Free The Key to the Golden Firebird by Maureen Johnson Page A

returned to the storage room and deposited the apron. While she was there, she couldn’t resist looking around for the label maker. It was no use. Nell had probably bricked it up in the wall or something. When she emerged, she found Pete leaning against the counter, already immersed in a chat with Nell. He didn’t seem to mind having her talking into his face with her tear-inducing kimchi breath.
    â€œTech,” Nell was rambling. “That’s cool. I’m really into tech. Technical stuff is so important in theater. So many people don’t realize that—they think it’s all about the actors.”
    â€œYeah,” Pete agreed. “That’s true.”
    Pete was wearing an open long-sleeve shirt over a T-shirt for Grant’s recent production of Brigadoon .
    â€œYou do, what, lights?”
    â€œLights and sound,” Pete replied. “Mostly lights. Some construction, too.”
    â€œI act,” Nell said. “I did a lot of shows in high school. I’ve done some Shakespeare and some modern plays and some plays that my friends and I wrote.”
    â€œYou wrote some plays?” Pete asked, looking impressed.
    â€œYeah.” Nell nodded. “I had two years of playwriting classes in high school. I’ve written at least twelve or fifteen short plays and three full-lengths. They were all pretty experimental. We did them in alternative spaces. We did this kind of political play in the men’s bathroom once….”
    â€œYou didn’t go to Grant, did you?” Pete asked.
    â€œNo.” Nell laughed. “I went to the Albert School.”
    May turned around to roll her eyes. Pete stood up and wiggled his fingers at her.
    â€œMy girl Lirpa.” Nell smiled. “I guess she’s ready to go. You two have a good night.”
    There was something unbearably irritating about the way Nell said this. May gave her a stiff smile, then pushed Pete out the door.
    â€œWe’re going to go parking,” Pete said as he and May got into the car. “Let’s just say it and get it out of the way. Parking. I know I feel better. How about you?”
    â€œWhere are we going to do this?”
    â€œI was thinking here. You can just practice going in and out of spaces.”
    â€œMaybe we can do it on the other side of Pet Mart?” May offered, wincing. “I’d rather not have Nell as an audience.”
    They pulled around Pet Mart, on the far side of the parking lot, and switched positions.
    â€œI heard Brooks quit softball,” Pete said, moving his seat back and putting his Pumas up against the glove compartment.
    â€œNews travels fast,” May said.
    â€œIs that what you were mad about the last time you drove?”
    â€œProbably,” May said. “It’s hard to remember anymore.”
    â€œWhy’d she quit?”
    â€œI don’t know,” May said, starting the engine and timidly backing up. “She’s a mystery.”
    â€œThat’s kind of a big deal for her.”
    â€œNo kidding.”
    â€œSo she’s not doing anything now? Is she working?”
    â€œNo,” May said. “She’s not doing anything. That’s why I’m wearing her underwear right now.”
    Pete cocked an eyebrow.
    â€œWhat, do you rotate?”
    â€œYeah.” May smirked. “It’s just something we like to do.”
    â€œIf I guess what color they are, can I see them?”
    â€œJust forget I said it.”
    â€œGive me one guess.”
    â€œCan you tell me what I’m supposed to do?” May asked.
    â€œPull into spaces, back out. We’ll work on your turning angle.”
    May’s turning angle was absurdly wide. She found herself heading into her space at a wild diagonal.
    â€œSo you don’t know why she quit?” Pete asked.
    â€œI told you, I don’t know.”
    â€œA little less to the left,” he said. “Here…”
    As he leaned over to