And to think Roz started it.
"Duey," Roz says, making her voice go serious to draw his attention. "You're just what we need. Tell Myri she's going to be okay."
"Why?"
Squeezing my arms, she hooks her chin on my shoulder. "Myri's been sentenced to drama club."
His mouth drops in mock surprise. "Drama club!" He stumbles back against my locker, as if he's been shot, making it clang and rattle. "For the bug thing?"
Oh, well. At least he knows the project was mine. For future reference. Which almost makes the future pain and suffering I'll face worth it. Because based on how he checked it out at the science fair, I know he liked it.
"Yep." Roz hands me off to Cass, so she can follow him, as he backs down the hall. "And I'd say you owe her one, since this never would have happened, if it weren't for you."
"Me?" Duey looks bewildered. "What did I do?"
"You gave us the roach idea." Stepping forward, she bumps him with her hip, which bangs him into more lockers.
"Oooft! That hurt."
Yes, like a knife through the heart. Because it's playful moments like this that show he and Roz should still be a couple.
Rolling off the lockers, Duey straightens and wiggles his fingers at me. "Well, Myri, make sure you take this friend of yours, Tank, with you." He juts his chin down at Roz, who starts glowing over her new nickname. "Ardenport Theater is haunted, you know."
"Oh, you're so funny," I say.
"Roz," he says turning to her, placing a hand over his heart. "I'm honestly trying to look out for your friend's best interest. Tell her I'm being serious."
"Well, thanks," Roz says, pushing him on the arm, "but look at her. Ghosts are the least of her worries. The girl's problems lie with performing for an audience. Besides, Wolford Academy has its own theater, thank you very much."
He gives a crooked smile. "If you say so."
"Yes, we say so," Cass says, linking her arm through mine. She gives him a salute. "So, don't worry, Duey. She'll be protected, wherever we are."
"Good."
"But, just so you know," Cass adds, tipping her ear to her shoulder, "you could be protecting her, too, if you hadn't ducked out on drama this year. Maybe you should join--"
"Mr. Williams!" For once, I'm thankful to hear Slayer's voice. He steps into view at the end of the hall.
Duey stands taller, trying to look innocent.
Slayer circles his hand, beckoning Duey to come toward him. "In my office."
"Now? But I'll be late for class."
Slayer points down the hall behind him. "Yes. Office. Now."
Duey sighs and starts forward. After a moment Roz calls out, "Careful! I hear his office is haunted!"
My head jerks at the remark. But I don't have time to give it much thought, nor the giggle from Roz that follows, because a moment later, the bell rings, and everyone scatters like a deck of tossed cards.
Everyone, that is, but me.
I stay where I am--like a scrappy two of clubs pressed flat to the floor. Because compared to where I need to go, the middle of the hallway seems like a much happier place.
And it is. Until Cass jogs back to get me.
Taking my hand, she pulls me along, away from the fifty minutes where I passed the time secretly staring at Duey, toward last place I ever wanted to be.
Chapter 6
"What's he doing here?"
"Hmmm?" Cass stops next to me in the doorway and looks to the front of the room where Diggs is standing.
"He's not-- He can't--" I keep my words steady, my thoughts clear, so I don't say something I'll regret. After all, Diggs is a science teacher. He teaches science, not drama. Which means, he's simply here for a visit. To talk with the drama teacher. Who is.... I look around. "Who's the drama teacher?" Slayer hadn't mentioned it. And I hadn't thought to ask.
"Diggs," Cass replies. "He took over last year after Miss Nanna left."
Oh no. One class with Diggs was bad enough. But now, two?
My stomach turns sour and twists into knots, as I watch him scoot into a sitting position on top of the teacher's desk. It's empty, so there's plenty of room. He crosses his legs, stretches him arms wide, gives everyone a welcoming smile. "Good morning, class! Good morning!"
Is this why my mother went along with Slayer's solution?
"Yes, hello!" he continues, as the last bell rings and the chatter simmers around him. "Find a seat, so we can get started."
