Eliza Bing Is (Not) a Star

by Carmella Van Vleet

  News flash. “Blocking” means something different in theater than it does in taekwondo. In taekwondo it means fending off a punch or kick. But in theater it’s a fancy way of describing how actors move and do things onstage while they’re saying their lines.

  That’s what we worked on at Tuesday’s rehearsal.

  “Which direction is upstage, again?” I whispered to Annie. The two of us were watching the people onstage stumble through the first act.

  “That way,” Annie whispered back, and pointed.

  At the beginning of rehearsal, Mrs. Delany had given a big demonstration about stage directions. Where the audience sat was called “the house.” The part of the stage closet to the house was called “downstage.” And the part that I thought should be called the back of the stage was called “upstage.” There was “center stage” (pretty easy to remember) and “stage left” and “stage right,” too. They were based on you facing toward the audience. So stage left was to the audience’s right. And stage right was to the audience’s left. The tricky part was that even if you turned around, with your back to the audience, stage right and stage left didn’t change.

  If you ask me, it was perfectly reasonable that I was confused.

  By the time we got to Act Three, we only had fifteen minutes left, but Mrs. Delany wanted to let everyone have a little bit of time to block.

  “We’ll do more and more blocking as rehearsals progress,” she explained. “But for now, everyone in the party scene, you stand upstage, center and stage right.”

  JJ and Vivian and I got directed toward the front of the group.

  Mrs. Delany set the scene. “Now, the party is just revving up. The music is playing, but no one is dancing yet. And then there’s a knock on the door.”

  Since we didn’t have a set yet, Dave, who was playing the mailman who didn’t get invited to the party even though he delivered all the invitations, pretended to knock. (Don’t feel too bad for him; he gets invited in later on.)

  “Hello?” Dave called out.

  The script called for everyone to nominate my character to go see who it was.

  Mrs. Delany motioned for me to walk across the stage to the pretend door. I was supposed to peek through the peephole (which wasn’t there). Doing this was weird because Dave was just standing right there. But thankfully he looked down at his script so the two of us weren’t eyeball to eyeball.

  I tiptoed back to the group and stage-whispered, “It’s Mr. Hatcher.” The instant I said my line, someone’s cell phone went off. The ringtone was a popular hip-hop song.

  “Kill the music,” I ad-libbed. “We’re not supposed to be home.”

  Everyone cracked up. And the ringtone wasn’t the only thing that made me feel like dancing.

  As we gathered our things to go, I noticed Annie didn’t seem to be in a very good mood. Maybe she was just tired. Best friends cheered each other when they were down, so I decided to ask her about the stage directions again. When white belts asked me about something I knew and they didn’t it always made me feel better.

  “So. Which way is downstage?” I asked her.

  Annie gave a dramatic sigh and smiled. Then she grabbed my hand and used her pen to draw the diagram that Mrs. Delany showed us earlier.

  “There. So you won’t forget!” she said.

  I stared at the diagram. It was in permanent ink! Mom hated when Sam wrote on himself. And what would Master Kim think if he saw it peeking out of my dobok?

  I looked up. Annie was still smiling. Complaining would hurt her feelings.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  Mooom. Where’s the rubbing alcohol?” I called down from the top of the stairs.

  Instead of answering, Mom came up and found me rummaging through the bathroom drawers.

  “Why do you need the rubbing alcohol?” she asked.

  “Uh. For a school thing.” (It was sort of the truth. Annie wrote on my arm in permanent marker while we were at school.)

  “What school thing?”

  “Can’t tell you.”

  “Can’t? Or don’t want to?”

  “The second one,” I admitted.

  Mom stood there. Waiting. There was no point in trying to make something up. Mrs. Delany may have liked my improv skills, but Mom wouldn’t.

  I pulled up my sleeve.

  “Annie did it,” I quickly explained about the diagram of the stage directions. “But I went online and it said rubbing alcohol will take it off.”

