by Dani Jansen
“No thanks.” He closed his binder.
“What do you mean, ‘no thanks?’ You auditioned!” I was losing my cool. He was being so infuriatingly blasé about the whole thing. How could I do battle with a monster who coolly said, “No thanks?”
Ben stood up and started packing his bag. He spoke to me slowly, as if I was too stupid to understand him. “I mean, I don’t want to play Oberon.”
“Why not? Afraid you won’t be ‘manly’ enough to play the part?” I knew I was taunting the beast. I didn’t care.
“I can show you how manly I am.” Ben stepped into my personal bubble, angling his face down toward mine.
“Get. Out. Of. My. Space.” I stood my ground, though I wanted to take a big step back.
“Don’t be so sensitive.” Ben rolled his eyes.
“If a guy told you to get out of his space, you’d respect that. You’re being sexist.” I issued this as a challenge.
“Yo! Ben, you coming?” One of Ben’s friends poked his head around the corner of the classroom door. I could see I’d lost Ben’s attention. I no longer felt like a knight nobly fighting a monster. I felt like a producer who had let her personal feelings get in the way.
“Yeah, bro. I’ll be there in a second.” Ben nodded to his friend and went back to packing his bag. He wouldn’t even look at me, and I didn’t know what to say. He was still an idiot, and I couldn’t apologize for something I didn’t feel sorry about. But I could also feel my chance of making this happen slipping away.
Ben walked around the table, still avoiding my eyes. When he was nearly at the door, I half-shouted, “What about the play?”
“What about it?” He turned to look at me, slouching against the doorjamb, cool and nonchalant.
“Are you going to do it?”
“I won’t play Oberon.”
“You have to.” I could hear the whine in my own voice.
“No, I don’t.” Ben sneered at me.
Ms. Merriam chose this moment to step in, and I have never been more grateful to a teacher in my life. “You know, Ben, Oberon is a great character. He’s actually got more lines than Theseus.” I could see Ben was listening to Ms. Merriam, so I kept quiet.
“Yeah?”
“Absolutely. And you know that universities like to see that students are well-rounded, right? I know you’re a strong hockey player but showing scholarship committees that you’re also involved in the arts could go a long way to making your application stand out.”
“I guess so,” he said slowly. I had tried fighting the monster. Ms. Merriam was charming it instead. Her tactic was working much better.
“Why don’t you go to the first rehearsal, just to see what you think? Alison, when do the rehearsals start?” Ms. Merriam looked at me, her brown eyes radiating warmth. She was giving me a chance to smooth things over.
“Tomorrow. I know Mr. Evans really wants to see you there, Ben.” I tried to follow Ms. Merriam’s lead. I couldn’t say I wanted Ben there, but I could honestly say he was wanted.
“I guess I could come to the rehearsal.” Ben sounded like a toddler who’s been convinced to try a bite of brussels sprouts but is ready to spit them out if they’re as disgusting as they look. “See you tomorrow.” I wasn’t sure if this last part was for Ms. Merriam or for me, or maybe for both of us.
After Ben left, I stayed behind to thank Ms. Merriam. She sat on the corner of one of the tables. Her feet dangled, and it struck me that she was much shorter than me. She always commanded so much respect that I never thought of her as short. I leaned against a table opposite her. “Thanks for helping out. I told Mr. Evans I’d talk to Ben. I probably shouldn’t have promised to do that. Ben and I don’t exactly get along.”
Ms. Merriam laughed. “So I noticed.”
“It’s just…he seems so smart sometimes and then he makes ridiculous sexist comments!” I could feel myself getting angry all over again.
“You know, Ben has his reasons for being who he is. Just like you have reasons for being who you are. He probably doesn’t understand why you care so much about the play. And I can see you don’t understand why he acts so…” Ms. Merriam played with her turquoise drop-earrings as she took her time picking the right word, “…macho.”
I snorted. “Yeah. Macho is about right.” I stood up to go. “Thanks for helping me out.”
