Dramatically Ever After

by Isabel Bandeira

  I turned my focus back to the ceiling. I wasn’t going to say no, but I also wasn’t going to give him the pleasure of seeing me watch him gloat. “It actually feels a little like improv.”

  “When we’re back at school, I need to get you on the debate team.” He tugged again on my sleeve and I pulled back far enough he couldn’t reach me anymore.

  “I dunno,” I said in my lightest and flirtiest tone, “Do you want an artsy theatre and band person messing up your perfect season?”

  “You’ll help fill our diversity quota. Two socially awkward hobbies in one.”

  A snort escaped from me, though I tried to keep it back. “Excuse me, but you obviously don’t know anything about band or theatre if you think we’re socially awkward. We’re so much more socially awesome than anything you belong to.”

  “I don’t know. Debate club away meets can get pretty wild.”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it.” I popped a piece of muffin in my mouth to give me a second to think. “Does all the debating we did this morning mean we’ll be in total agreement during the conference today?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Yeah. I thought you’d say that,” I said, finally cracking a smile.

  “It’s more fun that way, Em.” Amusement curved around his words, emphasizing my name in a way that sounded like it flowed naturally off his tongue but must have come from a ton of practice. There he was, turning on his fake charm again.

  “I thought you’d say that, too.”

  I had resorted to reducing my cookie to crumbs and alternating eating a few bites of it with sips of coffee to keep from falling asleep. The morning’s speaker didn’t seem to notice as he droned on and on about the time he spent coordinating interns and volunteers in some major election campaign with some politician I’d never really heard about but had half the group on the edge of their seats. Maybe if I draped myself across the table and begged for mercy, they’d let me escape. Or they’d kick me out of the competition, which would be bad. Instead, I popped another chocolate chip in my mouth and leaned over to say to Kris, “All this talk about campaigning and stuff must be like a wet dream for you political types.”

  He narrowed his eyes and put his finger to his lips in the universal shh symbol.

  “Kiss-ass,” I mouthed, then rolled my eyes when he shook his head and pointed forward at the speaker. I flipped to an empty page in my notebook and pulled out my sparkly green pen so he could see what I wrote even from space. Why’s this guy important, anyway? I’m so bored. I shoved my notebook right over his when he was mid-note.

  Kris squinted at my writing, then scrawled out in boxy black letters that were like night and day to my curvy, swirly script, He only worked on one of the most important gubernatorial campaigns of our generation. If you actually pay attention, you might learn something.

  I pulled back my notebook and added. Or I might fall asleep. If I hear one more p-word, I’m going to stab myself with my highlighter. His eyebrows knit together and I added, Pundit, politician, pollster…

  His lips turned up the tiniest amount in the corners as he reached over and scribbled, …Pain in the Posterior Princesses from Lambertfield who are Politically Puerile?

  “Oooh, big words,” I whispered without looking at him, which earned me a tiny kick under the table.

  Up in front, Ms. Shawnee cleared her throat and narrowed her eyes directly at us. I pretended to be cowed as I bent my head over my notebook and wrote See what you did? But Kris refused to look over at me. Instead, he started furiously taking even more notes. So, I went back to doodling and trying to act like I was listening to the presenter.

  I just couldn’t understand why this was supposed to be so interesting. Politics was so full of dry rules and slimy people who were really good at exploiting them for their own good. Still boring. At least history is full of people with passion who fought and spoke out and ran into burning buildings to save old paintings. Nowadays, they just debate and don’t do anything but sit in their private jets and take campaign money from the highest bidder. Or block anyone trying to make change because it’s easier than admitting their party might be wrong. I wrote around my sketches, not expecting Kris to see it.

  He must have noticed me writing out of the corner of his eye, though, and reached over to write: So be the one to make stuff happen. Your speech says that’s what you want. Don’t blame politics.