  Mom’s mouth pulled into a thin line. After what felt like forever, she nodded. “Yep,” she said. “Rubbing alcohol should take care of most of it. I’ve got some in my bathroom. Grab the cotton balls.”

  I did what she said and followed her down the hall. Then the two of us sat on the edge of the bathtub in my parents’ bathroom.

  “You’re not mad?” I asked her as she doused a cotton ball. The rubbing alcohol made my eyes water.

  “I’m not thrilled,” she said. “But you thought it through and researched solutions. And you asked for help when you needed it. I’m proud of you for that.”

  Huh. All I did was ask where the rubbing alcohol was.

  “You had a problem and handled it,” Mom went on. “You’re growing up.”

  “Thanks for noticing,” I said. I wasn’t trying to be a smart aleck, but Mom called me one anyway. She was smiling, though.

  This wasn’t like the “kitchen sink talks” we used to have (because we talked about everything but the kitchen sink), but it was nice. Mom and I didn’t get to hang out much now that she had to work more hours. In fact, the last time I could remember having a mother-daughter outing was when we went shopping at the mall over the summer. But our day was cut short when Mom got called in to work at the last minute.

  “Mom. You asked your boss for opening night off, right?” I asked.

  “Yep.”

  “And Dad and Sam will be able to come, too?” I said.

  “I’ll drag them kickin’ and screamin’ if I have to!”

  It was almost time to leave for taekwondo.

  “Oh, sorry,” Dad said when he found me putting on my shoes and grabbing my bag. “I forgot to tell you, no class tonight.”

  “It got canceled?” I asked.

  “No, but we’re having company for dinner. You’ll have to miss class.” So that was why Mom had come home early.

  “But I have my test coming up next month,” I said. “I have to get ready!”

  “Missing one class isn’t a big deal. You can practice at home over the weekend. I’ll help if you want.”

  It wouldn’t be the same. I yanked my shoes off and threw them in the shoe bin. Then I stomped upstairs to change out of my T-shirt.

  “What are you so mad about?” Sam asked me when I ran into him in the upstairs hallway.

  “I have to miss taekwondo because Mom and Dad are having some stupid dinner guest!”

  “Hey, watch it. That stupid dinner guest is my girlfriend.”

  Great. Just great! I had to miss preparing for my gold-belt test for Megan? I slammed my bedroom door and didn’t answer when Sam knocked.

  “You better not be this grumpy when she gets here,” Sam said through the closed door.

  This whole thing was so unfair! Taekwondo was way more important than dinner with Megan. Why did my plans have to be ruined? When I turned sixteen, I was going to get my driver’s license right away. Maybe even before I ate cake and opened presents. That way, I could do what I wanted, whenever I wanted.

  Even though I wasn’t supposed to, I texted Annie.

  That stinks, she texted back.

  I know right? I texted.

  Hey. Can we talk about this tomorrow? Kinda busy

  I sent her a smiley emoji.

  Sorry, she texted.

  I was disappointed that Annie had to
go. But at least it felt satisfying that I’d broken the rules about texting. Mom and Dad owed me, right? Still, I hoped they didn’t notice when the phone bill came.

  Half an hour later, Mom came to tell me dinner was ready and that she expected me to join them. I’d calmed down. But only a little bit.

  “I hope you like tacos!” Mom said to Megan.

  “Oh, I love tacos,” Megan said. “The concession stand sells walking tacos on game nights. Sometimes they’re out of them by third quarter, though.”

  I hadn’t been to many games (crowds weren’t really me and Dad’s thing), but I knew the marching band got to take the third quarter off to walk around and get food.

  Before coming downstairs, I had made a vow not to talk to Megan if I could help it.

  I couldn’t help it.

  “What’s a walking taco?” I asked.

  Megan flashed a smile. “Oh, they are ahh-mazing! It’s when you put meat and cheese and lettuce and sour cream inside a crushed bag of corn chips,” she explained. “You carry it around and eat it with a fork.”