“Anytime. Good luck with the play.” Ms. Merriam nodded at me as I headed out, and I wondered if maybe she was using the charm offensive on me as well. If she was, I didn’t mind. Somehow, it always felt like Ms. Merriam was on your side, even when she was suggesting you play nice with a monster.
CHAPTER 9
“Be the tree!” Mr. Evans instructed us, his own short arms stretched high above his head, fingers splayed. “Feel the warm breeze in your branches, the sun on your leaves. Now the wind is picking up. Sway with the wind, my trees!”
I looked around me and was amazed once again that people were going along with this. A roomful of perfectly rational—or at least not certifiably insane—people were seriously pretending to be trees. And I was one of them, though I had to admit my arms still felt like arms and I wasn’t keeping my eyes closed, as I had been instructed to do and as all the others seemed to be doing. I was humoring the deranged person who was apparently in charge of all of us. Maybe the others were as well? I could only hope this was the case as I watched them sway in the pretend wind.
“Now we’re worms,” Mr. Evans informed us. He dropped to the ground, legs together and arms pressed to his sides. He squirmed around. Most of the actors joined him, but I was happy to see that some of them, like me, were hesitating. This was a school floor, after all. It was not going to be clean. If we were lucky, it was covered in regular bottom-of-shoes gunk like mud and gum. If we were unlucky, someone had stepped in dog doo that morning. One by one, even the hesitators eventually followed their director’s lead. The last actor to join them was Charlotte, and she just squatted, her hands never touching the contaminated floor, waiting for the worm section of this game to end. My respect for her increased as I also squatted. She flicked her eyes sideways at me, smiled, then brought her focus back to Mr. Evans. I don’t think she wanted him to know she was cheating, and neither did I, when it came down to it.
Fittingly, Ben Weber was the most enthusiastic “worm.” I wished Becca was there to see him slither on the ground, but I was pretty sure she would have flat-out refused to join in this ridiculous exercise in the first place, and I wasn’t sure what poor Mr. Evans would have done in the face of Becca’s no-nonsense attitude. I wondered once again why the producer/stage manager had to join the warm-ups. I hadn’t signed up to be an actor, so why did I have to “get in the creative head space,” as Mr. Evans put it? When I had tried to stay seated, though, Mr. Evans had pulled me to my feet and told me I was part of the family. I didn’t want to be part of this family now that I could see them writhing on the ground.
“Take a deep breath, open your eyes, and let’s all make a circle,” Mr. Evans told us, his voice far off and floaty. His face had taken on a definite pink hue and his forehead was beaded with sweat from the exertion of changing too quickly from tree to worm to human. We formed a ragged circle, and everyone waited for Mr. Evans’s next instructions. “This exercise is called Look Up. It will teach you to focus and will help you all grow together as a group. You will start by looking at the floor. When I say ‘look up,’ you must look directly into the face of someone in the circle. If the person you are looking at is looking back at you, you are both out, and you must leave the circle. We’ll keep going until there are only two people left.”
This game sounded slightly less awful than rolling around on the floor. At least it seemed less likely that I would contract a communicable disease while playing it. Although it did mean I was going to have to make awkward eye contact with people.
“Ready?” Mr. Evans asked. I quickly s
canned the group, making a mental note of where Charlotte was standing. I couldn’t look her way. “Heads down, everyone.” But what if she was looking at me? Wouldn’t I want to know she was looking at me?
“Look up!” Mr. Evans sounded so excited that I thought he might have jumped up and down, clapping his hands, if the game had allowed for it. I looked in the opposite direction of Charlotte, at a girl in Grade 10 who was playing one of the fairy attendants. She wasn’t looking at me, so unfortunately, I was still in the game. Apparently, no one had made eye contact during this first round, so no one was out. This game was going to last forever.
“Heads down.” We all obeyed in a way that made me question whether teenagers were really so rebellious after all. “Look up!” This time I looked at Jack, safe Jack, who was grinning as he and one of the other actors were the first two to leave the game. They laughed together as they dropped out of the circle. Lucky bastards.
