Dramatically Ever After

by Isabel Bandeira

  “My family can’t move to another continent,” I repeated, firmly. “No way. Chloe needs her big sister.”

  “So look for acting schools in Kenya?”

  I stood, unsteadily, and knocked over my competition binder, all the loose papers flying everywhere. “This isn’t funny, Alec.”

  “No, it’s hilarious. Please tell me you’re not freaking out right now.”

  I’d clean up the papers later. “I’m not freaking out right now.”

  “Yes, you are. Honest to God, Em, you’re so over-dramatic all the time.” I made a little growing sound of disapproval and he added, “I’m serious. You always blow everything out of proportion. Your dad’s job, Kris, Rutgers, this competition. Everything is a million times worse in your head because I think you secretly love the drama of it all.”

  “I do not overdramatize things and I’m fine.” I needed to get out of the room and be somewhere where I didn’t have to think, but I also needed to be at the conference. With one hand, I pat at my hair to make sure it was still okay, and then grabbed my notebook and room key.

  “You’re lying. You know I would let you know if you really needed to worry about anything.”

  “I’m okay, and we’re both late. I’ll talk to you later. Bye.” Halfway through his own “’bye,” I hung up, shoved my phone into the pocket of the cute eighties babydoll-style suspender dress I’d found in a shop in Collingswood and sprinted for the conference room.

  I slid into my seat next to Kris and tried to catch my breath just as the next speaker walked up to the podium. Kris took one look at my practically asthmatic breathing and handed me a glass of water. “What did you do, run the Boston Marathon?” he whispered, leaning in so I could hear him.

  Normal Em would have told him to shut up, but after flipping out on him earlier and to prove to myself that I definitely wasn’t overdramatic, I was even more resolved to keep to my plan. I took a few deep breaths, putting one hand to my chest while taking the water with my other hand. “Just seeing your smiling face makes me breathless,” I said with perfect comedic timing.

  He laugh-cringed, “Sorry, by the way, about earlier. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “That’s okay,” I whispered back stiffly.

  “Peace offering? Let me buy you a coffee or cocoa after lunch?”

  I really needed to work on my speech during our down-time from the conference and figure out what to do about Mom and Dad, and I really didn’t feel like exposing myself to more concentrated Kris time, but a good actor always put aside her own feelings to make her character come to life. “Sure.”

  Game. On.

  I crossed out another line in my speech and added a note to replace it with something stronger. The entire thing was an illegible mess, with cross-outs and notes in Lauren’s and my handwriting, and it sucked beyond belief. The more I touched it, the more it fell apart, like one of the antique chemises the interpretation costumer tried to save this summer. I’d grabbed an empty table in the corner of the coffee shop during lunch, popped in earbuds to block out the lunch noise, but the right words just weren’t coming to me. I dropped my pen and buried my head in my hands. I was going to lose. I was going to lose and Dr. Lladros would see how much of a fail I was and my parents would—

  “Hey, are you okay?”

  I peeked through my fingers at Kris, then dropped my hands and nodded. “Yes. Just—” I quickly pulled out my earbuds, gathered up all my papers into my folder, and shoved them into my bag as my face heated up at being found in that position, “working on speech stuff.”

  When I didn’t elaborate, he said, “Got it, that was me last night. My mentor tore mine apart.” Then, with a wave at the shop’s menu, he added, “So, what’s your peace offering of choice?”

  I didn’t even need to look at the menu. After only a few days, I already had the thing memorized. We weren’t really allowed to leave the inn without permission, but since the café was technically physically attached to the inn even though it wasn’t part of it, we were kind of bending the rules instead of breaking them. “You know what? I really want to try the spiced hot chocolate.”

  “Okay, I’ll be right back.” Kris walked up to the counter and I could see his reflection as he turned his charm on the barista. The girl’s cheeks turned pink and I couldn’t help the burst of nausea at the sight of her practically tripping over herself to make our drinks. When he paid for the drinks, she wrote something on a napkin and handed it to him.

