Free Get Dirty by Gretchen McNeil

I mean . . .” She shimmied up to him and grasped his hand. “I mean, hi.”
    Wow. Amber had gone completely Cutesy McFlirtypants over John. The last time Olivia had seen Amber this desperate to snag a boy had been the freshman year homecoming dance, where she’d latched on to Rex and wouldn’t let go until they’d swapped spit and officially been labeled an item. It wasn’t the most attractive way to land a boyfriend, but she definitely scored points for persistence.
    “Sorry, Amber.” John finally managed to pry her fingers off his wrist. “I need to go.”
    She moved closer to John, backing him up into the alcove. “Where?”
    John swallowed. “Anywhere but here?”
    John and Amber as boyfriend and girlfriend. What a strange . . .
    Olivia froze. John and Amber. This was an opportunityOlivia would never have. Maybe if John just pretended to be interested, he could succeed where Olivia had failed, and find out exactly what happened between Amber and Ronny the night he was murdered? It was worth a shot.
    “You two are so cute together,” Olivia said.
    “Aren’t we?” Amber asked, glancing over her shoulder at Olivia.
    Behind her, John’s face clouded over as he mouthed, “What the fuck?”
    “Totally,” Olivia said.
    Amber beamed at John, while Olivia shot him a hard, pointed look. “Trust me,” she mouthed. “For Bree.”
    A wave of confusion passed over John’s face, followed by a look of concentration as he glanced back and forth between Amber and Olivia. He sighed, then smiled down at Amber. “Can I walk you to drama class?”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
    HarperCollins Publishers
    ..................................................................
THIRTEEN
    OLIVIA FOLLOWED AMBER AND JOHN INTO THE THEATER, SMILING to herself as Amber chatted away about a variety of topics Olivia had never heard her discuss in the history of their friendship, including her love of musicians, her deep empathetic understanding of the artist’s soul, and how she’d always believed she needed to be with someone who understood that part of her. John couldn’t get a word in edgewise, which was probably a good thing, judging by the dazed look on his face. Amber didn’t seem to notice. She was delighted by her escort, and her mood was positively giddy by the time they grabbed seats near Jezebel and Peanut.
    “Quiet down,” Mr. Cunningham said, the moment the bell faded into the echoes of the theater, “Unfortunately, I have some bad news. You all worked extremely hard to get Twelfth Precinct up and running in time for opening night, and I know we all hoped we’d be able to resume performances this week, so it is with great sadness that I must report the cancellation of the rest of the run.”
    “What!” Amber cried, her good mood evaporated. “You can’t do that. My parents paid for this production.”
    “My hands are tied, Miss Stevens,” Mr. Cunningham said, palms raised in surrender. “This decision was handed down from the archdiocese in light of what happened to poor Miss Mejia on opening night, and there is nothing I can do.”
    If this had been last year, even last semester, Olivia would have been devastated at having an entire production canceled after opening night. It was an actress’s worst nightmare, the old Broadway joke about shows closing at intermission because the early reviews were so bad.
    But now, with everything that had happened, Olivia was almost relieved.
    “But do not despair,” Mr. Cunningham continued with a smile. “I also have some good news! We have a guest professor auditing our class for the next two weeks.” He gestured to the wings and Fitzgerald Conroy strode purposefully onto the stage.
    Amber gasped. “No!”
    “Yes!” Fitzgerald said, matching her tone to perfection. He wore a dark turtleneck under a piped black blazer, with his wavy white hair poofed up into a modern pompadour. “Ladies and gentlemen, I am at your disposal. I find myself with an