The Law of Tall Girls

by Joanne Macgregor

  I was so disappointed, so frustrated with the sucky circumstances of my life and finances, that I’d already clicked on the block to close the site, when I registered what my eyes had seen in the last split second.

  Scholarships.

  I reloaded the page and read it through carefully. Every year, the school offered one full ride, including tuition and housing, to the financially needy student whose application impressed them most. I read the requirements feverishly. In addition to submitting details of my financial circumstances, I would need to design a full fashion range including shirts, pants, dresses, skirts and scarves, and then submit sketches and a full-size completed example of each garment, along with a written motivation for the theme of the range. And I needed to send it in by mid-January.

  My mind raced ahead to all the things I’d have to do. And buy — good-quality fabrics and threads, and gorgeous buttons, buckles, braid and zippers. It wouldn’t come cheap. I could try to get more shifts at the diner, but that would reduce my time available to design and sew. Bottom line: I had to win that tall-boys bet, I just had to. Eight hundred dollars would restore the damage making the portfolio would do to my college fund. In the meantime, though, I’d start with the sketches and patterns, maybe test-sew a few samples on the cheap stuff from the reject warehouse.

  I could do this. If I worked harder than I ever had at anything, and dedicated every spare minute to this project, I could do it. But I’d need help – especially with the theory part of the application. I grabbed my phone.

  “I need your expert advice. Can I come over?” I asked Chloe.

  “Is this about boys again?” she asked unenthusiastically.

  “No, it’s —”

  “Or that report?”

  Chloe had pumped me for all the details and given me a knowing, skeptical eye-roll when I insisted that I had no interest in Jay Young apart from avoiding him.

  “No.”

  “Is it about the auditions on Tuesday? Have you decided to try out?”

  “Yes, I’ll be auditioning but no, it’s not about that. It’s about —”

  “Because you realize that if Jay is such a theater fanatic, he’ll probably want to be in the play? Is that why you’re auditioning?”

  “No, that’s not why. I’m auditioning because an extracurricular activity would look good on my college application, Chloe, not because of some boy.” I could feel my ears getting hot. “Anyway, that’s not what I need your help for.”

  “Then what?”

  “It’s about my future.”

  “Please to explain.”

  “I know what I want to study and where! But I need some help with the scholarship application.”

  “Ooh, that sounds like a three-cup conversation. Come on over right now, and I’ll mix up a tea specially for you.”

  “Can’t we have chocolate milk for a change?”

  “Rosemary and peppermint, I think. Rosemary’s supposed to stimulate mental focus and clarity,” she explained.

  “And peppermint?”

  “Creativity.”

  Good. Because in addition to creating designs and writing applications, I’d need to bring my creativity A-game to the play auditions. And I’d have to think of imaginative ways of making dates with Mark more fun if our “relationship” was to last all the way through prom.

  Which it now absolutely had to.

  ~ 13 ~

  Even seated, Jay Young stood out head and shoulders above everyone else.

  He and Faye — the top of whose head didn’t even reach his shoulder — sat in the second row of seats in the school auditorium. I sat several rows back beside Chloe, who’d come along to the Tuesday auditions to support me.

  Ms. Gooding, the senior drama teacher, welcomed the assembled hopefuls and then introduced our student director, Doug Escher. “I believe my students learn best if they’re left to stage the production entirely by themselves. This evening, I’ll be sitting in while catching up on my marking, and in future I’ll pop in from time to time to check how you’re coming along, but other than that, I’m handing full responsibility over to Doug.”

  She headed back to the far corner of the auditorium, and Doug took her place up front.

  “Romero and Juliet,” he said, “is a modern-day adaptation of Romeo and Juliet.”

  “Shakespeare, man?” Zack, a loudmouthed senior from my homeroom class, complained loudly from directly behind me.

  “I said ‘modern day,’ Zack. It’s not written in Elizabethan English, but the basic story of feuding families and star-crossed lovers is as relevant today as it ever was.”

