Bounce Read Online Free

then, I realize, I’ve never seen her at an audition before.
    I’m nervous, too, but mostly because I don’t want to make an ass of myself. And I really, really need a job. I don’t want to go home to Kentucky to prop up my mom or fill in for my wandering dad.
    It’s a wonder I even became a musician, given the example he set. Rarely home. Rarely in touch. Maybe it had to do with the allure of it all, those glimpses I’d get whenever I’d tag along to a show, watch his sticks flash over the drums. Maybe it was the music that filled the house whenever he was around, telling me our family was whole again—at least for a while.
    I don’t know. I only know that whatever I do, I’ll never let it make me abandon the people I love. I’ll never make other people clean up my messes or take care of my responsibilities. Which is why I’m here today.
    â€œI think there’s a gap over there by the window,” I say and start in the direction of a low tufted sofa with one free end. “You can sit on my lap.”
    We wind our way around the room. Beth seems to know half the girls here, and she stops every few feet to give out hugs. At this rate, it will be summer before we reach the damn couch.
    â€œLook for someone with a clipboard,” Beth tells me, picking up on my frustration because she’s spooky like that. “We need to check in and get our pages.”
    â€œOkay.” I look around but spot zero clipboards. I do see that what seemed like a homogenous mass of blondes has coalesced into something a little more diverse. A smattering of brunettes. Another couple of African-American girls. Even a redhead with a pierced septum and a trendy leather harness belt over a flowered dress.
    Damn, someone else is gunning for my quirky minor character gig.
    I decide to peek out into what I assume is a hallway and push through a heavy door that, instead, takes me outside onto a narrow gravel path running along the back of the building. Beyond is an expanse of brittle grass and scrub, which slopes up toward the highway where cars and trucks spew exhaust.
    A younger guy, maybe eighteen or nineteen, whirls on me, throwing his arm behind his back like I’ve caught him with a baggie full of ’shrooms or something. He’s hunky—as in substantial, tattooed and pierced, with a shaved head covered in some kind of crazy design.
    Skulls, I realize. Weird.
    â€œJesus Christ,” he says. “You scared me.” He pulls a cigarette from behind his back and takes a drag before crushing it under his boot.
    â€œSorry.” I keep the door wedged open behind me. Fanning away the smoke that wafts in my direction, I say, “I was just looking for someone with a clipboard.”
    He spreads his hands and gives me a grin that I’m sure makes panties spontaneously combust. “No clipboards here.”
    The dude’s got large, rugged features but they’re pretty somehow, too—thick black eyebrows, a straight nose that’s just a couple of degrees shy of perfect, and full lips with a sharp upper bow. I think about music, about how sometimes unexpected notes align to make a perfect sound. It’s like that, somehow. Only with a face.
    â€œYou one of the actresses?”
    â€œSort of.”
    â€œSort of?”
    â€œI mean, yes. I’m auditioning. You?”
    He shrugs. “Indentured servant.”
    â€œWow, I don’t come across many of those anymore. How quaint.”
    â€œYeah, that’s me. Quaint.”
    His eyes are an amazing light-filled blue-gray. Like no color I’ve ever seen. If he was older, he’d intimidate the hell out of me, with that body and those looks. Another few years, and he’s going to own the world.
    â€œWhat happened to your head?” I ask. “A sign of your servitude?”
    He gives an embarrassed grin and rubs his scalp like it’s covered in Braille and will provide an answer.