I guess that means us.
Cass tips her head toward to a pair of empty desks at the back of the room.
"You didn't tell me," I mutter, scuttling behind her.
"Tell you what?"
"That Diggs does drama."
She shrugs, as she sits down. "I didn't think to."
Which makes sense. She doesn't know about Diggs and my mom. To her, his being here is no big deal. ECSAs are led by teachers, after all.
I open my binder, prop it on the desk, peer over its cover. With his arms held out, palms turned up, Diggs doesn't look like a science teacher.
But his tan pants, black-rimmed glasses, and light-blue button-down shirt aren't screaming, "I'm a drama teacher!" either.
Okay, so maybe his style of sitting is. And his tan stocking feet--he's kicked his brown loafers off. And his voice, which I can already tell is a bit more dramatic than the way it sounds in the lab.
Diggs claps his hands. "Let me say it again! Find a seat on your desk! Or, in your chair. Whichever you prefer, so long as you're in a comfortable place where you can see me."
He gives a satisfied nod.
"Great. Good to hear your voices so early in the day." I follow his eyes, as they move around the room from Cam Anree, who I hadn't noticed on the far side, to Gerica Walters, a stony, pale-faced goth who paints her eye-lids black, and finally to the one person I never wanted to be near again. Brittley. She squares her pink-sweatered shoulders and grins at Londyn Times, a girl sitting next to her in the front row.
Diggs nods, lifts his eyes to the rest of the class. "Today, for our opening exercise, we're continuing with our visualization techniques. But we're going to take it a step further into the metaphysical, by tapping into the energy at our core." He touches his chest with a fist. "Because drama, as you all know, is about harnessing energy. And showing energy. And feeling energy." He lifts his fist high, tightens his fingers more. "Ultimately, it's about sharing energy. With the audience. With each other. With everyone in the theater who wants to be swept up into a story as it unfolds."
Diggs must have taken a class from Miss Nanna. She was my health teacher last year, and she talked about this new-age, mumbo-jumbo stuff all the time. I imagine she talked about it here, too.
"But," Diggs continues, raising a finger. "Before you can do any of that, before you can show, feel, or share your energy, you have to know where that energy rests. How to harness it. And most importantly, how to control it. This will be an important exercise as we prepare for our play, the choice of which I'll go over in a few minutes."
I raise my hand.
"Yes? Is there a question?... Oh, Myri. Hello. Welcome to the club--I'd forgotten. Everyone, this is Myri. She's joining us for the rest of the trimester. Some of you know her, I'm sure."
I hear a snicker at the front of the room, as Brittley turns and gives me a vicious smile. Leaning toward Londyn, she whispers, making Diggs lower his eyebrows and bring a finger to his lips. He returns his attention to me. "I'm sorry, do you have a question?"
"Well, I just... I mean..." I let out a quick breath, hang my mouth open, and somehow, my voice finds a way in. "This exercise doesn't apply to people who'll be working on the set, does it?"
Brittley snickers again.
"An excellent question, Myri, because yes, it does apply to everyone, no matter where they end up working." He hops off the desk, raises his arms, pirouettes in a circle. "Just as a play's performance lives and breathes from its actors, it also lives and breathes from its props, its sets, its cos
tumes, its lights...."
Pumping his hands up by his sides, he continues, "The audience is going to feel the energy from everything in the show. So, yes, it applies to you, Myri, and to everyone in this room--whether they're using a hammer, a needle, or a brush.
"And I'll also say this. Our show is going be tied to the energy that we have right here, right now, from this exercise we are about to begin, to the first line uttered at rehearsal, to the final moment when the curtain draws to a close."
Diggs reaches back and pulls himself onto the desk again. He holds his hands out in front of him. "So. Are we ready to harness? To feel? To share?"
Half of the class wobble their heads from side-to-side. Others exchange glances of amusement. A few tap their chests like Diggs. Some, like Brittley, wiggle their fingers. And at least one--Cam, in particular--shakes his hands from his wrists, as if getting ready for a heavy-weight fight.