  “So, it’s a love story?” asked Faye.

  “Partly.”

  “Where’s it set?” That question came from Jay.

  “If you guys give me half a chance, I’ll explain.” Doug was getting tetchy. I’d been in productions with him before, and I knew he was gifted at tetchy. “It’s set right here in Baltimore. Modern-day Baltimore” — this with a significant stare at Zack — “a city that is financially depressed, has high unemployment, and rising tensions between the haves and the have-nots. The Capitanis, our modern-day Capulets, are an obscenely wealthy family who live in a mansion in Roland Park.”

  Behind me, Zack gave an appreciative whistle. “Man, I need to marry me a Capitani. Sorry, Peyton, you know I like the girls with long legs, but I like the girls with the big bucks more.”

  “I’ll try not to collapse under my disappointment,” I murmured.

  “Mr. Capitani is a mega-successful captain of industry — the CEO of a massive steel plant. And the apple of his eye is his beautiful, rather spoiled daughter, Juliet. Romero Montagna’s family, on the other hand, are working-class stiffs from Washington Village —”

  “Pigtown, man!” said Zack.

  “— who are struggling to survive tough economic times, which get even tougher when Capitani Steel tries to lay off a third of its workers, including both of Romero’s parents. Mr. Montagna heads up the local chapter of the United Steelworkers Union, and he mobilizes the whole workforce to come out on strike in protest at the layoffs.”

  “Where’s the romance come in?” asked Faye.

  “I’m getting there,” Doug snapped. “So, it’s against this backdrop that Juliet, the pampered daughter of capital, meets Romero, the son of a workers’ rights activist, on the beach at Rockfish Point, a tiny seaside town somewhere on the Chesapeake Bay. They fall in love, each not knowing who the other is. And then …”

  “The brown stuff hits the fan,” said Zack.

  “It kinda sounds good, actually,” Chloe whispered.

  I thought so, too.

  “If he’s so poor, how come he can afford a holiday at the beach?” asked a petite tenth-grader with blond hair and delicate features.

  “He has a summer job as a lifeguard.”

  “And does everyone still die in the end?” Faye again.

  “Nah. We’ve got to fill this theater for three nights in a row” — Doug gestured to the rows and rows of chairs in the large auditorium — “and that won’t happen if we have a Debbie-downer of an ending.”

  “Romeo and Juliet with a happy-ever-after?” Jay asked. He sounded skeptical.

  “That’s why I said it was an adaptation and not a version,” said Doug, tetch cranked to the max. “Now, maybe we can get to the auditions? The female roles include Juliet, her mother, her maid and Rosa, Romero’s love interest at the start, before he lays eyes on the ravishing Juliet. The male roles are Romero, Mr. Capitani, Mr. Montagna, Patrice (our Paris), Tyrone (our Tybalt), Matteo (Mercutio, Romeo’s best friend). Oh, and the friar — who in our adaptation is a priest. So, four parts for girls and seven for guys.”

  Typical.

  “Why, when there are always way more girls wanting to act in school productions, do the directors always choose plays with more male parts?” I asked Chloe.

  “I’ve got a male part for you, daddy long legs,” Zack whispered to me. “Come on over and sit o
n my lap and I’ll show you.”

  Chloe raised an expectant eyebrow at me. When I said nothing to put Zack in his place, she glared at me and then at him.

  “Sexual harassment is unacceptable behavior, Zack. Cut it out! Besides, if Peyton sat on your lap, which will not happen in this lifetime, she’d probably crush you. You must be a foot shorter and a good twenty-five pounds lighter than her.”

  “Thanks for that, Chloe,” I said. “Now I feel loads better.”

  “I’m stronger than I look, Big P,” Zack said. “And you know what they say — all girls are the same height in bed.” He cackled loudly at that, and only stopped when Doug, who’d been handing out copies of the audition pieces, began speaking again.

