by Dalya Moon
On Friday afternoon, I give myself a little pep talk before I get to Drama, partly about not saying Macbeth and partly about not acting too eager toward Josh. We'll be staying past the end of the school day, doing our dress rehearsal a couple of times through.
We all meet up in the wardrobe room and excitedly dig through the marvelous costumes. The theater has everything, from fur coats to soldier uniforms and delicate ivory-laced wedding dresses. I find some vintage velvet blazers that could be cute to wear as regular clothes, with the right accessories.
Mrs. Linklater must notice that I've slimmed down, because she asks if I'd like to try both of the Tatiana dresses, the brown one and the green one.
Ty and Josh have put on some soldier uniforms and are battling each other with foam swords, much to everyone's amusement.
I grab both dresses and run down to the girls' side of the dressing rooms for the moment of truth. Genna comes in right behind me, with her costume. She still hasn't said much to me since our fight over her sister, so we've been politely coexisting, but not interacting. I watch her as she carefully lays out the stage makeup on the counter, in front of the big mirrors surrounded with light bulbs.
“Will you do my makeup?” I ask.
She looks up suddenly, as though she'd genuinely thought she was alone. “I guess so,” she says.
I'm down to my underwear now and pulling on the green dress, holding my stomach in. Genna jumps up and attends to the zipper, just like a good friend would.
I say, over my shoulder, “I still think it was wrong of your sister to rat me out.”
“No more wrong than sneaking out,” she says. “Though I suppose I didn't have to give her your number.”
“She could have called Directory Assistance.”
“Yup,” she says. “So are we good?”
“We're good.”
“That dress is the bomb.”
I turn to look in the full-length mirror. The zipper went up. It fits, but ...
“I don't look like a fairy queen,” I say. “I just look like Lainey Murphy, in a green dress.”
“Hair and makeup,” Genna says. “Come, sit down, I'll get you fixed up.”
I slide into the chair and blink from the brightness of the lights. The many light bulbs make me look like I'm in an overexposed photo.
Genna starts applying the pancake makeup to my forehead, her touch soft but sure. “You're so lucky. You look pretty, like a girl, even without makeup.”
“What do you mean like a girl?”
“You know. Not like me. I look like a little boy when I don't have my makeup on. I look disgusting. And I have to be really careful with what I wear, so I don't look like a boy, with no hips. And I have to wear at least three pieces of jewelry.”
“You don't look like a boy.”
“You've never seen me without the makeup and jewelry.”
“Is that why you won't go swimming with me and Briana?”
“No.” She powders my face. “Maybe.”
“You're pretty, exactly how you are,” I say.
“I know. Because how I am is always with makeup and stuff. Some people think I'm superficial, but I'm not. I do what I have to do. If I looked like a little boy, people would treat me different. I can never, ever have short hair.”
“I'd still be your friend.”
“Well, yeah, but you're one of the good ones. And Briana. You guys are the best.”
* * *
The rehearsal itself goes as smoothly as the dress zipped up. A couple of times, I nearly get lost in Josh's gorgeous eyes, but I've rehearsed my lines so well, they come almost automatically.
We finish at 5:30, which gives me just enough time to get home for a little dinner, then I'll be off to the movie theater for ... well, not exactly a date, but something like that.
“Wanna come over tonight?” Genna asks me. “Trade your wacky family for mine for the evening? Other people's parents are always more entertaining.”
“I would, but I'm meeting some people.”
“Are you going out with Dana and her friends?”
“Yes. And Josh and Ty.”
“Be careful. You know she's totally psycho, right?”
“Psycho? Josh said the smoking was just a one-off. She's really not all bad, I don't think.”
“Her parents are bad seeds,” Genna says. She gives me the meaningful look. That means Genna heard something confidential from her mother, who's a police officer, and she can't say exactly what the something is.
“What do you know?”
Genna tilts her head and gives me the look that says she's already said too much.