“Heads down. Now look up!” This time I peeked at the red-haired boy standing next to Charlotte. I strained my peripheral vision trying to decide if she was looking in my direction. Try as I might, I couldn’t tell if her eyes were even open. This time four people were out. The circle was shrinking, which was not good. Not good at all.
“Heads down. And look up!” Mr. Evans’s enthusiasm wasn’t wearing off. He let out a loud guffaw as he made eye contact with a nervous junior who was playing a minor role in the play. I had looked to my left, firmly deciding not to look anywhere near Charlotte this time. Which is when I saw Ben cheating. He was looking at the floor, avoiding eye contact with everyone. I wanted to call him out on it, but then Mr. Evans instructed us, “Heads down. Look up!”
Things were moving too fast. My disgust at Ben’s childish behavior had thrown me off balance, and I panicked. Which is how I found myself gazing into the cool blue eyes and long, dark lashes of the girl I was crushing on. She didn’t break eye contact, and I felt a warm blush radiating from both my cheeks and my chest. My eyes started to feel dry, but I didn’t want to be the first to blink. It was a bit like having a staring contest with a cat. A sexy, unattainable, sardonic cat. Just as my eyes started to water, Mr. Evans reminded the group, “Anyone who’s made eye contact is out.” Charlotte turned to leave the circle. I walked away as well, my pulse throbbing because I’d just made a fool of myself. Stupid Ben. This is all his fault. I was fuming as I watched the rest of the game unfold. Thankfully, Ben could no longer get away with cheating once the group had been reduced to only five students. He lost to a pair of sophomores who giggled excitedly at winning this ridiculous game. I wondered vaguely if Mr. Evans was brainwashing us by having us perform embarrassing tasks, but his gleeful congratulations to the final winners was too genuine. He loved every minute of this.
Warm-ups finally over, I was allowed to take a seat at a small, scarred wooden desk in the corner of the room. The actors dragged chairs into a circle, scripts resting in their laps. My job now would be to take notes as Mr. Evans ran the actors through the rehearsal. I pulled a perfectly sharpened pencil, a blue pen, and a yellow highlighter out of my pencil case, and arranged them next to my copy of the play. Grudgingly, I also took the Red Binder out of my bag and slid it onto the desk, thinking at it, Behave yourself.
Mr. Evans all but forgot me as he ran the actors through their lines for the first time. They had to stop often to talk about what the language meant. Some of the actors seemed a bit overwhelmed now that they were getting down to the work of not just parroting but understanding Shakespeare’s words. Not Jack or Charlotte, though. They didn’t trip over words or stop the rehearsal to ask Mr. Evans to explain what they were saying. To my great annoyance, neither did Ben.
I continued to listen and watch, underlining any passages Mr. Evans told me would require further scrutiny and highlighting any bits Mr. Evans thought we might be able to cut. I was able to relax into the role of notetaker, and soon Mr. Evans told us all, “Great job today, my thespians!” Ben smirked and threw a look at an immature junior who giggled in response. Mr. Evans either didn’t understand why they thought this was funny or decided to ignore it. “Keep reading through the play. It will get easier. Give yourselves a round of applause for all your hard work today.” The cast clapped, then dispersed to gather belongings, answer texts, and generally get ready to re-enter the world of the normal teenager. Jack came over to speak to me, pure joy radiating from him. I couldn’t help but smile back.
“Thanks for recommending me for the role of Puck, Al. I owe you.”
“You don’t owe me anything. You deserve the role.” Seeing Jack so pleased, I no longer minded having to ask Ben to take on the role of Oberon. One of my oldest friends was beaming. If I had to see Ben every week at rehearsals, so be it.
My happy little moment came to a standstill when I saw Charlotte walk toward us. Part of me hoped she would turn away, speak to someone else, but a bigger part of me hoped she was coming to talk to us, to talk to me.
“Hi. I don’t think we’ve been introduced. I’m Charlotte.” Her eyes were so blue, I couldn’t think of anything else.
“Are you sure?” I asked. Why? Why would you ask that, stupid brain? Jack looked at me quizzically.
Charlotte laughed. “That’s some existential shit. I don’t think I’m up to questioning my own existence after that rehearsal. I mean, what if I’m actually a tree?”
