by Dani Jansen
i was hoping id hear from u today.
I was floating again, the scholarship essays forgotten. We texted back and forth for hours. I thought about suggesting an actual phone call, but I felt safer with typed words. As fast as we texted, I always had time to think about what I was “saying.” Real conversations didn’t have that editorial moment; I got into trouble when I had to converse in real life. Plus, texting had the advantage of gifs, which were great conversation pieces and helped express things words alone could not convey. When she sent me a gif of Lily Tomlin saying “I’m engaging with all the people in Internet-land,” I knew I was in love. What other person my age appreciated Lily Tomlin? My guess was only a fellow lesbian. I felt pretty certain at this point that Charlotte was into girls—was into me, in fact. Of course, neither of us had come out to the other, but maybe it went without saying. I felt relieved to think that might be the case. Maybe not every new friend or crush meant I had to declare my sexual preference.
Just before suppertime, Charlotte sent me a text telling me she had to meet some friends. The sad-face emoji at the end of the message gave me the confidence to respond: We should get together some time. I didn’t think Charlotte would be so quick to take up the suggestion, but I shouldn’t have been surprised given how open and self-assured she’d been since we first met. how about next sat? I didn’t even pause before replying: It’s a date.
CHAPTER 23
I was almost late getting to Becca’s for our movie night but made it just in time, thanks to a bag of kettle corn my father had hidden at the back of the pantry. If I’d needed to stop to pick up snacks along the way, I would have been late for sure. It seemed the gods were still smiling on me.
We settled into the basement media room, an array of sweet and salty snacks laid out on the glass coffee table. We sat as far away from each other as we could on the oversized couch and didn’t talk much. Every ten minutes or so, Becca answered a text. She angled her phone so I couldn’t see anything, which was a bit strange, but given that I was on friend probation, I pretended not to notice.
The movie was gory, but I didn’t mind. I had a date with Charlotte. After a particularly gross scene of dismemberment, Becca looked over at me to see how I was handling the blood. I must have been smiling because she seemed a bit freaked out by my reaction. I tried to change my facial expression to disgust, but I couldn’t maintain it for long. I was too giddy with my good fortune to pay attention to the movie.
When the movie was over, we sat through all the credits, neither of us quite sure what to do next. As the screen faded to black, I sat forward, signaling my readiness to leave if that’s what Becca wanted. She sat back, settling into a corner of the couch. In this position, she was half facing me. I followed her lead and sat back.
Becca sighed and looked at the blank TV screen as she spoke. “I know you thought you were doing something nice with that whole third-wheel-date thing. I know you thought you were helping me get together with Jack.” She paused, and I nodded my head vigorously. “But I also think you knew it was a bad idea, otherwise you would’ve told me about it beforehand. And that’s what really bothers me. That you basically lied to me because you knew I wouldn’t agree to do what you wanted.” I nodded my head, less enthusiastically this time. “So I need you to promise you won’t ever do something like that to me again.”
“I promise, Becca. Honestly, I was an idiot and I know it. I didn’t want to hurt Jack’s feelings and I came up with a stupid plan. You’re right. I knew you’d hate the idea and I shouldn’t have lied to you.” I reached out my pinky finger. “I pinky swear I will never trick you into a date ever again.” Becca snorted and wrapped her pinky finger around mine. We raised and lowered our hands exactly three times, just as we had when we swore pinky oaths as kids.
“Okay. Now spill the news. I can tell you’ve been holding back.” Becca turned to face me properly now. Talking to my best friend again felt a bit like coming home after a bad camping trip (not that I’d ever experienced a good camping trip, but that probably had something to do with my aversion to squatting to pee).
“Well, I kinda have a date with Charlotte.” I could feel myself blushing and grinning. I had no control over my treacherous body. I would never be able to play it cool.
Becca was staring at me wide-eyed. “Like, a real date? With Charlotte Russell?”
“Hey! Don’t sound so shocked.” I was a little hurt that Becca was so incredulous. If my best friend thought Charlotte was out of my league, I was in trouble.