“I'll be careful,” I say. “Plus my cousin is coming, since she's not grounded. I won't be alone with Dana, and who knows, maybe she won't even be there.”
“I don't know,” Genna says.
“Do you want to come too? I'm sorry, I didn't even think about inviting you, or Briana. I'm sure you'd be welcome to come.”
“I don't think so.”
“It's just a movie.”
“Exactly. You go. I don't want to. Phone me after and tell me all about it.”
“Okay,” I say. “I'm not going to wash my face. I'm going to leave my makeup on, exactly how you did it.”
“Good,” she says, beaming.
* * *
My mother has made lasagne for dinner.
I ask her, “Are there a lot of onions and garlic in here?”
My father responds with, “Why? Planning to kiss someone at the movie tonight?”
“No!”
Mom says, “That's good, young lady, because you know the rules. No dates until you're sixteen.”
“This is very garlicky,” Tick says, staring at me intently. “You're going to have such stinky breath.”
“Ha ha,” I say, but I'm wondering if her malevolent look means what I think it does—that she has a crush on Josh and is jealous of me tagging along with them tonight.
On the night of the Open Mic at The International, she did say something about being in love, but that doesn't necessarily mean much. I've heard her declare true love for the following things: purple clothing, stuffed animals, cheese toast, and the warm heating vent in the kitchen.
“We might get pizza after the movie,” Tick says to her mother. “We'll borrow someone else's cell phone and call when we're ready to get picked up.”
“Before eleven,” Mom says.
Tick nods angelically.
“Did you take your special happy pill?” Aunt Trudy asks.
Another angelic nod.
I wonder what kind of pills she's taking, but I know it's rude to ask. Lots of kids at school take different things. I hear antidepressants can make you gain weight, and ADD pills can make you lose weight. I wonder what would happen to people who take both.
Dad's talking about what a great job Tick has been doing at his office, helping him and Aunt Trudy by running errands and organizing the files.
My cousin is beaming now, in her button-down brown sweater. Her hair, stripped of all the fake red, looks pale and ethereal. She's like a more precious version of me.
I hope those pills she's on are the type that'll make her gain a hundred pounds.
* * *
I was so nervous about tonight, I didn't even look up the movie, so when Dad drives us up to the theater, I'm pleasantly surprised to see it's Underworld: Awakening, which seems a bit trashy, but interesting.
“Rated R?” my father says. “I don't think so. Sorry, girls.”
Tick says, “I'm allowed to see R-rated movies.”
I say, “Dad, I've seen plenty of R-rated movies. It's not NC-17 or anything. And we're both practically fifteen.”
He makes his grouchy face, which means he's caving in.
I thank him and give him a hug before getting out of the vehicle. Tick gets out after me, sporting a new winter jacket. It's camel-colored, with a hood, and practically the twin of my own winter jacket, which is now two years old.
&
nbsp; We wave goodbye to my father, then I turn to her and say sarcastically, “Couldn't you get a jacket that looks more like mine?”
We get into line to buy tickets, and she gives me a hurt look that makes me feel sorry for being such a jerk.
“You look pretty,” I say.
She rolls her eyes. “Pretty ugly, you mean.”
“No, for real. I like your hair and whatnot. Your makeup is good. It looks natural.”
“Thanks.”
I wait for a return compliment, but don't get one. Oh well. I'd also like an apology for getting me into trouble and getting me kicked out of my own bedroom, but I suppose I shouldn't hold my breath.
After we buy our tickets, she goes in to save seats for the whole group, and I wait in line to buy the largest popcorn for us to share.
The weary-looking woman working the snack stand leans her elbows on the counter. “You wanna get the full combo, or are ya watchin' your figure?” Her name tag reads Sue-Ann, and I think she's the manager, because I always see her here, no matter the day or time.