  Touchy. I wrote, but couldn’t help smiling. He read my speech. So much for that confidence he claimed to have. After that, I went back to my really bad attempt at drawing Rapunzel trapped in the White House, her hair taking over the rose garden. By the time the speaker finished his presentation, I had added a fire-breathing dragon wrapped around the Washington Monument. I clapped just to be polite then closed my notebook. We could leave our things in the conference room during lunch, but I didn’t need any of the advisors seeing my “notes.”

  “You don’t sit still and pay attention very well, do you?”

  “Please. You’ve seen me in class; I’m a model student. This was just brain-numbing.” I looked around to find someone else to support me on that, but from the way the guy from New Hampshire and both New Mexicos pretended they weren’t listening, I was probably in the minority.

  “You could learn a lot of things from that talk. We have a powerful system where one person can make a difference. Being educated in how our country works can only help you when you’re trying to make that difference.” It was like Kris had that little lecture memorized. Maybe he thought it up while the guy was talking about lame ducks.

  Instead of responding to what he said, I just tapped his arm as I headed out. “Ever see Mr. Smith Goes to Washington?” When he shook his head, I added, “Jimmy Stewart, Jean Arthur? Won an Oscar? Every politician thinks it covers the ideals of their party?” When he still looked blankly at me, I smiled and said over my shoulder as I walked away, “It’s your kind of movie. Political Boy Ranger leaders, just up your alley, Scout-boy. Trust me.”

  “Hey, you.” Grace’s face and then her bedroom came into focus as she adjusted her laptop screen. Her room always looked like a picture out of a magazine thanks to the interior designer her mom had hired to design the layout. But, then again, Grace, herself, always looked like she stepped out a magazine, so it probably had less to do with the designer and more to do with her. Perfect and practical and currently unhappy with me, at least from what I could tell through the screen.

  “Hey.” I tried a little wave, hoping that would make her smile.

  “How’s the conference going?”

  “Good, actually. I like the set-up. They have people come in to talk about different topics, and then we have discussions and debates afterwards. It’s weirdly fun.” I loved how Ms. Shawnee and the other conference people let us debate and discuss without stepping in or speaking down to us. “I’m not a fan of the guy they had talk to us this morning, but we’re supposed to do some role-playing in a little bit and I can’t wait to crush Kris in it.”

  Grace’s brow furrowed and she leaned forward, close enough to the screen that I could see the sharp edge of her eyeliner. “See, that’s a problem.”

  “What’s a problem?”

  “You focusing on ‘crushing’ Kris instead of actually enjoying the experience.”

  That explained the unhappy expression. I tried to look nonchalant, but it was hard to lean back and cross my arms when one arm had to hold my tablet out. I settled for tilting my head and only crossing one arm in front of me as casually as possible, using it to prop up my tablet arm. “I’ll enjoy the experience when I know he isn’t trying to mess with my head.”

  “I know. Phoebe told me about your ridiculous plan. Please tell me you were messing with her.”

  I twirled one of my curls around my finger and resisted the urge to shrug. Boston’s autumn humidity worked wonders on my hair. “I don’t know why you’re so worried, it’s a great plan.”

  “If you’re a crazy manipulative jerk, whi
ch is something you’re not,” Grace said, her voice tight and eyes narrowed. At that, she was up and pacing, which I knew wasn’t a good sign.

  Suddenly, the wall was very interesting. Victorian wallpaper was just so geometric and flowery. “He started it,” I said, knowing I sounded just like Chloe when she was in trouble with Mom and Dad.

  Grace shook her head and pursed her lips. “Look, I despise that guy as much as the next person, but don’t you think you’d be better off actually focusing on the important parts of this, like learning from the conference and giving the best speech possible on Saturday? There are almost a hundred other people you’re up against and you can’t let Kris bother you so much.”

  She was right, and the thought of competing against all of them made my nausea start up all over again, but— “Maybe if I didn’t have to see him every waking minute. It’s not that easy to just avoid him, you know. They stick us together in every freaking thing, like we have to be tied at the hip just because we’re from the same state, and he’s been so…” I searched for the right word, landing on, “duplicitous the whole time, as if I can’t see through his tricks. I know what he’s up to and I’m not going to let him get away with it.”