  “It sounds good,” I admitted.

  “It’s pure junk food,” Mom said. She was smiling but Sam still shot her a look anyway. That’s another thing about having a mom who’s a nurse. You’re always in danger of getting lectures about the importance of fruits and vegetables.

  “Sam says you’re going to school to become a teacher,” Megan said to Dad.

  Dad beamed. “Yep. Just started my second year.”

  “What do you want to teach?”

  “I’m leaning toward middle school. Probably social studies.”

  Middle school? That’s the first time I’ve heard that.

  “That’s so awesome,” Megan told him, like he’d announced he planned to cure cancer. “I might want to teach someday.”

  “Megan helped with the summer camps at the community center,” Sam said. “And she helps with her church’s summer Bible school.”

  “Well, that’s terrific,” Dad said. “Good for you.”

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. But just barely. Couldn’t Dad see how she was only trying to get on his good side?

  Mom asked me to get some more napkins. On the way back, I dropped a few and leaned down to pick them up. That’s when I peeked under the table and saw Megan and Sam holding hands!

  Ick. How weird was that? I mean, I guess they probably kissed. But I never thought about it.

  We spent the next ten minutes talking about random stuff, like the upcoming marching-band trip and how Megan liked the smell of coffee but not the taste. I knew Mom was dying to tell her that teenagers shouldn’t drink coffee, but she kept smiling and nodding like Megan was the best thing since tongue depressors.

  Sam had just polished off his fourth taco when he suddenly pulled out his phone. “Oh man, we better get going,” he said to Megan.

  “Go where?” Mom asked.

  “Megan and I are going over to Sanjay’s house. Some people are getting together to plan the Fall Semiformal.”

  “I’m on the committee,” Megan added.

  Mom’s smile grew wider. “That’s lovely.”

  Uh-oh. Whenever Mom says “lovely” you should probably cut your losses and run. Mom turned to Sam. “And you’re going, too?” she asked him.

  Sam shrugged. “They’re my friends.”

  “But you don’t have a way there,” Mom pointed out. “Or back.”

  Sam looked at her like she’d grown antlers. “Megan’s taking me. She can bring me back.”

  Mom and Sam locked eyes.

  “So Megan is going to drive you over to Sanjay’s and then bring you back here, and then drive herself home? That sounds like a lot of driving for poor Megan.”

  “I…I don’t mind,” Megan said. “Really.”

  “Not tonight,” Mom told Sam.

  “Why?” he demanded.

  “Because I said so.”

  “That’s lame!”

  Dad jumped in. “It’s good he’s getting involved,” he said to Mom.

  Mom whipped her head in Dad’s direction. “It’s a school night.”

  “It’s only for a couple of hours,” he countered.

  The room grew so quiet that we could hear the wall clock tick. “He has homework,” Mom said firmly.

  “Not that much,” Sam argued.

  Neither Mom nor Dad looked in his direction. They were locked in a staring match. I wondered who would blink first.

  Dad swallowed hard and turned to Sam. “Your mom’s right. I’m sure the dance committee can handle things on their own.”

  It was two against one, and my brother knew it.

  “This is messed up!” he said, shoving himself away from the table.

  Megan quickly dabbed her mouth with her napkin and stood up. “Thanks for dinner,” she said, looking uncomfortable.

  “Can I at least walk her out to her car?” Sam asked sarcastically.

  “Can you at least remember to be respectful to your mother?” Mom countered.

  Sam growled and Mom began grabbing dishes off the table. Dad got up to help. But the second I could, I ducked outta there.

  1) Sam never used to act like that.

  2) I wish Mom and Dad argued less.

  3) If Dad’s boss hadn’t “downsized” him, Dad wouldn’t be going to school, Mom wouldn’t have to work so many shifts, money wouldn’t be tight, and Mom and Dad wouldn’t be so stressed out. This was all stupid Mr. Spencer’s fault.

  4) I still wanted to try walking tacos sometime.