I look over the rainbow array of jelly candies and chocolate bars. I usually get a big bag of Almond M&Ms when I go see a movie, but I can't stop myself from eating the full bag, which is more than my daily recommended calories.
“Just the popcorn,” I say. Even without the squirted-on butter, movie theater popcorn is scandalously high in calories. Oh, but it smells so good. I munch a small handful on my way to the seats and tell myself it's a good thing to have a little. Popcorn smells strong, so it'll cover my lasagne breath.
The lights dim and the trailers begin just as I enter the theater. I edge slowly down the sticky-carpeted aisle, looking for my group.
A guy yells, “Lainey Murphy! Over here!” Ty. Of course. A few people laugh, which is probably why he did it.
I find them in a row: Josh, Tick, Ty, Dana. The only spot available is the one next to Dana, so I take it and pass down the popcorn.
Next time, I'll let someone else buy the snacks so I can pick my seat. Josh is the one who invited me and I'm stuck miles away from him, next to Dana, who smells like hairspray and doesn't even like me.
There's a trailer for The Hunger Games, which people cheer for. As I watch the trailer, I'm struck that the Harry Potter series is over, with no new ones to look forward to. Hermione, the only one who seems to take her studies seriously enough to actually do homework, is so unappreciated.
I lean over and whisper to Dana, “Aren't you sad there's no more Harry Potter?”
She sneers. “What are you, a baby?”
I fold my hands in my lap and slouch down in the seat. So much for being friendly with Dana. That girl is impossible.
Ty quips something I don't quite catch and Dana does a mean laugh. A couple in the row in front of us turn around to give her a shaming look.
I sit quietly, fighting my inner desire for popcorn, until the movie starts.
Dana has her phone out and is texting someone, her face lit up blue underneath her blue hair. Ty's face is lit by blue as well.
At least the Tatiana dress fits, I remind myself. Not everything works out how you imagine, like your first boy-girl group date for example, but sometimes if you have a goal and do the hard work, good things can come.
So why am I not happy? I thought as soon as that dress zipped up, my problems would be over.
I look down at my hand, which is shoveling popcorn into my mouth. What? I don't even remember getting passed back the tub. I don't have a napkin, so I lick the salt off my fingers and pass the bucket back to the left again.
A minute later, I look down at the text Dana is sending out: Don't eat the popcorn! She was totally licking her fingers and putting her fat greasy hands all over it. She's so gross!
My armpits prickle and my skin feels hot and cold all over.
I try to focus on the movie and not look down at the glowing screen beside me, but I swear by the way she's holding the phone, Dana must want me to read her newest message: Don't you just hate girls who try so hard to act cool? Makes me sick. Why not start with being cool so you don't have to try so hard.
My mouth hurts, and my throat too. This always happens when my feelings are hurt.
An usher comes by, points the flashlight at Dana, and signals for the phones to be turned off.
“Thank you,” I say under my breath as I slouch down further in my seat.
After all the build-up of excitement over tonight, I'm breaking.
I'm breaking apart, right here in the dark theater.
At least nobody can see me.
I cover the side of my face with one hand, so Dana can't see the tears in my eyes.
* * *
The movie ends, and I'm relieved. The others want to stay and watch all the credits, in case there's something at the end, but there isn't.
Finally, we get up to leave.
Rather than be where I'm unwanted, I hang back so I can walk out next to Tick. I tell her I'm tired and want to call my dad to pick us up right away. As we emerge from the theater doors, into the lobby, I get out a quarter for the pay phone.
“Don't call,” she pleads. “Uncle Jim won't let me stay out without you.”
Josh says to me, “You'll miss out on pizza.”
Dana doesn't say anything, but moves her body so that she's between me and the boys, with her back to me.
“How about that movie?” Ty asks the group. “It's early in the year, I know, but I'm calling Oscar winner. They don't usually go to sequels, or three-quels, or whatever that was, but come on! Vampires and werewolves fighting to the death, as it should be.”