  “You can’t control every situation. Sometimes, you need to let go of things.” Oh, God, there she went into lecture mode. Next up was probably going to be something about how I needed to trust in my own skills and not let outside influences faze me. If she ever decided not to go into math or science, Grace would have a great career on the self-esteem speech circuit. “Are you sure there isn’t something else behind this? Usually your ‘plans’ happen when you’re in control-freak mode. And you only do that when something else in your life is off.”

  I put all of my effort into keeping my expression carefree and light. “Everything’s perfect. Well, except for this Kris thing.”

  She stared me down for a second, then unconvincingly mm-hmmed. “Also, I think we need to talk about this Wil situation.”

  “There is no Wil situation.” I resisted the urge to pretend I heard Ann calling for me and run away. I didn’t need Grace’s logic cutting into my love life.

  Drawn-together brows joined her pursed lips, and she started looking a little like my grumpy Aunt Melody. “Yes, there is. He’s totally ghosting you and you’re in denial. You need to stop tagging him on Photogram and Snapbook. It’s not healthy.”

  “No, he’s just giving me space so I can focus on the competition.”

  Grace’s finger started a rapid tap-tap-tap on the side of the screen, making the picture shake. “Please, Phoebe and Alec might buy that, but you know I don’t. He’s unfollowed you on every social media platform and won’t answer your texts. If that isn’t ghosting, what is it?”

  “He didn’t unfollow me on Photogram. He even favorited one of the pictures I posted from Old North Church.” My heart had swelled at that sign, like he wanted me to know that he was checking in but giving me space. “This is just a temporary thing. You know, like last year. Wil and I will get back together when I get a chance to actually focus on fixing this.” Which might happen if I didn’t have to spend every waking hour explaining the situation to all my friends.

  “You know, there is such a thing as mistake favoriting.” The tapping grew harder. “Em, this isn’t good. You don’t want to be with someone who doesn’t want you one hundred percent.”

  “Oh, Wil wants me.”

  “Em.”

  “Grace.” Our eyes locked in an epic stare-down. “Look, he maybe he did unfollow me, but half his posts are about me, at least from what I can translate.”

  “You deserve someone who won’t play games or string you along. Someone who won’t let go unless it’s the best thing for you. And, honestly, someone who will call you on your bull.”

  I cleared my throat. “That’s why I have you in my life.” I glanced at the corner of my tablet to check the time and jumped to standing. “I gotta go. They’re starting in a minute and me being late looks worse than any plan you might think is insane.”

  “It’s not insane, it’s a waste of time and effort based on a completely inaccurate theory. And it’s taking away from the important thing you need to focus on, which is this competition.”

  Like I didn’t know. I resisted the urge to tell her how much I was trying not to freak out about the competition and, instead, let out an Oscar-worthy sigh. “Whatever, zen-master Grace. Call me tonight if you want to keep lecturing me. Any last words of wisdom before I hang up on you?”

  “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  “Mmmhmm. I’ll take that under advisement. Bye.” Halfway through her own “’bye,” I hung up, dropped my tablet on the desk, and sprinted for the conference room.

  Emmiebear: @WilOfHyrule Calling you later, can’t wait to chat! <3

  ---

  WilOfHyrule: Working on many Christmas plans!

  Auto-translated from German. Undo?

  WilOfHyrule: Someone special will come to Dresden, cannot wait to show the city.

  Auto-translated from German. Undo?

  ---

  WilOfHyrule: Should I be afraid that I miss cheesesteaks? They were unhealthy, but I liked sharing them with friends.

  HokageAlec: @WilOfHyrule Dude. Of everything over here, you’re still craving cheesesteaks?

  WilOfHyrule: @HokageAlec I dream of cheesesteaks. I would go back just for a cheesesteak, though I miss many things from America.

