Now I See You Read Online Free PDF Page B

wearing, say, a white Fruit of the Loom T-shirt soaked through with sweat from their morning jog. Still, at worst they’ll assume you’re a flirt (not necessarily a bad thing) or that you’re an eccentric with a background in textile arts (even better).
     

 
    3. CARPE DIEM
    If I had hair like that, I’d be smiling, too, I thought as I slammed my hammer down. For a second, I felt better. Pounding nails into wood has that effect. Then I realized I hadn’t driven the nail in, only flattened it on top of the wood like roadkill.
    “Sonofabitch,” I muttered. It was my grandmother’s favorite curse and always made her feel better. But my mood was too far gone. Not even a fancy expletive like “holy mother of shitballs” could do the trick.
    It was clear: I had no future in construction. Which was fine by me. I didn’t want to be building the sets for the Williamstown Theatre Festival in the first place; I wanted to be treading on them, as an actor. I didn’t want to be hanging lights or Xeroxing scripts either, but none of that was as bad as building sets because not only was I piss-poor at it, but a construction site is no place for a half-blind person. Navigating my way across the set-in-progress, I felt like a character in a video game, trying to step over nails, saws, and screw guns, trying to dodge lumber as it was carried around—all with tunnel vision.
    I’d imagined that my gig as acting apprentice would involve more Molière master classes, less coffee runs. I was, consequently, pretty disgruntled. Ruby though, a fellow apprentice, didn’t seem to mind in the least. I knew this because my eyes had been glued to her, with a pathetic envy, for the past few days.
    Ruby was no traffic-stopping beauty , but she had stupefying auburn hair—the kind of ringlet curls I’d pined for, ever since I was six years old and begged my mother for my first hot-roller set. My own hair could only be described by the endearing term “dishwater blond” and was so lifeless it looked like the “before” shot in a shampoo commercial. Between her curls and her full figure, Ruby looked like she’d stepped out of a Rubens painting. And this is what I thought every time I saw her—Rubenesque Ruby. It was wildly aggravating.
    It wasn’t really her hair that made me jealous, or because she was dating one of the Equity actors, or the fact she could drive nails in straight. It was because of her damned joie de vivre. Ruby was genuinely devoid of negativity and emotional strife. Ask her to haul out the garbage or sew four million sequins on a hat and she’d nod, honestly happy to be of assistance. Making matters worse was the fact that when she’d tried to shake hands the first time we’d met, I’d been too busy staring at her Disney princess hair to see her hand extended. Finally I’d noticed the expectant, then confused look on her face, pieced together what had occurred, and looked down just as she was lowering her wilted palm. Now, even though she was perfectly civil, I knew she thought I was a whopping asshole. Of course, being so magnanimous, she bore me no ill will, just felt sorry for my sad little shriveled-up heart.
    “That’s not why you should feel sorry for me!” I wanted to shriek every time I saw her, but it was too late to clear things up now and besides, she was right: my heart was shrinking down to a Grinchish size.
    Not so long ago, I’d been a perky, capable girl like Ruby who—apart from the Frog Legs episode—had no reason to be anything other than sunny and optimistic. But ever since my visit to Dr. Hall, I’d been in the thick of a metamorphosis.
    During my first few weeks at Williamstown, I just felt empty. My heart was like a vacant apartment that those chirpy roommates Joy and Hope had moved out of. By midsummer, the new tenants showed up and they were motherfuckers. Fear and Anger stomped around my insides, making renovations I hadn’t approved—ripping up the floors, knocking down support