The Kissing Deadline (11 page)

Ryan glanced at her sharply with his green
eyes. “You don’t know?”

“No. It’s behind the visitor’s stadium. It’s
not even the closest parking lot.” She nudged the bottle of stain
over to him with one finger.

“You’ve never parked in lot C?”

“I don’t even have a car.”

Ryan held out a cotton swab. “Open,” he
directed her. He leaned close enough that she could smell his
cologne, a clean, just-showered fragrance. Cassie opened her mouth
and let him swab the inside of her cheek. He was the best lab
partner ever. Brooke would never have just let her lounge.

“I’ll show you sometime,” he said, and
adjusted the microscope.

Cassie smiled at him. “Cool.”

A long piercing siren sounded. Coach Ameen
started, and his feet fell from his desk. “What the f?”

Doors slammed and footsteps sounded from the
hall. An authoritative voice said, “Single file, no running.”

Everyone in class started gathering their
stuff.

Coach grabbed the office memo that explained
the new fire drill procedures then tossed it back to the corner of
his desk. He opened the classroom door and snared the nearest
letter jacket-wearing student. “What’s going on?”

“Fire drill. First class to the appointed
spot wins.” The student peered in at their seated positions. “Won’t
be you.”

Coach barked out. “Where?”

“Centerfield.”

Coach tossed him back out, shut the door in
his face, and ran to the window. He felt the glass, unlatched the
lock, and shoved the window up. “Everyone out. Run as fast as you
can to the track.”

Antenna Guy made it to the window first. He
swiveled to go through the opening, but his metal attachment banged
into the sill. He twisted his body and the antenna banged into the
wall. Coach forced him into a diagonal and shoved him through the
opening.

Next, behind antenna guy, Amber hopped onto
the three-foot ledge, her large tote banging against her knees. She
heaved it up and over, but maneuvering the bag caused her head to
knock into the sill and wiped out her tiara. Their first casualty,
Cassie thought. Amber growled and jumped after it.

“Don’t be stupid,” Coach called out. “Shove
your backpacks through first
then
go over the ledge.” The
students followed his command. Coach looked at the clock on the
wall and his remaining students. “Ryan, Mike, open another window,
and get them out.”

It was Cassie’s turn. She hesitated a moment
then braced against the ledge. Why had she chosen today to wear a
skirt? Ryan lifted her. She tried to tug her skirt lower, but it
didn’t move much. Ryan put a hand on the hem of her skirt. “Slide
over the edge, I’ll hold it.”

Swinging her legs across the sill, Cassie
tried to keep her knees together. She glanced down at the small
drop.

“Good job, Ryan.” Coach Ameen went back to
his desk for the fire drill memo.

Somehow, between the window latch, the weight
of Ryan’s hand, and the force of Cassie’s plummet, the cotton of
her skirt snagged.

Rip.

Cassie landed on the ground, half on her
backpack, half off. Her palms dug into the grass, and she breathed
in the grassy, earthy smell as she shoved up on her palms to survey
the damage. Her skirt had torn shorter than the school dress code
allowed, shorter than she allowed, a super micro-mini with a long
fabric tail.

The antenna guy said, “Nice legs.”

Ryan’s letter jacket landed in her lap.
Cassie jerked it across her bare legs.

Vaulting through the window, Ryan bounced on
his feet beside Cassie. He stared at the fabric tail. “Sorry,
Cass.”

She groaned in response and tugged at the
strip, but it held firm at the vertical seam. Ryan grasped the
loose end and put one hand on her new hem. He easily tore off the
tail, and tied his letter jacket around her waist.

The kids from lab milled around the lawn. No
one else looked damaged, well, except Amber. Her crown had
fragmented, but with two quick twists, she hooked each separate
piece in her hair. The sparkling pieces accented her eyes.

Cassie glanced back at the window, watching
Coach clamber out. Given that she and Ryan sat by the windows, she
was surprised they were the last students free. She needed to hone
her survival instincts.

Coach Ameen grunted as he cleared the sill.
“Grab your packs, and go. Why are you standing around?
Get to
the field. This place could blow any second!”

Cassie struggled to put on her backpack and
hold the tied sleeves of Ryan’s letter jacket at the same time and
Ryan took the backpack from her. Together, they ran toward the
football stadium.