  “There are three audition pieces — a dialogue between Romero and Juliet, one between Romero and Matteo, and the last between Juliet and her nurse. I mean, her maid. Choose one piece you’d like to read and prepare it. We start in ten minutes. Any questions?”

  “When will we know what part we got?” Faye asked.

  “I’ll post the cast list on the senior notice board on Thursday morning. Anything else?”

  I put up my hand — don’t know why, it wasn’t like Doug was a teacher. “Um, do the male parts have to be played by males?”

  Doug considered for a moment, checking who had turned up to try out, and maybe registering that most of us were female.

  “I guess there’s no reason why we can’t have a female Paris or Tybalt,” he said. “But I’m thinking we need to keep Romeo male and Juliet female.”

  “Scared of controversy?” Chloe asked. Doug merely shrugged in answer.

  “Romero and Julio, man!” Zack snickered. “Or, wait, let’s get some girl-on-girl action — Ramona and Juliet!”

  I scanned the three audition pieces.

  “What do you think?” I asked Chloe.

  “You could try for the female parts — you never know, you might get one.”

  “Yeah, don’t hold your breath.”

  My audition went okay, though I felt like a giant Amazon standing next to Wren, the blond sophomore, who was tiny — not even five foot — and pretty, too. She probably looked like a fairy standing beside me. I read for the part of the maid, trying hard not to be distracted by the gestures aimed at me from the “audience”. Chloe grinned and waved both hands in the air, giving me a thumbs-up with one hand, and fingers crossed with the other. Zack fondled imaginary boobs on his chest, pointed at his lap and then at me, smiling lecherously all the while. Most distracting of all was Jay, who gave me an encouraging grin just before I began and an approving nod just after.

  I stayed to watch everyone’s auditions and learned some very interesting things.

  Firstly, Faye couldn’t act her way out of a wet paper bag. If this were a first-grade concert, she’d have been given the part of a tree, or maybe a rock. No way did she belong in this production.

  Wren was a shoo-in for the part of Juliet. Not only could she act well, but every pretty and petite inch of her was perfect for a lovelorn, winsome Juliet. All the boys seemed entranced by her.

  Watching her smile flirtatiously as she read a romantic piece with Jay, Zack sighed deeply. “Dayum. Can’t beat that level of sexy with a stick.”

  There was a chance that I might land the role of Mrs. Capitani, but I reckoned I was mostly in competition for the part of Juliet’s maid with Liz Cruller, a tubby senior with short red hair who clearly had acting talent.

  The last thing I learned was that Jay Young was the best actor I had ever seen in the flesh. Even with mere minutes of preparation time, his performance put the rest of us to shame. Doug gave Jay a standing ovation after his reading and was clearly over the moon at the prospect of finally having a superbly talented male actor to work with.

  The director’s big problem now, I figured, would be how to stage a production that wasn’t lopsided, with one actor being blisteringly good and the rest of the cast looking like hopeless amateurs by comparison.

  ~ 14 ~

  Mark and I had our third date on the evening after the auditions. I could hardly wait to get through it to text Tori the details — news of a third date with the same guy would surely dent her smug conviction that I was undesirable and undatable.

  I suggested movies again, because I didn’t think I could face hours of Mark’s earnest conversation when I was on edge about the cast announcement due the next morning. When he reminded me that it was my turn to choose, I picked a romantic drama set in World War II, so I could check out the period costumes.

  Unfortunately, the romantic scenes inspired Mark not only to hold my hand, but also to cuddle me, pulling my head onto his shoulder. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings by pulling away too soon, but it was an uncomfortable position to maintain, and I had to stare sideways out of the corners of my eyes to take in the details of padded shoulders, box-cut suits, cinched waists and jaunty berets.

  Mark insisted on walking me home again after the movie and looked mildly concerned at the loud clicks my neck made when I cracked it, trying to get rid of the kinks.

  “I’m sure I’ve read that it’s not good to crack your neck,” he said.

  “Yeah, I guess I should leave the crick-cracking to professional chiropractors.”