  “You know, she would have made the cocoa without you flirting with her,” I pointed out when he came back and handed me one of the two mugs he was carrying. “It’s her job.” One glance at the napkin and it was the girl’s number, already smudged from where Kris had used it to wipe up a little bit of cocoa he’d spilled on our table.

  “What are you talking about?” Kris frowned as he mixed a packet of sugar into what looked like an already over-sweetened white hot chocolate. He genuinely looked confused.

  “I—” I stopped myself and instead poked at the cinnamon-dusted whipped cream topping my own mug. I wasn’t in the mood to enlighten him and start another fight. “Never mind.” Familiar pink and blue hair entering the shop caught the corner of my eye and I subtly gestured with my spoon in that direction. “Check it out.”

  Kris didn’t look in the right direction. “What?”

  My lips curled up in a tiny smile and I much less subtly eye-gestured over to where the pink-haired advisor had grabbed a table. “Rosie’s here.”

  “So? I saw her here the other day, too. I guess she really likes caffeine.”

  “No, she’s here all the time. I think she’s babysitting us. Coffee shop duty.” A giggle bubbled up and I shook my head. “I bet this happens every year.” We all thought we were being a little rebellious, but it looked like they knew about us all along.

  Kris looked at me for a moment, amusement flowing over his features, then turned to wave to Rosie, who waved back. “She’s probably sick of coffee by now. I’ll have to thank her later for letting us do this.”

  I took a sip of my cocoa, my eyes opening in surprise as the kick from the chili powder hit my tongue unexpectedly. It took another two sips before I decided I liked it. “You’re such a politician. Always on, always talking to people like you’re in the middle of a campaign or something.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  Instead of arching my eyebrow at him like I usually would, I wrapped my hands around the hot mug and said, “Okay, I bite. Why are you so into politics?”

  Kris dumped another packet of sugar into his cocoa then stirred it with the little biscotti that had been balanced on his saucer. “You do remember my dad was mayor for, like, eight years, right? And that he’s a senator now?”

  “Yeah. My parents voted against him in all three elections.” I winked to show I was teasing him, even though it was true.

  “And he still won,” Kris said with a smirk. “The thing is, I loved it.”

  Of course he would. His dad always had pictures of Kris and his brothers playing soccer on an immaculately manicured lawn or smiling perfectly posed magazine-worthy smiles in his campaign posters. “What, being the center of attention?

  “Actually, no, that part kind of sucked, even though our town media is only, like, four people and Mrs. Millstone’s gossip blog.” He finally took a sip of his cocoa and I was surprised he didn’t fall over from sugar overdose.

  “Wait, let’s pause for a second. She’s blogging now?” Mrs. Millstone had been the neighborhood gossip since I was a baby, the person you could go to if you wanted to know anything about anyone in the development where Kris, Alec, and I lived. Mom always reminded us that we couldn’t get away with anything, like sneaking out or parties, thanks to our one-person neighborhood watch.

  “Yup, you can even get breaking news sent to your phone.”

  I sat back, imitating his posture, and tried to imagine the older woman typing away into a smartphone. My side hurt from
the suppressed laughter and I had to put down my mug before I could spill anything. “Wow.”

  “Anyway, politics. It was so cool watching democracy in process, and seeing how powerful each of our votes can be. Dad always had people from both sides over for dinner and I’d hang out with him at the town hall when we were off from school. I really liked seeing how hard he worked to listen to all sides and come up with solutions that would make everyone happy.”

  “Well, I don’t know about everyone—”

  “You know what I mean,” he said, cutting me off. “I saw how much good someone can do as the voice of the people, and I wanted to do the same. And then I really got hooked after joining the student council.”