Cass crosses her legs on her seat next to me and turns her focus on Diggs; I, however, stay as I am, sitting like a normal person--feet on floor, hands on desk, butt in chair.
"Now, I'd like you to hold your hands in front of you like you're holding a tennis ball," he says. "Keep your palms facing each other, but don't let your hands touch."
He waits for the class to copy his movements.
They do.
After a moment, I do, too.
"Good, now close your eyes. After a moment you should begin to feel a warmth sitting between your palms." He pauses.
"Once you feel that heat, focus on it. See if you can feel a pulse, the flow of energy as it warms up and moves from one palm to the other....
"Do you all feel that?"
I do, actually.
"That, folks, is an energy ball. Now, while your eyes are closed, rotate your hands around it, focus on whatever color comes to mind. Whatever color your mind's-eye sees."
Color?
Okay. Whatever.
...Red. I think I see red. And white.
Red, with little flashes of white.
"Good, once the energy feels steady, see how far apart you can move your hands. But do it slowly. I don't want you losing that heat--that connection to your internal energy."
The heat dips, but it doesn't take long for a stronger warmth to return, which is pretty cool, because it actually feels like I'm holding something, even though I'm not.
I sneak a peek at Diggs to make sure I know what he's talking about, then take a quick look around. A few kids are trying the rotation thing. Samantha McQue, a girl I don't know very well, and who is sitting on the other side of Cass, is pumping her hands in and out, like she's playing a set a bag pipes.
Cass snorts at her, juts her chin. "Cheater!"
Exactly.
"Quiet, please." Diggs's voice cuts through the room. "Remember, this is your energy. The energy that flows inside of you, at every minute of the day. And right now, you're literally holding it in the palm of your hands." He pumps his arms. "This is the energy that helps project who you are, what you want to be, what you want the world to see.
"See how far you can tap into it. See how far you can move your hands apart. See how big that energy field can become."
How big it can become? I'm actually getting a bit concerned about that. Because I've been moving my hands further and further apart without really thinking about it, and my hands are about as wide as a beach ball.
And even though after each move, the energy dips a little, it always surges right back up--which scares me, because I have no idea what I'm doing.
I peek my eyes open again, and see my arms are as wide as Diggs has his.
"You say I'm a cheater?" Samantha hisses at Cass. "Look at Myri!"
I snap my eyes shut to ignore her. My face flushes with heat.
"Uh, mine's not working," Cam says.
"And what are we supposed to do with these energy balls, anyway?" Brittley asks.
Diggs hums a moment in thought. "How about we see if you can share it with a neighbor? Pass your hands gently through one another's. See how it feels when your energies are combined."
Okay. I don't think that's a good idea, because my energy is getting heavy.
Or, maybe my arms are just getting tired.
My eyes blast open at the touch of a familiar chill on my arm.
Wren.
Not only is she standing next me, she's moving her hands in the space between mine.
"It's pink, Myr! A pinkish reddish pink!"
I have no idea what she's talking about, nor a clue as to why she's acting like what she's doing--dropping in on class--is no big deal.
"And hers is blue," she says, tipping her head at Cass. "A really light blue."
I let out a quiet huff. "Go away," I hiss.
"But I wanted to see you, Myr. Make sure nothing got worse, before it got better. Looks like you're off to a jolly bit of fun. I might be wanting to give this a try."
Give it a try? My eyes goggle at her. What is she even doing here?
She holds her hands up like mine.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Cass shift and give me a look.
Great. I'm not even half-way through my first day in drama and I'm already looking like an idiot. I need to get of here, or at least get away from Wren.
I stand slowly, as if to copy the kids who are moving out of their seats to share their energies. Wren smiles wide. "Give it a throw, Myri!" She holds her arms out, as if ready for a game of catch.
But I'm not playing. Instead, I step toward the back of the room, giving her a look that could kill--which doesn't mean much, since she's already dead.
