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  “Your mom should be here in a minute,” she says, shuffling through one of the piles of paper that didn’t seem to have gotten any smaller since this morning. “So I can also assume you and your friend straightened out the note situation this morning?”

  I scoot down the bench to see her better. “What do you mean?” “I’m sorry I read it, I didn’t mean to.”

  “Read what?”

  “The note you gave me.”

  Why is she apologizing for reading my absence note? I feel like I’m in one of those dreams where two people are talking but the conversation doesn’t make any sense.

  “I have to go into a staff meeting now,” Mrs. Lombardo says, picking up a few folders from her desk. She pushes herself up and heads through the back door. “You’ll have to work this out between yourselves.”

  “Wait!” I call after her. “Work what out? Between who?” The door swings shut and I’m alone for about two seconds before my mother walks in, carrying a big white bakery box.

  “Hi, sweetheart,” she says with a big smile. “I was in the neighborhood so I thought I’d drop these off for you to hand out to your class. You know, for your birthday and because you passed your driver’s test.”

  I stare at her.

  “You okay?” she asks.

  I put my hands on my hips and firmly plant my feet. “No, I am not ok. I’ve just been pulled out of play tryouts where I had to be the first to audition and everyone’s trying out for the same parts, I just had a very bizarre conversation with the school secretary, Megan may be throwing up her cucumber sandwiches, I’ve broken five of the seven deadly sins in as many hours, a demon may be inside a girl in my world religions class, Grant Brawner called me by name, my license photo looks like a dead fish, I have to drive my friends all over town in two hours when I’ve never even driven without Dad before, none of my birthday wishes have come true yet, and now you’re here with muffins like I’m in second grade? So, no, I am not okay.”

  The taken-aback look on my mom’s face clearly says not only am I not okay, I may actually be insane. She places the box gently on the counter and tentatively reaches out and pats me on the head like I’m a little girl.

  “Into every life a little rain must fall,” she says in the soothing voice she used to read me to sleep with when I was little. “I know you’re not in second grade, but everyone likes muffins, and like I said, I was in the neighborhood. I made more than necessary for the luncheon I catered today. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  I glance up at the clock on the office wall. There’s only a few minutes left in the period and I don’t want to miss any more of the auditions. Now, of course, I feel bad because she was just trying to do something nice and I lashed out. Maybe this is why she doesn’t usually ask me what’s wrong.

  “No, it’s not you,” I tell her, picking up the box. “This was very nice. I’m sure everyone will love them.”

  I balance the box on my hip while I open the door, but Mom doesn’t move to follow me out.

  “One more thing,” she says. “When your father dropped you off after the test, did he say where he was going this afternoon?”

  “No. Why?”

  She shakes her head and shrugs a bit. “I picked up a strange phone message for him, but I can’t reach him on his cell.”

  “Who called?”

  “The woman said she was calling from City Hall and wanted your father to call her back. It was all very vague.”

  I try to recall if he said anything about where he was going, but I don’t think he did. He had been acting a little strange, with all that talk about dreams, but he didn’t mention anything about City Hall.

  “Is City Hall where the jail is?” I joke. “Maybe Dad’s secret life has caught up with him.”

  Her head tilts. “What secret life?”

  “Haven’t you noticed he’s been sort of secretive for the last two weeks? He’s not around the house when we get home from school anymore, either.”

  Mom shakes her head. “I didn’t know that. I’ve been working so much.”

  “He’s probably just bored because he doesn’t have a job, so he’s out more.”

  She nods. “Probably.”

  I glance at the office clock again and she gets the hint. She gives me a squeeze on the arm and says she’ll see me for dinner. That’s my mom. Not even asking where I’m going to be after school. Sometimes I think she wants to ask, like it’s on the tip of her tongue, but she almost never does.

  I’m about to push open the auditorium door when I decide that

  I don’t actually want to hear any more of the auditions after all. If pressed, I wouldn’t be able to explain why. I leave the box of muffins next to the door and take the closest stairs two at a time. Mr. Simon has a free period now and the photography room is empty. He never locks the darkroom so I shouldn’t have any trouble picking up my photo from this morning. I turn the knob and start to push the door open when I hear, “Hey, don’t you see the light on?” I quickly look up and see that the red light above the door is indeed lit, indicating someone is using the darkroom. But by this time some light has already been let in. Any damage has already been done.

  “Sorry ’bout that,” I say, and walk the rest of the way in. To my surprise Greg Adler is standing over one of the photo trays, tongs in hand. “What are you doing? Extra credit?”

  Greg just looks at me. “Something like that. What are you doing here?”

  I point up at the clothesline. “I came for my picture. It’s hanging right over your head.”

  He reaches up and pulls off the photo, handing it to me. There are a couple of streaks over Katy’s and Zoey’s faces from where the chemicals dripped, but other than that it looks as good as I remember it.

  “Thanks,” I say, turning to leave. “Sorry I ruined your picture.” “It’s okay,” he mumbles. “I can make another one.”

  The dismissal bell rang while I was in the darkroom, so I no longer have the halls to myself. It can’t have been more than five minutes since I left the box by the auditorium door, but when I pick it up it’s a lot lighter than I remember. I flip the top open and find only crumbs and a pink birthday candle. After carefully tucking the candle into one of my pants pockets, I toss the box into a nearby trash bin. I feel a twinge of guilt that I let the muffins get stolen after Mom went to all that trouble. I’ll have to double-check to see if carelessness is one of the seven deadlies.

  Luckily by this time Mr. Polansky is calling up the boys. I take a seat in the last row and try to decide who would make the cutest Romeo. The boys are lucky. There are a lot of good boy parts in the play. Finally everyone has had a turn, and Mr. Polansky announces that the results will be up on the school Web site by midnight. I hurry down to the front to grab my bookbag and Megan joins me.

  “So why did Mrs. Lombardo come get you?” Megan asks. We head out to wait for her mother in front of the school.

  “My mother came and dropped off a box of muffins for my birthday.”

  “Like you were in second grade?”

  “That’s what I said!”

  “But it was still nice.”

  “Yeah, it was. But someone stole them from outside the auditorium door.”

  “That sucks.”

  “I hope whoever ate them enjoyed them.”

  “I don’t,” Megan says matter-of-factly.

  “Yeah, me neither.” We sit down on the front steps to wait. After a minute I ask, “So how were the other girls?”

  Megan pauses. “They were okay. It’s hard to tell, you know, just from that short piece. But don’t worry, you were one of the best ones.”

  I manage a small smile. Some people think Megan is self-absorbed, but I think she’s a good friend.

  “But,” she adds, “there are good roles besides Juliet, you know.”

  “Definitely!” I say with more enthusiasm than I actually feel. But I don’t want to let Megan down. The best she can hope for from her performance is probably Juliet’s moth