So this is it, huh? Act like a damn spoiled brat for two years. And then, when you have what you want within your reach, you can't close the deal. How the hell are you supposed to make it in New York or

Hollywood if you can't even make it at Cash On Delivery? His lips twisted sourly at the mocking name high school students gave to the

College of DuPage.

He climbed out of the car and slammed the door shut in a fit of frustration. All right. Go upstairs and run your lines again. Try to get your mind right. You've still got a week until opening night.

But the problem wasn't his lines, he knew. He had those cold, and had for the last week. The problem was something else. He leaned back against the Pontiac, massaging his aching temples, remembering the frustrated faces of Claire and Professor Olson as they did the scene again and again and again.

He frowned as he heard steps above him, Light and quick, echoing in the garage below, then relaxed. Maria, of course. His mother had told him she was moving in today.

Maybe...

Before he could lose his nerve, he had exited the garage, not by the house entrance, but by the door that led outside. In a few moments he was climbing up the outside stairs to the door of the small apartment over the garage. He knocked firmly on the door, then waited, his stomach tying itself in knots.

It opened in moments, showing him Maria's quizzical face. "Alex. Hello.

What can I do for you?"

"I..." he floundered. How could he explain? “Can I come in for a minute?"

She opened the door wide. "Of course."

He entered to see the room transformed. The last time he had been up here was months ago, and it had been full of dust, the windows grimy, the floor bare. Now, the windows were clean and open to the spring air.

Brightly colored rag rugs were scattered over the floor, which itself had been swept and mopped until the wood seemed to glow. The rich scent of grilled meat hung in the air, and his mouth watered involuntarily.

“Were you having supper?" he asked.

“I can come back Later."

She flipped a hand dismissively.

“I am done. I made papusas and plantains for my meal. Fried meat and cheese wrapped in corn dough,” she explained to his inquiring look, "With cumin and other spices. So nice to be able to cook for myself, not worrying that three other girls want to use the stove. And a refrigerator all to myself! I can buy whatever food I want, and not worry about someone coming home drunk and eating it all!

“So, Alex," she said, his name sounding exotic in her Honduran accent.

“Why are you here?"