"I'll catch it for you! Just like he said!"
No, he didn't say that.
"Stay away," I mouth, which I know doesn't look good to anyone who may be watching. I roll my shoulders and twist them from side to side to make it look like I'm stretching.
"But I can feel it. And I can see it, too?" Wren's face is filled with awe, as she looks from my hands to hers. I wish she'd stop--pinch herself into her own side of the world--but she keeps coming closer, with her eyes spilled over like empty, black saucers, like she's in a trance, and no matter what I say, I'm not going to be heard--at least, not by her.
I back up until I bump the supply cabinets, shake my head--barely--because we, or rather, I, definitely have an audience now. No one can see her, when she moves her hands between mine. No one can feel the chill that comes with them.
Without thinking, I turn to give the energy ball a toss; but as I do, I trip and lunge forward. It almost feels like I'm bowling.
Cass breaks into laughter. "Look who says they're not ready for drama."
Chapter 7
I can see them now.
The words on my gravestone.
Died from embarrassment.
And honestly, I'd be happy with that sort of accomplishment.
Really, I would. Not only would it land me in the Guinness Book of World Records for being the first person on the planet to be done in by such a thing, my mother might hold Diggs responsible. Causing the death of one's daughter would probably be enough to drive two people apart. Not that it would matter if I wasn't around to enjoy it. But then again, I wouldn't be left listening to Diggs's calls of, "Bravo! Bravo!" either.
It's all I can do to keep myself from crawling back to my seat.
Diggs continues to clap, even though he's the only one. "Well done, Myri! Well done. I'd say you commanded that performance. Did everyone see that?"
I hope not.
"Well, if you didn't, you missed brilliance in action, people. Brilliance in action." Diggs quickly rubs his hands together. "Because I must say, Myri made excellent use of the space around her, while tapping into her creative abilities to show quite effectively, and quite uniquely, another thing that might be done with an energy ball." He looks at me with wonder, addresses me directly. "Bowling? What made you think of it?"
Rather than reply, I slip deeper into my seat, rub my eyes, take a quick glance around to m
ake sure Wren is really gone.
"Although..."
He's still talking?
Diggs splays his hand at the side his mouth. "As a general rule, we probably don't want to let go of our energy like that. It's kind of a good thing to hold on to." He spins to stand at the back of his desk, raps his fingers on top of it. "Nevertheless, that demonstration has given us a wonderful introduction to our next discussion."
Brittley raises her hand. Diggs give her a nod.
"Is that, How To Make a Fool of Yourself 101?"
The class erupts again, and Diggs pats his hands in the air. It takes a while until everyone settles down.
"In the future, Miss Weatherfield, let's refrain from such comments. Unless, of course, you're being so gracious as to act the fool yourself?"
Brittley's lips clamp into a firm line.
"I didn't think so. Now, as I was saying, we're ready to move on to the next segment of this class--or club, rather. One you've all been waiting for. One we've talked about." He takes in a breath, waves his arms as if encouraging everyone else to do the same, then lets it all out with a bow. "Auditions."
Chapter 8
My heart has continued to pound through second hour, making my mind a blur, making me miss what the entire lesson has been about.
Well, I did catch a little--something about China's Great Wall. But as far as Why it was built, and Who they were trying to keep out, and exactly Who was in charge of the whole deal to begin with?... I have no idea.
To make matters worse, Mr. Scanlin has just announced a quiz for tomorrow, which means Sarah Turner won't be lending me her notes. Not even for a free item from the snack bar at lunch. Which means, if I don't calm down, I'll be carrying fifty pounds of books home by the end of the day--with the first ten being the Our World book from under my desk--for all the good it'll do me. Mr. Scanlin is known for quizzing us on material that's not in the text.
"I am so dead," I say to Roz, after pulling her aside in the hall. "There's just no way--"
I shake my hands through my hair, trying to push out the words that are jumbled in my mouth. But it's no use. They're not going to budge. Giving up, I thrust the script at her.
The Ghost in Me Page 3