“It’s just that you always act like such a…dork around her.”
It was hard to argue with Becca’s observation. In texts, it was easy to talk to Charlotte. In person, I did things like pet award cases and fumble with faucets. “Yeah.” I picked at a loose thread on my sweatpants.
Becca nudged my leg with her bare foot. “This is great, Al. It is. I’m just surprised you kept your cool long enough for her to ask you out.”
“I asked her out, actually,” I said, proud of myself for showing some gumption.
“Well, this I need to hear. Tell me everything.”
We ate the last of the popcorn, and I told Becca all about the texts. I even showed her a few, the ones I thought weren’t too private. By the time I had finished the story, Becca was smiling.
“Al, this could only happen to you.”
“What do you mean?” I felt defensive.
“I mean, you’re always doing impossible things. Like getting me to publish an article in the school paper pointing out that basketball at our school is basically a violent entertainment sport.”
“But you had to resign because of that article,” I said.
“But it shouldn’t even have been possible! Just like Jenny shouldn’t have agreed to paint sets for the school play. And there’s no way macho Ben Weber should ever, in a million years, have decided to play a fairy.” Becca punctuated each of her points with a shake of the head. Her curls bounced around, and she tried to tuck them behind her ears.
“Ms. Merriam helped me with Ben,” I reminded her.
“Not the point. Somehow, you get us all to do crazy things. Your sister even helped clean out the drama storage room! When was the last time Annie cleaned her room?”
I took a moment to think. “Probably last summer when Mom threatened to hold back her allowance if some of the missing plates and forks didn’t make a reappearance.”
Becca scrunched her nose. “Ew. Anyway, the point is that only you could get a date with one of the hottest girls at school, even though she’s seen you at your worst. I mean, rumor had it she was dating the lead singer of some punk band. But you never give up, even when you should.”
“A punk band?” I asked.
Becca nodded her head. I had so many follow-up questions I wanted to ask, like whether this singer was a guy or a girl and how Becca knew about this and I didn’t, but I could see Becca had something else she wanted to say. I stayed quiet. This had to be about her.
Becca stared me straight in the eye. “How long would you have hung on to Harvey if Mr. Patel hadn’t shown up?”
“I needed to show you how important you are to me,” I said, leaning forward.
“I couldn’t stay mad at you forever. If I did, I’d miss out on all the fun.” There was a twinkle in Becca’s eye, the same look she had every time we started out on an adventure.
Becca was not a hugger, but this called for a hug. I leaned forward and caught her up in a hug before she could stop me. She put up with it for almost five whole seconds before patting me on the back, a sign that I had better stop with this gushy display of affection.
“What about you? What have you been up to?” I asked. Becca proceeded to tell me all about her feud with a mechanic who wanted three hundred dollars to fix one of Harvey’s many ailments. She paused every once in a while to respond to a text. When I asked who it was, she said, “
Oh, just some guy I’m helping with math.” I wiggled my eyebrows at her, and she punched me only medium-hard in the arm. It was a perfect end to the perfect day.
CHAPTER 24
For the first time, I was looking forward to going to rehearsal. The moment I walked into the room I could feel Charlotte’s presence. She was like the sun; I could feel her light and warmth soaking into me. She was wearing a plaid shirt with rolled cuffs today. Her bare arms looked strong, though she was slim. We smiled at each other as the group gathered in a circle.
After his opening remarks, Mr. Evans asked us all to stand up and put our hands into the middle of the circle. “Grab hold of two other people’s hands!” he instructed. There was a mad scramble as people tried to find the hands of their friends. I felt a warm palm press itself into my right hand and recognized the arm and rolled cuff immediately. I squeezed Charlotte’s hand and barely noticed when someone else took hold of my left hand. “This game is called Human Knot,” Mr. Evans explained as he circled us. “Your task is to untangle yourselves. At no point can you let go of each other’s hands. This exercise will require you to communicate clearly and also to be patient.”