  HokageAlec: @WilOfHyrule Don’t say it too many times on here or Em might try to shove one in a care package.

  HokageAlec: @WilOfHyrule You don’t want to see what week-old cheesesteak looks like. Trust me

  “I tried calling him, but his mom picked up and said a whole bunch of stuff in German I think meant he was out, so I just texted him,” I said to Ann and Lia as we stepped off the bus. I still felt crappy from my marathon phone-email-text session that afternoon. After talking with Grace, I just needed one quick reply from Wil to prove she was wrong, but he just wasn’t answering. Worry twisted at my stomach but I tried to push it away. I had enough on my plate. I needed to get into Nora’s head so I could blow Landry away when I came back to rehearsals. I needed to keep an eye on Kris and beat him at his own game, and I needed to focus on Boston and being awesome.

  Lia looked a little in awe. “I can’t imagine dating anyone who didn’t live in my zip code.”

  “Wait until you get to college. It might be harder to avoid that than you think,” Ann said to Lia, a bit too practically for my tastes. That part of her, along with the whole uber-responsibility, reminded me a little bit of Grace. “Still, it must drive you crazy that you two don’t even speak the same language.”

  “Well, he knows English, but people usually don’t talk much when they’re making out,” I pointed out as we walked through the doors of the bigger-than-usual colonial building and into seventeenth-century Massachusetts. I paused, letting the history of the place settle in around me like an anchor—it was my favorite part of walking into any older building, like I was the Greek god Chronos or someone in a fantasy film and could, in that moment, touch time. The place was awesome—meat was roasting in a giant fireplace on my right while rows and rows of wooden tables filled the room. Another fireplace towards the back of the room held a cauldron that looked like it came straight out of the scene with the witches in Macbeth. Apparently, the building around us was some sort of inn that had been converted completely to a themed restaurant, down to servers in costume. “This place is so cool.” A woman in a cap and striped gown rushed by us carrying a large, grey pitcher, giving me flashbacks to my interpretation job last summer.

  Ann reached out to touch the giant stones that made up the inside wall and her fingers traced the edge of the rough wooden beam that started along the wall and travelled up to the low wooden ceiling. “Yeah. Did you see the sign out front? The original structure goes back to 1670.”

  “This building was around during the witch trials. Who knows what kind o
f ghosts might be hanging out here?” The guy from Vermont peeked over my shoulder as we followed Red and Rosie to a long set of tables on the side of the room and I laughed and swatted him back. “Careful, Jersey. I heard they like latching onto unsuspecting tourists and going home with them. Especially tourists who laugh about stuff like ghosts.” He tilted so his face was in the flickering shadows of the faux candlelight.

  I laughed again, turning around when we were midway to the tables and grabbing Kris’ arm, pulling him away from one of the girls who was droning on about a hay bale out front and her allergies while he tried to look sympathetic. Luckily, he was only a few steps behind me. It was the perfect opening to up the ante. “That’s okay. Kris will watch my back.”

  Kris looked relieved to be free of allergy girl’s clutches and mouthed a “thanks” before poking me in the side with his elbow. “I doubt you need me. You’re not the damsel in distress type.”

  He caught me off guard with that compliment. “I’m glad you noticed.”

  “Plus, if I saw a ghost, I’d push you towards him to give myself a chance to escape,” he added.

  “That’s the Kris I know and despise.” I winked at Ann, who stifled a laugh. “I was starting to wonder if you had a good twin.”

  “You bring out the best—I mean, worst—in me.” He headed in the direction of the first of the empty tables designated for our group.

  I let go of his arm and tilted my head curiously at him. “You’re not going to do that room-surveying thing you always do?”

  He paused, looking back at me with curiosity. “What room-surveying thing?”

  “You know, when you stop in the door and figure out who the most important people are in the room so you can go be by them?”

  His brows almost made a straight line, pulled in by the frown that grew across his lips with my words. “I don’t do that.”

  “Almost every single time.” He looked like he had no idea what I was talking about, and I nodded to emphasize my point.