Total pages in book: 184
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
“Keeping your secret.”
“What secret?”
Releasing a puff of smoke, he goes, “That you’re sneaking out of your own party.”
“I’m not—”
“Because that’s what you’re doing, aren’t you?” he cuts me off. “Sneaking out.”
Normally, I’d debate how much to tell him. Because if he’s a guest, then that means he’s a friend of my parents. And who knows how trustworthy he is.
But this is not normal.
What’s happening right now, what I’m feeling right now, is not normal.
“Maybe,” I say.
He straightens up from the tree and nods. “Well then, don’t let me keep you from whatever it is you’re sneaking off to do.”
“What do you think I’m sneaking off to do?”
He pushes a hand down his pocket and with the other puts the cigarette back in his mouth. “Meet a boy.”
“A boy?”
In the wake of smoke from his lips, he replies, “And just a little piece of advice: Keep your bra on.”
I smile. “Yeah, why?”
“Because boys can be assholes.”
“And you know that because you’ve got a sister my age?”
“She’s a little older than you but yeah.”
Actually, forget being intrigued.
I’m totally and completely obsessed.
“I’m going for an audition,” I tell him truthfully.
That gives him pause. “An audition.”
“Yeah, for a play.” And then to test it out, I add, “I’m an actress.”
“An actress,” he murmurs.
“Yes. Or at least I wanna be, and if I get the role, I could be.”
“What’s the role?”
And my heart blooms.
There’s no other way to put it.
It blooms that he’s asking me about the play. That he’s taking an interest.
No one in my life has ever done that before.
Not one person.
Well, except my biji.
Except my grandmother, they all think it’s a frivolous hobby of a spoiled little rich girl rather than a passionate dream since childhood. A passionate dream I’ve always been persecuted for because it’s not conventional or something my mother—and therefore my father as well—approve of.
It’s not something good girls do.
Good girls go to school, get good grades, and follow all the rules. Good girls wear modest clothes, don’t go to parties, only date boys their parents approve of. Good girls grow up to become high society wives who don’t make waves, look pretty on their husbands’ arms, and don’t generate negative attention from the media.
Good girls aren’t like me.
“It’s, uh, from a book called Lolita,” I tell him, my breaths all fast and hazy. “I’m auditioning for the lead role.”
For which, I’ve prepared for weeks in secret.
In my defense, I wasn’t going to.
I wasn’t going to disobey my parents. For all my rebellious ways, I don’t enjoy pissing them off. I don’t enjoy being punished or grounded or made to feel like an outsider in my own family. I don’t think any kid likes that, the very people who’re supposed to love and support you making you feel like an alien. So I was going to let this role go like I’ve let all the others go before.
So far, all I’ve done is perform in front of my bedroom mirror. Or in empty classrooms or auditoriums. I have never, not ever, performed in front of people or taken part in any stage performances. Every time I even broach the subject with my mother, she loses it and grounds me, and my dad lets my mom do whatever she wants and disappears into his study.
But then my biji told me I needed to stop being a chicken and do it. If I want to prove people wrong and show them I’m serious about acting, then I have to take a chance. I have to put myself out there despite the fear, despite all obstacles.
So I flirted with one of the men on the casting team and they’re letting me audition this late into the night. Because I told him my parents don’t approve. He’s also the one who’s picking me up tonight, a couple of blocks away from my house, and giving me a ride to Bardstown—which is where the play is and not in New York where I live with my parents. It’s being put on by Bardstown community center and if I get the role, I’m sure he can be my ride to and from Bardstown. And I’m also sure he’ll expect some favors in return, but I know how to both dodge the attention and keep it on me at the same time.
In any case, I’m doing this.
I’m seizing my destiny tonight.
On my eighteenth birthday.
And no one can stop me.
“A teenage girl who ruins an old man’s life and drives him to break all rules of morality,” he says, breaking into my thoughts.
“You’ve read the book?” I ask in excitement.
“I was right,” he declares. “The world needs protection from you rather than the other way around.”
“You—”
“So if you’re Lolita, what are those for?”
He points toward what he’s talking about and suddenly a chilly breeze flits through, making them flutter and graze the backs of my bare thighs and my arms.