“But Mr. Evans, this is totally impossible,” a freshman whined.
Mr. Evans grinned, delighted that someone had fed him the expected line. “In theater, we do impossible things all the time. Now get to work!”
Some of the seniors took charge, directing people to move this way or that. It worked for a while, until they started bickering with each other. Then people pulled and pushed without any real sense of direction. Mr. Evans admonished us, “You need to communicate.” But no one was listening. The person holding my left arm jerked me over, and I had to pull Charlotte along with me. I followed the left-hand-holder until I was face-to-face with a junior who was so tangled up that she couldn’t move. She couldn’t get her arm up to let me pass under, but the person holding my left hand kept pulling harder and harder until I had to shout, “Ow! Stop pulling. We need a second here.”
Which was when I discovered that Ben was the person holding my left hand. He glared down his long nose at me. “Don’t be such a baby. Let’s get this over with.” He tugged on me again, and this time I pulled back.
“Stop it, Ben.”
He pulled harder, and I fell on top of the poor junior in front of me. I had to let go of Ben’s hand, as well as Charlotte’s, so that I could catch myself as I fell. The group froze.
“What is your problem?” I yelled at Ben as I got up.
“You’re my problem! Why are you even doing the warm-ups with us? You’re just the producer.” He jabbed his finger at me. I could see the blue veins in his neck. He was mad and bigger than me, but I had put up with enough crap from Ben Weber.
“Just the producer? Do you have any idea how much work I do so you can prance around onstage?” Ben took a step toward me, but I refused to concede any ground to him. Things might have escalated if Charlotte hadn’t stepped between us just as Mr. Evans put a hand on Ben’s shoulder.
“Ben, maybe you should go take a walk,” Mr. Evans suggested quietly. Of course, the big baby was being coddled. Teachers never saw him for the asshole he was.
Charlotte caught my eye, holding eye contact as I calmed down.
“Sorry, Mr. Evans,” Ben mumbled. Such a suck-up. “I don’t need to take a walk. I’m calm.”
“Passion is important for actors, but you need to channel that passion into your performance. You can’t let it take control.” Mr. Evans looked over at me. “Isn’t that right, Alison?”
I looked at Mr. Evans, then back to Charlotte. Was I getting in trouble for yelling at Ben because he’d been a jerk? Charlotte shook her head almost imperceptibly. I knew the warning was for my benefit, but I was still disappointed that she wasn’t as outraged as I was. Would she be so calm if Ben had implied that she didn’t belong here? That all her hard work was unnoticed? As usual, though, I knew I had to rise above, to be mature. “Yes, Mr. Evans,” I said.
Mr. Evans decided that “after all the excitement,” we should take five minutes to meditate and “find our centers” before we started rehearsal. I chose a spot as far away from Ben as possible, and Charlotte sat nearby. I liked that she gave me room to cool down while still staying close enough to show her support. I knew I had to calm down, so I pictured my thoughts as clouds in the sky. I wanted to let them pass by, but they felt like gathering rain clouds. They were too dark and heavy to drift away. Ben Weber was a sexist scumbag, but he wasn’t usually so aggressive. What had gotten into him? The only time I’d seen him mad before was the day I’d spotted him arguing with Zach.
What was I doing? Why was I trying to understand the motivations of Ben Weber, certified jackass? I listened to the nature sounds Mr. Evans was playing for us and focused on breathing in and out. By the time the meditation was over, I was feeling much cooler. When Charlotte looked over at me to check in, I gave her a real smile. She smiled back before taking her place in the opening scene.
We started blocking, so I sat at my little desk and took notes. It was my responsibility to help the actors remember where they were supposed to stand. It felt a bit silly to be noting where everyone entered and exited, but the Red Binder had insisted that the promptbook was crucial to a “professional-looking production.” I didn’t know if we should aim so high as “professional-looking,” but I could see how important my notes were when Mr. Evans reran bits of the first act. A number of the actors had already forgotten their cues. It felt good to be useful during a rehearsal. See, Ben Weber? A producer is important. A small part of me hoped Charlotte noticed as well.
