by P. G. Kain
Rory has totally played me. What a jerk. What an incredible jerk. I knew somewhere in the back of my mind that Rory was just too good to be true. Why did I let myself believe him? Was I so blinded by his charm and smiles that I couldn’t figure out what was really going on? I guess I’ll never learn that things are not always what they appear to be. I lean back against the wall of the dressing room and slowly slump to the floor as my tears fall on to the glittering rhinestones of my costume.
CHAPTER 46
“Let’s go back to opening places,” the director yells after the take, and everything on the set sort of reverses to the spot it was in just a few minutes back. I wish I could just snap my fingers like the director and reverse everything to whatever point in time I wanted. How far back would I go? To this morning? To last week? To the start of the summer? To before my parents started fighting? Unfortunately, I don’t have this superpower.
Somehow I was able to drag myself off the floor of the dressing room, stop by makeup for a retouch, and make it to set all without having to talk to Rory or even look at Faith. Of course Rory tried to come over to me and say hello, but I ran in the opposite direction. I never want to see him again. At least now we’re in the middle of shooting, so he won’t be able to say anything to me that isn’t in the script.
Usually I love repeating something over and over on set, but today has been too much. We are shooting my final scene of the day on the dance floor of the dining room. All I want to do is say my lines, hit my mark, change out of this wardrobe, wash off this makeup, and go home. But when the cameras roll I can barely get the words out.
Everything is so confusing, and everything seems so fake. This isn’t my family. They’re just actors who barely know me. This mom didn’t sleep overnight with me at the hospital when I was six and had my tonsils out, and this dad didn’t teach me how to skateboard without falling over.
I’m supposed to see my “mom” from across the dance floor, run over to her, give her a hug and say, “This is the best vacation ever. Let’s never go home.” On the last take I said, “This is the ever home vacation. Let’s never go best.” The director yelled, “Cut!” and everyone freaked out for a bit, because it seemed like I was speaking in tongues.
Every time I run toward Ashley I think about how happy I was this morning to have her playing my fake mom, and now all I want to do is see my mom, my real mom. Her haircut may not be as stylish as Ashley’s, and she may not look like some director’s fantasy of what a mom should look like, but she is my mom.
This morning in makeup I told Ashley how I bought my mom the same locket she was wearing at that audition a few months ago. Ashley told me that she would have given me the locket she had, but she threw it out. Apparently all the “young moms” are wearing pearls right now, not lockets, so Ashley just put hers in the trash, because she wouldn’t be “caught dead” wearing something like that on the street. I didn’t think too much about it when she told me this, but now it makes me sad. I thought the locket was pretty, and I know my mom would never throw it out. To my mom it’s something special; to Ashley it’s just a prop.
We do six more takes of the same exact line until I get it right. When I finally do I think everyone is so relieved they’ll start doing a little cheer. I look at my watch. Even if I run full speed over to the subway, I’ll never make it to the science center in time. I can’t believe I’ve been acting like such an idiot. If only my mom was here right now, I’d tell her exactly how sorry I am.
I change back into my street clothes, take off my makeup, walk onto the deck of the ship, and just stare out across the water to the skyline. The clouds are finally beginning to lift, but it’s too late, since I just spent the last few hours in manufactured sunshine.
I look down the other side of the ship toward the pier, and there in the parking lot, I suddenly recognize something. It’s our little lemon-yellow VW bug and my mom standing next to it. “Mom! Mom!” I yell. She sees me and yells back.
I run across the deck and right into the assistant director. I beg her to tell me that I’m cleared for the day, and when she tells me I am, I continue running and don’t stop until I am all the way off the boat and hugging my mom. “Mom, I’m so sorry. For everything.” Tears start pouring out of my eyes. “I’ve been acting like a jerk. I’m sorry.”
My mom takes me in her arms and hugs me. It’s a real hug too, not like the ones you do on camera, where you have to hold your head up so your microphone doesn’t get smothered or your makeup smeared. I let my tears fall on my mother’s shirt as she gently pats her hand on my back.
