“He has Asperger’s, actually. Ever since he was little, he’s had a fascination with learning. It’s an obsession, really. But he has trouble with social situations sometimes. Like, stuff is often very black and white to him. He doesn’t really understand sarcasm or when certain things he says are inappropriate.”
“I think he does just fine.” A bud of fondness for Lenny blossoms in my chest. “And he likes working at the restaurant?”
Zayne simultaneously scoffs and laughs. “Oh, he loves it. Pretty sure he’ll be running the place before Mom and Mimi are even ready to stop working.” Zayne’s eyes are far away as he stares at the water, the remnants of his earlier smile still lingering on his lips.
He has a really nice smile. Looking at it makes me feel light and airy inside, like nothing can go wrong. Funny, considering Zayne tends to be serious more often than not.
He looks at me then, catching me watching him for the second time now, and I blush furiously.
“You have cake on your mouth,” he tells me. He reaches over and wipes at my cheek with his thumb in careful strokes. Zayne squints at my face as he works, as if it’s very important the cake be wiped away. It makes me smile. “Hold still,” he reprimands.
I do as he says, frozen by his proximity. I notice again how he smells. Like coffee and…cake. Now it makes sense why.
When he seems satisfied, he pulls his hand away. Neither of us says anything. I pretend to study the still, glistening pond, and then watch the wind lift and shuffle the leaves of the trees surrounding us and the manicured lawn.
Finally, I can’t take the silence anymore. “Have you always liked acting?”
“Yeah. Ever since I was a kid.” But I can tell there’s more to it than his short statement, so I wait, hoping he’ll elaborate, and he does. “There were times I used to wish I could be someone else, especially when I was younger. It wasn’t easy going to private school, having this huge expectation for greatness to meet and being unable to read.”
“Wait,” I interrupt. “You couldn’tread?”
He shakes his head. “Not for a long time, no. It was a huge problem. It wasn’t until I was in, like, fourth grade that I got diagnosed with dyslexia. The other kids in class used to make fun of me during group reading. You know, when the teacher makes everyone take turns reading a story to the class. When it got to my turn, I would just sit in silence, afraid to embarrass myself.”
I stare at him. “Honestly, I never would have guessed. The way you read lines now…”
“That took practice.” He smiles faintly. “When I was younger, I used to pretend to be different superheroes, because for some reason I thought they didn’t need to read.” He chuckles. “I totally mastered each different personality, and I’d stay in character for, like, ridiculously long periods of time. It entertained the heck out of Lenny, and it made me feel better about myself. Like I could be anyone else if I wanted to. Like not being able to read well didn’t matter much in the grand scheme of things. It wasn’t until I got serious about acting that the desire to read better became something I strived toward consistently.”
I shake my head. Zayne, who has never, notoncefumbled during reading lines…dyslexic? “How did you get better?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Eventually, I learned to manage my disability. It’s still a challenge sometimes. It takes me longer to read than most people, probably.”
“Well, now I feel like crap. I can’t read lines even half as well as you.”
“Maybe you should try harder.” His teasing tone is back, shattering the serious bubble time just captured us in. I can’t help but roll my eyes.
Zayne’s laughter cuts off and he stiffens. I follow his line of sight to a stray goose wandering toward us from the pond. “What’s wrong?”
He glances at me for half a second before returning his attention to the goose. “What? Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.” As it gets closer, though, Zayne reaches for his backpack, holding it out in front of him like a shield.
“Are you…?” I can’t believe it. It seems too good to be true. The serious, condescending Zayne, afraid? “Do geese scare you?” There’s a laugh in my voice, impossible to hide now, and Zayne glares at me.
“I’m notscared,” he mutters. “But it never hurts to be cautious. Geese can get aggressive.”
I lose it at that, hysterical laughter exploding from my mouth. Especially as the goose gets closer and closer, almost as if it can sense his resistance, and he stands up and backs away. “Zayne,” I wheeze, “when have you ever in your life encountered an aggressive goose?” Just the thought of it, the imaginary scenario playing out in my head makes me laugh even harder. I fall back against the blanket, holding my stomach to offset the soreness that accompanies my amusement.
As he backs away, still shielding himself from the apparent bloodthirsty monster, some loose papers fall out of his backpack. “Come on,” he scowls. “Back away, you—” he shoos the giant bird away, finally dissuading it from pursuing him further.
I take deep breaths to force the smile from my lips, cheeks now burning from laughter, and help Zayne collect his scattered papers. It’s the least I can do. I fetch a few, stopping when I grab one that’s covered in black sharpie marks. I squint, noticing the way tons of lines have been crossed out in the black marker, while others have been subtly changed with thinner pen strokes. “What is this?” I flip the page over.
“That is nothing.” Zayne plucks it from my hand, stuffing it back inside his bag. All traces of humor have vanished between us, and with a dawning horror, I realize what it is.
It’s our audition script…and it’s ruined.
Although ruined would be putting it lightly. That script would be impossible to read for someone like me, let alone someone with dyslexia. It doesn’t make sense why Zayne would do that to his script, not to something that would determine his role in the play. Unless…
“You didn’t do that to your script, did you?” It doesn’t sound like a question, but a statement, as it leaves my mouth.
“Dot…” He flexes his jaw and stares at the ground. He looks like he’s at a complete loss for words.