  I tapped the table with my fingernail. “Right. You started strong in seventh grade when you won the tech club vote by saying we needed to stop wasting school funds and class time on band concerts because ‘they hurt your ears and nobody actually wants to sit through those anyway.’” That may have been the first time in my memory Kris had gone from being that annoyingly perfect kid down the street to despicable.

  He rubbed the back of his head and his smile turned sheepish. “Yeah…not the brightest moment of my political career, but in my defense, they really hated having to do the lighting for your concerts.”

  I waved my hand dismissively at that comment. “Oh, please. The tech club was lucky to have a front row seat to some of Lambertfield’s rising talent.”

  “We’re talking about the same middle school band, right?” Kris leaned forward onto his elbows, a massive, teasing grin on his face. “With the really squeaky clarinets and flutes coming in all the wrong times and Alec massacring the trombone all while playing a Dirty Dancing medley?” I opened my mouth to protest, and he added, “By the way, the school got a few of complaints from parents who didn’t think it was appropriate for you guys to play that.”

  I forgot what I was going to say and snorted involuntarily. “Wow.”

  “‘Hungry Eyes’ was apparently super offensive. The student council had to weigh in and I got to point out that no one was actually going to see the lyrics.” He laughed, too, then shook his head and said, “You got to grill me about politics, so now it’s my turn. Why acting?”

  I thought about it for a second, breaking up my biscotti into crumbs as I tried to find a way to put something into words that was ephemeral. “I’ve wanted to be an actress for as long as I can remember. It’s a part of me, like breathing. I don’t think I could give it up if I tried. There’s something...” I dug around for the right word again—“magical” was overused, “amazing” was weak, “…powerful about getting to become another person. I need to breathe and walk and talk like them, and it’s a little like getting to play dress up and pretend all the time. And it’s so wonderful to finish a scene and see the audience laughing or crying, knowing I made that reaction happen. Not only did I get to inhabit someone else, but I was able to transport the audience into that world, too. It makes all the sweat and makeup and rehearsal worth it, you know?” Kris had stopped drinking and was watching me intently with a small smile, and I felt warmth creep over my cheeks again. “Or something like that,” I finished, drowning my mumble with cocoa.

  “That sounds pretty amazing. Is that what Mr. Landry said he wants you to do for the fall play? Become the character? You’re the lead, right?”

  “How…” Oh, right, Kris had been at that rehearsal. “Right. I need to get into Nora’s head so that I can inhabit the role. The whole play revolves around her character and her growth, so if I don’t get it right...” I brought my hands down in a crashing motion, mouthing “Boom” as I did so. “Nora’s hard, though. She has this transformation throughout the play that basically puts her against everything she was taught and expected to be and has her deceiving people through the whole thing. I really need to understand the nineteenth-century way she was raised to think and behave so I can go from this perfect domestic Victorian doll to a woman willing to break society’s rules if I want to make this work.” I didn’t tell him that I had to hide backstage in the prop closet for a little bit to calm down after Mr. Landry had told me the news, how I had to bite back the urge to panic, and curled into a little ball next to the box overflowing with petticoats from our production of Oklahoma. He’d probably find my simultaneous excitement and stressing over messing up a role just another example of me being overdramatic.

  “It’s a good thing you like history, then.” His tone sounded like he was teasing me, but not maliciously. More like something I’d expect from Alec or Grace.

  I raised my mug in mock-salute acknowledgement of his point. “Touché.”

  “You know, it’s impressive you and Matt are both as normal as you are, considering.”

  And…Kris was back, full force. “Considering what?” I asked, my voice flat and low.

  “Considering, you know, the acting thing. Seriously, I have no idea how you put up with some of the crazy I see in your theatre rehearsals.”

  I pushed my chair back slightly and flattened my hands on the table. “Crazy? First, who said you had to come to them, anyway?”

  He didn’t react beyond looking over his mug and arching his eyebrows. “My best friend?”

  “And second, please. I’ve heard about some of the fights you guys had in student council meetings. We’re the picture of sanity compared to that.”