I shift a few steps toward the pay phone, but stop. Now that Ty's being funny, I don't really want to leave.
Josh leans to the side to look around Dana's body at me. “We'll get you some Red Bull. That always perks me up.”
“Okay, but just until eleven,” I say. “And we have to call my dad by ten to eleven.”
The woman at the counter, Sue-Ann, comes out from behind the popcorn machine and tries to shoo us out of the lobby. “Go on, you sneaky rascals aren't getting into the next show.”
“People do that?” Josh scratches his chin thoughtfully. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much and give me sneaky-rascal ideas.”
I laugh into my hand. Josh doesn't make as many jokes as Ty does, with his full-time comedy routine, but his jokes are subtle and smart and crack me up.
Josh points to the movie poster for the second show. “Don't Go in the Woods? Seriously? That's the name of the movie? Why not Don't Go into the Woods? Because, to me, go means go to the bathroom. Is this movie about people going to the bathroom in the woods?” He shakes his head while looking at the woman. “I don't think I'd pay good allowance money to see something like that, Ma'am.”
Her voice low and flat with sarcasm, Sue-Ann says, “You teenagers are hilarious. Hi-lar-ious. We do appreciate your patronage, but how about you take the party outside so I can let all these people waiting on the other side of the doors in for their show.” She pauses as we gawk at the glass doors. “That's right, kids, there are other people in the world besides you.”
Ty says, “But it's cold outside! And I don't have any mittens.”
“Can't we just sit over there on the benches?” Josh asks.
The woman crosses her arms. “Five. Four. Three.”
I don't know what she's counting down to, but I don't want to find out, and neither do the others, because seconds later we're outside in the cold February air, laughing and leaving boot prints in the fresh snow.
I'm alive, I think, staring up at the three-quarters-full moon peeking through gaps in the cloudy sky.
This is what people do on Friday nights when they aren't doing homework.
Chapter 10
We're debating the relative merits of the pizza-by-the-slice place versus a warm table at The International when Dana says she has another idea and plops her backpack on the ground.
We've only moved a few buildings aw
ay from the movie theater, to the 7-11, and we're standing just outside their no-loitering zone.
“We could sing Christmas carols,” Josh says, looking up at the sky.
Tick claps her hands and says, “Do it, do it!”
“I'd love that,” I say.
He closes his eyes. “Silent night,” he sings. “Holy night.” He cracks open one eye, perhaps to see why no one else is joining in. I begin to hum softly and he continues. “All is calm, all is bright ...”
Dana starts to hum, and pretty soon Tick and Ty do as well.
Snow begins falling, the first few flakes melting on contact with our jackets. Tick comes over to me and rests her head on my shoulder. We start to sing along with Josh, our similar voices blending together as one.
I wish this moment could last forever.
When it ends, Josh clears his throat and says, “You two Murphys sound great together. Like sisters. You should rehearse something and get on stage at the next Open Mic.”
My cousin and I look at each other and bust out laughing.
Something rattles—Dana and Ty are shaking up cans of spray paint. “Time for anarchy,” Dana says.
“We could make a snowman,” I offer.
Tick loops her arm through mine. “I second the vote for a snowman.”
Josh wrinkles his nose. His glasses fog up a little with every exhale.
Ty says, “Seems a bit tame for a Friday night.”
“We could make them anatomically correct,” I say. “Like, with, uh, boobs.”
Ty raises his one eyebrow and Josh raises both of his.
Josh says, “I like where you're going with this. Whaddaya know, both of the Murphy girls are wild.”
“Ixnay on the snowboobies for now,” Ty says, rattling the can of spray paint again. “These will freeze up soon, so we'd better hurry. Come on.” He grabs Dana's backpack and hoists it onto his shoulder, then starts walking.
We follow him, down Snowflake Avenue.
Tick, with her arm still looped with mine, walks next to me, and we time our steps to be in perfect rhythm.