  “I don’t approve of alternative health practitioners. Or ‘complementary’ practitioners, as I believe they prefer to be called. I think it’s more sensible to stick to real professionals like doctors and physiotherapists. That’s what my dad advises, and I usually follow his advice.”

  “Right.”

  “I’d like you to meet my father, Peyton, and my mother. After all, we have had three dates now.”

  I said nothing.

  “I’d like to meet your parents, too,” Mark hinted, looking hopeful.

  “My parents are divorced,” I said quickly. “I hardly ever see my father.”

  “You live with your mother?”

  I nodded. I did not like where this chat was headed.

  “Maybe I could come in when we get to your house and meet her?”

  “No.”

  Mark looked a little affronted. “You don’t want me to meet her?”

  Yes. “No, it’s not that, it’s just that she’s … sick.” No word of a lie. “And I don’t want to disturb her when she might be resting.”

  This appealed strongly to Mark’s considerate common sense. “Of course, I fully understand. My father says when people are sick, they need peace and quiet to recover properly. Tell her I hope she gets better soon.”

  “Sure, okay.” Anything to shut down this conversation. “Hey, did you hear the joke about the germ?”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  “Never mind, I don’t want it spread all over.”

  No response from Mark.

  “Ba-dum-tsss!” I said, hitting an imaginary drum and cymbal in the air. “That’s it. That’s the joke.”

  “Ah, I see — because germs are contagious. Is that it?”

  “Yes, Mark, that’s it.”

  “You’re very amusing, Peyton.” Mark laid his hands on my shoulders, gazed down seriously into my eyes, and announced, “I would like to kiss you now. Is that okay?”

  Oh, dear.

  “I guess.”

  Perhaps his kiss would spark something inside me. Perhaps it would be lively or wild or fun.

  But no. It was just moist.

  There was no surge of tingles, no impact on my breathing, no rushing wind in my head. It was nothing like it had been with Jay. Damn, there he was in my head again. Trying to get my head back in the present, I returned Mark’s kiss. Returned it with interest. I pressed my lips firmly against his, wrapped my arms around his neck, and pushed up against his body.

  Instantly, his kiss got moister — wet to the point of sloppy. And immediately, I felt just awful. Because, judging by his groans and his body’s reaction, which I could clearly feel against mine, Mark seemed to be enjoying this. And I … wasn’t.

  He lif
ted his head, took a deep breath, and kissed me again. This time I did feel something, a bunch of somethings, actually — mild revulsion, an urge to push him away and run off down the path to my house, anxiety about how I was possibly going to be able to ride this out until prom, and guilt. Crushing guilt that I was just using Mark to win the wager when I already knew I had absolutely zero romantic feelings for him. Guilt that he might be falling for me in a thoroughly unsensible and immoderate way, and that it might hurt him if he found out how I truly felt.

  I pulled away, gabbled, “Oh look at the time. I’d better hurry,” and set off quickly in the direction of home.

  “Of course,” Mark said, his voice full of understanding. “You must be worried about your mother.”

  “Yeah.” Let’s go with that.

  “I worry about my mother, too. She works too hard. I keep telling her she needs a better balance between work and home life, but she says her work is too important to take it easy.” Mark shook his head and tutted at his mother’s immoderate attitude.

  “What work does she do?”

  “She’s a particle physicist.”

  “Wow!” Mrs. Rodriguez sounded way more interesting than her son.

  “What does your mother do?” Mark asked.

  “She works from home. She’s a virtual assistant for an outdoor adventure crowd.” Was anyone ever less suited to their line of work? “But your mother’s job — that’s impressive.”

  “Yes, that’s true. But it’s also a bit of a bummer really.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “She’s managed to secure the position of a lifetime to work on the Large Hadron Collider.”

  I must’ve looked blank, because he continued, “You know, it’s the largest machine in the world, it smashes particles together at near light-speed in the hope of finding the God Particle and understanding the nature of the universe.”

  “But that’s amazing!”