“Cassie,” she says. “You’re my daughter and I love you as much today as I did the day in the hospital when you were born. I know everything that’s going on is hard, but we’ll get through it. All of us. You. Me. Your dad. We will all get through it. I promise.”
I wipe some of the tears from my eyes and say, “Can we go home, Mom? Can we just go home?”
“Home? Not yet. If we jump in the car at this very second and head over to the science center, you can still participate in your final.”
The science final! I leap toward the car and practically pull the handle off the door. I open the door, and there in the backseat is Ginger! I let out a squeal of both surprise and delight. “I hope you’re not mad at me,” she says quietly.
“Mad at you? Are you insane? You should be furious at me,” I tell her. “I acted like a total jerk the other day in the courtyard. Actually, all summer. You’ve been trying to talk to me about my parents and everything and I just shut you out. I’m so sorry. It was just easier not to think about it.”
“I know,” Ginger says, nodding.
“But I’m done avoiding reality.”
For a second I think back to an hour or so ago when I was slumped behind the dressing room curtain after hearing Rory call Faith “Monique.” If that is supposed to be my picture-perfect world, I’ll take my best friend and reality any day. I hug Ginger like I haven’t seen her in a year.
“Well,” Ginger says, “I’m just glad you aren’t mad at me. I figured you were at the cruise booking and when your mom asked me where you were, I told her you were here. I just thought you might be able to make it to meet Nevin.” Nevin! He’s someone I owe an apology to big-time.
“Ginger, that’s why you’re my best friend. Because sometimes you know what I need even when I don’t.” I grab onto the handle that my mom has fastened to the door with masking tape and glue, and it falls off in my hand. My mom drives out of the parking lot and speeds across town to the science center, while the three of us laugh hard at the fact that I am holding the severed car door handle in my hand. My life is anything but picture perfect, but maybe, just maybe, that’s okay.
CHAPTER 47
I never want summer to end until the last few days of August. Something always happens just a day or so before school begins to get me excited for the new year. Usually I wake up one morning and there is just a hint of autumn coolness in the air, or I’m walking down the street and pass a particularly compelling back-to-school sale. This year I’m even more ready for school to start. I know I spent part of my vacation in class, but I’m definitely ready for a new beginning.
The night before the first day of school I’m sitting at the kitchen table with my mom, putting the finishing touches on my presents for Ginger and Nevin. She’s taken out almost every single crafting supply she owns and is helping me embellish the two frames I bought for my friends. At first I was just going to frame the picture from our time at the beach and wrap it up, but I realized it needed something. It needed to be more than just a picture frame, and my mom suggested she help me transform it. Usually I’m against anything that involves a hot glue gun, but when I looked at the photo from the beach in the simple white frame, it looked too generic and boring. We had an amazing week at the shore, and I want my present to remind them of how special it was.
“See,” my mom says, picking up a pale purple shell from the pile I have laid out next
to the frame. “If you just sand the back of the shell with an emery board, it will stick better to the frame.” I take the shell from her, sand the back of it gently, and apply a few small dots of glue before pressing it against the white frame. Quickly the store-bought frame becomes something very personal.
“I think these yellow shells would look good here,” I tell my mom. She nods her head in agreement and hands me some bright pink sequins that she thinks Ginger would like and a little plastic surfboard that she suggests I use for Nevin’s. With each dot of hot glue, I think about what good friends both Ginger and Nevin have been to me.
If it wasn’t for Ginger telling my mom about my predicament on that horrible day, I would never have made it from the shoot all the way across town to the science center. My mom basically drove like she was competing in the Indy 500. Behind the wheel she usually acts like she’s teaching a driver’s ed class, but that day she flew down the city streets so fast Ginger and I had to hold on to our seats and each other. I still remember the sound of the car brakes screeching as we came to a grinding halt at the entrance. I ran through the doors and up the stairs just in time to find Mr. Evans handing out our assignments for the final.