“Run,” Coach yelled from behind them. “The
building’s going to blow.”

They picked up the pace, feet pounding on the
grass, down the slope, and over the concrete parking lot.

Around them, other students filed out of the
main entrance in precise single file lines. No one screamed at
them, and no one hurried. Cassie felt embarrassed to be running,
but with Coach behind them, she had no other choice.

Amber led the pack, through the gate and onto
the black spongy track that encircled the football field. Voices
came behind them as other classes entered the stadium area.

Cassie gasped for breath, one hand on her
cramping side and she kicked out her calf. Her muscles and her
lungs were burning while Ryan didn’t appear winded at all. Coach
flipped madly through his copy of the multi-page memo, paused, and
jabbed a finger on one of the pages. “Fifty yard line.”

Cassie looked at him in irritation. Really?
He used a sport’s metaphor in the middle of an emergency? Her lab
mates turned and sprinted toward the grass.

“It’s a location.” Ryan automatically
translated all sports terms for her now.

Cassie’s face heated. She knew that much
about football. She’d hesitated because of annoyance and a lack of
oxygen.

After they reached their spot center field,
Coach went down the line, high-fiving each of them.

* * *

Because the drill trashed her skirt, Cassie
was forced into wearing another outfit from the nurse’s office.
This time she had Ryan’s letter jacket to help conceal her
oversized gym shorts, and she left it on even during her costume
fitting.

The costumer strapped a piece of burlap
around her shoulders. Small sticks, woven into the fabric, jabbed
at her neck.

Nice. She ran a hand underneath, to lift the
itchy burlap away from her skin. The costumer slapped her
fingers.

Cassie dropped her hand. “Sorry.” She sighed
and breathed in the smell of fresh hay. The fragrance wasn’t just
from the burlap. Larry’s mom had delivered ten golden brown bales,
and the stagehands were busy gluing strands of the hay onto a
nest-shaped backdrop.

The director said, “Larry, please thank your
parents again for donating the hay.”

He nodded.

Moving over to the costume area, the director
made sure everyone was busy with their tasks and checked her watch.
Her fingernails tapped against the crystal. “I am making an
official casting change. From now on, Cassie will play the part of
Madrageen.
If
Amber bothers to show up, we’ll let her
know.”

Cassie felt her face flush, and her heart
pounded, part excitement, and part nerves. Being in the play had
been fun other than the Trust Fall, and the Amber drama.

Discreet thumbs up shot her way from Brooke,
Sierra, and a surprise one from Megan.

Cassie shrugged off the burlap and grinned.
Goodbye, burlap.

The director passed her the lead’s gown and
Cassie and Brooke held the elaborate, beribboned gown in the air.
Pale chiffon floated out between them, caressing the floor, trailed
by pale, blue ribbons.

Sierra raised her single green claw. “Um, I
only have the claw. Where's the rest of the dragon suit, or at
least the other claw?”

“Not in the budget,” the director said. “But
you can’t put a price on performance. You can sell it, Sierra.”

Brooke went with Cassie to the wings and
helped her change into the soft, romantic costume. Brooke yanked
tight on the laces. “You're going in.”

Sierra joined them, jabbing her claw at
Cassie. “Tell me what flavor his Chapstick is, or don't come
back.”

* * *

A stagehand held a sign that read,
THE
DRAGON'S NEST ACT II
. The set was more developed than Act I and
partial costumes were in place. Mike wore his shopkeeper apron and
the students who played villagers wore their burlap. Cassie smiled
in sympathy as the burlap-wearers wriggled and scratched at their
skin.

Ryan reached for her hand. Cassie admired her
pale pink nails against the tan of his hand, glad she’d bothered to
paint them last night. Even if he didn’t notice, the sight made her
happy. They moved into position at the center table, ready for
rehearsal.

“The Baker has gone missing, and she took all
the eggs with her. I'll need eggs to hold together our wedding
cake.” Cassie gestured toward a bowl, and the bags of flour and
sugar on the table.

Ryan threaded one hand into her hair. Cassie
leaned into his hand. With the other, he toyed with the closure on
the back of her gown. His fingers wound into the satin. “Our love
will hold together everything. If the earth fell apart, our love
would hold the world together.”

