Little Red Lies by Julie Johnston Read Free Book Online Page A

practice,” I say, trying to sound helpful. Privately I’m thinking she’d probably have trouble getting the words to “Mary Had a Little Lamb” into her head.
    “I do try to practice on my own, but it’s not working. I’m afraid everyone thinks I’m too stupid to play the lead.”
    She trains those huge hopeful eyes fully on my guilty ones, and I have to look down. Making people feel guilty, whether they are or not, is an art form. With me, it doesn’t take much art. I sweat guilt.
    “Nobody would think that,” I say.
    “Some would. Some think I got the part only because I have a loud voice.”
    I have to swallow once or twice while I come up with a reply.
Did Hazel overhear me talking to Ruthie? Did Ruthie rat?
I have an intense need to scratch the backs of my knees now. I know my face is deep pink.
    “You have a voice that carries,” I say helpfully. “A good thing for an actress to have.”
    Hazel gets off the coats and grabs me by the arm, grinning broadly. “Thank you for saying so.” She pulls me after her, out of the room. “So, can we start on Monday after school?” she roars.
    “Yes,” I whisper.
What else can I say?
    Downstairs, Hazel leaves me to my own devices while she dashes off to shout at her sister to turn up the music. I don’t think the party will be as quiet as my mother predicted. It turns out the Carrington parents are out of town for the weekend. The living room doorway is a good place to stand and mull things over. Maybe a sharp tongue is a bigger handicap than a loud voice.
    Soon I catch sight of Jamie moving about the room, chatting with the people he knows, his limp more pronounced than usual. For a mere second, I wonder if he’s exaggerating it slightly. But, no. That’s something I might do—put on a little act to make sure people see me suffering—but not my brother. I join him and instantly hear his intake of breath. When I follow the direction of his eyes, I gasp, too. Across the room, his back to us, is Coop.
    We both let out our breath. “It’s
Will
Cooper,” I say.
    “Right.”
    I survey the dimly lit room. A small knot of boys laugh at someone’s joke. A tight circle of girls, Mary among them, gasps over some piece of gossip. In a chair pulled back out of the way, in a blue fog of smoke, someone slouches and lifts a punch glass to his lips.
    Jamie joins Will just as Roy Armstrong, a guy who’s more in Jamie’s age group than mine, smiles nonchalantly at me and takes my hand. “Let me get you some punch.”
    I’m flattered. It sounds like a line from a cocktail party scene in a movie. When no one’s looking, I undo the top button of my blouse. No one notices. Not even Roy Armstrong, who hands me a glass of punch and immediately starts flirting with someone else.
    I eventually make my way back to the living room. Will has moved on, and Jamie is talking to Vera Carrington now. Playfully, she shoves a plate of sandwiches under Jamie’s nose, yelling, “Eat! You look half starved.”
    He takes the smallest sandwich on the plate, while she tries to get him to take two. “Is that Tom Klosky over there in the corner?” he asks, diverting her attention.
    Vera nods. “He’s in terrible shape.” She manages to lower her voice a little. “I used to think he was a nice enough boy, but now … well, I just invited him out of pity, poor guy.”
    “I’d better say hello.” Jamie crosses the room, while I snag a sandwich and follow him. “Tom, you old son of a gun, when did you get back?” Jamie offers his hand as Tom gets shakily to his feet. To steady him, Jamie reaches for his elbow but grabs only an empty shirtsleeve. “Sorry, pal,” he says. “I had no idea. Where did …?”
    “Normandy. Listen, be a good chap and get me a drink. A real drink. None of the cat piss our gracious hostess is pouring.”
    “I wouldn’t know where to look.”
    “Kitchen. Follow your nose, if it hasn’t been blown off your face.” Klosky sways. He notices me and