Nevin was walking over to Mr. Evans when I tapped him on the shoulder and said, “Well, I certainly hope you weren’t planning on conducting these experiments by yourself. Your calculations might be flawless, but your lab report will need some style.” Nevin was so shocked that he couldn’t say anything. He looked like he’d just swallowed one of his calculators. We got to working right away, but when we took a break for lunch I apologized and explained everything. I thought he would be mad, but he actually understood. He was just thrilled I would be going to the beach with everyone.
I pick up a shell with a bumpy and rough surface to glue on the frame, but when I turn it over I see that it has a beautiful glossy blue-and-white-striped side. I realize it’s perfect for Nevin’s frame. Up until this summer I thought he was one-sided. I thought he was just this geeky kid who has always been part of my life, but now I know there’s another side to him. He’s actually my friend.
I see that my mom has a packet of red and pink paper hearts next to her. “Could I use those?” I ask.
“Sure,” she says, handing the hearts and the bottle of regular glue to me. “This glue should work fine with those.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I take out a few of the hearts and alternate the red and pink ones on one side of the frame. For a second I think about writing Ginger and Ming-wei in the hearts, but my handwriting isn’t neat enough. I’m so glad Ginger and Ming-wei are finally going out. When we all went out together down at the shore, it was obvious that Ming-wei is really into her. Ginger just needed a little boost of confidence, so I was glad I could be with her on her first group date.
The phone rings, and my mom picks it up. I hear her say a cordial hello, and then she says, “Well, of course, Michael. That’s very nice of you. Hold on.” She puts the phone to her chest to cover the speaker and says, “It’s your dad. He wants to wish you luck on your first day of school.”
I’m still not happy that my parents are getting divorced, but at least I’m dealing with the reality. I know thousands of kids survive this sort of thing, and the only way to really cope is to be honest about the situation and have friends who support you. Since I’ve been handling it better, my parents have actually been nicer to each other. I know there is little chance of them getting back together, but if the divorce means we can all be in the same room for five minutes without any fighting, maybe it’s okay.
“Hi, Dad,” I say into the phone.
“Hey, Peanut. Tomorrow’s a big day. I just wanted to wish you luck.”
“Thanks, Dad. But can I call you back? I’m supposed to meet Ginger and Nevin in the courtyard and I can’t be late.” I promise to call him back later and hang up the phone. My mom makes sure the frames are dry and helps me put them in a box.
I head out the door and walk quickly to the courtyard, where I see Ginger and Nevin sitting on the same bench where I messed everything up a few weeks ago.
“Hey, guys,” I say, holding out the box.
“What’s in the box?” Nevin asks.
“Wow!” Ginger says, giggling. “There must be, like, a hundred cannoli in there.”
All three of us laugh, since the box could probably hold more than that. “It’s nothing you can eat,” I tell them. “Well, at least nothing you could eat without having to make a trip to the emergency room. Here,” I say, and put the box on the seat next to the bench. I take out each of their frames and hand them to my friends.
They both immediately start talking about how much they like the presents.
“I love this frame. It’s so cute,” Ginger says.
“Wow. This is very cool,” Nevin echoes.
“I just wanted to do something to say thanks and, you know, make something to help us remember what a good time we had.”
“This photo is quite remarkable,” Nevin says, and holds the frame a little closer to his face. “When did we take it?” he asks.
“Don’t you remember? It was the afternoon my parents came down with Cassie’s mom,” Ginger tells him.
“That’s right,” I say. One afternoon they all came down from the city. Ginger’s dad put his camera on a tripod and took a picture of the entire group. We are all on the deck of the house, and you can see the ocean and the sand in the background.
“I love it, Cassie. I really do,” Ginger says. Nevin nods, and I smile.
“I made a frame for myself, too, and I already have it hanging next to my bed.” They thank me for the presents, and we spend the rest of the evening talking about what teachers we hope we’ll get and wishing that we’ll all have the same lunch period.