Though we were a few weeks into rehearsals, it was obvious that some of the actors were still struggling to get their lines right. Charlotte, Jack, and, to my great disappointment, Ben seemed to have the easiest time with the Shakespearean language. Listening to the stilted dialogue of the other performers, I remembered that Annie had nicknamed this Ye Olde Shakespearean Disaster. I had to find a way to sell tickets to this thing. Watching Mr. Evans run the actors through simple lines again and again, I worried about having to sell tickets to three performances. At least we had a big cast, which meant a bunch of parents and friends buying tickets just to be supportive.
The last hour of rehearsal passed quickly. I alternated between taking notes for the promptbook and brainstorming ideas to get people to come see the show. So far, my best ideas were to either bribe people with cupcakes or get the actors to beg people in the hallway. I remembered the last time I’d tried to make vanilla cupcakes from a mix. Through some weird alchemical reaction, they had burned on the outside while remaining raw on the inside. So that was out. Actors didn’t seem to embarrass easily, so maybe the begging thing could work, if they could manage to look pathetic enough.
At the end of rehearsal, Charlotte stopped by my desk. She wasn’t wearing makeup today, and she looked gorgeously androgynous. Her slim hips were boyish while her long lashes and pouty lips were distinctly feminine. I was jealous of her ability to look great with so little effort. She smiled at me, that protruding incisor catching on her lip. “You know, I think you need to give corgis a break. How can you not think they’re cute?”
I leaned back a little in my chair. “They aren’t cute. They’re too weird looking. Sorry. I stand by my position on corgis.”
Charlotte laughed her hiccup-y laugh and said, “I’ll change your mind yet, Alison Green.” I liked how my name sounded when she said it. She made it sound exciting, like the name of an international spy, or at least a meteorologist on a popular local radio station.
“We’ll see about that. I wish I could walk you out, but I need to stay to go over some notes with Mr. Evans.”
“Call of duty, I get it. Text me later.” One more dazzling smile and Charlotte left. Thanks to Charlotte, my earlier confrontation with Ben was forgotten. Well, nearly forgotten. I couldn’t help glaring at him as he left the
room, hating everything about him, right down to his trendy backpack. But the thought of Charlotte kept me from throwing something heavy at his head, which showed just how much power she had over me.
CHAPTER 25
I still wasn’t having much luck with the scholarship essays. The unfiltered truth thing wasn’t working, but I couldn’t seem to turn it off. I had a couple of months before most of the applications were due, so I set them aside and decided to focus on another problem: the play’s budget. I couldn’t count on the show selling out (or even selling well at this point), and the five hundred dollars the school had given us as “seed money” was almost all spent, so I needed to find another source of revenue. I scowled at the Red Binder as I picked it up. I could almost feel it gloating in my hands, like it knew I’d already conceded that it was right about the promptbook. “You don’t have to be such a know-it-all,” I whispered, flipping through the pages to see what advice it had about money.
When I found the relevant page, I laughed out loud. “While it is the responsibility of the director to put together a play the audience will want to watch, it is the producer’s job to fill the theater seats.” So basically, it would be my fault if the show didn’t sell out. Is that it, Red Binder? “The producer of a school play has three sources of money: school budget (always tight), ticket sales (unpredictable), and ads for the program. Obviously, the surest revenue source is selling ads for the program.” The Red Binder wasn’t even trying to disguise its contempt for me at this point. But I wasn’t going to take its sass. I would show it I could do this job. I kept reading. “As soon as possible, approach local businesses with the opportunity to both improve their visibility in the community and show their support for the arts.” Calling a school play “the arts” seemed a bit much, but the argument otherwise made sense. “If the producer fails to procure the support of local businesses, s/he may resort to imploring parents of cast members to place congratulatory messages for a fee, but this should be the last resort of a desperate producer.” I wasn’t desperate. I would get that ad revenue. So there, Red Binder.
