Free The Girl On The Half Shell by Susan Ward

play your game and make a fool of myself. Some other guy has already made a fool of me tonight.
    I adjust my cello in front of me as I fight for something to say. It’s not easy. Those intense black eyes make it nearly impossible to string together words. “Well, well, well. Not what I expected. The voice was hard to read, but the kiss. Definitely confusing. It made me think you were old. But you are a surprise.”
    “A good surprise?”
    My heartbeat quickens. “I don’t know. We just met.”
    Alan remains crouched before me. “Why are you so nervous about your audition for Juilliard? You must know that you are extraordinary.”
    Am I really in my dad’s studio with Alan Manzone telling me I’m extraordinary? I swallow nervously and I think he is suppressing a smile.
    I tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “Just life jitters. I’m not sure of what I want to do. I’m not sure if I want to go to Juilliard. I’m not sure about anything. Today, I’m not even sure about the cello and it is my favorite instrument.”
    “Well, you should be certain about the cello. You are remarkable.”
    I blink at him, unsure what to say. There is something in his voice I can’t decipher at all. Is he being gracious, or mocking me? Toying with me or just making small talk?
    I swallow as I stare into his gorgeous face. I search for words and then smile at him. “Are you an actor?”
    Something flashes in his eyes too quickly for me to be certain of his reaction.
    “Why?”
    “This has all been very theatrical. You seem like an actor.”
    His smile is rueful, but he looks vaguely disconcerted. “Sorry about the theatrical. I’m working on getting rid of that.”
    “I didn’t suggest you should. Especially not if you’re an actor. I would think that would hurt your craft.”
    “You can set aside your worry. Not an actor. A musician.”
    I set the cello down in the case and hold out my hand. “How do you do? I’m Christian Parker.”
    “The introduction is unnecessary. You look just like your dad. He likes to brag about you, in case you don’t know that.”
    It’s just a lie, but it makes me happy that he went to the effort of giving me that. “You are not doing well getting rid of the theatrical. You seem almost committed to continuing it. When one introduces themselves the other usually does the same. Introductions are generally considered polite. Would you like to try again?”
    He laughs. “I’m British. You do realize the absurdity of lecturing me about politeness?”
    “Sure I do, Mr. Whoever You Are. But I don’t know who you are,” I lie.
    “Really?”
    His reaction is very odd. Maybe I shouldn’t do this.
    I nod and struggle to maintain a deadpan expression. “Really. Nothing personal, but I’ve been locked away in a dark cell for eight years.”
    “Prison?”
    “Worse. Boarding school. I only get parole three times a year. Two months in summer, one month Christmas, three weeks Spring. It makes it really hard to keep up with the world. The last time I was out Reagan was President.”
    “You haven’t missed anything. Not much has changed.”
    I smile. “That’s good to know. I like Reagan. I’m going to miss him.”
    “Well, any friend of Maggie’s is a friend of mine.”
    “Maggie?”
    “Margaret Thatcher. A great lady.”
    “A great lady, but you shouldn’t say that in front of Jack. I don’t think I’ve heard any of my dad’s friends compliment Thatcher and Reagan on the same day. Interesting. And you must be someone to be sitting in with Jack’s gang on the patio.”
    He shrugs and extends a hand. “I’m Alan Manzone. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
    “Well, Alan, it’s a pleasure to meet you. So what instrument are you extraordinary with?”
    “Guitar. With this gang I play the drums. I don’t know if I’m extraordinary. I was just here when this started. No drummer. I was here.”
    “Are you naturally self-effacing or is it just being British?”
    “I’m not