long as I can, I surrender to the wave of serenity and drift to sleep.

Chapter Six

Cat hands me a large bowl of multicolored circles drenched in milk and grins over a spoon. “So did you enjoy your marathon shower, Ms. Time-Traveler?”

I bite my lip and cast my eyes to the table. “My apologies, dear cousin. I couldn’t seem to help myself.”

Even my correct contraction usage cannot stir me to look up.

Truly, out of all the modern inventions I have encountered thus far and wish I could bring back with me, the glass box shower is my favorite—even better than the marvelous toilet. Inside the stall, wonderful warm water flows from a silver spigot, like a waterfall bending at my will. After staying up late and waking early this morning so I could study the seemingly endless list of words, the temptation to luxuriate under the spray was just too great.

Unfortunately, my cousin failed to mention the limited supply of warm water.

Wincing, I lift my head. “Is your father quite angry with my tarrying?”

Cat closes her mouth around a heaping spoon of cereal, and the harsh sound of crunching fills the air. She swallows and says, “Nah, Dad’s a guy. He can hop in and out in less than a nanosec, whereas I, on the other hand, got to experience the joy of shaving my legs with goose bumps.” She winks. “Lucky for you, I still love ya. Now eat up. We gotta leave in five minutes if we want to sign you in before first period.”

My stomach knots up, and I push my bowl of untouched breakfast away. Cat reaches over to clasp my hand. “Less, you’re gonna be great. Just think of it as a performance—one big acting gig. If it’s stressing you out, forget everything I said last night. You’re gonna do great.”

I grin at the encouragement, but then bite my lip. “And if I mess up?”

“It doesn’t matter. Today is just the first day back, and it’s a Friday. I bet half the school won’t even show up, and the other half will probably forget anything that happens over the weekend, anyway. So don’t worry about it. Just go in there and have fun.” She pumps my hand. “And if anyone messes with you, you let me know, all right?”

Her gaze narrows, as if she’s already mentally berating invented hecklers, and I cannot help but smile. Signore be with anyone who dares ridicule me today.

Cat leans in and waves me closer, as if she wishes to impart a secret. “A very wise woman once said that no one can make you feel inferior without your consent. That’s my motto, and it’s gonna be yours now, too. I want you to walk into that school today with your head held high, ready to soak up every memory and experience you possibly can, okay?”

My cousin’s impassioned words of inspiration, though a little shocking, achieve their purpose. They embolden me, add a touch of fire to my veins and steel to my spine, and remind me this is why Reyna sent me here. This is what I need—room to breathe again, a moment in time where I can live and search for more, and the grace to make many mistakes as I do all of the above.

I can do this.

I look at Cat again and with conviction say, “I’m ready.”

…

High school is nothing like I imagined. In fact, it is like nothing I could have even dreamed. I had thought the theater where I arrived was chaotic, but this? This is mass hysteria.

Boys and girls loiter together in the halls, all without chaperones. Several couples openly engage in scandalous embraces, and exposed skin is everywhere. Odd-shaped brown balls are lobbed from one end to another while all manner of talking, singing, and screaming echoes off the line of metal cages Cat calls lockers. A distinctly strong medicinal smell permeates the air, along with a host of other scents pouring off passing bodies, and as my nose twitches, I fight the intense urge to sneeze and run back to the relative safety of Cat’s bedroom.