Read Online Riven by Jerry B. Jenkins - Free Book Online Page A

watch.
    “I’m really sorry,” she said, grabbing a sheaf of papers off a table and moving past him. “That was stupid of me.”
    Brady wasn’t sure why, but she had somehow made him feel sorry for her. She had assumed a guy like him could only be up to no good in the music room, and worse, she must have considered him stupid enough to try to steal something in front of dozens of people. Well, he wouldn’t berate her anymore, but he’d show her.
    To Brady’s surprise, the girl strode directly to a spinet piano just offstage and arranged her music. From the darkened seats, where Clancy Nabertowitz sat surrounded by kids who had apparently been cast the day before, the director called out, “First sixteen girls, town chorus!”
    From both sides of the stage they came, some looking eager, others petrified. Brady could identify. He knew that by now he was the talk of the place. But these girls had a job to do, and within minutes, Cheerleader was whaling away on the piano as the others cavorted all over the stage.
    A girl stepped up behind Brady. “Is it true you’re trying out for Birdie?”
    He turned. “What’s it to you?”
    “Nothing to me. Might mean something to my boyfriend, though. That’s him right in front of Mr. N.”
    Brady squinted. A short, good-looking kid sat staring at the stage, arms folded, scowling. “Doesn’t seem as impressed with the dancers as everyone else is.”
    “He’d better not be,” the girl said, laughing. “’Course, he’s worried about you.”
    “He doesn’t even know me.”
    “He knows of you. He and Mr. N. are tight. He always gets the leads.”
    “He shouldn’t have any trouble beating me out.”
    “You ride a motorcycle?”
    Brady grimaced and faced her. “What makes you ask that?”
    “You look the type, that’s all.”
    “I can’t afford a motorcycle.”
    “Well, you’d look good on one.”
    Brady turned back to the stage, feeling himself redden. Had he just been hit on by a popular girl? Impossible.
    During the hubbub of kids taking and leaving the stage, Brady noticed the girl at the piano sneaking a peek at him. What was this? Never seen his type before?
    She mouthed, “Forgive me?”
    He cocked his head and shrugged, nodding. She beckoned him over.
    “I’m really not usually like that,” she said.
    “Forget it.”
    “Thanks.”
    Again confused and tongue-tied, he moved away, only to stop and spin. “You want to make it up to me?”
    She looked wary. “How?”
    “You know ‘Blue Suede Shoes,’ the Carl—”
    “—Perkins classic? Of course. I don’t have the music, but I could figure it out. It’s not in this play, you know.”
    He shot her a look.
    “Sorry. Guess you knew that.”
    “Yeah, I knew. And do you know the lighting guys?”
    She nodded.
    “Okay, here’s what I need. . . .”
    An hour later Brady was as antsy as he had ever been. These kids all seemed to know each other, to know what they were doing, and to be doing it well. Nabertowitz hollered, “Thirty-seven! Hi there! What’re you auditioning for?”
    “Bartender!”
    “Very good. When you’re ready.”
    Brady hurried to the closet, grabbed the garment bag, and ducked into the bathroom. It frustrated him to find a few other guys in there. The conversation quickly stopped. He hadn’t wanted to change in a stall, but that was his only choice now.
    Brady got the door shut and opened the bag, kicking off his shoes and trying to maneuver in the tiny chamber. He heard a snicker. What must they be thinking?
    He swore when he realized his belt didn’t fit the tiny loops in the suit slacks. It still wasn’t too late to back out. If he didn’t answer when the director called his number, end of story.
    But as he pulled his shoes back on, Brady could think only of the trailer, his wasted mother, and Peter. Maybe this wasn’t the only way out, but it could be a start, and he owed that much to Petey. Somehow he knew that if he could keep his brother at the forefront of his