Ryan released her to hold out his arms in a
rounded shape of the earth. Cassie ducked under and sat on his lap.
He snuggled her close.

Behind them, Larry, as Poor Boy, addressed
Shopkeeper Mike. “I'll take that shirt now.”

Larry handed over a wad of cash. Mike tilted
his head and raised his eyebrows, but he made the sale. Larry
donned the sequin-coated shirt and pranced around in it. He
scrutinized the other shelves.

Lifting Cassie on top of the wooden table,
Ryan gazed into her eyes.

The grocery products flew backwards. The bowl
clattered to the stage, and flour puffed out onto a newly painted
backdrop. As retribution, the painter flicked his back and sprayed
Ryan and Cassie with flecks of forest green paint. They flinched
and ducked their heads away from the wet splatter. The furious
costume designer dropped her zipper and stomped over to the painter
in a stagehand throw down.

“How much for a slick lizard belt?” Larry
asked Mike, paying no attention to the melee.

Mike flipped through the wad of cash in his
hands. He counted and straightened the bills while wearing an
expression of surprise. How did Poor Boy possess so much money?
“It’s genuine dragon. Genuine dragon. Not cow. Not cloth. You
didn't give me enough to have a genuine dragon belt too.”

Ryan’s hand moved in slow circles on Cassie’s
knee.

A panting villager rushed on stage and
stopped beside the lovers. “We suspect a dragon has taken the
Baker. I'll need warriors to stand with me and fight. Warrior
Yourgath, I’ll need your help.”

Cassie clutched Ryan’s arms. “You cannot
abandon me.” She turned to the villager with desperate eyes.
“You'll take my heart with you. I cannot survive without my
heart.”

Ryan rose, depositing Cassie on her feet
while keeping her within his arms. “No peril will harm me, so your
heart is safe. No danger exists which could threaten the strength
of our love. I must go, and slay the dragon.”

Ryan bent to kiss her. Cassie was ready. She
smiled up at him and swallowed, heart pounding, glowing. Ryan put
both of his large rough hands on her face and tilted her head to
the right, away from the audience.

Cassie rose to her tiptoes, really ready.

Ryan leaned in.

Ryan’s lips landed on her cheek and stayed
there, smooth and warm. He’d given her a fake stage kiss nowhere
near her lips. Cassie tipped back in surprise.

The director shook her head. “Stop, stop.
Cassie, wrong expression. Imagine your last kiss, the magic, the
glory.”

Imagining herself back at the kissing booth
with the small rat-loving terrier, Cassie grimaced.

“No,” the director said. “That's not the
right expression either. Work on it.”

Kristnaldo walked on stage carrying a pad of
STOP flags. He slapped one STOP flag on Ryan and one on Cassie. The
red shame symbol seemed a sign of her defeat. Ryan turned his back
on Kristnaldo, fists clenched.

Cassie rolled her shoulders and tried to
think of a topic less awkward than the flag, the kiss, or the
shame. She tried for small talk. “Lab was so hard this week.”

Ryan returned his attention to her. “Come on,
it was soccer. He even used my play as an example.” Ryan must’ve
noted her blank expression. “You didn’t see my game?”

“What makes you think I go to the games?
You’ve seen me in lab.”

“But I’m your partner. You should support
your partner and come see my games.” His dark green eyes
sparkled.

“No.”

Brooke joined them, tapping Cassie’s arm with
Sierra’s claw. “We should make Sierra some kind of dragon foot.”
She examined the seams on the claw, as if deconstructing it in her
head.

“Yeah, with claw toes.”

“We could use some kind of yoga toe socks as
a base,” Brooke said.

At their continued costume talk, Ryan left
them to hang with Mike, his STOP flag bouncing on the hem of his
shirt. Mike sported multiple STOP flags himself and he’d aligned
them along one shoulder. The moment Ryan was out of hearing, Brooke
leaned close. “I thought you had it. Too bad you flinched before.
Now he just thinks you want a stage kiss.”

Cassie fiddled with her STOP sign. “I got
flagged for a fake kiss. Is it weird I'm not entirely ashamed of my
flag?” Brooke shook her head no. Cassie slid Madrageen’s costume
off with Brooke’s help. After pinning the STOP flag onto her shirt,
she tied the sleeves of Ryan’s letter jacket back over her
ill-fitting gym shorts.