  “We don’t fight. We debate.” He twisted his lips and tilted his head, then said, “Most of the time,” he conceded. “And the last time we had a real fight was over the whole ice cream social thing and whether or not the school had to provide a dairy-free option when no one in our class is lactose intolerant.”

  My hands relaxed slightly on the table and I scrunched my nose at him. “You political types are weird.”

  “It’s just that I think theatre seems to attract really…” he paused, glanced up at the ceiling for a second, and I could almost see him ticking through all the word options before saying, “extreme personalities. Like Maya.”

  I blinked at him, absently relaxing back into my chair. “Wait…what? What does Maya have to do with this?” If this had something to do with blowback from playing his flirting-for-stuff games with her, I had no pity for him.

  Kris ran both hands through his hair, taking a deep breath like he was trying to shake something off. “That girl is super aggressive. I swear, every time I’m in the theatre, she grabs my phone and puts her number into it. She won’t take ‘sorry, I’m not into you’ as an excuse.”

  “Maybe because you use her for her sound skills?”

  He blinked a few times at me, eyebrows drawing together as he seemed to process what I said. “She’s one of the only people in the school who can operate the board. Landry asked her to help me with the assemblies we’re having for Spirit Week next month,” he said slowly, then added, “And if I tell her off for touching my phone, it’ll be super awkward.”

  All of my annoyance evaporated. “Oh.” I grabbed a napkin out of the dispenser on the table and dabbed at my lips to hide the smile that was threatening to escape. “You’re kidding me. She’s harassing you?”

  He hid behind his mug. “It’s not funny,” he said in the closest thing to a mumble Kris could pull off while apparently still trying to sound dignified.

  “Of course not.” But, as I said it, a little giggle escaped. “I can’t believe you’re afraid of Maya.” At his dirty look, I added, “I know you can’t help it, but you need to learn how to turn down your smolder around her. She’s just reading you all wrong. Not every girl can see through your super-smooth natural flirtitude.”

  “Isn’t that victim-shaming?”

  “True,” I conceded his point, but my smile grew even wider. “I’ll see what I can do when I get back next week, you poor little innocent Cinderella-boy.” I knew for a fact that one of the guys on the stage crew had a crush on Maya and I’d seen her check him out during our shorts festival, so maybe I could work some magic there and take the pressure of
f Kris.

  “Thanks, Prince Charming,” he teased back.

  “Actually,” I said, with a laugh, “Forget Prince Charming or Cinderella, I prefer the Witch.”

  He seemed to be thinking through that before shaking his head and putting his hands up in an “I surrender” pose. “Okay, not getting that reference. Remember, I’m not into acting and fairy tales and stuff like you.”

  “Sorry, I thought you were talking about the spring musical.” I arched my brow and tilted up my chin ever-so-slightly. “We’re doing Into the Woods and I’m already a shoo-in for the Witch.”

  He gestured his mug at me. “I would have thought you’d want to play Cinderella.”

  “Shows how little you actually know me. I’ve been dying to play the Witch from the minute I saw the Broadway version with Bernadette Peters.” Younger me would wear out the DVD player, looping it to all of Peters’ scenes so I could sing along with “Stay With Me” and try to copy the emotions she poured into the song. My smile widened, becoming genuine. “The best roles are the complex characters,” I said, archly.

  “I’d never have pegged you as someone who would want to play bad guys.”

  “You know, nobody’s one-dimensional and characters aren’t all bad or all good. Most antagonists think they’re doing the right thing, which makes them really hard but really interesting characters to play.”

  “Unless they’re psychopaths.”

  “Well, those can be fun to play, too. Scarier getting into their heads, but I like the challenge.”

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” He polished off his drink and, as soon as he set down his mug, said, “Before I forget, I’m sorry again about this morning. You were upset and it shouldn’t have turned into a debate between us.”

  “It’s okay. I was the one who kept biting your head off every time you tried to talk. It just…it really affected me today.”