• • •
That night, before I go to sleep, I look at the frame next to my bed. The picture makes me smile, but it’s quite an unusual collection of individuals. There is Nevin’s dad, who is wearing a bright blue Hawaiian shirt with hibiscus flowers, standing next to Nevin’s stepmom, Mercedes. His stepbrother’s dark skin stands out against his white T-shirt with the flag of the Dominican Republic on it. Ginger’s dad is almost completely covered, since his fair skin burns easily, and her mom’s wheelchair has an umbrella attached to it to provide even more shade for them. My mom is next to them, wearing a blue sundress and the locket I gave her with my picture in it. Ginger, Nevin, and I have just come out of the pool, so we are dripping wet, but our faces are beaming smiles at the camera lens.
Even if you really studied the picture, you might not be able to tell who is related to whom and how we all know one another, but in a second you could tell that we are a family and that there is love. The image is a bit blurry and off center, but I cherish it. It may not be picture perfect, but it is a perfect picture.
The drama continues—on camera and off!—in
COMMERCIAL BREAKS,
Dramatic Pause
“Nicole didn’t do it. I did it!” I yell. I can feel the space vibrating from the intensity in my voice. I swallow hard, then take out the red-stained knife from the left pocket of my blue gingham dress and hold it up to everyone. I can hear a few people gasp. I watch the light bounce off the shiny plastic tip before throwing it on the table.
“I killed Harriet Conners because she knew the secret,” I say calmly, as if I’m explaining that there might be a slight chance of rain tomorrow. Then it hits me. My eyes widen and I stare at the knife on the table as if it’s a cobra about to strike. I look at all of the people around me and scream, “I killed Harriet Conners because she knew what happened. She knew what happened on the seesaw!”
I fall to my knees. First I am just quietly weeping, then I am sobbing, and then I become fully hysterical and collapse flat on the floor. I can hear gasps of horror all around me now that everyone knows the truth. Tears pour out of my eyes, and my body writhes on the floor like piece of bacon in a steely hot frying pan. I pound my fists and kick my feet for a
few seconds before coming back up to my knees and screaming at the top of my lungs, “I did it! I KILLED HARRIET CONNERS!”
For a few small seconds there is complete silence. An undeniable tension saturates everyone and everything.
Then I hear a familiar creaking from above me. Without even looking up I know the heavy red velvet curtain is beginning to fall. I don’t stop crying until the golden fringe has hit the floor of the stage, and even then I give it one last good sob. Then I hear the most beautiful sound in the world. Applause. The thick curtain muffles the thunder, but I can still tell the audience is going wild. The lights flip from the warm, carefully constructed pools of illumination intended to highlight the drama onstage to the workday fluorescent lights that help the actors move around backstage. Intermission is only fifteen minutes long, and the entire set needs to change from classroom to courtroom. I quickly get out of the way so the stage crew can get to work.
I wipe the stage tears from my eyes, and as soon as I do, I notice real tears are at the ready just behind them. I can’t believe this is my final performance in this very special show.
I’ve been playing the role of Kimberly Ann Fortunato, the girl who lies, cheats, and schemes to cover up the murder of her former best friend turned middle-school rival, Harriet Conners, in the off-Broadway production of Seesaw for One for the past four months. We were originally scheduled to run for only one month but my performance won rave reviews in all the press, with one theater critic going so far as to say, “Isabel Marak Flores delivers a powerful and truthful performance that is NOT to be missed.”
Of course, theater is a group effort. Everyone from the wardrobe mistress to the director has a part in creating the onstage magic, so no one artist can ever take credit for the success of a production. It’s a team sport, and sometimes that’s the part I like best—a whole group of artists pulling together to create something beautiful and meaningful for an audience. Still, it was wonderful to be noticed for my work. I was especially satisfied that the critic called my work “truthful.” For an actor, that is the ultimate compliment. Acting isn’t just pretending and playing dress-up. It’s an art form just like painting or sculpture. It takes discipline, dedication, and seriousness to do it well.