  At bedtime, Mom came to kiss me good night. “Hi, kiddo,” she said, sitting down on the edge of my bed. “I wanted to apologize for dinner.”

  “It’s okay.”

  Mom gave me a weary smile. “It’s nice of you to let me off the hook, but I should have handled things better.”

  “Sam wasn’t helping,” I told her.

  “No. He wasn’t. But I’m the adult.”

  I wondered if she was going to apologize to Sam, too. Not that I thought she should. Sam didn’t have to be so grumpy. On the other hand, I guess it was kinda mean of Mom to talk to him like that in front of Megan. I wouldn’t like it if I got yelled at in front of my friends.

  “So, let’s change the subject. How’s the play going?” Mom asked.

  “Good.”

  “Do you have all your lines memorized yet?”

  “Yep,” I told her. “I don’t have that many, so it wasn’t hard.”

  “Excellent! Hey, if I haven’t mentioned it lately,” Mom said, “I’m really proud of you for stepping out of your comfort zone.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I like watching my kids perform,” Mom said, tucking in my feet even though I was way too old for that. “It makes me happy.”

  I like watching my kids perform. It makes me happy.

  I’d heard Mom say that before. When was it? Oh yeah. After Sam’s Youth Orchestra show. It was on a Saturday night. Mom, Dad, and I got all dressed up. Sam wore his new black tux. (The boys in the orchestra wore tuxes. The girls wore long black dresses.) The show wasn’t until eight o’clock, so we went out to a steak house beforehand. The place was so fancy that it had butter pats in the shape of flowers! We all drank water from these crystal goblets, too. We had the best time, talking and toasting and clinking our glasses.

  After the show, we met up with Sam in the lobby of the theater. Mom gave him a “bouquet” of candy bars, and Dad made sure to order a CD recording of the show.

  It was a great night. No one was fighting or stressed out. Everyone was happy. And we were together. I missed that.

  Wait!

  “Mom. Can we go out to dinner before my play?”

  “I suppose so,” she said.

  “Maybe to that steak house we ate at before Sam�
�s thing that one time?”

  Mom frowned. “That might be a little out of our price range these days, but we could find somewhere else nice, I’m sure.”

  “Thanks,” I told her.

  “Sure thing,” Mom said. “Good night.”

  After she left, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.

  If we could just have one fun night together, maybe we’d all remember we like each other and things would start to get better.

  Opening night would be the perfect opportunity.

  I caught Annie on the way out of homeroom. “Wanna practice lines at lunch?” I asked her.

  “It’s called ‘running lines,’ ” she informed me.

  “Okay. Wanna run lines then?”

  Annie smiled. “Absol-totally!”

  I must have looked confused.

  “Sorry! Paige says that. It’s fun, right?”

  “Have you and Paige been hanging out?” I asked.

  “Oh, uh. We were in her backyard last night,” she said, shifting her books from one arm to the other. “Well. She was in her backyard and I was in mine.”

  Was that the reason Annie had texted that she had to go? Was she with Paige when she and I had been texting? It felt like someone had socked me in the stomach.

  “I saw that she was outside,” Annie was saying. “So I walked over the pair of silver shoes. I think they’re going to be perfect, by the way! Isn’t that great?”

  I nodded, but Annie didn’t notice my heart wasn’t in it.

  “Anyway, she told me again how she respected that I shared the shoes even though I’d been upset with her. And we got to talking. I told her I wanted to be an actor, too. She said she’d give me a few tips and that we could ‘talk shop.’ Isn’t that cool?”

  Best friends are happy for each other.

  “Absol-totally,” I told her.

  Greetings and salutations, friends,” Mrs. Delany said, motioning for us to find a seat. It was time for our pre-rehearsal pep talk.

  Annie wanted to sit with Paige. “She waved us over,” she said. First off, I was pretty sure she meant it for Annie, not me. And secondly, if you asked me, Annie was a little too gung ho about Paige mentoring her. But a best best friend would be supportive.