Only in the Movies by William Bell Read Free Book Online

down opposite her and gulped. She adjusted her position, causing her sweater front to jiggle. A gold cross hung from a fine chain around her neck, and the vertical stem of thecross pointed invitingly, like a beckoning finger, to the dark space between her breasts.
    “Hi, I’m Alba,” she said with a dazzling smile. “And stop staring at my boobs.”
    “I wasn’t!” I croaked.
    “Yes, you were.”
    “I—”
    “What colour are my eyes?” she demanded.
    Flustered, searching for the words to get me out from under her completely accurate accusation, I focused on her face to prove that her chest was the furthest thing from my mind. Her oval face was perfectly proportioned, with creamy, unblemished skin and a generous, full-lipped mouth. She was stunning.
    And her large eyes, set beneath fine, fair brows, were closed.
    “Well?” she insisted.
    “Er …”
    “Yes?”
    With blonde hair and skin like a model in a TV commercial, I reasoned, she would not have brown eyes.
    “Blue.”
    “Gotcha!” she said, with what I thought was undeserved triumph, then opened her eyes.
    I was right. Her eyes weren’t brown.
    They were grey.
    “But I wasn’t looking at … I was fascinated by your gold cross,” I lied for the second time.
    Her not-blue eyes rolled in disbelief. She smirked.
    “No, really,” I blundered on, too far from shore now to risk swimming back. “My mom has one just like it—well,not exactly the same, but close. I bought it for her on her birthday.”
    Alba’s eyes softened. “Hmm. I almost believe you.”
    Resolutely keeping my eyes on her lovely face I replied, “Well, good. I’d hate to think—”
    “So Mr. Panofsky said something about an interview.”
    “Oh yeah.” I clicked my ballpoint pen and opened my notebook to the list of questions we’d been given on the first day of the semester. “I’m supposed to ask you these questions, then introduce you to the class.”
    “I get the picture. But to be fair you should tell me something about yourself too.”
    “Well, I—”
    “Tell you what. Let’s interview each other, one question at a time. It will take longer, but who cares?”
    Not me. Anything to prolong a conversation with this angel. She was beautiful. And sexy. And the opposite of the wilting-geranium syndrome you usually see when a new kid joins a class partway through the semester. She had moxie.
    “Okay,” I began, finding my feet after my rocky start. “Name, in full.”
    “Alba Magdalena Benedetti.”
    “What a beautiful name. Italian, right?”
    “You’re supposed to write it down. Don’t forget the silent
g
in Magdalena.”
    “Got it.”
    “Your turn.”
    “Jake Blanchard. Sounds pretty dull compared to yours.”
    “‘
What’s in a name?
’”
    “‘
That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet
.’”
    Alba’s fine fair brows lifted slightly. “Not bad,” she said.
    I didn’t tell her it was the only line from
Romeo and Juliet
that had for some reason lodged in my drafty memory box after we’d studied the play—which I hated—the year before.
    “Address?” I asked, pretending to consult my list.
    Alba smirked again. “Nice try.”
    “Phone number?”
    “No chance, Mr. Jake Blanchard. I hear the school is putting on
R and J
this year,” she said, changing the subject.
    “That’s right. Not the whole thing, though. A few scenes.”
    “I’m going to try out for the part of Juliet.”
    You’d get it without an audition if I was the director, I thought. “Great,” I replied lamely. “I’m doing the set.”
    “Really?”
    “I’m the school’s official set designer and builder. Next, your post-graduation plans,” I said, my pen poised like Locheed taking attendance.
    “Theatre studies at university. Acting courses. You?”
    “I want to take screenplay writing.”
    “Really?” she said again. “What’s your favourite movie?”
    “
Casablanca
.”
    “That’s an oldie,” she said, surprised again. “Black