Betting Blind Read Free Page A

at my shirt.
    Mom pushed the door open a little more and looked around at the mess of deodorant, gel, mouthwash, and towels. “You look so handsome. She’s going to be head over heels for you.”
    I made a face. “No, she’s not. Can I borrow your car?”
    “Sure.” Mom’s eyes were twinkling. “‘Love, bittersweet, irrepressible, loosens my limbs and I tremble.’ That’s Sappho.”
    I knew it was Sappho. I’d heard it before, every time Mom found a new guy. Mom would go online and look through quote websites for hours, and when she found one she liked, she’d write it down in this cheesy book with an angel on the cover. Once I told her that a quote only counts if you read the book it came from, and she got mad at me. We’re not supposed to talk about how we both suck at reading.
    Mom disappeared, and a second later she was back with her purse. “Be a gentleman and pay for her food.” She handed me the keys and a twenty.
    “Thanks.” I took the money, but I felt bad. Phil was so stingy, he didn’t give Mom enough for any extras. Kyle’s offer flew through my head again.
    “Have fun!” Mom stood aside to let me down the stairs.
    Fun? Weirdly, I was hoping for something more than that, although I wasn’t exactly sure what.

    The concert was in Fisher Pavilion at Seattle Center, where they hold all the free concerts for Winterfest. I got there early so I could grab a seat in front. I wanted Irina to see me the whole time. My plan was to ask her to get coffee after. I thought she might try to talk about music, so while I was waiting, I looked up a big-time classical music blog (according to Technorati) called The Rest Is Noise .
    I couldn’t concentrate on my phone’s tiny screen, so I gave up after reading a blurb about some Chinese dude, Lao Ping, who was rocking the classical music world with his passionately lyrical performances . Good enough.
    I had a reality-check moment. Am I seriously memorizing comments about classical music? Then Irina walked onstage with the rest of the musicians. She was wearing a white button-down shirt and black skirt, very professional-looking and mad hot. As she sat down, she smiled at me, and in that one second she made up for the music homework.
    The concert I mostly ignored. Whoever invented the drums did the world a giant favor. But Irina did play awesome, if you like that kind of thing: passionate, fingers flying, bow jumping. Watching her, I wished I was good at something.
    I’m not, though. Or if I am, it’s stuff that doesn’t count: Playing poker. Getting girls’ numbers. When I was a kid, skipping rocks. Seriously, that’s all I can think of.
    The concert went on for a freaking ice age, and the whole time I was getting more and more nervous about what I’d say to Irina, and whether I even had a chance; because after that smile, she didn’t really look my way again. In fact, she seemed to be staring at a different part of the audience, and I had this horrible thought that maybe there was some other guy, but I checked and everyone was like sixty.
    Finally the concert finished. I waited around, pretending to check out the booklet they gave me, while the audience broke up and drifted out the doors. She’d come through, wouldn’t she? I didn’t want to seem like I was watching the stage . . .
    Then I heard a voice behind me. “Hey, you came.”
    I whipped around, and she was standing there with her coat on, holding her violin box. I said, “Yeah, you played really good.”
    “Thanks.” She stared at me curiously. Her face was so delicate: thin nose, tilted eyes with light brown lashes, smooth blond hair.
    “You want to get a coffee?”
    She looked over her shoulder, then back at me. “Okay. A quick one.”
    “Are you here with someone? Your parents?”
    “Yeah, my dad’s here. But he’s talking with his friends, and he’ll probably take a while.”
    I looked past her at a bunch of older guys in suits standing in a circle. I sure hoped the