Jack tried to help me out, adding, “Or maybe we’re all worms.”
I forced a laugh. “Sorry about that. It’s been a long day, what with having to transform from a tree to a worm in a matter of seconds. Of course, you know your own name.”
Jack took charge of introductions since I obviously could not be trusted to speak for myself. “Charlotte, this is Alison. She’s producing the play.”
“I know. She was at my audition. Plus, she kinda stands out in this crowd.”
Jack nodded his head. “Yeah, Al’s definitely not an actor-type. For one, she’s quieter than the rest of us.” He looked at me, giving me a chance to say something for myself. I couldn’t think of anything, so he continued. “But don’t let that fool you. Al’s got big dreams too. She’s a shoo-in for valedictorian.”
I blushed. This was not how I wanted Charlotte to think of me. “I’m not a shoo-in.”
“You’re being too modest,” Jack teased.
“No, I’m not.”
Jack looked at Charlotte like they were in on a joke together. “She’s being too modest.”
“Jack, stop it!” Even I was surprised by my tone. I was suddenly angry and embarrassed.
Charlotte saved us. “You two must be old friends. Only old friends bicker like that.”
I felt bad about the outburst. “Jack is one of my best friends. He’s almost like a brother.” I smiled at him, but Jack didn’t smile back.
Charlotte elbowed Jack in the ribs. “Just what every guy wants to hear from a cute girl. Right, Jack?”
Jack rolled his eyes theatrically and forced a smile. “Oh, for sure.”
I was trying desperately to think of what else I could say to make things up to Jack (and maybe also to keep talking to Charlotte) when my phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen and was reminded that I had a big test the next day. I couldn’t waste time trying to talk to a girl who probably thought I was a complete nerd. “Sorry,” I said. “I have to go. I told Becca I’d meet her to study for our biology test. You wanna come, Jack?” I hoped the invitation would smooth things over.
“No, thanks. I told my parents I’d be home for supper tonight.” Jack finally smiled, and I hoped he’d forgiven me for being snippy.
I picked up my backpack and tucked my pencil case into a side pocket. I was fighting to get the Red Binder to fit into the bag when Charlotte said, “I better get going too. See you two around.”
“Not if we see you first,” I blurted out. I could not believe I’d ended our first conversation with a bad dad jok
e. I wanted to climb inside my backpack and disappear. Charlotte raised an eyebrow and smirked as she left.
“I’m such an idiot,” I mumbled.
Jack gave me a little side hug and tried to reassure me. “No, you’re not. Though I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so…flustered before. Is being a producer stressing you out?”
I didn’t want to tell Jack why I was flustered so I just nodded my head a little. It wasn’t exactly a lie. Being a producer was stressing me out. Jack gave me another gentle squeeze and said, “I should head out. Try to relax a little tonight, okay, Al?”
Once I was alone in the room, I sat back down in my chair and stared off into space. I replayed the whole conversation in my head three times before my phone buzzed and I remembered I had other priorities.
CHAPTER 10
She said I was cute. She called me cute. Me. Cute. I couldn’t stop obsessing about that one throwaway comment. It probably didn’t mean anything. Charlotte was just teasing Jack. But she could have said many other things, like I was well-organized. Instead, she said I was a cute girl. Which obviously meant I had to avoid her. She was trouble, a distraction. I was always saying the wrong thing around her, like asking if she was sure of her own name. I was grateful there was a whole week before the next rehearsal. Maybe I would contract some highly contagious virus and be excused from attending another practice. In the meantime, I would do my homework, hide in the library at lunch, and pray to any and all deities that I wouldn’t run into Charlotte in the halls.
When Becca reminded me a couple days later that we needed to start work on designing the set, I was briefly excited at the prospect of spending time in the art room, a place I knew Charlotte didn’t frequent. And then I remembered I would have to talk to Jenny, our friendly neighborhood goth girl. Becca suggested that we bring Annie with us to help communicate with Jenny.
I texted Annie, asking her if she could meet us in the art room. I got two words back, and I knew we were on our own: b-ball game.
